“If you have a point, speak it plainly,” Dagursson ordered, “before I dispense with you and send another Tracer in your stead.”
I gave an apologetic nod, too curious not to play along. “What I mean is, her environment and upbringing seem tough enough, but she’s not…” I struggled for the exact way to put it. “She doesn’t strike me as quite so hard-edged as our usual recruits. I mean, she spent”—I flipped back, finding the spot—“two years on her high school chess team.” About as far from our typical profile as you could get. “Are you certain she wouldn’t benefit from another year at home? We can arrange it so—”
“Young Tracer,” Dagursson interrupted. “Perhaps the question is, are you certain? I confess, she reminds me of your Charlotte.” He tsk-tsked in imitated sympathy.
Charlotte. Hearing the name was a punch in my gut. He thought this candidate was like my dead sister? I considered the details, and the two were nothing alike. Annelise was small and blond. Charlotte had been strong and dark. “I don’t see the similarities.”
He raised his brows, pointing to a note appended to the bottom of the page. “Perhaps not physically. But then there is the question of intellect…”
Psychogenic Profile
IQ classification: Superior
Cognitive, fluid, and standard intelligence quotient exams. (Deviation intelligence quotient and Stanford-Binet methodology.)
Subject’s estimated IQ range: 175-190
So Annelise Drew was smart.
Lottie had also been bright—brighter than bright. It’d been her downfall. Though she’d never had any formal testing, my sister was always asking questions, burning to know more. She remembered everything, putting pieces together in a way that I saw now would’ve been a threat to those in charge. Because she didn’t just want to learn everything, she wanted to challenge everything. Ceaselessly.
I schooled my features, imagining my cheeks were made of lead. My heart, too, was leaden. I must not lose focus. My wayward emotions had been what killed Lottie—I couldn’t let them be the death of me, too. I purged all feeling from my voice as I said, “I suppose this candidate does seem quite smart.”
“More than smart,” Dagursson replied curtly. “What I speak of goes beyond a superior intellect. There is also a certain…insolence.” He pursed his thin lips into a self-satisfied smirk. “Sarcasm. The word itself comes from the Greek sarkazein. Meaning ‘to tear flesh.’ Ironic, no?” With a wave of his hand, his face blanked once more into that gaunt, wrinkled mask. “Regardless, it’s a modern sensibility that must be purged. Your sister had it also. It’s why I’ve chosen you above the other Tracers. You, I believe, have the tools to manage her.”
I’d believed Charlotte had simply been killed, bested in the fighting ring by another Acari. But Dagursson’s implication was that more had been at work. It was too much to process, here, now, in front of this creature I so detested.
I needed to redirect. Suppressing my grief, I told him, “I will always remember my sister. But as I recall, we are speaking of this girl.” I was gripping her file so hard the blood had leached from my fingertips. “Who is decidedly not Charlotte.”
He gave a decisive clap to his hands. “And so you are right. It’s this Annelise who’s of special concern to us now.” He leaned forward, his voice taking on a hard edge. “There is no if with this child. Whatever it takes, you will bring her to us. No matter the cost.”
“Of course,” I said. Fuddruckers and chess club. Easy enough quarry.
“I fear you haven’t understood the full magnitude of this situation.” His round, glassy eyes narrowed on me. “You will approach this mission as though your life depended on it…because it does.” He spoke that last threat as though bored, and I knew his bored menace was what I should fear most.
I inclined my head gravely, speaking the words I knew he wanted to hear. “I won’t fail you.”
He waved this away impatiently. “Yes, yes, so I’ve heard. But Ronan? Simply retrieving her is not the end of it. Once Annelise Drew arrives, you will keep her alive.”
My response was instant. “You know that’s something I can’t guarantee.” Nothing on the island was a certainty, particularly not survival.
“Too true.” Dagursson frowned. Paused. “Just as we cannot guarantee the safety of your family.”
The pronouncement was Dagursson’s hidden blade, and I felt it slice through my belly. Family of mine…and he knew how to find them. I dared not believe it.
