Isle of Night

I guessed I could ask one of them. My first class was phenomena, which Ronan had said was coed. I frowned. “What does one study in phenomena, anyway?”



“You’ll find out soon enough. You’re here.” Ronan nodded toward a stout, two-story stone building. It looked like a place you’d see on any college campus in the Northeast.



“Your only other class today is fitness.” He pointed back the way we came, toward a building whose stark, rounded, and corrugated roof proclaimed it to be Standard-Issue Gymnasium, Circa 1970. “It meets three days a week, after lunch, two o’clock sharp. Combat meets there, too, on alternate days.”



I loathed working out, and now I had five days a week of it? I turned my back to the gym. One panic attack at a time.



I nodded a wordless good-bye to Ronan. Hopefully he took my silent farewell for cool nonchalance, and didn’t clue in to the fact that I was about to completely lose it.



Clutching my regulation black messenger bag to my side, I warily walked in for phenomena class.



Whatever that was. Something stupidly archaic and redundant, I was sure.



The blast of heat did nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. Old-fashioned radiators lined the hallway, and each one I passed was like walking through a pool of hot air. I followed the sounds of adolescent chatter coming from the end of the hall. The pinging and knocking of the ancient heaters tracked my progress.



I passed a few closed doors. They were the old kind, with big rectangles of wavy glass on the top half. The lights were off, and I thought they must be empty offices.



Something that looked like a library took up almost the whole other side of the hallway. I wished I had the time—or the guts—to peek in. If there was one thing I was looking forward to in this whole hot mess, it was accessing the old knowledge—and old books—of a bunch of ancient vampires.



I stopped outside the last door, my heart in my throat. The chatter was loud, and sure enough, it was girls and boys.



I was determined to take a seat at the very back. It was only a matter of time before I was identified as a nerdbot worthy of heckling. Until then, I’d lie low and do my work. Just like I’d done in Florida. Get in; get out.



Taking a deep breath, I entered. I swept my eyes across the classroom. Far from my fantasy of a genius academy, this was shaping up to be some sort of training facility for truants and delinquents.



And I’d bet they could all swim.



I scanned the seats, determined not to panic. What had I been thinking? Of course the back row was already taken. So much for part one of my plan.



First-day-of-school seat selection always felt so rife with meaning. Was one cool enough for the very back? Overeager front-row material, perhaps? Or was it to be the mediocre middle?



Avoiding all eye contact, I took the first seat I saw that had empty spots on either side. Unfortunately, it was in the very front.



I braced myself. It was only a matter of time now. I wondered if and when miscellaneous crap would begin to clip the back of my head, just as it had every day, in every class, in my dear old alma mater.



I was determined to stay focused. I needed to be stellar in my academic classes. Especially seeing as I was going to bomb swimming.



I unpacked my notebook very slowly. I imagined myself invisible.



A large body slid into the seat next to mine. Not large-large, but tall-large. My peripheral vision estimated an even six-feet, plus or minus. Black hair. I caught a glimpse of the gray sweater and black denim of the boys’ uniform.



I slowly pulled a pen from my bag. Carefully opened my notebook to the first page, smoothing it flat. I was invisible, and very busy.



“Hey, Blondie. You’re not one of them, are you?”



The body came with a voice, and it was addressing me.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN



I sat frozen. The jig was up. So much for flying below the radar. By one of them, the boy had surely meant “total impostor.” Or “geek loser,” maybe. Either way, it was only a matter of time before my identity as Drew the Dork was uncovered.



Here goes. “One of what?” Taking in a steadying breath, I looked up.



A surprisingly kind face met mine. He was also startlingly attractive. If I imagined a Japanese pop star, it’d be this guy. His features were chiseled and almost perfectly proportionate. His black hair was artfully tousled by a cut that I’d wager had cost him a bundle. A pair of black eyes and furrowed black brows seemed concerned with my response.



“One of them.”



As if on cue, a girl’s voice trilled from behind us, “What is phena . . . phenoh . . . phenomenals, anyway?”



Then I actually giggled.



Heat immediately flamed my cheeks. What am I doing? I put on my nonchalant, I-don’t-care-about-you face. “Oh, them. No, definitely not.”



There. Conversation concluded. I looked back down, getting ready to write my name very carefully in the top corner of my notebook.



Only he spoke again. “My name’s Yasuo.”



