I paused on the landing. “This always wigs me out.”
Yasuo opened the heavy oak door, shooing me inside. “Nah. You just feel stressed because it’s time for you to feed.”
I put a hand on my belly. “I’m not that hungry.”
“No, Blondie. I mean feed. Your body has gotten used to the blood. It knows it’s time.”
I shuddered at the thought, even though I knew he was right. I found myself licking my split lip again, perceiving that metallic taste, this time in anticipation.
I felt Yasuo grow still, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. Can’t go there again. “Dude, I am so sorry.”
But this time he laughed it off, and when he noticed a table of fellow Trainees, he shot them an easy nod. They looked like a bunch of former Disney Channel stars—super attractive guys who seemed too old to be teens, yet not old enough to be men.
I spied Yasuo’s friend Josh and looked away, studiously avoiding eye contact. Josh had gotten a little flirty with me last semester, and I was not the girl guys flirted with, so of course I’d distrusted him immediately. I had yet to talk to him since Lilac disappeared, and you can bet I was going to postpone that encounter for as long as I could.
“You go play with the guys,” I told Yas. I’d spotted my Proctor, Amanda, anyway, and needed to find out where exactly a girl went to “attend” to a split lip.
“Will do.” He gave me a broad smile. “Later, Blondie.”
I caught Amanda’s eye, and she gestured to the empty seat beside her. I nodded but pointed to the salad bar line, mouthing, Food. Fresh produce was scarce on this isle, and unless you were a big turnip fan, you had to shovel something onto your tray before all the good stuff was taken.
I made my way to her table, my tray laden with a salad that looked alarmingly weedy for my tastes, a bowl of carrot soup, a big hunk of crusty bread, and, of course, the requisite glass of blood. It was chilled and the consistency of cough syrup, and it was blood for crissake, but you’d be surprised at how easily it went down, particularly when your body craved it as mine did now.
“Acari Drew.” Amanda shot me a wink, and something in my chest loosened. My Proctor was a statuesque black woman, with an open, heart-shaped face and shoulder-length dreadlocks, and even though she was seated and she was smiling, still she commanded respect. Though I hadn’t built up the courage to ask about her background, she struck me as far wiser than her twenty years would suggest.
I thought her the most fabulous person I’d ever met.
“Cheers, dolly,” she said in her thick Cockney accent. She scowled at my tray. “Mind the salad, aye? The greens are a bit turned.”
“Thanks.” I plopped in the chair beside her, happy that the table was still empty. It was the only reason she was being so friendly—she wouldn’t dare this sort of easy chatter in front of other Initiates, but ever since Ronan asked her to look out for me, she’d been startlingly warm.
In proof of my theory, another Initiate walked by, and Amanda sat a little straighter, making her features a little sterner. They shared a cool nod.
The girl passed, and though Amanda’s shoulders relaxed, when she spoke again, it was in a whisper meant for my ears alone. “How I’d love me a trip to the rub-a-dub right about now.”
I frowned, not sure what the hell she was talking about. “Is that, like, a London bathhouse or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Pub, Drew, a pub. Don’t be such a fookin’ Muppet.” Pulling her tray closer, she began to pick at a salad that looked more brown than green. “But, aw yeah, what I wouldn’t do for a pint and a packet of crisps.”
“Ohhh,” I said, getting it now. “That game’s easy. For me, it’d be a salad that didn’t suck, with feta and black olives maybe, and a vanilla shake from Mickey D’s.” Faced with her blank look, I clarified, “McDonald’s.”
She grimaced. “Salad and a shake? And don’t that defeat the purpose?”
I slathered some butter on my bread. “A girl needs her calcium, you know.”
“That tripe’s not real food.” She gave a toss to her dreads. “Disgusting.”
I gave her a shrug and a smile as I chewed a big mouthful of bread. It was still warm from the oven, and I had to hand it to the cooks—they didn’t get salads right, but they sure knew how to bake. I put my hand in front of my mouth and said, “Oh, but disgusting in the tastiest of ways.”
Her eyes went sharp, looking at my hand. “Talking while chewing, dolly? Don’t let the vamps see you do that. They’ll attach you to Master Dagursson’s side, where you’ll spend the next two months minding your manners.”
I swallowed and made a grumpy face. “Would someone please tell them this is the twenty-first century? And anyway, I think I already am signed up for that. It’s decorum for me all summer. Why I need to learn how to dance, and curtsy, and know the ins and outs of table seatings and settings for my upcoming mission is beyond me.”
“Don’t question.” Her succinct statement hung, and I wondered if she’d meant it to be as foreboding as it sounded.
I changed the subject, and fast. “Hey, speaking of disgusting, when do I get my next roommate?”
She shook her head, making an exasperated sound.