“We were saying hello to our new classmate, Penelope,” said Caleb. He was the least imposing of any of the male first-years I’d met, but the menace in his voice almost made up for that fact. He gestured in my direction. “Meet Damian… the Crow.”
“The… Crow? Oh to hell with that shit.” She spun on one heel and stalked back the way she had come, her snow-white hair fanning out prettily behind her. At the door, she paused to address the rest of the class over one shoulder. “I’m going to complain to the dean and my father, in that order. If anyone wants to lodge a similar complaint, they are more than welcome to join me.”
Apparently, I’d undersold my ability to clear a room. Within moments, I was the only one left. I picked up the class rosters from where they’d been dropped to the floor, glanced over the list of people I hadn’t yet met, and then carefully tore both sheets of paper into tiny pieces.
So far, superhero school sucked.
CHAPTER 15
None of the others were back by the time dinner rolled around. Not that I wanted to eat with them or anything, but I’d have at least learned whether Bard had shut their protests down or not. If they all got their parents involved… well, I was pretty sure the Academy would rather have twenty-four first-years and no Crow than one Crow and no first-years.
Regardless, even a Necromancer had to eat, and I decided to head for the cafeteria. Unfortunately, when I hit the common room, I found Olympia doing the same thing. She froze in her tracks, pale eyes wide.
Murderous, insane asshole Crow I might be, but one thing nobody would ever accuse me of being was a bully. I stopped a good distance away. “I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. I’m not going to hurt you… or anyone else. I just don’t like being called an asshole.”
“You’re a Crow,” she told me quietly. “Your kind always hurts people, sooner or later.”
“I’m here to prove otherwise.” And to not go insane… but that didn’t seem like the sort of thing that would help the conversation.
“Do whatever you want,” she said. “Just stay away from me, please.”
I choked down at least a half-dozen retorts and nodded. “I was going to the cafeteria to get something to eat, but if you’re heading there too, go ahead. I’ll wait. And don’t worry, I’ll eat at my own table.”
She studied my face—presumably to see if I was lying and would murder her as soon as she turned her back—and then nodded, crossing the common room as fast as her long legs could carry her. In a moment, she too was gone.
•—•—•
One good thing about the cafeteria was that it served all students, not just Capes-in-training. It was easy enough to lose myself in the hundreds of people, many of them practically bouncing off the walls with excitement at being away from home. None of them knew a damn thing about me, or who and what I was, and I had no difficulty finding a seat in the chaos.
The second good thing about the cafeteria was the food. The night before, they’d made me an actual sandwich, with real salami and everything. This time around, I had a bowl of stew, the meat in it recognizably something other than synth-protein or rat, and a tall glass of cool water that didn’t taste like it had been run through the recycler a dozen times.
It was good enough I went back for seconds. A few years of this and I might actually put on some weight for the first time ever.
Assuming the other first-years didn’t get me tossed out.
That was the sort of thought that could kill even my appetite. I nodded a goodbye to the normals I’d shared the table with, deposited my bowl and glass on the wheeled table reserved for dirty dishes, and trudged back towards the dorm.
The sun had fallen by then, but the lights streaming from the building told me that more first-years had arrived, or the original group had returned, or—most likely of all—some combination of both. I paused outside the door, took a breath, wrapped myself in a cloak of don’t-give-a-fuck, and entered the common room.
The conversation I’d been able to hear even from outside cut off instantly. There were a few new faces, but for the most part, I’d already met the people in the common room. They rose to their feet in silence, a dozen different faces made similar by hostility.
You know what? Fuck this being nice shit.
“Looks like we’re all still here,” I noted. “Sucks to be you.”
I picked my way through the field of Super-assholes-in-training, and made my way down the hall to my room. Behind me, the conversation started up again, this time with a fresh undercurrent of anger. I slid one hand into my pocket to touch the reassuring weight of the steak knife I’d stolen from the cafeteria. So far, other than the crying-to-the-dean bits, this was playing out an awful lot like a day at Mama Rawlins’. That meant I could expect some sort of attack as soon as the lights went out. I’d be ready.
A small voice at the back of my head reminded me that—not even six hours earlier—I’d taken the huge step of deciding I actually wanted to be a Cape. Stabbing fellow first-years didn’t really fit that mold, did it?
I told that little voice what it could do with its reminders. The other first-years had started it. Hell if I
