In proof of my theory, another Initiate walked by, and Amanda sat a little straighter, making her features a little sterner. They shared a cool nod.
The girl passed, and though Amanda’s shoulders relaxed, when she spoke again, it was in a whisper meant for my ears alone. “How I’d love me a trip to the rub-a-dub right about now.”
I frowned, not sure what the hell she was talking about. “Is that, like, a London bathhouse or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Pub, Drew, a pub. Don’t be such a fookin’ Muppet.” Pulling her tray closer, she began to pick at a salad that looked more brown than green. “But, aw yeah, what I wouldn’t do for a pint and a packet of crisps.”
“Ohhh,” I said, getting it now. “That game’s easy. For me, it’d be a salad that didn’t suck, with feta and black olives maybe, and a vanilla shake from Mickey D’s.” Faced with her blank look, I clarified, “McDonald’s.”
She grimaced. “Salad and a shake? And don’t that defeat the purpose?”
I slathered some butter on my bread. “A girl needs her calcium, you know.”
“That tripe’s not real food.” She gave a toss to her dreads. “Disgusting.”
I gave her a shrug and a smile as I chewed a big mouthful of bread. It was still warm from the oven, and I had to hand it to the cooks—they didn’t get salads right, but they sure knew how to bake. I put my hand in front of my mouth and said, “Oh, but disgusting in the tastiest of ways.”
Her eyes went sharp, looking at my hand. “Talking while chewing, dolly? Don’t let the vamps see you do that. They’ll attach you to Master Dagursson’s side, where you’ll spend the next two months minding your manners.”
I swallowed and made a grumpy face. “Would someone please tell them this is the twenty-first century? And anyway, I think I already am signed up for that. It’s decorum for me all summer. Why I need to learn how to dance, and curtsy, and know the ins and outs of table seatings and settings for my upcoming mission is beyond me.”
“Don’t question.” Her succinct statement hung, and I wondered if she’d meant it to be as foreboding as it sounded.
I changed the subject, and fast. “Hey, speaking of disgusting, when do I get my next roommate?”
She shook her head, making an exasperated sound.
“Charmed by my sass, are you?” I asked nonchalantly, stirring my soup to let it cool.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
I met her eyes and saw the amusement she was trying to hide. I smiled wide and felt my lip split back open. I licked it, tasting blood. “Ow.”
The vampire blood tended to speed up healing, so I grabbed my glass for a sip of my drink. But I couldn’t help my convulsive swallowing, and my sip turned into a chug.
“That’s the way,” Amanda said. “You’re young to be going on a mission. You’ll need all the strength you can get.”
The taste of chilled blood mixed with the taste of blood on my lip, like metal on metal, and a shot of pleasure shivered over my skin in goose bumps. So weird. If I managed to escape while I was off-island, would my body miss the drink? Would I crave it after I’d gone? I tried not to think about it.
I slammed the glass down in pretend triumph. “Now, about my new roommate?”
Surely I wouldn’t be so lucky as to get a single room for much longer. And, in a strange way, I kind of wanted a new girl to move in. The room felt empty, and it creeped me out to see Lilac’s stripped bed in the corner. That stark, gray mattress ticking. The gray and white bed linens, cleaned and folded on top. It was a constant reminder that I’d killed a girl.
Girls, rather. I’d killed girls to survive.
“Well, dolly,” Amanda said, “you won’t get your new roomie till the next crop of recruits arrives.”
“Nice word choice.” I nodded sagely, thinking how the vamps devoured and discarded us like husks of corn. “You know, we are like crops.”
She gave me a baffled look. “If you say so.”
I spotted my friend Emma. “And here comes corn-fed right now.” Her hair was slicked down, looking a deep russet color. Split lip or no, I realized I was happy to have spent the morning waltzing if it meant not getting thrashed in the surf. “Looks like Tracer Otto had them in the water.”
But then my eyes went to the person coming in behind her. Ronan. Emma went to the lunch line, but he headed straight for us. I sat up straight, the bread a doughy lump in my belly. Ronan had taught my gym class for a whole semester—hell, he’d taught me how to swim—so why did I feel more exposed than ever in my gritty gym uniform?
“Amanda,” he said in greeting. “Annelise.”
My mouth went dry. He was the only person on this island who dared to call me by my first name, and the sound of it never failed to rattle me.
