Isle of Night

Page 12

I pushed it open a bit more and shut my eyes in horror at the hideous creaking sound it made. Note to self: There’ll be no sneaking in and out of this room. On a sharp exhale, I shoved it open all the way.
All my caution was for naught. Lilac hadn’t even been there yet.
I stepped in and looked around at what I imagined resembled your average military-school dorm room—if you were in the Bavarian army. While regular kids in regular schools had things like Target bedspreads and Twilight posters, we’d been issued a bed on a simple, unpainted iron frame, a dresser that looked like it belonged in a monk’s cell, and a desk that I’d wager had been haphazardly hewn from a giant oak by someone short on time. A pile of blue-gray woolen blankets were folded atop white sheets. I didn’t need to feel either to know how coarse they were.
I shrugged. At least we didn’t have to suffer bunk beds.
I needed to hide my iPod and photo—how I longed to take a quick peek at my mother’s smiling face—but where on earth could I stash them without Lilac finding out? I wouldn’t put it past her to rifle through my stuff, and I had the dreaded feeling that I’d be wearing my iPod and picture in my panties for the rest of the semester.
I eyed the desks. Each had a stack of books on them, and I made a beeline to each one in turn, immediately deducing which was mine. The elementary German grammar workbook had Lilac’s name all over it. I chuckled to myself. Good luck with that, von Slutling. She also got a book on Norse culture and one of those English-lit tomes that contained every story ever written, printed on paper thinner than onion skin.
My pile left a lot to be desired, though. I fought not to be too disappointed. I mean, what’d I expect? A first-edition Byron or something?
Yeah, I realized. I kinda had. I mean, if these vampires were old—and I assumed they were—wouldn’t they have some really old, really cool books?
All I’d been issued was something on Norse mythology and a Spanish-English dictionary. The Norse stuff was cool, yes, but not enough to occupy me for a week, much less a semester. What was I going to be studying, anyway?
Going to the dresser, I automatically opened and shut the drawers out of habit, and was surprised to find something tucked away in the bottom drawer. A lovely handcrafted box, painted red, with a crane etched in black on the lid. I thought it looked Japanese.
I carefully pulled off the lid—someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make the top and bottom fit together perfectly—and I gasped. Four throwing stars sat nestled atop a swath of black velvet. I could tell it was old. Not that the fabric was threadbare; it just looked ancient.
I traced my finger over the stars. They were a dull, steely color, with six razor-sharp points. I tested a tip with my thumb and then smudged the flat of the blades. My touch didn’t leave so much as a fingerprint. A shiver ran up my spine.
The door swung open, and I slammed the box and the drawer shut.
Lilac looked at me with suspicion, her gaze jumping from me to my hand on the dresser, then back again. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about this, either, Chari—”
“Would you stop calling me that?” Standing straight, I pulled my hand back and fisted it at my side.
She sauntered in. Dumping her kit bag on the floor, she went to her desk, grunting when she rifled through her pile of books. Wandering to her dresser, she opened the drawers just as I had. When she reached the bottom drawer, she paused, chuckling to herself, and then slammed it shut again.
Did she get throwing stars, too?
“Why are you staring at me?” She kept her back to me as she spoke. “You’re not some kind of dyke, are you?”
I couldn’t deal with this right now. I had to get out of there before I said something I regretted. Curfew was eight p.m., but I didn’t think that meant we weren’t allowed to leave the room. Snagging my Norse mythology book, I left.
I figured I had at least a few hours to burn until Lilac went to bed, and so I took myself on a tour of the dorm. Clutching my book to my side, I walked purposefully, being careful not to make eye contact with any of the other girls who appeared in the halls.
The building had four floors. Each was exactly alike, with sixteen rooms per floor, except for the ground level, which had only fourteen rooms and a large foyer. Each floor shared four bathrooms, two on either side of the hallway. A kitchenette and common area with couches and a fireplace were at the far end of each hall.
From what I spied through an open doorway, two rooms on the end of each hall were actually suites with their own bathrooms. I assumed each was occupied by a Proctor. That meant two Proctors per floor, for eight Proctors total.
I did the math. One hundred girls. Fifty rooms occupied, plus eight Proctor suites. That left four empty.
Maybe I could land myself a single room.
Yeah, right. Somehow I got the feeling that Lilac or I had to die in order for either of us to be granted a single. The thought gave me a chill. I hoped my roomie wouldn’t come to the same conclusion and murder me in my sleep.
I went back up to the second floor, but our light was still on. Even though it was late and I was beat, I decided to give it a bit longer until Lilac was asleep. Putting on my jammies and tucking into bed in front of her was something I was going to need to work up to. Instead I plopped down on a couch in the common area.
