Archer (not Archie). He’d mysteriously acquired a black eye since I’d met him at orientation.
Dani, the girl from the Dallas bus wearing handcuffs. She might have been pretty good, actually.
Priya, the cheerleader who couldn’t throw a punch to save her life.
Gage, the boy who hadn’t shot the target once and yelled at me on the obstacle course.
Hunter, his buddy, who had leered at me.
Andrew Dorsey, the boy who couldn’t work a spear.
Laila, the girl who gave me half her protein bar. She was tiny—barely five feet tall.
Zoe, the bored girl with perfect eyeliner who explained which teams were bad yesterday and now seemed horrified.
Madison St. John, who joined us by announcing she had “the fucking worst hangover.”
And Edan Pearce, the thief who threatened to vomit on me.
Patrick looked around as we formed, then across to the other American groups. They were cheering and slapping each other on the back. There was one team, all men, all white, who seemed exceptionally pleased with themselves. Another American team was also all men except for one woman—a tall girl with short hair.
“I think we’re the loser team,” Patrick said under his breath. He was obviously trying not to laugh.
“We’re the bad team, aren’t we?” Priya whispered.
“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” Zoe moaned.
“Shut up,” said Gage.
Patrick threw his head back with a laugh. “Team Loser, unite!”
I laughed. No one else looked amused.
Part Three
ENGAGE IN COMBAT AT YOUR OWN RISK
13
It was noon when we arrived in Paris. I didn’t sleep at all on the plane, but I felt wide awake, my stomach jumping around in anticipation.
We piled off the plane, and I followed the other recruits through the airport. Patrick fell into step beside me, covering his mouth as he yawned.
All the signs in the airport were in several different languages, including English. I saw three of the same sign as we walked to customs, like they really didn’t want people to miss it.
YOU ARE ENTERING A SCRAB HOT ZONE CITY
PLEASE BE ADVISED:
Scrabs usually attack in population-dense areas. This includes all tourist areas.
You will hear a rumbling noise about ten seconds before they appear.
If you see a scrab, find shelter until the police and/or the French National Guard arrive.
Engage in combat at your own risk.
People stared as we went through passport control. A couple in the EU line whispered to each other as they watched us line up, not even trying to hide their bafflement. Those expressions clearly said those people are crazy. I got the look several more times before I cleared customs.
The team leaders led us in the direction of something called RER, which ended up being a train.
“Thank god,” someone muttered from behind me. It was Edan, still looking a bit airsick and wearing his black leather jacket again. Like me, he only carried a small backpack. It occurred to me that maybe he wore the jacket because he had no place else to put it.
We got off at a crowded train station, only to be immediately led to the subway. The team leaders held their hands up in the air so we could see them.
“Off, recruits!” someone yelled as the subway came to a stop.
I stepped off the train and headed up the stairs behind Patrick. I caught a glimpse of the sky as we climbed. It was clear and blue, the sun shining, but it wasn’t nearly as hot as Dallas. The air was crisp and fresh instead of humid.
I took the last step and stopped. Cars buzzed by on the street, and a woman said, “Pardon,” as she stepped around me. I moved away from the subway exit.
A café with a red awning was directly in front of me, with chairs lined up on the sidewalk and a little round table between each of them. The chairs all faced out—at me—instead of at each other, and the two men sitting at a table stared at people as they walked by. The French weren’t subtle about their people watching, it seemed.
The streets were narrow and lined with cars, and I was surrounded by buildings, though they were only about six or seven stories high. Nothing like the tall buildings of Dallas and Atlanta.
There was a giant hole in the sidewalk on the other side of the road. It had been roped off, and I watched as two women walked around it, laughing and barely glancing at it.
No one in the area seemed particularly scared. I’d thought that perhaps everyone in Europe would be terrified, rushing from place to place and trying to get to higher ground as fast as possible. I’d heard that daily life was mostly the same here, but I hadn’t quite believed it.
“Clara.”
I turned at the sound of my name. Patrick pointed to where the other recruits were walking, following the team leaders.
“You OK?” he asked.
“It seems so normal, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t even know that there are thousands of scrabs here.”
He looked left and then right. “No. I guess you wouldn’t.”
“Ugh, this is the ugly part of Paris,” Madison said, walking past me. “It’s going to take us forever to get to the city center on the metro.”
I peered down the tree-lined street. This was the ugly part of Paris?
We turned a corner and trekked to the huge sports complex at the end of the road. Outdoor tracks, rugby fields, and tennis courts were visible as we approached. A group of about thirty people were on the rugby fields. They waved at us.
A man dressed in blue, the word POLICE printed across his back, approached Grayson. “Bonjour,” the policeman said. Grayson steered him in the direction of the rugby field.
“The French teams have already started training,” Julian explained. “And we’re coordinating with the French police. You’ll work with them soon.” He held the door open for us, his gaze catching on mine. My cheeks heated.
I quickly became fascinated with the ground. I could not form a crush on Julian. We were here to fight monsters, not date. He