His eyes lingered on me. I tried to read them, but he kept them a careful blank. But they sharpened when he saw my lip. “What—”
I cut him off with a quick “Hi.” Suddenly the last thing I wanted was to get into what had happened, or where I’d been, and with whom. His green eyes were just too intense. At the moment they were flat, with an expression that I swore might’ve been mistaken for sad. And I just didn’t want to deal with sad.
He nodded as though he understood my mind’s silent machinations, and dammit, he probably did.
Amanda shoved her tray aside, making room for him at the end of the table. “Where’ve you been?” She glanced at the dwindling lunch line. “You might want to get some food. It’s slim pickings today.”
But Ronan didn’t grab lunch. Instead, he just sat, holding his steepled fingers in front of him as if considering something. His eyes cut to me for the merest fraction of a second, and then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded bit of paper that he slipped to Amanda.
Her face paled, if such a thing could be said of someone with skin the color and sheen of a dark, burnished stone. She swept a quick glance across the room, checking if anyone had seen. “Thanks, luv,” she said, her voice oddly tight.
I looked from Amanda, to Ronan, and back again, and my stomach lurched.
Oh. Just, oh.
Seemed like Amanda and Ronan had a little something-something going on.
CHAPTER FIVE
Between the nasty salad greens and my revelation about Ronan and Amanda, by the time Emma got to the table, my stomach was too knotted to eat.
“Hey.” She methodically put her bag down, pulled her chair out, sat down, placed her napkin on her lap, adjusted her plate and cutlery in a way that appealed to her, and silently set to eating her meat pie.
Emma was acting her typical mute self, when for once I wished she were the sort to go for some good, vapid chitchat.
I stared at my hands. I could’ve used my butter knife to cut the tension between Amanda and Ronan. I cleared my throat. “Hey yourself.”
And then nobody spoke. Four of us sitting at the table and yet…silence.
Unaware of it all, Emma chewed, and I was able to hear every gulp of her drink, every crunch of her bread. She swallowed and peered at my bowl of cold soup and plate of limp greens. “Not hungry?”
“You need more than bread and blood,” Amanda snapped. She was shifting in her seat as if that note were burning a hole in her pocket.
I stole a glance at Ronan, sitting stiffly and silently. What was this? Middle school?
“Nah.” I gave the soup a quick stir. It was shiny, looking congealed already, and I let go of my spoon. It made a dull plop, and orange liquid splattered the edges of the white bowl. “I’m all right.”
I reminded myself that never had I ever suspected there was or could ever be anything between me and any Tracer on this island. Especially not Ronan, especially with that whole I-could-hypnotize-you thing he had going on.
In fact, I doubted there could ever be anything between me and anybody on this island. I was destined to die a virgin.
Check that. I was destined to die an as-yet-unkissed virgin. How lame was that? With my wide eyes, I’d always feared I resembled a frog, and now it seemed I’d never get a chance to see if a first kiss could turn me into a princess.
As if.
My mood took a nosedive. It didn’t help that a handful of Initiates and their more advanced Guidon counterparts hovered near the table, all leggy, catsuited menace.
I cut my eyes to Emma. To the naked eye, she appeared clueless, sitting there chomping on her shepherd’s pie. But I knew my friend well. Her face was drawn, her mouth tight. Like me, she feared these girls.
And with good reason. Emma was my peer, and therefore my competitor, but so far we’d managed to avoid conflict. And it was all because she’d pulled out of the Directorate Challenge when she saw her name pitted against mine on last semester’s fight bracket.
The vampires had been so kind about it all, assuring us the challenge was voluntary, and so when the girls realized each fight was to the death, several had bowed out. But vampires were never kind, not truly, and I’d known in my heart that it’d been a test. Making the challenge optional was a way to cull the most cutthroat of us from our less savage—our weaker—peers.
When Emma bowed out of the competition, she’d called attention to herself.
In some ways, it was the Initiates who were the most pissed. They believed every girl needed to pay her dues. Those who hadn’t were already beginning to disappear.
And these girls, hovering near us, were angry. I could feel their wrath, and I could see by the way my friend sat rigidly in her chair, she could, too. Emma wasn’t exactly in trouble. But she was under scrutiny.
“Acari Drew,” Ronan demanded, and the sound of my official name on his tongue startled me back into the present. I realized he and Amanda had been trying to get my attention.
“Yeah…I mean, yes,” I corrected. If we were under scrutiny, it was best to remain formal at all times. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if people thought I had allies on this island. “Yes, Tracer Ronan?”