Jerk. He made me sound like a minifridge, when really I was just petite, thankyouverymuch.
The song was ending, and a new one was beginning; I braced myself for whatever saccharine musical history we were to be subjected to next. I needed to hear only a few notes before I knew. God help me. It was “Edelweiss.”
I bit my tongue not to laugh. And then with the effort of not laughing, I needed to laugh even more. I thought I must’ve been turning purple from the effort.
To make matters worse, Dagursson began to sing under his breath to the music, but rather than the lyrics, he chanted, “Onnne, twooo, threeee…onnne, twooo, threeee…back, side, together…forward, side, together…”
I tried to focus, but I was only aware of the feel of his cold skin, one hand holding mine, the other a gentle touch on my back. He was close enough to smell, too, and it was a strange, blank scent, like paper, or powder.
He knew my thoughts were elsewhere and scolded me. “You must empty your mind, Acari Drew. The Viennese waltz is the most classic, the most elegant of dances, but you must feel it, not think it.”
But rather than take his advice, I considered the creature holding me. Despite his hollow-cheeked and generally cadaverous looks, his movements were graceful and smooth. It blew my mind to think he’d been alive when society had danced its first waltz—had already been alive for hundreds of years when ladies were donning tall white wigs for the first time and pasting black beauty marks on their white-powdered faces.
My mind was whirring away, and I was on autopilot.
But Dagursson was getting his groove on. “Now you will turn and open your body,” he was saying, and then he spun me.
I was so not prepared to spin.
I tripped. And I was unable to stop the words that burst from my lips. Two crisp, clear pops of sound. “Oh shit.”
Dagursson turned to ice and froze me with him, holding me apart as I balanced precariously on one foot. His hand at my back was firm now, the only thing preventing me from tumbling to the floor. But his other hand darted out, and a long, razor-sharp fingernail slashed my lip.
I swallowed my gasp, then licked my lower lip, tasting blood.
“A reminder, Acari Drew, to speak like a lady.”
He pushed me away from him, and I stumbled a few clumsy steps backward, miraculously managing to stay on my feet. “You must master your change step if you ever wish to dance proficiently.” Dagursson stared for a moment at my split lip. “Attend to that. We cannot allow facial scarring.”
And with one last clap of those freaky Crypt Keeper hands, he dismissed class.
Yasuo and I bolted for the exit, and I burst ahead of him, gulping the cold, fresh air. Only then did I realize that my thundering heart felt ready to bruise the inside of my chest.
Yas caught up to me, uncertain what to say. “That was…”
“Yeah.” I shivered. “Weird.”
We headed a ways down the quad path, and although I was eager to put the whole episode behind me, Yasuo was still clearly uncomfortable.
I elbowed him. “What? Did you think he was going to slice up my belly instead of just my lip?” Because we’d all seen that happen—I’d seen it on my first day here.
He nodded to my mouth. “It’s a little…uncomfortable.”
“Whaddya mean uncomfortable? I’m the one who got slashed by Dag’s pinkie.”
“You know, D.” Yas was nearly writhing with discomfort now, staring at my mouth. “The blood.”
“Is it that bad?” I licked my lip to see if it was still bleeding.
Yasuo darted his eyes away. “Don’t do that.”
“What is your problem?” I stared at his profile, and then it hit me. “Ohhhh. Is it hard for you to see blood?” Duh.
“Yeah. I’m only a Trainee, but already we can…We have…There’s a hunger, you know?”
I grabbed his arm and playfully pursed my lips. “Want a taste, big boy?”
Yas recoiled, flinching away from me. He looked angry and just a little disgusted. “I said don’t do that.”
I stared blankly, totally confused now.
Yasuo sighed, sounding pained. “Listen, D. It’s a hunger, but with the blood, it’s more than a hunger. Like, it’s a little…It’s kind of—I don’t know—sexual.”
Floored, I was unable to say more than, “Oh.” I mean, how does one go back to normal after a statement like that?
But then he made it worse by trying to dig out from his hole. “And you know I think you’re pretty and all, but I just don’t feel like that—”
“Stop.” I put my hand up. “Seriously. Stop. So not an issue, okay?”
He drew in a sharp breath and let it out. “Okay.”
We were such a lame pair, both of us blushing furiously now, and we upped our pace, walking briskly to the dining hall. The silence was uncomfortable, and I felt how both of us were racking our brains to come up with some genial, plain-vanilla chatter.
