Isle of Night

Ronan believes I can do it.

I stood beneath the tarnished gray bar, heart hammering in my chest. Lilac was there, and the mysterious Heart Face, too, as well as a growing crowd of curious Acari, slowing to witness the crash.

I’m here for a reason.

My back was to the wall. Though I faced the entire gym, my eyes avoided Ronan. But I felt him. Across the room. Watching.

Failure isn’t tolerated.

“I’ll spot,” a quiet voice said. I thought it might be Heart Face, but I didn’t look to make sure. I couldn’t risk catching anyone’s eye.

It was just a bar, held aloft by two metal poles, each with a metal foothold. I stepped onto the first. Clinging tightly to one side, I hauled myself up, bearing all my weight on the one foothold, a couple of feet off the ground. I acclimated myself, letting the pole cool my damp palms. It had a sour, metallic smell.

Praying my sweaty hand wouldn’t slip, I swung toward the other footrest. I gripped both poles now, spread-eagled over the ground, with the horizontal bar looming over my head. My thighs trembled as I stood there, and my heart beat double time.

I couldn’t do it last time. What would happen if I couldn’t do it again?

But I had to do it. Whatever it took.

Palms away, Josh had said. I sucked in a stabilizing gulp of air. Reaching up, I grasped the bar in my hands. I edged off the footholds and let myself drop. I dangled there for a moment, wishing for a miracle. A miracle where I’d somehow, suddenly become strong. Able.

For a moment, I believed this might happen.

Until I pulled, and didn’t budge.

The other girls were gleefully anticipating my failure. I kept my face blank—I’d make them believe I hadn’t tried yet. I pulled again.

“Any day now, Charity.”

I hung there wondering how long I’d have to undergo this torture. At what point would I let myself drop back to the ground to accept defeat?

“She can’t do it,” Lilac purred.

I couldn’t let her win. Not yet. Not Lilac.

I pulled a third time, and this time gave it all I had. I visualized my arms folding, my chin rising above the bar. Struggling, I rose a little.

Turning to Ronan, Lilac shouted across the gym, “She can’t do it.”

“What?” Ronan yelled back, though I was sure the neighboring islands had probably been able to hear Lilac crowing my defeat. Acting indifferent, he strode to the hanging rope. Someone gasped as he peeled off his shirt.

I gasped as he peeled off his shirt. He mopped his brow with it, as though bathed in sweat, but I knew he couldn’t be. He stared at us, and I sensed attention migrating to him. Almost as though he were compelling the Acari to stare.

I dangled there, knowing I needed to do something, anything. Do what it takes, he’d said. But what?

He dipped into a bucket of chalk, rubbing his hands together. In a single, elegant leap, he mounted the rope.

All eyes were on him now. I knew I should pull mine away, but I was mesmerized. Ronan’s legs were held in front of him in a pike position, his every muscle flexed, hard and still. His back, neck, abs . . . his entire body looked carved from stone. Everything but for his arms, which began to pump hand over hand, sending him flying up the rope.

I forced myself to look away. He was doing this for me. This was my one shot.

Shutting my eyes, I tried again. Pulled as hard as I could. I held my breath, afraid I might make a sound.

I felt a hand on my butt and then a hard shove upward. It was gross and intimate and startling. And it was what I needed to pull my chin up over the bar.

Do whatever it takes. That was the lesson here. Not everyone was perfect, but with luck and smarts, one could find a way.

I held myself there, letting a little bark of triumph escape me.

“She did it,” someone called.

Once I was in position, I was able to hold myself there for a moment. Long enough for the crowd to turn and see me.

Long enough for me to steal a glance down.

But I didn’t need to look to guess whom I’d find staring up at me.

CHAPTER TWENTY

My hands slid from the bar, and I dropped to the mat.

“Why?”

Heart Face shrugged, and then turned and walked toward the locker room.

I wiped my hands on my shorts. If I wasn’t mistaken, I had a red splotch on my ass, roughly the size of her hand. All these weeks and she hadn’t said a word to me. Why this? Why now? What was her deal?

“It’s not over, Charity.” Lilac’s gaze strafed from me to Heart Face and back again, looking suspicious. She began to walk away. Slowly, she turned her head, watching me from the corner of her eye. It reminded me of a bird of prey. “You’re going down.”

I had to believe clever trumped hot. That smart and determined would triumph over cruel and petty any day of the week. “Then I’ll take you with me,” I said, and this time I felt the words resonate to my soul.

