Girl’s dead and buried, I reminded myself for the second time in less than an hour.
After London and Olympia came the rest of the first-years. The faces and names changed, but the reactions stayed the same. Apparently, getting the shit kicked out of me by Paladin hadn’t convinced anyone I was harmless.
Weird thing was, I could swear some of them were more scared of me than they had been. What was that about?
Only four exceptions to that; Orca, Alan Jackson, the Viking, and Silt. First two paid no attention to me at all, each walking by themselves, each wrapped up in their own shit. The Viking swaggered by, giving me a shit-eating, superior grin, as if he hadn’t been put down by Paladin just as hard as I had. And Silt…?
“Didn’t know a skinny guy like you had so much blood in him,” she told me in passing, her voice gruff. “Not sure they’re ever getting those stains out.”
She was gone before I could reply.
Last to leave—because of course he would be last—was Matthew Strich, not a bruise on him or a hair out of place to suggest that he’d fought both the Viking and me that morning. Like the other first-years, he went pale at the sight of me, but when I stepped in his path, those baby blues hardened. In the time it took me to take a step, he’d gone from post-meditation calm to fuck-you-up readiness.
Stalwarts… sometimes, I think they’re even crazier than Crows.
“Paladin.” It still wasn’t his name, not with the real Paladin still running around, but for at least one day, I figured I owed him that much respect.
“Crow.” His eyes stayed wary. “If this is about our match…”
“It is.” I felt the snarl forming on my face, but forced the words out anyway. “I wanted to thank you.”
For just a moment, his jaw stayed clenched. Then it dropped open. “Thank me? For what?!? Breaking every bone in your body?”
“For stopping when you did.” I hated saying that. Hated admitting it, even to myself. “The Healers say if you hadn’t, I would’ve died. Probably. I guess.” He didn’t say anything, and I watched his mouth swing shut again, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he was trying to chew through steel. I waited a moment longer and then shrugged. “Anyway, just wanted to say thanks.”
I was five feet away, headed for the slowly shrinking river of people, when he finally spoke. “I didn’t stop the match for you.”
I looked back, stone grey eyes meeting vid star blue.
“I stopped because you wouldn’t,” he continued, forcing the words out, “because I couldn’t figure out how to make you, and because that scared the hell out of me.” Those eyes hardened again, and it was like the moment of vulnerability had never happened. “Next time will be different.”
“Looking forward to it,” I lied.
“I guess we’ll see.” He brushed past me and was gone.
Looked like that whole arch-nemesis thing was still on after all.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 22
I don’t know what normal college is like, but the first week at the Academy is a shock to the system. Four-plus hours of powers classes every morning, then lunch, then regular classes, then homework, until your brain hurts just as much as your body. The only thing that makes it bearable is the weekend drawing closer and with it, that next chance to breathe.
By Thursday, most of us were feeling the strain. Three days of Control (two for those of us who missed Monday), a day of swinging sticks in Jessica Strich’s weapons class, more schoolwork than I knew what to do with, and we still had two full days to go before it was over. There were a lot of tired faces and slumped shoulders as we exited the cafeteria and headed off to the first class of the day.
Our destination might have had something to do with it. Nikolai’s concrete shithouse looked even more ominous than it had on Monday. Maybe because we all knew what was waiting for us inside. Three days later, I was still bruised and battered.
Down in the observation room, Nikolai was waiting for us, looming like a blocky, unfinished statue. He motioned us to the rows of benches set against the far wall, and waited until everyone was seated.
“You’re all still here. Good. Becoming a Cape takes many things; ability, intelligence, ambition, and even creativity. But most of all, it takes perseverance and dedication. All the talent in the world can’t teach heart. At least you have that much.” His deep voice filled the chamber. “Every year, this class begins with battle. Why?”
“Sadism?” That was Caleb. His broken nose had been healed, but the black eyes resulting from it hadn’t, making him look like a particularly feral breed of animal.
“Ha!” Nikolai shook his head. “Sadism would be letting you graduate untested, sending you off to join hero teams without knowing what it’s like to be beaten or bloodied. That was what this school did the first few years. Rainbows up every student’s ass, and a sequence of dance steps to be memorized. Step here. Dodge that. Strike there. And what happened when those newly graduated Capes found real battle?”
“They froze.” That was Paladin, up in the front and looking as fresh as he had before the school week started.
“Damn right they froze. They froze and they died. Worse, they got their teammates killed, veteran Capes relying on them to cover their backs.” This time, Nikolai’s head shake was sharp and savage. “Not all of you will stand on the front lines when you leave this school. But combat doesn’t obey rules, and it doesn’t play nice. Whether you’re a Healer or a Siren or a Gods-fucked Crow, you will someday find yourself in a position where you must fight. That is why I’m here.” Beady eyes sought out Olympia, one row in front of me. “That is why I will not accept excuses or cowardice. If you make it through the Academy,
