“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.