It wasn’t until after class that I finally got a chance to catch up with my mysterious helper. “Wait,” I called, running to catch Heart Face.

“Thanks,” I said, catching my breath. She only looked at me, so silent and strange. “You know, for earlier.”

She gave me a half smile and shrugged.

Was she capable of carrying on a conversation? There was only one way to find out. “I’m Annelise Drew, but people call me Drew.” Well, most people. “What’s your name?”

“Emma Sargent,” she said, quiet as a mouse.

“Oh.” I blanked, unsure what to say next. Sparkling chatter wasn’t exactly my forte.

She began to walk again, and I jogged a couple of steps to catch up and asked the next logical question. “Where are you from?”

“North Dakota” was all she said.

Okayyy. She wasn’t going to make this easy for me. She was quite possibly the one person on this island who was lamer than me. I liked that. “How’d you end up here, Emma from North Dakota?”

She gave another shrug. “Long story.”

So she wasn’t big on talking. I could hang with that. She’d helped me with my pull-up—at the moment, I wouldn’t care if she requested we hold every conversation in pig Latin.

We were almost to the dorm when I mustered another question for her. “What class do you have before this one?” She wasn’t in phenomena with me.

“Decorum.”

“Oh, I have that one, too. I hate decorum.” It didn’t offer anything nearly as cool as lock picking. Plus, the teacher freaked me out. “Master Dagursson is supercreepy.”

“We had to dance with him this morning.”

I shuddered. “You’re kidding. I thought we had a few weeks till the unit on dancing.”

We reached the dorm and walked up to the second floor, but Emma stopped halfway down the hall. She gave me another of those stoic nods and disappeared into her room.

“Okay, then,” I said to the closed door. “See ya.”

Who was her roommate, and why couldn’t I have been placed with her instead of Lilac? I sighed, knowing I was about to face that very demon.

I returned to my room and nearly gagged. It smelled like a lit match. Or, rather, a hundred lit matches. I looked around, expecting to find my bed smoldering or my toiletries melted and clothes singed. But there was just Lilac, guiltily sliding something into her bottom drawer.

What little gift had the vampires given her? If I’d received throwing stars, she’d gotten what—a box of matches? Candles? Incense? Explosives? I dared not consider the possibilities.

“It smells like sulfur.” I eyed her critically. “Did you get a little visit from your pal Satan?”

“Anything to mask your stench, dweeb.”

I needed to find out what was in her bottom drawer. I was certain she’d already rifled through mine. I hoped she hadn’t discovered my iPod, though I imagined I’d have heard by now if she had.

I peeled off my coat and hung it up. Sliding the closet door shut, I spied a bit of charred paper in the trash can.

Was our Lilac a juvenile arsonist? Pyromaniac, perhaps? I only hoped she was well acquainted with the concept of impulse control.

As terrifying as the thought was, unless she’d managed to smuggle in a lighter, her gift from the vampires must involve some sort of incendiary device. I vowed to find out the first chance I got.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next several weeks passed quickly. Our training intensified as the effects of the blood began to take hold.

The drink heightened everything. My enhanced sense of smell especially freaked me out. It was as if I could smell the origins of things and not just the things themselves—like the scent of leather brought me back to the cow itself, to the grass it fed on, the field where it grazed.

My sense of myself in the world also became more acute. I was hyperaware of my feet connecting to the ground, mindful of the people around me, where they stood, and how far away.

Most startling of all was the power. We were all growing stronger, and our instructors thrashed those new muscles at every opportunity.

I’d never been so sore in all my life. But, oddly, sometimes the aches and pains were a plus. I loved plopping into bed, being so dead tired I fell asleep instantly.

Some nights the injuries were too bad to sleep. And God forbid the vamps let us have a bottle of Motrin. They claimed it messed too much with our blood. Instead, our instructors taught us stretches and acupressure points, and we were allowed to take all the ice we wanted from the freezer in the kitchenette. But bags of frozen peas only helped so much when your whole body rang with pain.

Add to that the fact that Lilac said some pretty weird shit in her sleep. Hearing your roommate murmur things like Burn, sunny, burn—whatever that meant—wasn’t exactly sleep inducing.

Those were the nights I snuck out my iPod. I’d wait for Lilac’s psycho sleep chatter to begin, and I’d dig out my treasures, cradling them like they were my blankie. I’d listen to music, regular music—alternative, soundtracks, eighties hits, whatever—and just that little bit of normalcy did a ton to alleviate the aches, fears, and uncertainty of the whole messed-up scene. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">