Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(57)
I sit at the same table as the skinny girl. Maybe because I feel sorry for her. Or maybe I simply feel safer with her. She’s hardly a threat with her broken face and slight body tucked in on itself. I can smell the coppery scent of her blood. It’s a hard reminder of where I am and what can happen if I drop my guard. Of what can happen even if I don’t.
Another girl joins us at the round table. She moves with an inherent grace, holding her elegant, well-shaped limbs close to her body. Her dark hair gleams blue-black. The only thing darker is her gaze. Her black eyes watch me warily, eyeing my neck.
The four remaining girls sit at a neighboring table. The one who beat up Skinny crosses sinewy arms over her chest and assesses all of us with supreme confidence. Blood stains the front of her shirt, and it looks somehow right on her. Her face is horribly broken out with acne and pitted with old blemish scars. She bears no imprint. As though aware of this—and it’s some manner of shortcoming that marks her as soft—her stare passes between me and the other imprinted girl at her table, a redhead who busies herself by chewing on her thumbnail.
The redhead’s green eyes glitter in an unnerving manner, reminding me of an animal that’s ready to bite the first person who tries to touch her. I cross my arms, my hands chafing over my skin.
“The seven of you will sleep on this floor. The boys are quartered in the west wing. Every night, your doors will automatically lock, every morning they will unlock.”
I glance at my hands, thinking locked doors aren’t a bad thing among this bunch. I might actually get some sleep.
“Let’s begin with introductions, shall we?” The guard opens her first file. “Zoe Parker. Florida State Soccer Champion two years in a row. Midfielder.” She nods and glances at the redhead approvingly. The girl drops her thumb from her lips and lifts that wild green gaze to the guard. “That takes stamina. Impressive.”
She moves on to the next file. “Amira Bustros.” The girl with the ink-dark eyes beside me stiffens and slides her gaze to the woman fearfully. “You’re first-generation American. Your parents are from Lebanon. You speak fluent Arabic.” She continues nodding. “Useful.”
She flips open another folder and nods to the most petite member of the group. “Moving on. Marilee Davison. You’re a gymnast. Been training since age three.”
That would explain her tiny stature. She must be older, but she looks like a twelve-year-old.
“I was a gymnast.” Marilee juts her chin out defiantly. Her squeaky, girl-like voice makes me wonder if maybe she isn’t closer to eight.
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that,” the woman answers vaguely. “Your background will come in handy.”
“Davina Hamilton.” Her eyes scan my file. I wait, every muscle inside me pulling tight. “Piano, violin, guitar, and voice. Accepted into Juilliard. Very nice.”
I don’t waste my breath reminding her that that’s all in the past. Accepted and then rejected. But she knows as much. I’m here, after all.
The girl who beat up Skinny snorts and mutters beneath her breath, “A freakin’ Mary Poppins. Maybe she’ll sing for us.”
I shoot her a look. She holds my gaze, her thick forearms tightening across her chest. The woman continues down the list and I return my attention to her. Skinny’s name is Sabine Stoger. She moved here as an infant from Austria and speaks both German and French. Sofia Valdez is from Texas and speaks Spanish. Clearly being proficient in a language is an asset to them here.
The last name on the list is the stocky girl who attacked Sabine. Addy Hawkins, a track-and-field star. She preens as her qualifications are read, staring at each of us in a way that declares she is the strongest, the best: “Addy the Awesome and Terrible.” In case pounding Sabine hadn’t illustrated that.
Apparently, she jumps a mean high bar and throws the javelin. She qualified for the US Olympic team in both events before she was detected as a carrier. I shiver, imagining her throwing that spear. Only I don’t see her throwing it into the ground. I see her impaling someone with it.
“My name is Dusty,” the woman announces as she closes the last file.
“Dusty?” Addy snorts.
Dusty stares at her coolly before continuing. “I’m in charge of you seven while you’re all here. You’ve been selected because you possess special talents. You’ll be expected to cultivate these strengths and add other skills to your repertoire. If you’re not already bilingual, you will be expected to learn an additional language. If you’re in poor physical condition, consider that temporary. You will become a perfect specimen by the end of your stay here. If you can’t fight with any finesse, you will.” Her gaze sweeps over each of us, letting these words sink in. “Your DNA already tells us you can kill, but to succeed here you must become controlled, you must master your baser impulses and serve a purpose that is higher than yourself. We’ve assembled a staff to help you reach this goal.”
No one breathes. I stare at this woman. She’s more than a guard, I recognize that at once. Suddenly, I see her as some kind of Yoda figure, offering hope.
She removes several sheets of paper from her clipboard and hands them to us. “These are your schedules. Memorize them. There is no excuse for tardiness. We expect total obedience or you will be ejected from Mount Haven.”
I sense Amira tense beside me. It’s a fate I don’t want to face, either.
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