That pretty much eliminated everything the Bakersfield shrink had bothered with. “So what will you be doing?”
“Listening without judgement. Offering advice should you want it.”
My scowl deepened. “Aren’t you supposed to decide whether I’m batshit crazy or not?”
“Is that something you would like me to do?”
“It’s what Bard said this whole thing was about.”
“I’m well aware of the dean’s thoughts.” She regarded me steadily, as still as a painting, and somehow pretty without being at all attractive. “However, he isn’t my patient. I’m asking what it is you want.”
After a long moment, I shrugged. “To stay sane.”
“And if that’s not possible?” I’d been in the office for minutes now, and she hadn’t blinked once.
“Then I want someone to recognize it, and to stop me if…”
I didn’t finish the sentence, but she nodded as if I had. “I can do that.”
“Cool.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat and shrugged again. “So what now?”
“Now, you take a seat.” She motioned to the couch. “You can stand if you’d rather, but after your first week at the Academy, I imagine you’re even more exhausted than you look.” She waited as I collapsed onto the couch. “Great. Now… just talk.”
“About what?”
“Your classes, your fellow first-years, what you think of the city. Anything.”
“Seriously?” This was so different from my Bakersfield shrink experience that I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Seriously. It’s the talking that matters, not the subject. Silent, brooding guys make for great vid stars and reasonably good one-night-stands, but in real life, they’re right there with the humorless assholes, waiting in line for their nervous breakdowns and prescription of crazy pills.” Her black eyes met mine from across the room. “Just talk, Damian. We’ll see how things go from there.”
So I told her about Ethics class. Kind of funny; complaining about a teacher who saw everything as black and white to a woman who fit that same color scheme.
Probably should’ve made a joke out of it.
I’m pretty sure Alexa would’ve even smiled.
CHAPTER 25
In Bakersfield, winter stays late and summer comes early, meaning spring barely qualifies as a season. Hell, some years, it doesn’t even qualify as a week; a few days of pleasant sunshine before the stifling heat comes rolling in to take up residence for the next four months, cooking vegetation and people alike until people are so fucked up they find themselves actually missing the fog.
Dad wanting to move to Bakersfield should have been Mom’s first clue the asshole had gone nuts.
Los Angeles was different. Different when I’d arrived in early March, different in April and still different as we pushed into mid-May. Cool breezes blowing in from the ocean I’d only seen on that first trip into town. Temperatures hovering around the mid-seventies. Women in tank tops and mini-skirts or shorts, hanging around outside instead of scurrying for climate-controlled buildings. One hill just past the Graduation Games field had been converted into an impromptu “beach.” Green grass instead of sand, but plenty of men and women in practically nothing, getting some sun, listening to music on their Glasses, and generally having a grand fucking time.
I almost wished the Academy was located in a place like Bakersfield. At least then, everyone would have been as miserable as us first-years. Eight hours of classes a day, plus homework and meals, didn’t leave much time for relaxation. Or fun.
It didn’t help that the Control classroom had floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, or that Ms. Stein had us facing those windows during our daily exercises. I think she wanted us to feel like we were part of the world or nature or some sort of peace and balance shit, but all it meant to me was that I got to see what I was missing.
It also didn’t help that, after two months of school, I still didn’t have the faintest clue what my powers did, how to use them, or what exactly I was supposed to be learning to control. Other than my one fight against Paladin—which I was starting to think had been the result of a concussion rather than any kamikaze Crow abilities—the only evidence that I was a Necromancer at all was Mom’s ghost… and nobody could see her other than me.
I swallowed a sigh and tried to regulate my breathing. Again.
Our class was split between two studios, each equipped with dampeners similar to those in Nikolai’s pit. These dampeners were dialed down to be less restrictive, allowing the first-years with external powers to manifest their abilities without accidentally killing us all. Having half the class in a separate room, even if that room was only one door away, had its pluses and minuses. On the positive side, the wall between the two rooms muffled Tessa’s constant bitching and kept us from getting frostbite from Winter’s miniature ice storms. On the less positive side, they’d split up our Stalwarts and our Pyros, and the other room got both Orca and London—the two hottest women in our class, as far as I was concerned—leaving us Paladin and Ishmae.
Fucking Paladin. If anything was going to drive me crazy, it would be his constant presence. With a passive power set, he didn’t have much to do in Control class, but seemed content to meditate the hours away, back straight and arms placed just right, no trace of irritation, impatience, or humanity disturbing his perfectly composed expression. In the other room, Orca was no doubt doing the exact same bit of nothing…