Social niceties didn’t come easily to me. I could reel off the name of every American president, in chronological order, but, believe it or not, an ordinary exchange like this required my concentration. “I’m Drew,” I said stiffly.



I felt Lilac enter the room. I looked up and there she was, the whole tall, honeyed length of her. I was in her sights, and she was slinking right toward me. I numbed myself, readying for the inevitable barb.



Shuffling his feet under his chair, Yasuo leaned, elbows forward, on his desk. Was he trying to look cool? Did he read the malice in von Slutling’s eyes? Because here was his moment to throw me on the fire.



“Hey, Charity.” She raked her eyes over Yasuo. “How cute. I see you made a little friend.”



She’d lobbed him a softball. All he needed to do was sacrifice me and he’d earn the mother lode of popular points. I braced for it.



But Yasuo didn’t say anything. It amazed me. He didn’t smile, didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge Lilac in the slightest.



She gave a lilting laugh that made my flesh crawl. “Oh, that’s right. The only way a boy will deal with you is if he doesn’t speak English.”



Yasuo sneered. “I’m from L.A., girl.” He turned to me and said in a stage whisper, “That’s so cool they mainstream the special kids here.”



I bit my cheek to keep a laugh from exploding out. My shredded faith in humanity was momentarily restored.



Lilac narrowed her eyes. “Whatever.”



She swung away from us, and I had to duck to avoid getting clipped by her bag. It appeared our Lilac had a thing for wielding her accessories as weapons.



Yasuo and I cut looks over our shoulders, watching as she found a seat. Something had opened up in the back row. Go figure.



Yasuo turned back around, slouching over his desk. “Does she not get that I’m gonna be a vampire?”



I laughed at the joke, but it made me wonder about all the nascent hierarchies. If Watchers answered to vampires, and these boys were training to become them, what did that say about gender relations on our little isle?



“So, what’d you do to get queenie all riled up, anyway?” he asked.



“I was born.” Our gazes connected. His eyes were twinkly and dark, and I let myself smile.



The door opened, and the difference between regular school and this crazy vampire island became instantly clear. The teacher walked in, and the room fell utterly silent.



I recognized him at once from the headmaster’s talk. He’d been one of the guys who’d helped Ronan clear Mimi’s body from the stones. He was cute in a brown, puppy-eyed sort of way. He didn’t have the same menace as the headmaster, or as the other vampire I’d spotted in the dark. Was he a Tracer, like Ronan?



“I’m Tracer Judge,” he said in an American accent, answering my unspoken question. “And I’m your phenomena teacher.”



There was a little explosive giggle in the back. Some idiot girl who couldn’t stop herself.



He grew still, pinning her in his sights.



Here we go. I’d seen what happened when these dudes were crossed. I held my breath, waiting for the evisceration.



But Judge surprised me by giving her a kind and knowing smile instead. “I’ll bet you’re wondering what phenomena is.”



I swore I felt the room give a collective exhale.



“Think of it as a fancy word for science. Vampires may be an ancient race, but they’ve kept alive—they’ve flourished—by keeping abreast of modern technological advancements. Computers, forensics, explosives. We’ll study all these things.”



I forgot the kids behind me. I forgot Lilac and Yasuo. I even forgot about the whole swimming debacle. Tracer Judge had me at forensics.



I picked up my pen, poised to transcribe his every word, if necessary. Ronan had been right. I might just like my classes after all. This one, at least.



“We also study sciences of the natural world,” he continued, sauntering to the back of the room. He caught students’ eyes as he walked. “Anatomy. Physiology. The vampiric process.”



It was creepy to consider why prospective vampires needed to study anatomy. But learning the vampiric process? Cool.



“Today we’ll start with the most basic of skills.” Judge opened a cabinet at the back of the room and retrieved a burlap bag.



I was mesmerized, wondering what could possibly be in there. The sack was big and lumpy, and by the way the teacher hefted it around, it seemed heavy. He’d just talked about topics in basic biology—for all I knew, he had a few heads in there.



Judge reached in, grabbed something, and slammed it on one of the jock’s desks with a sharp thud. The boy flinched but then shot a cocky, dim-eyed grin, informing us that he was still, in fact, cool.



We all craned in our seats to see. My secret hope was that he’d laid down a protractor, and Meathead would be forced to perform a series of geometric calculations for us.



No such luck. But, oddly, when the teacher lifted his hand, what he revealed was almost as good. “Today I’m going to teach you the basics of lock picking.”