I must’ve schooled my expression too well because Dagursson was quick to add, “You don’t think I speak of your foster family, do you?” He sneered. “What need have we for a whisky-addled fisherman and a two-pence scullery? No, Tracer Ronan. I mean your blood kin.” He peered down at me. “I see the doubt in your eyes, but doubt not, boy. You have living relatives, and we know where they are.”
I dared not speak for the emotion clenching my throat. I didn’t even breathe. I had to hear more.
The Viking smiled magnanimously. When he spoke again, he softened his voice, the sound of gentle menace. “There are many who underestimate my studies”—he cut a look at Alcántara’s desk—“but it is only in knowledge that true power lies.”
“I have no doubt,” I managed. Just as I had no doubt this vampire knew the location and status of every relative and friend valued by each resident on this godforsaken isle.
I had no choice but to do as he asked. I’d retrieve their Acari prize. I’d keep this Annelise Drew alive.
Because if Dagursson knew how to find my family, it meant I could find them, too.
CHAPTER TWO
I’d memorized her file, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the real Annelise. For the uncertain way she entered the university registrar’s building and slipped into line. Her eyes skittered to mine then away again as quickly.
She was raw, an abraded nerve.
No, I told myself, she was just like anyone else. I was just seeking differences, my curiosity sparked by her status as Dagursson’s prize. To protect her above all else—I’d never had such an order.
She fidgeted. Chewed on a purple nail. Shoved a preposterous straw fedora low on her head. Insecure or merely impatient?
I sent the full force of my attention to her. My power pulsed outward, beckoning, but still I couldn’t catch her eye. A cold sweat broke along my brow, clammy in the overly air-conditioned building.
It was unexpected. Odd. Alarming, almost. Most of these teens were easily snared—especially with my powers. It was a talent I’d mastered long ago, having discovered at a young age that if I concentrated, if I peered deeply into someone’s eyes, I could convince anyone of anything. My touch was the most powerful of all; with the proper intent, my hands generated heat that, when directed to another’s mind, blanked it of all but my command. It was a rare gift and of particular value to the vampires.
Some called it hypnotism. Others, persuasion. I called it both blessing and curse, because how could trust exist between me and another person when there was such a thing between us? And so, for me, there had never been another person.
Except Charlotte, of course. There’d always been Charlotte. Though, at the time, I’d insisted she didn’t count as a real person—she was just my big sister. My pesky Lottie. She’d badgered me, and I’d teased her.
As I remembered Charlotte, a dark craving for revenge burned my throat, wavering my vision. I’d retrieve this girl. I’d do as Dagursson bid. And then I’d find my family.
Concentrating harder, I tried again to enthrall her. Usually my quarry was smoothly baited, reeled in like a fish on a hook. But not Annelise. When she finally snuck another glimpse at me, again she surprised me. While her gaze was arrested, it wasn’t by my face—that foolish, meaningless thing that had ensnared so many others. Rather, she was drawn to my arm. To the tattoo marking me: Le seul paradis c'est le paradis perdu.
While other recruits were bewitched by this sleepy, wanting expression I assumed—while trying neithe
r to laugh nor despise myself—Annelise was entranced by words, my words. Though not conceived by me, I’d claimed them all the same: The only paradise is paradise lost.
I was punished severely when the tattoo was first discovered. Alcántara, with his unrivalled taste for torture, had done the honors. But rather than bearing my punishment in pained silence, I’d fought a perverse the desire to smile because my mark was the thing that reminded me my body might’ve served others, but the innermost part of me, that was yet mine.
The queue in front of the registrar window slowly shrank until it was almost Annelise’s turn. For a flicker of a moment I almost felt sorry for her. She thought this would be her first day at university. She’d clawed her way free of her home life, graduating in January with plans to matriculate early to college. But I knew differently. The Directorate had ways of altering plans. A simple thing like university enrollment would pose no challenge. This university would refuse her, and once she left this campus, the next school she knew would be on a rock in the middle of the North Sea.
