“Miss Aslanova, that’s impressive!” Professor Suarez hits a button, bringing the target closer to get a look at my shot placement. “That’s a solid cluster of shots for twenty-five meters.”
He’s a short man, but brawny with thick forearms and capable hands. I caught a glimpse once of his chest when his shirt gaped, he has six puckered scars on his chest. Bullet holes. He was a legendary sniper for the US Special Forces, I’m not quite sure how he ended up here.
His keen brown eyes examine the target as he pulls the empty clip out of my Glock and loads another one. Putting a fresh target sheet on the line, he sends it back down the range. “Let’s try thirty-five meters, concentrate on keeping that tight grouping.”
Going through my mantra again, I take the first shot. It’s wildly off the mark, but the next fourteen bullets all hit the target. Holding my breath, I wait for Suarez to bring the paper target in. He’s examining the shot pattern and whistles. “You really have had no training in firearms?”
Shrugging awkwardly, I can see other students cluster in to see the target. “No. I mean, my brother took me out for target practice a couple of times when I was younger, but…”
Nodding, he folds the paper target and hands it to me. “That’s worth pinning on your wall as a bragging point. Well done.”
Beaming, I feel ridiculously happy for something so small. But Professor Suarez rarely says “well done” to anyone.
“I want to try you on sniper rifles next,” he said. “On Monday, we’ll go through the various weapons and find one that suits you.”
“Thank you, Sir. I would like that,” I’m still grinning like an idiot. For the first time, I feel like I belong here.
Chapter Eight
In which Tatiana discovers the allure of the lighthouse.
Calum Scott, Tiesto - Dancing On My Own
Tatiana…
As a Russian, it is almost unseemly for me to feel optimism, but I do.
In most of my classes, I am catching up with the curriculum. I just passed my exam in Extortion with an A, which seemed to surprise my professor, since he went through it twice before handing it back to me with a sour "Congratulations."
My skill in marksmanship was not a fluke. Professor Suarez seemed to enjoy taking on the role of mentor for me, introducing me to some spectacular weaponry, like the Barrett M82 sniper rifle and the SAKO TRG 42. However, I was not prepared for the recoil and was now sporting yet another black eye from the scope smacking me painfully on my eyebrow.
"At least it's the other eye," Mariya's trying to cheer me up, "now your blunt force facial trauma is at least symmetrical."
"Thanks, bestie," I said dryly. I'm attempting to put some coverup on the bruising while she vigorously brushes my hair. "Why is it that we're going to the lighthouse? It looks like it's one good windstorm from crumbling and toppling over the cliff, crushing screaming students in its path."
“Because everyone is going tonight," she said, "two of the seniors, Louis and Marcel Fournier, are throwing a proper rave, with booze-"
"We can keep alcohol in our rooms and there's a full bar in the dining room," I remind her.
"Great music," Mariya continues, ignoring me, "their father owns nightclubs all over France and Italy, so the sound system they smuggled in is amazing. Plus, there's party favors." She winked at me, pulling half of my long and unmanageable hair up and leaving the rest down in waves.
"Not my thing," I say dismissively, "plus, it's against the rules and if I get kicked out of here, I won't have to worry about an unseen enemy, my brothers will kill me themselves."
Mariya's one of the few people who knows the real story of why I'm here. The Turgenevs and the Morozovs have aligned with my brothers, believing in this case that a threat against one of the Six Families could be a threat against all.
"You've been here a month," she reminds me, "and so far the only thing you've done is study and get beaten up a lot. Though when it's Lucca, you don't seem to mind as much, hmm?"
"If he can teach me enough to get Professor Zimmerman to keep me in his class, I don't care what he does to me," I said, pulling on a thick green cashmere sweater.
"Who does what to you?" Camilla comes into Mariya's bedroom where we're getting ready, "What did I miss?"
"Nothing!" I said.
"Lucca, and doing anything he wants," Mariya chirps happily.
"Details, s'il vous plaît?" Camilla urges, lounging on the bed. She's wearing an elegant combination of sleek black trousers and a blue silk top that's going to freeze her half to death in the November weather.
"Nothing," I repeat, exhausted with their endless questions about Lucca. "There's nothing to tell other than he's really helping me enough that there's the possibility that I might pass Zimmerman's test next week." They share a skeptical glance and it makes me cranky. "How are you two finding the time to socialize? How is this schedule not crushing you?"
"You get used to it," Camilla promises, "it does get harder though when they start the challenges."
"The what?" I croak, "It gets harder?"
"Don't scare her!" Mariya scolds her roommate, who shrugs. Even her shrug is elegant because the woman is quintessentially French. They haul me out of the building before I can ask any more questions.
There are other students winding through the boulders and small groves of trees on school grounds that lead to the lighthouse. The trees are stunted by the winds that tear across the flat island, but they're stubbornly clinging to the rocky soil. The memory of the towering pines that surround our estate in Vancouver makes me acutely homesick. Will I ever be able to go home again?
Mariya must sense my misery because she links her arm with mine, giving me a big grin. "Lighten up, you're going to have fun tonight."
To be fair, the Fournier brothers have done a spectacular job. Blue, yellow, and green lights blaze out from the cracks in the tower and if I didn't know I was partying in a fifty-foot-high deathtrap, it could be considered a proper rave. We hand over our money to go inside, and the glow from a huge bonfire competes with the cleverly arranged club-style lighting.
"Ladies," Marcel manages to leer equally at all of us, which is oddly gracious because I know he follows Camilla around like a lovesick puppy, "can I offer you anything special tonight?"
"Where's the bar?" Camilla is looking over his shoulder and I feel a twinge of sympathy at his obvious disappointment.
"Over by the stairs," he says, turning to meet the next group and take their money.
Other than a bottle or two of wine that I'd saved for my crying binges, I haven't had anything to drink here at the Academy. Navigating all the little dangerous currents I swim through every day is hard enough sober. Still... When Mariya hands me a cup of something purple, I take it.
It's just one night.
"Here are the hottest women on this island!" Aleks drapes his arms over my and Mariya's shoulders. He's clearly ahead of us in drink consumption.
"Thank you for your beer goggles assessment," I say dryly, but give him a squeeze anyway. Aleks may be one of the best students in the Leaders division, but he's still kind in a way most of the First-Born students are not.
"We are dancing!" Mariya shouts, draining her cup in three gulps. Knowing I'll likely regret this, I finish mine and let Aleks drag me into the writhing mass of bodies.
There are a lot of girls looking our way, and I laugh as he spins me around. "You have quite the fan base, my friend."
He glances over to a gawking cluster of Juniors and shakes his head. "I met someone in Europe last summer."
"She must really like you if she's willing to wait another ten months to see you," I said, "is she someone you could marry? I mean, your father hasn't arranged a marriage for you yet, so... possibly?"