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.
My iPod also stored books—I kept dozens on the thing—and I was able to read and reread my favorites under the covers, pretending I was a regular girl in a regular dorm with a regular roommate.
I gradually got into a routine, and things started to feel fairly normal and uneventful. If uneventful meant finding a box of extralong matches, a gold Zippo, lighter fluid, and various other incendiaries in your roomie’s drawers, and normal was a word you could ascribe to a vampire-ambassador training academy-cum–charm school.
I headed to phenomena class, thinking just how much I was beginning to doubt the ambassador part of that equation. With all the brutal gym classes, I sensed that a Watcher was less an attaché than an agent in the 007 sense of the word.
I cringed, spotting a clique rounding the corner on the path ahead. Apparently, my hatred was strong enough that just thinking about Lilac summoned her out of thin air. She and one of her high-class gal pals were headed straight for me.
But they were with Josh.
They were looking cozy, too, him with an arm around each girl. Was he just being friendly? Didn’t he know they were evil incarnate? Who was flinging themselves at whom?
Rumor had it that he’d joked he’d eventually make his way through all the Acari. Yasuo couldn’t confirm it, so I didn’t give it much credit at the time, chalking it up to girls getting the hots for the cute Aussie.
But seeing him now, remembering how that naughty-boy leer had flickered in his eyes, I wouldn’t put it past him. I’d thought he was, I dunno, interested in me. But apparently, Josh was interested in everyone.
Disappointed, pissed, flattered, relieved . . . I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
Lilac’s laugh trilled across the quad. Either she was really amused by something he’d said, or she was just really working it. My money was on the latter.
Double-oh-seven indeed. Who better to be cast as Bond girls but Lilac and her sleek, slutty friends? Her crowd seemed especially interested in Josh, and I couldn’t figure out why. He was supposed to be a Harvard guy. What would a bunch of dimbulb girls see in him? I mean, Josh was cute, but so was pretty much every other guy on campus.
They got closer, and instead of making room on the path, I stood my ground, striding toward them with my head held high. I would not step aside for Lilac.
She and her friend glowered, but Josh greeted me with his usual wide smile. The glint in his eyes made him look like he had a secret.
He pulled away from the girls, moving to the side to let me pass. “Looking lovely today, Drew. ”
His voice was slow and intent, like there was some private subtext. And who knew? Maybe he was trying to communicate a message to me. Or maybe he was just flirting. Maybe this was how all guys acted.
Well, no, thank you.
I listened to Lilac’s laugh and Josh’s sexy Australian lilt fading in the distance. Theirs was effortless flirtation—something that was completely foreign to me.
I thought of decorum class, and how even that was difficult for me. Knowing when to smile coquettishly and when to avoid a man’s eye. When it was proper to stray from formal titles, when to serve soup and with which spoon. Charm, poise, courtesy . . .
I gave a little shudder. If there was one thing to clear Lilac and Josh from my mind, it was thoughts of Alrik’s decorum seminar. I’d hoped it’d teach me things like Martini Mixology or Baccarat 101, but I’d been sorely mistaken. Instead, we had to endure things like couples’ ballroom dancing. Ballroom, for God’s sake. I despised it, just as I’d known I would.
And the instructor, Master Alrik Dagursson?
Creepiest. Teacher. Ever.
He’d taught me three things thus far.
1. I hated couples dancing.
2. Some teachers were vampires.