That or we’d both be dead.
And what if Dagursson’s fears proved true? What if she put up a fight? I could always force her to come with me. Other Tracers did.
I dismissed the thought. Even without the Viking’s orders to keep her safe, I found the use of force distasteful. It was why I’d so cultivated my talent—thanks to my persuasive powers, my job rarely degraded into coercion.
Would she come willingly? I considered her restless fingers. The way she crushed her hat low over that conspicuously blond hair. There was something in her—a challenge—that spoke of bravery. And yet I saw vulnerability, too, in the downward tilt of her chin.
Afraid, but not fearful.
Unexpected sensations pierced my chest. Sympathy. Curiosity. A hint of fellowship. I wasn’t prepared for it.
I hardened my heart.
She was on the Vampire Directorate list. It could’ve only meant she was as cold and ruthless as any of the other teens who found themselves on the Isle of Night.
It was her turn at the window. I read her expression as she heard the news. The vampires sabotaged her admission, just as they’d orchestrated her acceptance in the first place. Never ones to forsake a cruelly poetic gesture, the Directorate wanted the girl to come to them not merely crushed but destroyed. It was no more or less than the necessary kneading one might give a lump of clay.
But she didn’t fall apart at the news, and it surprised me. I’d seen so many others shriek and curse their fates—boys and girls alike—but not this Annelise. Instead, I watched as a strange transformation occurred. Somehow she stood taller, seemed older. I realized it was pride I was witnessing. Self-worth. Courage. Dignity.
I’d thought I knew this candidate, but I obviously hadn’t understood her depths, not truly. On the flight over, I’d prepared as I always did—reviewing photos, observing surveillance-camera footage, poring through medical records. This morning, I’d squinted at Annelise through binocular lenses. I knew her standardized test scores, middle school grade point average, and iPod playlist. Despite her petite stature and long, white-blond hair, it was clear she’d fashioned herself an outsider. Beyond this, however, I had no clue.
She stepped out of line, and I faded into the shadows. The next time she saw me would be in the parking lot, where I’d already disabled the engine of her Honda.
I’d budgeted sixty minutes to get her into my car. Sixty more to reach the airstrip by the appointed time. Two hours total in which to convince her.
I had my orders. There was no choice; she must come with me. I rolled my shoulders, already tasting the self-loathing that was the price of my persuasive talents.
Standing in the blazing sun of the car lot, I watched from afar, waiting while she struggled to turn the ignition. She scraped tears from her eyes, and the abrupt jerk of her wrist had me wondering if she was more angry than sad. I had to perceive the difference if I was to convince her. To charm her.
But still I waited. I gave it a good long time, too, knowing it’d surely reached over thirty-eight degrees Celsius in her rust bucket by now. She’d be ready for me.
I had this in the bag.
Finally, I approached. Leaning against the driver’s-side window, I peered down at her. She struck me as so small in the seat of that ancient car, but I forced away the thought, sending a blast of my power down instead, beckoning her, drawing her to me.
I flexed my outstretched arm, and though I’d cursed the Florida heat, it served me well now, dampening my shirt, making it cling in a way that’d served me well in the past. I gave her my most charming smile. “Trouble?”
But when her eyes flicked to me, they only skittered away again. And there it was, another deviation from the norm. It was in the set of her jaw, a fierce determination to overcome this obstacle as she’d stood up to so many others. She didn’t want my help. Didn’t want to need it.
Annelise had self-respect, and she clung to it. Clung to her goals. She wouldn’t be distracted by any pretty boy, no matter how intently I flexed.
“Lift the bonnet for me, aye?” I told her, but then I cursed myself the moment it was out of my mouth. I’d intended to express concern, but my words had come too softly. I had to be careful—the line between feigning sympathy and actually feeling it was a fine one.
She complied, finally, and opened the hood. But as I leaned over and studied the engine, I felt her studying me. Never had someone’s attention felt so heavy on my skin.