Yasuo braved it first, though his voice was tight when he spoke. “So. You swimming later?”
“Why?” My answer was automatic. Ronan was MIA, and swim lessons with him were the only reason I’d ever get in the water. That, and maybe a gun to my head.
Ronan. Damn the little pang I felt in my chest. I wondered if Ronan ever had hungers.…
I shrugged away the thought, quickly adding, “There’s no way I swim if I don’t have to.”
“But didn’t you hear? Ronan is back.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ronan was back?
I told myself it was no big deal. He hadn’t been gone for long. He was nothing to me, just as I was nothing to him. He’d helped me last semester, and we’d gotten a little chummy, but I figured I was just his special project. I figured Tracers got brownie points the longer their Acari survived.
Besides, he’d gotten so aloof after I’d won the Directorate Challenge, just as Master Alcántara was beginning to pay me more attention. I thought maybe I was shifting from Tracer Special Project to Vampire Special Project, as terrifying as that was.
Running into him would be no big deal.
So why did my chest tighten as I walked up the steps to the dining hall? Not because of Ronan, I told myself. It was because it was noon and time for lunch, and meals were always a good excuse to freak out. Because everyone went to meals. All the Tracers, the Acari, the vampire Trainees, and the Watchers, too—though there were only a very few of them. All the cliques, all the drama…and it seemed the more I tried to keep a low profile, the more I became a magnet for attention.
Yeah, that was for sure the only reason I was feeling stressed. Not Ronan at all.
I screwed my eyes shut tight for just a moment, preparing myself and thinking of the older girls who’d also be in the dining hall—the Initiates and their more advanced Guidon sisters whose job it was to keep us in line. The dorm Proctors would be there, too—they were kinder, like my Proctor, Amanda, but it didn’t make up for the casual cruelty of the rest of them.
I paused on the landing. “This always wigs me out.”
Yasuo opened the heavy oak door, shooing me inside. “Nah. You just feel stressed because it’s time for you to feed.”
I put a hand on my belly. “I’m not that hungry.”
“No, Blondie. I mean feed. Your body has gotten used to the blood. It knows it’s time.”
I shuddered at the thought, even though I knew he was right. I found myself licking my split lip again, perceiving that metallic taste, this time in anticipation.
I felt Yasuo grow still, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. Can’t go there again. “Dude, I am so sorry.”
But this time he laughed it off, and when he noticed a table of fellow Trainees, he shot them an easy nod. They looked like a bunch of former Disney Channel stars—super attractive guys who seemed too old to be teens, yet not old enough to be men.
I spied Yasuo’s friend Josh and looked away, studiously avoiding eye contact. Josh had gotten a little flirty with me last semester, and I was not the girl guys flirted with, so of course I’d distrusted him immediately. I had yet to talk to him since Lilac disappeared, and you can bet I was going to postpone that encounter for as long as I could.
“You go play with the guys,” I told Yas. I’d spotted my Proctor, Amanda, anyway, and needed to find out where exactly a girl went to “attend” to a split lip.
“Will do.” He gave me a broad smile. “Later, Blondie.”
I caught Amanda’s eye, and she gestured to the empty seat beside her. I nodded but pointed to the salad bar line, mouthing, Food. Fresh produce was scarce on this isle, and unless you were a big turnip fan, you had to shovel something onto your tray before all the good stuff was taken.
I made my way to her table, my tray laden with a salad that looked alarmingly weedy for my tastes, a bowl of carrot soup, a big hunk of crusty bread, and, of course, the requisite glass of blood. It was chilled and the consistency of cough syrup, and it was blood for crissake, but you’d be surprised at how easily it went down, particularly when your body craved it as mine did now.
“Acari Drew.” Amanda shot me a wink, and something in my chest loosened. My Proctor was a statuesque black woman, with an open, heart-shaped face and shoulder-length dreadlocks, and even though she was seated and she was smiling, still she commanded respect. Though I hadn’t built up the courage to ask about her background, she struck me as far wiser than her twenty years would suggest.
I thought her the most fabulous person I’d ever met.
“Cheers, dolly,” she said in her thick Cockney accent. She scowled at my tray. “Mind the salad, aye? The greens are a bit turned.”
“Thanks.” I plopped in the chair beside her, happy that the table was still empty. It was the only reason she was being so friendly—she wouldn’t dare this sort of easy chatter in front of other Initiates, but ever since Ronan asked her to look out for me, she’d been startlingly warm.