Even though it was Judge who was speaking, I couldn’t drag my eyes from the vampire. Though I hadn’t seen clearly in the dark, I knew without a doubt it was him. The one from the path. I felt it in that penetrating gaze—in his very presence, an energy that hummed like a giant magnet.

“Without further ado”—Judge took a step back—“I present Master Alcántara.”

“Thank you, Tracer.” His eyes swept the room, and I could’ve sworn they came to rest back on me.

I sucked in a breath.

He gave a gracious half bow. Aimed in my direction. “I am Hugo De Rosas Alcántara.”

Hugo De Rosas Alcántara . . . it rolled off his tongue, low and accented, sounding as smoky and seductive as a snifter of Spanish brandy. Every female jaw in the classroom dropped open.

“I was born in the fourteenth century in Madrid.” He let the shocking statement hang, and a collective gasp filled the room. His response was a wolfish smile, curling one corner of his lips.

I felt Yasuo shift in his seat, maybe trying to catch my attention, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from the vampire. I was mesmerized. He looked like he was about nineteen, and I focused on that fact, ignoring his impossible-to-fathom real age, which must’ve been six hundred–something.

“My grandfather was one of the original Knights of Alcántara. A chivalric order of the Middle Ages.” Though unfamiliar to me, the way he’d said it implied something dark and dangerous. Sexy, even. Not unlike like him.

“But I was a precocious child. And a precocious boy yearns to make his own way.” He shook his head ruefully, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest.

His black hair was longish and wavy, and so thick it seemed permanently tousled. He raked a hand through it, leaving him looking like a rock star who’d just carelessly pulled a shirt over his head. “I forsook my family’s militant ways. The wars I longed for occurred in the space of my mind, waging battles of words, ideas. Of formulas and numbers.”

He began to stroll about the room, and his movements reminded me of a panther. Exquisite, but something that could kill you in a heartbeat.

“Mathematics is a particular passion of mine. It is precision. But it is poetry, too. I traveled to the royal court in Castile, seeking like minds. King Peter was young, like me. And, like me, he was a man smitten with new ideas. Soon I was appointed court mathematician. This was the greatest of honors, not given lightly by a man whom the peasants called Pedro el Cruel. . . .”

He stopped speaking, and it was like he’d become a thing carved of marble. Impossibly beautiful and utterly still.

My heart kicked up a beat. And then I worried, wondering if he could hear my heartbeat. Did vampires scent fear like other predators? Did a being like Master Alcántara perceive me as prey? To him, I was likely a brief flicker of consciousness and flesh that could be snuffed out in an instant.

He clicked out of his trance, his anima firing vitality back into those dark eyes. “But this is a story for another day. Today we speak of mathematics.”

His tone of voice had become light again. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped breathing.

“Some of you are quite familiar with mathematical concepts. Others, not as much. I ask that you all open your minds. Mathematics is all around you. The pattern of a poem, the shape of a leaf, your pop music . . .”

Master Alcántara strolled back to the front of the classroom, casually leaning against the top of the teacher’s desk. Was it a trick that made it seem like his eyes were aimed straight at me?

My cheeks burned. Why did he stare at me as he mentioned music? I hoped mind-reading vampires were just the stuff of books, and that he didn’t, in fact, know about my hidden iPod.

“You’ve become acquainted with crude infiltration and reconnaissance techniques—locks, wiretaps, hacking. Now, tell me: In what way can the most basic mathematic principles be applied to espionage?”

His eyes didn’t waver from me. But there were other kids in the class. He was staring at me—I was sure of it now. But why?

Everyone else was silent. Were they looking at me, too? Was the question directed at me? I couldn’t tell—nor could I bring myself to look away.

“Acari Drew, is it?” Master Alcántara gave me a half-lidded smile. “A spirited name. I like spirit. Tell me, Acari Drew, do you need to decline the question?”

My eyes felt locked to his. Like he’d hypnotized me.

“Yo, D.” Yasuo’s voice was a harsh whisper at my left side.

Tracer Judge cleared his throat. “Drew?”

The interruption broke the moment, jolting me back to myself. “Um, yeah. I mean, no. I can answer it.”

I rocked at math. Only I was acting like a girl who hadn’t studied her times tables. I forced myself to focus.

“Sorry. A way math could be used for surveillance . . .” I shifted in my seat, feeling pinned like a butterfly in a glass case. My words came out in a rush. “Well, a mathematician could use graph theory. For example, you could apply a mathematical structure to phone records in order to determine enemy cells. Like, if each node represented a caller, and you graphed it out, you could identify central players, hierarchies—that kind of thing.”

“Very nice.” Master Alcántara’s eyes grew warm, lingering on me. I found myself uncomfortably aroused. A fly drawn to the deadly spider. “This sort of critical thinking”—he gave me a courtly nod, and I thought I might catch fire—“reflects an understanding of how the basic elements of learning become relevant in the world at large.”

He expanded on the thought, but all I heard was blah, blah, blah, because he’d enthralled me. Like a snake charmer. And he still seemed to be staring. At me. Even now, I felt that glinting gaze like a buzz on my skin.