I fought to shake the feeling, making myself concentrate, instead, on my surroundings. This place was so repellent, so alien. The sun was relentless, beating at us from all around. The heat, claustrophobic and inescapable. And the smells…car exhaust, hot tarmac underfoot, and hanging over it all, a sultry Florida stench, thick and cloying like tropical fruit left to rot in the heat. Eyja næturinnar might’ve been a hostile, detestable place, but the air was clean, and when I surfed, the waves pummeled me in a way that felt as though they might purify my soul.
I realized I’d been frozen in place, leaning against the bloody hood. I knew damn well what was wrong with her car—I was the one who’d messed with the carburetor in the first place. But I just stood there, knowing her eyes were on me. Was I inviting her perusal? Was I that proud and idiotic?
Time to focus. For bloody real.
I stood, and sure enough, I spotted her blush, saw how her gaze pulled away but didn’t know where to land. She had been eyeing me.
I was in control again. Clapping the grease from my hands, I told her, “I think it’s your carb.”
Her smile was tentative, as if she was just practicing. “The only carb I know is the bagel I had for breakfast.”
It took me a moment to realize she’d made a joke. I’d been too distracted by the sound of her voice. Quiet, but husky, too. The richness of it was a startling contrast to her tiny figure.
A tight laugh escaped her. She held herself stiffly, as though she’d forgotten how to stand. I’d let the silence hang too long, and she’d mistaken my stare for something else. Criticism, maybe. I imagined she was well acquainted with the feeling.
“Kidding,” she said. “I know you meant carburetor. Internal combustion…” And then she muttered something more that I didn’t catch.
She looked stricken, uneasy in her own skin. She was so brittle. Achingly vulnerable. And so obviously lonely.
She wasn’t the sort of girl people would’ve sought out. For the first time, I saw what Dagursson had meant about the similarities between this girl and my sister. Both were too smart, too sensitive, too strange.
But unlike Charlotte, Annelise’s differences made her self-conscious. Like a creature incapable of camouflage, this girl would’ve remained an alien among her peers.
The other recruits on the Isle—female and male alike—would scent her weakness, and like a pack of jackals, they’d attack. She wouldn’t survive the week.
But I could protect her, I realized—just as Dagursso
n ordered.
I felt a shimmer of longing. I would protect her. I’d help her as I’d been unable to help my sister. Hope blurred my vision, so vividly it was like a physical thing in the air around me, flaring brighter and even more painful than the Florida sun.
I blinked it away. No. I needed distance and focus.
I’d protect her because it was my job. Because it was the only way I’d find my family.
I tuned out then. I pushed this person, Annelise, to the edge of my mind until she was just a shadow on my periphery, and only then did I go through the motions, exercising the mechanics of my charisma.
When she accepted a ride, I knew I had her.
Like all the other recruits, Annelise wouldn’t be missed. Nobody would notice she was gone, or if they did, they wouldn't care.
Still more thoughts to be quickly shoved away.
I’d gotten her into my car, and now I needed to get her onto the plane. As we cruised down the road, I amped up the charm. I reached for it, second nature by now, and power buzzed along my skin, vibrating toward her in the tiny cockpit of my sports car.
But my control shattered. The car swerved. I quickly recovered.
My own goddamned power had bounced back and slapped me.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. Bloody hell. Echoes of it rippled along my skin, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
She drew in a sharp breath, then whispered, “Oh God.”
She’d felt it, too.
Who was this girl? I needed to wrest control of this exchange before I turned off the road and drove us somewhere private so I could find out.
I needed to appeal to intellect, not emotion. I steeled my voice. “God, is it? Do you believe in God, Annelise?”
“Somebody had enough irony to pack 185 IQ points into a blond head,” she said without waiting a beat.
I shocked both of us when I laughed. Hard.
Such ease—it was foreign to me. Pleasant. But mostly it was dangerous.
Dark Craving_A Watchers Novella Page 2
