“My…oh.” That hadn’t been my punishment? I felt the blood leach from my head.
He laughed. “How you pale. You perhaps expect to be given some menial task? A beating maybe?” His eyes lasered into me, reading my reaction, which of course was pure fear.
Tasks and beatings. Yup, that about summed it up. “A little more ‘wisdom hammering’?” I tried to look blasé, but I feared my expression faltered.
He relaxed into the couch, smiling broadly. “I fear your headmaster expects something of the sort, yes. Claude is so very old-fashioned in some ways; yet he strives to be so modern in others. He thinks my habits are very medieval.”
“Well, you are actually medieval.” I bit my lip, making it sting. The thought had spilled from me before I considered it, and I hoped he wouldn’t take offense.
But Alcántara laughed, delighted. “Indeed,” he said, nodding and considering, “I am the Dark Ages become flesh.” He grew serious. “Call it what you like, but my philosophy is that a warrior should be rewarded for his—or her—blood thirst. And so brava, Acari, for almost getting the better of Guidon Masha. I assure you, it is she who will face the severest of my punishments.”
I was baffled. Then relieved.
“So…I did well? And it’s Masha…I mean, Guidon Masha who’s in trouble?”
“That is one way to express it.”
“Can the same go for Emma?” I’d been so desperately afraid of losing my friend, her situation was the first thing to pop into my head. But I regretted the words the moment they’d passed my lips.
His features hardened. “Do not try my patience. I have told you before, there is no such thing as a friend on this island. You are your only friend. And Acari Emma needs to learn to fight her own battles.”
That silenced me. I didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention on anyone—especially on Emma; more scrutiny was the last thing she needed.
I dipped my chin, discovering it wasn’t difficult to speak with deference when I was scared out of my wits. “Yes, Master Alcántara.”
He crossed an ankle onto his knee, casual once more. “Although I do have something I think might be some punishment for you. Or you will perceive it as such.”
I stiffened. Here it comes. The other shoe, dropping.
“You will be tutored. In German.”
But I was fluent. I’d read Faust and the complete works of Kafka in their original German. “You mean I’ll have to tutor it.” I’d put it as a statement, not a question.
“No,” he said with exaggerated patience. “We have an important task ahead of us, and your current knowledge will do you no good where we are going.”
That gave me pause. He was referring to our mission, off the island. I was dying to know about it.
“I need you to become conversant in modern business German and etiquette. When to say Du, to say Sie. How to bid farewell, or to moderate conflict. These are the things that will preserve you from the dangers of our mission.”
“I understand.” And I guess I did. I mean, danger was involved, and that was kind of exciting.
But then dread churned my belly. Because I knew who on this island spoke perfect German: Tracer Otto. “Who will tutor me?” I asked, while in my head I was devising ways I might respectfully protest the answer.
Only he didn’t say Tracer Otto. It was worse.
“One of the vampire Trainees will assist you. The Australian. Joshua.”
CHAPTER NINE
Josh? Former Lilac-flirt-buddy Josh? As in the guy who looked like a blond Aussie surfer boy but really was a Harvard smarty-pants and winner of my Most Likely to Be an Evil Supergenius Award? That Josh? Tutoring me, in German? What was with the boys’ club?
The news made me peevish and testy. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, I ended up avoiding the dining hall that night. Besides, after my lunchtime brawl, I wasn’t exactly eager to bump into any of the Initiates. I didn’t know if Alcántara had disciplined Masha yet or not, but I wasn’t about to be anywhere nearby when it went down. Put simply, unlike the intrepid Watcher I hoped one day to be, I chickened out and hid in my room for the rest of the day.
And so I went to bed feeling hungry. And angry. And vulnerable. And with a lot on my mind.
A lethal cocktail.
By the time I ran into the boys the next day, I’d worked myself into a lather, with a thing or two to get off my chest.