Dark Craving: A Watchers Novella (2 page)

“I didn’t fail,” I said. I quickly regretted the hint of defensiveness in my tone. “That is to say, the candidate was no good.”

Dagursson’s pale eyes glimmered. “Self-justifying excuses are a failure for all of us.” He removed his hand from my shoulder, slicing me with a razor-sharp fingernail. “But I will allow you to prove yourself”—he dropped a file in my lap—“with this.”

“Alrik,” Alcántara said in a low, level voice. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten: Tracers are my concern.”

Dagursson’s withered features hardened into something even more grotesque. “You are the one who’s forgotten, Hugo. I am more senior than you.”

I made my face utterly still so as not to betray my complete fascination. I’d never seen a vampire pissing contest before.

Alcántara’s lips curled into a slow, considering smile. “You are older, it’s true,” he said in an oblique stab at the vampire’s looks. “But when it comes to the job of Tracer and Acari, I wonder if you are wiser. You see, Alrik, while you spend your time with your archaic investigations”—despite being a scholar in his own right, Alcántara waved his hand dismissively at this—“I am focused almost exclusively on cultivating what has grown into a magnificent student body. I would that you not doubt me, my recruits, or the instrument I’ve chosen to retrieve them.” He sat back then, feigning boredom. “Now perhaps you’ll leave me to return to these relevant day-to-day decisions, and you can go back to poring over all those old papers you so—”

“I am the keeper of more than mere
papers
,” Dagursson snapped. He glided to Alcántara’s desk and unrolled a scroll. The crackle of paper as thin as onionskin spoke to how ancient it was. I caught a glimpse of handwriting, a blurred and cramped antique scrawl filling the page. There were lines branching into more lines—a family tree. He traced a finger down to a point then pinned the Spaniard with unwavering eyes. “It’s time for the girl.”

Confusion dawned into angry realization on Alcántara’s face. “You wouldn’t,” he said sharply. “It’s too soon. She’s not ready.”

“Or perhaps you’re the one who’s not ready.” Dagursson stared at him for a long moment, impatience and challenge on his wizened face. “In fact, I believe you’re dismissed.”

“You can’t dismiss me from my own office,” Alcántara replied with quiet outrage.

I would’ve said the same. I’d thought the two vampires were peers, but this interaction told a very different story.

Alcántara scowled. Finally, in a voice like ice, he said, “As you wish, Alrik.” And then he excused himself. From his own office.

In all my time, I’d never seen such a thing.

Dagursson perched formally on the sofa where Alcántara had been lounging just a moment before. “You claim I can trust your competence, Tracer, but can you handle retrieving a third girl?”

“Three isn’t a problem,” I said cautiously. It was an effort not to steal a glance at the door. I was still processing what’d just happened, wondering at the secret intrigue playing out before my eyes.

“Is it something you do often?” He leaned in, peering closer. “Retrieve that many?”

Does he really not know how this works?

“I’ve collected as many as five at once.” I paused. There was a strange, taut feeling in the room, and it put me on guard. “Is there something more I should know?”

He met my question with another question. “What if one in your charge was too strong for your powers?”

An internal alarm went off, prickling the skin on the back of my neck. “That’s never happened. These are children we’re talking about.”

The old Viking shrugged disdainfully. “You, too, are a child.”

“I’m more powerful than that,” I said with quiet certainty. I stopped being a child the day I was abandoned on this rock at the age of twelve.

“We’ll see. This third girl is immature yet, but her strength might be more impressive than the norm. We must be cautious—none of us would be here had we not heeded every concern.”

We.
The Directorate.

“The file.” He motioned to the dossier in my lap. “Read it. I expect you to memorize it.” He gave me an impatient look. “
Now
, Tracer.”

It began ordinarily enough:

Annelise Regan Drew (age 17)

Height: 5’2”

Weight: 120 lbs. (est.)

Hair: Blond

Eyes: Blue

State of residence: Florida

Education: High School (graduated 3.5 years)

Employment: tutor (various), entrepreneur (unauthorized sale of academic work), Fuddruckers restaurant franchise (cashier, prep, counter)

A pert blonde appeared in my mind’s eye wearing a too-tight restaurant uniform, her skin taut and Florida-bronzed. “Americans,” I muttered, “and their fetish for the ridiculous.”

“Beware your preconceptions.” Dagursson rose and walked to the fireplace, standing before it with the precise, erect posture that’d made him a shoo-in for the island’s protocol and propriety classes. “I believe you’ll find this candidate defies expectations.” There was a glimmer of fang, a quick flash, part smile, part predatory anticipation.

Nodding, I turned my attention back to the file and reviewed details about her family—what few there were. “There are a lot of gaps,” I said, noting the extensive passages that’d been blacked out.

Robert Buck “Bucky” Drew

Relation: Father

Priors: Two counts Misdemeanor Battery, Felony Battery [no conviction], Domestic Battery, Domestic Battery against a minor)

Employment: Titan Parts (SSI Disability pending)

It looked like her father had been a cruel drunk—it was a typical enough profile among our candidates—but her mother defied categorization. In fact, her description hadn’t been much more than thick black lines obscuring biographical details.

{details redacted} Audunsson

Relation: Mother

{details redacted}

Employment: {redacted}

{redacted}

“It’s…unusual.” Generally these things read like police rap sheets, and yet the only person with any criminal history here was her father. “This is the candidate you thought might be too strong for me?” I asked in disbelief.

“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.