“And it’s precisely the sort of thinking that will earn top honors and this semester’s Directorate Award.”

Finally, he glanced away. At the word award, I sat bolt upright. They gave out awards here? I wondered if I could win myself a single room.

“As you know, only an elite selection of young women will advance to the next stage of Watcher training.” Master Alcántara scanned the room intently. “What you don’t know is that the top Acari will earn the privilege of shadowing me at the end of this semester. On a mission off-island.”

There was a collective gasp among the girls, while the low hum of guys’ complaints rumbled through the room. An award available only to the female students, and the prize was a ticket off the island.

“To determine this semester’s winner, there will be a test in one of the four disciplines. A challenge. Participation is voluntary, though we would expect any Acari with an ambition toward becoming a Watcher would choose to compete.”

A bright light flared to life inside me. You bet I was going to compete. I’d spent the last twelve-plus years at the top of my class. I could win the award, win a shot at traveling off this rock. I didn’t know what was more appealing—shadowing Master Alcántara or a chance at escape.

I’d win, spend some time with an ancient mathematician—a prospect chilling but oddly seductive, too—and then I’d find a way to run away. I didn’t know where precisely off-island was, but surely I could sneak out and find a boat. I could make a break for it.

He smiled then, wickedly. “But Acari should strive to be the best in every discipline, be it languages or fitness or the social arts. And so we will not disclose the test subject until the semester draws to an end.”

My bright light wavered. A test in fitness? Social arts? Crap.

I stole a quick look at the rows behind me. Only Acari were eligible, so my gaze skipped over the boys, weighing my female competition. There was the leggy Valkyrie who always gave Master Dagursson a run for his money on the dance floor. The gang girls who fought dirty, and the butch ones who didn’t need to. There was Lilac.

Every one of them was stronger than me in the other subjects. But nobody could beat me in academics.

Did that mean I was a shoo-in? Surely they wouldn’t choose a nonsense class for the test. How would you compete in social graces, anyway? No, it was sure to be something like phenomena. A topic in algebra, maybe. Or an essay test. Like, on Norse mythology.

“She who accomplishes these things shall find herself rewarded in a manner heretofore unfathomed.” He seemed to direct the words at me, his eyes pinned once more on me. They glimmered, like he was a predator toying with dinner.

A thrill crackled through me, sweeping across my chest. Never had being good at school entailed the possibility of unfathomably awesome rewards. The thought of what that might even mean made my breath catch in my throat.

The combat, the stupid ballroom dancing—I vowed I would find a way to excel at all of it. Even so, I suspected that surely the challenge would be in an academic discipline.

I looked up and he was still watching me, almost expectantly. I shivered. Could he read my mind? Was he confirming my thoughts?

Anything was possible. Master Alcántara was a mystery, a myth come to life. Ageless. Unknowable. Terrifying. There was something in his gaze. A look implying we shared a secret I’d yet to uncover. It gave me hope.

And then poof—he was gone. There was a glimmering movement and then Master Alcántara simply vanished. It looked like a movie that’d been edited wrong: In one frame he flickered before us; in the next he didn’t.

Voices hummed through the room, and Tracer Judge silenced us. “You heard Master Alcántara. That means tonight’s homework, like every assignment you receive, demands your best effort.”

I finally caught Yasuo’s eye, and he oohed and wriggled his fingers in a playful spooky-voodoo way. I gave him a big smile, excited about my prospects.

There was fresh grumbling as talk of schoolwork brought us back to so-called reality. “I know this problem set will be difficult for some of you,” Judge added, raising his voice over the din. “Which is why it’s more important than ever to show your work. These are very basic proofs. You can work through them, and I want to see your thought process as you do.”

More like he wanted to make sure girls weren’t cheating.

The moment he dismissed us, students bolted from the room. Some seemed upset. Basic tenth-grade geometry would be hard for many of them, I realized.

I bit back a smile. I’d been taking my knowledge for granted, expending my energy feeling sorry for myself about gym class and swimming, but I had a leg up on everyone. I could recite geometry postulates in my sleep. Maybe Alcántara’s test would be a complicated theorem.

And that had to be a lot harder than learning how to dogpaddle.

I wanted that award. And it was within my reach. I just needed to buck up and learn to swim or fight or do however many pull-ups it took to stay alive till the end of the semester.

I felt a person hovering over me and looked up to see Yasuo’s bemused face.

“Well?” He stood there, brows raised, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Girl, don’t tell me that vampire dude hypnotized you like he did everyone else.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but floundered for words.

“Aww, hell, Drew. Seriously? Man, I can’t wait till I get my vampire mojo.” He spread his hands as though reveling in his own epic coolness. “Just wait. The ladies will love them some Vampire Yasuo.”

I laughed. “They won’t know what hit them.”

He grabbed my coat and messenger bag from the back of my chair. “Come on. Are you gonna sit there all day? I’m starved. I want to get to the dining hall before all the good stuff is gone.”

“If you consumed something beyond bread, butter, and Fruit Crush—whatever that is—maybe you wouldn’t have such a hard time.” Standing, I snagged my stuff from him, but didn’t put on my coat. “You go ahead. Tracer Judge said he’d stay after.”