The dorm felt empty, like everyone was in for the night. It was peaceful, and the couch uncharacteristically cozy, covered in wide-wale corduroy colored a deep burgundy. The iPod jammed into my belly as I settled in and I pulled it out, deciding it was safe to risk it. I smoothed my mother’s photo over its hard surface, getting strength from that wide-eyed stare. She’d have rocked a navy blue catsuit—I could tell.
With a sigh, I toggled to The National and played them extra low, careful to keep the earbuds hidden in my hair. Then I opened my book and read. And read.
Two attempted forays back to the room were enough to tell me that Lilac and I were playing some sort of passive-aggressive game of chicken. She wouldn’t turn out the lights until I went to bed, and I wouldn’t go to bed until she was passed out asleep.
Needless to say, I was becoming very well acquainted with the pantheon of Norse gods and goddesses.
The hall clock had just chimed three o’clock when I heard the footsteps. At 3:01, I heard the shrieks.
I ripped the buds from my ears and shoved my iPod in the belly of my regulation granny panties. Slinking to the hallway, I watched as seven Initiates went from door to door, pulling Acari from their beds. Girls stumbled from their rooms, dressed in full winter gear, fully packed kit bags slung on their backs. The uncooperative ones were dragged out by their hair.
I panicked. Was I supposed to be in bed? Had there been a lights-out curfew I didn’t know about? Should I hide? Would I get in trouble already?
“You,” a voice called behind me.
I spun, startled. I had enough sense to look down submissively, but not before getting a full glimpse of the creature standing before me. Black hair in a severe bob; hard-edged features. She wore the midnight blue catsuit of an Initiate.
I thought of the headmaster’s speech. A black bullwhip unfurled from her hand, and I remembered. She was here to teach me pain.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Yes . . .” I answered warily, fumbling for how to address her. Yes, Master? Yes, Ma’am? Yes, Ms. Bizarro Dungeon Queen?
“I am Guidon Masha.” I detected the faint strains of a Russian accent, just the barest hint in her elongated vowels. “And you are late for the party.”
I forced my gaze to meet hers. I knew I needed to be agreeable, but something told me it’d be dangerous to let anyone scent fear. “Yes, Guidon.”
A frightening smile curved one corner of her mouth. I’d gotten the term of address correct. I guessed Guidon was a more advanced level of Initiate. I recognized it as a military word, though its exact meaning escaped me.
This was an ordered world I found myself in, one of hierarchies and titles. But I was smart; I could learn. I felt my shoulders relax a bit.
The smile evaporated from her face. Apparently she’d sensed the relaxation in my posture and didn’t much like it. “Move, Acari. You will go to your room and return in full uniform, carrying everything you own.” She cracked her whip, snapping it against the couch. The couch, by the way, was at least seven feet away. “Now. Before I make you run.”
I didn’t need any more urging than that.
Great. I’d broken Annelise Drew Cardinal Rule Number One: blend. At all costs. And now my penalty was the attention of a girl with a bullwhip. Though, arguably, it beat catching the eye of someone with a lasso.
My brisk walk sped into a jog. I passed Lilac in the hallway, and the evil eye she gave me said she blamed me for her lack of sleep.
I zipped into our room and frantically gathered my stuff. It didn’t take long, since, aside from a dry pair of socks and a little bag of toiletries, I hadn’t unpacked in the first place.
Nerves slicked my skin with a fine sheen of sweat. I became aware of the metal and glass of my iPod, heavy and damp in my panties. I froze, crooking my thighs to stop it from slipping free.
I shot a glance at the door open behind me. Would anyone notice? Something told me I needed to take the risk. Jamming my hand down the front of my leggings, I retrieved both my iPod and the photo and shoved them deep into my kit bag.
I turned to bolt out the door, my heart pounding in my chest, but then paused, thinking of the throwing stars. She’d said everything. Dashing back in, I tugged off my pillowcase and wrapped it around the Japanese box, quickly nestling it in the center of my bag. I hoped it’d be safe.
Hoisting it all on my back, I ran out the door. The shoulder strap snagged on my parka and was dragging my sleeves up in an annoying way. I took a split second to adjust it.
“Acari Drew,” Masha snapped, punctuating her words with a flick of her whip. “Get in the ranks.”
I jerked my hands back to my sides. The other girls stood two by two, and I joined them, my heart thumping sharply in my chest. A scrappy, heart-faced girl and I merged together to bring up the end of the line. We didn’t make eye contact.