coincidence were minimal.
“Central didn’t sanction any operation on the West Coast in the last twenty-four hours, other than yours. But you know how it is,” he said apologetically, “that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t one, just that the cartel didn’t register the operation with Central. What was your briefing when you were sent out tonight, anyway?”
Mitsuru shrugged and brought her feet up onto the chair, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Recon and field analysis. Analytics knew about the pack, that they’d been hanging around the area recently, wanted to determine the extent of the problem.” Mitsuru shook her head, looking worried. “But they were wrong about the size of the pack, and they were wrong about why they were there. The Weir were supposed to be hunting.”
Alistair finished his whiskey, and then collected the glasses and made them disappear behind his desk.
“The Weir were waiting for that boy, Alistair,” she said, biting her thumbnail absently. “For him specifically. And they knew he’d come to that spot, too. They sat and waited for him, like they had an appointment.”
“Someone was running them,” he agreed. “They were probably running the kid somehow, too, if they were that confident that he’d show.”
“North’s cartel, then? Another Hegemony cartel? Do they even have those kinds of capabilities?”
“At this point, I’m not ruling out any possibility, Mitzi. But using a pack of Weir for a removal,” Alistair said, frowning, “that’s something that I’d expect the Witches to do. Anyway, there are quieter, more deniable ways to take out one kid, if that’s what the cartel wanted.”
“Is it actually possible this is a coincidence?”
Alistair shook his head.
“I doubt it.” Alistair got a headache, just thinking about it. “The analysts say it’s highly unlikely, and I sure don’t believe it.”
“Then what?”
“It wasn’t a hit, Mitzi,” Alistair said with a shrug.
“What?”
“The Weir were probably hired to hit the kid, don’t get me wrong,” Alistair said with a tired smile. “They aren’t clever enough to fake something like that. But, I don’t think that is what their client intended to happen at all. I think that they arranged the whole scenario to try and jar the boy’s talents into activation, probably in the most traumatic way possible. And if you hadn’t intervened…”
“Then they would have, whoever they are,” Mitsuru said, dully completing his sentence. “Either they anticipated my involvement, or they had someone else waiting in the wings, and hung back when they saw me.”
“Could be.” Alistair nodded thoughtfully. “But, North being there doesn’t necessarily mean he had any direct involvement in the attack. For all we know, the whole thing was a Black Sun operation, and North was keeping an eye on it, and took the opportunity to bail Central out when it arose. We don’t have enough data to say anything for certain about that yet. Maybe Gaul will get more out of him when he conducts the Inquiry.”
“Then, what now?”
Alistair’s grin was more genuine this time.
“Well, I’m going to need someone to keep an eye on the kid, for the time being. His name’s Alexander, by the way.”
Mitsuru’s face was a mixture of slow realization and dawning horror.
“Don’t worry,” he said comfortingly, reaching forward to pat her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be a great instructor.”
Seven
If there was one thing life had repeatedly taught Alex, it was the value of avoiding unnecessary confrontation. He didn’t like uniforms. But he started putting it on, anyway, because he didn’t see any other good options.
There were certain things in life that were going to happen — institutional life had taught him that. You would, for example, wear your uniform as directed. You would be in your cell by six. Lights would go out at nine. You would be up, dressed and bed made by eight the next morning. All of these things were going to happen, whether you felt like doing them or not. The only option that Alex had been offered was whether or not he would prefer to have his teeth kicked down his throat in the process.
And you’d have to be stupid to make a choice like that. They said this was a school, and that was fine. But, in Alex’s experience, school wasn’t so different from any other institution — with uniforms, rules, privileges, dormitories and grounds; there would be principals imparted and edges smoothed out. He’d been the target of such manufacture before, and he knew that he’d gain nothing by getting caught up in the gears.
Add to that, Alex thought, pulling on the button-up shirt awkwardly over the sheath of plastic that wrapped his injured forearm, the fact that Michael was one scary dude, smile or no. Alex didn’t really know that many black guys personally, but he didn’t think that made much of a difference, in this case. He’d never met anyone who looked like him, with the tattoos and the dreadlocks and then the suit, but apparently he worked as some kind of teacher.
Alex fumbled the top button on his collar into place, and then wondered if it was actually supposed to be that tight. Maybe guys usually left the top one undone? He couldn’t remember.
Michael seemed pretty friendly, and that was interesting on its own. Alex hadn’t met many people who didn’t despise him, and he wasn’t overly eager to make him angry. If he was going to be a part of this school, or whatever it was, then Michael seemed to be in a position to make it all go easier for Alex. No, he thought, wincing as he pulled on the tight slacks. There was no point in arguing with Michael. Alex was sure that he would lose, and he didn’t pick fights that he knew he would lose.
He would practice patience, he thought, tucking his shirt into his pants with his off-hand. He’d treat it the same way he’d handled guards, administrators, psychologists, teachers, all that noise — he’d smile when they expected smiles and he’d stay quiet when he could. Whenever possible, he would tell the truth, because lies were more complicated — telling lies meant being meticulous, consistent, remembering who’d been told what. It was a burden, at best; at worst, it could ruin whatever opportunities he might have here. That said, when he chose to speak, he’d try and make as sure as possible it was what they wanted to hear.
And the whole time, he’d be watching. Keeping careful track of everything they said and did. Observation was important. And he knew already that they’d misjudged him, and he’d helped it along a bit. He almost laughed then, as he tucked his feet into the leather shoes, because it was so clear that they didn’t get it — he didn’t lack social skills, not because he came from a town that openly despised him.
Not when it took extraordinary skills just to make it through the day. But, in a lot of ways, it might be better if they thought of him as a bit lost, a bit naive. It would make them more likely to help him, and Alex wanted their help, he wanted it very badly indeed.
Alex didn’t trust Michael, but he liked him, at least a little bit. Alex didn’t want to go to school, but the way he figured it, they’d make him go either way, at least for a few more years. And it couldn’t possibly be any worse than repeating his junior year.
Alex looked himself over in the mirror grimly. He looked battered, skinny, and the blazer and slacks felt unfamiliar and tight. It wasn’t, he thought, the presentation he’d like to make for his big introduction. He’d have to do his best, then, to avoid making those kinds of impressions.
Alex shrugged and walked out the door and into the hallway. He was so absorbed in trying to find his way to the downstairs lobby that he didn’t even notice when Michael started walking next to him, wearing that smile that Alex liked but didn’t trust one bit.
“You look uncomfortable, kid,” Michael said cheerfully. “Nervous about this whole thing?”
“Well, yeah,” Alex admitted, “who wouldn’t be? But I didn’t think that the school would have uniforms,” Alex said, gesturing at the blue blazer and slacks, “it seems kind of, I don’t know, weird. Like some prep school thing.”
Michael laughed and clapped Alex on the back.
“Don’t worry about it too much — you only have to wear it for lectures. The rest of the time, you can dress
