Bard’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Mr. Banach qualified for admission, just as you did.”
“Sure, but the rest of us aren’t gonna go nuts and murder our classmates, are we?”
I clenched my fists, listening to the knuckles crack and pop, as murmurs of agreement rose up from the other first-years.
Bard’s words were mild. “Mr. Thorsson, on the off-chance that your fellow first-years are unable to determine your power classification simply by looking at you, would you tell them what it is?”
The blonde kid rose to his feet. The seating made height difficult to judge, but I put him between six and a half and seven feet tall. He grinned easily, tossed his braids back, and flexed for the audience. “Titan. Strength, durability, and enough stamina to go all night long.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thorsson. Please return to your seat before your display of masculinity overwhelms us all.” Bard’s smile faded as he turned back to the rest of us. “Dozer. Steel. Jackhammer. Carnage. The Anvil. What do they all have in common?”
“They’re Black Hats,” said a small woman with dark hair near the front.
“Half the story, Ms. Mandelhoff. What is the other half?”
“They’re Titans.” I couldn’t see who made that comment, but Bard was nodding.
“Exactly. Every power group, from Titan to Stalwart and Flyboy to Jitterbug, has had its share of Black Hats. Many of those individuals have committed unspeakable atrocities. Should we deny all of you admission because of the actions of those villains who shared your power?”
A few—a very few—heads were nodding thoughtfully, but the tall, white-haired girl from the day before—Penelope-something-or-other—spoke up. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
“Are you sure, Ms. Von Pell?”
“I prefer Winter.” She rose without being asked. “You said something similar yesterday… that it’s not about the power, but instead the person who possesses that power. But that’s not really true, is it?” She ticked off names on long, slender fingers. “Atlas. Incredible Ivan. The Iron Giant. Dominion himself. All Titans. All Capes.”
“Are you certain you’re not making my point for me?” Bard asked.
“That’s just it,” she said, her voice sharp. “Every power has its share of Capes and Black Hats… except one. Where are the Crow heroes?”
Silence greeted her words, and I felt a few hard eyes turn in my direction.
“Perhaps,” Bard suggested gently, “you are now sitting with the first.”
Judging by the expressions of the other first-years, and even a few of the teachers on stage, not everyone shared Bard’s optimism.
•—•—•
Other questions quickly followed—most of them regarding basic information that had been covered in the Academy handbook—and then Bard provided a quick overview of what we could expect as students in the Academy. As first-years, our curriculum and schedules were set in stone; twenty weeks of introductory classes—Powers-related and otherwise—followed by mid-terms, a two week summer break, another twenty weeks of class and more exams. The school year ended in February with the Graduation Games and some sort of ultra-fancy Remembrance Day dance that a few of the first-year women were—impossibly enough—already excited about.
If we survived all of that and passed our exams—I didn’t miss Bard’s significant look in my direction on that last point—we’d be rewarded with another few weeks’ break and the opportunity to do the whole thing again as second-years.
I wanted to be a Cape. I really wanted to stay sane. But forty weeks of classes? Not to mention the tests? It’s like they were hoping I’d snap and murder someone.
That’s not foreshadowing, for those of you who are wondering.
Unless it is foreshadowing, and I’m just lying to you. It’s not like there’s much you could do about it, if so. Time travel’s not a power Dr. Nowhere felt fit to give us. Probably just as well, or someone would have used it to go back in time and kill his anonymous ass before this whole thing started.
By the time I’d finished freaking out about how much the next year was going to suck, Bard was introducing the instructors sitting behind him.
Isabel Ferra was tall, slender, and classically beautiful. For a lot of the other first-years, it was love at first sight, and her voice, melodic and smooth like some pre-Break jazz music, didn’t hurt. However, she was one of the academics who had visibly disagreed with Bard’s optimism regarding my future, so I hated her even before I found out she’d be teaching Ethics of Power.
My eyes were reserved for the woman next to her. Gabriella Stein was probably fifteen years older than Isabel, but barely looked it, with olive skin, sun-kissed golden hair, and curves that made me think of Alicia… or at least what Alicia might have grown up to be, had she gotten the chance. She introduced herself as Ms. Stein—meaning I still had a shot!—and would be teaching the classes on Control. Since I wasn’t even sure what my powers could do yet, let alone how to control them, I was looking forward to a healthy bit of… personal instruction.
Yeah, I know… laugh it up. I bet you were all morons when you were eighteen too. Those of you who lived that long anyway. The rest of you are probably thinking ew, girls! Get used to that thought, kids; I didn’t name myself Baron Boner just because it sounded cool.
No, I didn’t end up naming myself Baron Boner. But you get my point, right?
Next was Nikolai Tsarnaev, he of the lantern jaw, crewcut, and muscles that made our own Titan look practically malnourished. To nobody’s surprise, he’d be teaching Close Combat and Physical Education. I had him pegged as a sadist from the very first smile; a flash of teeth that was cold and mean.
Next was Amos Farshad, looking tiny next to Nikolai, his white hair and beard a sharp contrast to the deep brown of his heavily wrinkled skin. He would be our Professor of both Pre and