And I thought it was just as well, too. Yasuo would probably sit with Josh, and after running into him and Lilac, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to chitchat over cafeteria lasagna.

“You’re missing lunch to work on that computer thing? You are such a dweeb, Drew. Didn’t anyone tell you that blondes were supposed to be, I don’t know, perkier or something?”

“Do not start on the blond thing, or I won’t help you with tonight’s proof.”

“Oh!” His hands clutched his breast like he’d been stabbed. “Whatever, Geek Girl. Just hurry up, okay?”

He headed for the door, but I stopped him. I knew I probably wouldn’t make lunch, but there was no way I’d miss my favorite dessert. “Hey, if they have that shortbread stuff—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll save you some.” Yasuo shot me one of those careless-boy nods as he loped out.

Tracer Judge stood by the doorway, looking eager to shoo people through. Spotting me, he asked, “Did you need something?” He sounded agitated, which was completely unlike him.

Maybe today wasn’t the best day to stay after. Or maybe he just forgot. My heart fell, thinking I might have to dine with Josh and his pals after all. I slowly shouldered into my coat, not sure how to play it.

He sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Ohh, right. I was going to . . .”

“Teach me how to do that Linux hack.” I gave him a hopeful smile.

“I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. We’ll need to—”

Footsteps called our attention to the hallway. My Proctor, Amanda, stood there, frozen. Her eyes went from me to Judge and back again. Despite her pinched brow, she was as stunning as ever, statuesque in a fitted wool coat, her skin shining like a dark, burnished stone.

“Cheers.” She gave me a tight smile. “Lunchtime, then. Isn’t it, dolly?” Her tone was light, but she seemed as preoccupied as Tracer Judge.

I didn’t know what, if anything, was going on between these two, but I could take a hint. And the hint was No Drews allowed.

“You know”—I swung my bag over my shoulder—“I need to take a rain check on the programming thing. I totally forgot . . . I promised . . . I’m meeting someone for lunch. I heard it’s pasta day in the dining hall.”

A lame excuse lamely delivered, but from the relieved looks on their faces, it worked. I jogged to find Yasuo, then bounded down the stairs, keeping one eye glued warily on the path. I was still getting used to this cold-weather stuff, and didn’t want to wipe out on any black ice. “Hey! Yas!”

He stopped, greeting me with a quizzical look. “What happened?”

“Well . . .” I hedged.

“He forgot, didn’t he?”

“Something like that.” I actually sensed it was something like that and more, but in my short time on the isle, Amanda and Judge had both shown me moments of kindness, and I wouldn’t speculate about things that weren’t my business.

“Sorry, Nerd Bird. You’ll get your moment. Wouldn’t want to look too much like teacher’s pet in the first semester, anyhow.” Yasuo’s smile made the nickname affectionate, not an insult. He gave my shoulder a squeeze, and we strolled on toward the cafeteria in an easy, companionable way. “How’d a blondie like you get so dweeby, anyway?”

“Me? How about you? What’s your deal, Yas? I mean, you seem pretty nice. How’d you end up here?”

“You mean, how’d a nice guy like me end up in a coven of ancient, bloodthirsty vampires like this?”

I chuckled. “Precisely like that.”

“Let’s see. Here are the headlines: Mother Kidnaps Infant Son, Flees Yakuza Lover for America.”

I halted, stunned. It was the last thing I’d expected to hear. “Jeez. The Yakuza? That’s like the Japanese mafia, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s them. And the concept of son can be kind of a big deal. My biological father flipped when my mom left.”

“What happened?”

“We hid. I grew up. He eventually found us.” He forced a half hearted laugh. “I blame the Internet.”

There was obviously much more to the story. My voice was subdued as I pressed for more details. “And?”

Shutting his eyes, he took a shuddering inhale. “He killed my mother. And then I killed him.”

In that instant, I saw the great darkness that flowed beneath Yasuo’s smiling demeanor. He cleared his voice, and with it, the shadows cleared from his brow. “Next thing I knew, I was in a town car headed to an L.A. airstrip.”

“The vampires?”

“Yeah, a Tracer named Gunnar found me.” He shrugged. “I was curious. I had nothing left. It was either stay and face my uncle and his minions, or this.” We’d reached the dining hall and he gestured toward it. “This seemed the lesser of two evils, believe me.”

“Oh, crap,” I whispered. Ronan, standing on the stairs ahead of us.

“What is it?” Yas asked, immediately on guard.

I studied Ronan. We were supposed to meet at the pool later, but there he stood, holding a big box, looking very stern. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls. . . .”

“Uhh . . . what?”

“It tolls for me.”

“Are you, like, speaking in tongues or something?”

“No.” I sighed. “Nothing. Go on in, Yas. I’ll see you in there.”

I approached Ronan, alarms shrieking in the back of my mind. I looked skeptically at the parcel in his hands. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you.” He handed it to me. It was heavy and awkward, and my muscles flexed when I took it from him. “It’s your wet suit.”