Isle of Night by Verónica Wolff Page A

gorgeous—what else?—but in a fierce, self-possessed way. Though she looked only about nineteen or twenty, something about her seemed much older. She wore a sort of catsuit in an austere navy color, instead of the gray Acari tunic. I knew without asking that I was looking at the uniform of an Initiate.
    â€œAmanda.” The warmth in Ronan’s voice made me do a double take. A spurt of irrational jealousy made my belly lurch, and I swallowed it down.
    â€œRonan,” she replied with humor in her voice. She turned her attention to me, studying me with a speculative tilt to her head. “This one of yours, then?” She spoke in a thick Cockney accent.
    I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Dreadlocks twined to her shoulders, but not in a Rasta way. It was more at tastefully bohemian, like a latter-day Lauryn Hill.
    â€œAye, one of mine,” Ronan said. “There are just two this time. I . . . lost one. During the Induction.”
    â€œLet me guess. This would be Annelise. Though you prefer Drew, don’t you?”
    I could only nod lamely, totally awed. Above and beyond her clothes and her hair, there was something in Amanda’s bearing that set her apart. Like she’d been tested and proven worthy. I saw it in her stature, in the steel of her dark eyes, and in the taut lines of her body visible beneath her clothing.
    Lilac appeared from nowhere, shouldering past me. “Hope you survive the night, Charity.”
    Her pack knocked me and I stumbled. I heard her trilling laugh, feeling my cheeks burn deep crimson.
    Amanda chuckled, a rich, throaty sound. “Don’t mind her, dolly. There’s a slag like that in every batch.”
    A laugh escaped me, like an awkward, relieved puff of air. Was this Proctor someone I could trust? I forced myself to remember I could trust no one. Least of all one of the Initiates the headmaster warned us about.
    But Ronan seemed to like her. And, not too long ago, she’d have been just like me—a clueless girl in one of those SUVs. I remained on guard, but let myself be cautiously optimistic.
    We watched Lilac prowl around the other girls like a lioness hunting for fresh meat.
    â€œWho’s she?” Amanda asked.
    â€œLilac.” I rolled my eyes to show how ridiculous I’d thought that name sounded.
    â€œVon Straubing?” The Proctor’s face was suddenly veiled. Even though this woman was a veritable stranger, I knew enough about body language to tell something was up.
    â€œWhat?” I demanded. I could tell she was wary of telling me something. “What is it?”
    â€œSorry, dolly. I’m afraid Lilac’s your roommate.”

CHAPTER TEN

    C racking the door, I braced myself. It wasn’t every day a girl got to bunk with her archenemy. If I hadn’t already decided to get the hell out at the first opportunity, the privilege of rooming with Lilac for the next year would’ve been enough to drive me to swim to the mainland. And that from a girl who didn’t know how.
    I pushed it open a bit more and shut my eyes in horror at the hideous creaking sound it made. Note to self: There’ll be no sneaking in and out of this room. On a sharp exhale, I shoved it open all the way.
    All my caution was for naught. Lilac hadn’t even been there yet.
    I stepped in and looked around at what I imagined resembled your average military-school dorm room—if you were in the Bavarian army. While regular kids in regular schools had things like Target bedspreads and Twilight posters, we’d been issued a bed on a simple, unpainted iron frame, a dresser that looked like it belonged in a monk’s cell, and a desk that I’d wager had been haphazardly hewn from a giant oak by someone short on time. A pile of blue-gray woolen blankets were folded atop white sheets. I didn’t need to feel either to know how coarse they were.
    I shrugged. At least we didn’t have to suffer bunk beds.
    I