“What the fuck is your problem?” I took two steps toward her, and this time, she did flinch. “Since the day I arrived, you’ve been pissing yourself every time we were even in the same room. Did we know each other in a past life or something? Or did your parents just not love you enough?”
She went bone-white, all the blood draining from her face, spun on one heeled foot, and fled the clearing. Just like that, the natural order of things had been restored.
Or it would’ve been, if London hadn’t stepped forward instead. Like Olympia, she was all in black. Unlike Olympia, there was no fear whatsoever in her eyes.
“Fuck you, you asshole!”
“Your Lightbringer friend just told me she wished I had died, and I’m the asshole?”
“The asshole who brought up her family!”
What the hell did that even mean?
“Spectra’s family were killed in Reno,” said Santiago, strategically located near London, per usual. “Both parents and a little sister. Any surprise she’s scared of Crows?”
“In Reno…” I scowled. “I’m not Crimson Death, for fuck’s sake!”
“Are you sure about that?” Caleb left the crowd of first-years to meet me in the middle of the clearing. “The Academy’s been here for eighteen years, and they’ve never had a student die. You show up, and just like that, we lose our Healer, and maybe even our High-Four.” He sneered, playing to the crowd. “Only thing I can’t figure out is how you did it.”
For just one moment, everything was silent; a handful of first-years watching Caleb and I with wide eyes, Supersonic’s sneer faltering as if he was only now realizing that he’d just accused me of murder.
In that moment, anything was possible. I could’ve swallowed my anger and walked away. I could’ve let someone—anyone—come to my defense. Hell, I could’ve even waited to see if Caleb would pull his head out of his own ass and apologize.
But the fucker had just accused me of murdering my friend. I leaned into that silence, met his blue eyes with mine, and bared my teeth. “Keep fucking with me and I promise you’ll find out.”
•—•—•
To hear Nikolai tell it, few Powers are more irritating in a fight than Flyboys and Jitterbugs. Their abilities mean they can come from almost anywhere, reach you before you know it, and be gone again before you can respond. Death by a thousand paper cuts.
But Nikolai was talking about veterans. Someone like Caleb—still a semester away from learning how to use his power in a fight—was entirely too predictable.
Doesn’t matter how fast someone is going, even someone calling himself Supersonic, if they’re traveling in a straight line. I didn’t have to see him move to anticipate where he’d be, to slide out of his path and drive my knee into his midsection.
Flyboys and Jitterbugs are more durable than normal people. They have to be or their powers would kill them. But that’s a long fucking way from the invulnerability of a Titan or even a Stalwart, and nobody is built to handle the air being blasted from their lungs.
Caleb went face-down and I was right on top of him, that same knee now planted in his back. I grabbed a handful of spiky black hair with one hand and pulled his head back and off the grass. Of its own accord, my other hand curled into a fist, and I drove it down toward the other first-year’s head.
One thing I’d learned at Mama Rawlins’ was how to throw a punch, but Nikolai’s classes had taught me so much more—how to cork-screw my hips to increase the power of short strikes, how to add my own weight to downward blows, how to punch an inch or two through my target. I added every bit of what I’d learned to that punch.
That’s probably not the sort of thing a Cape should admit to. Probably shouldn’t tell you about the savage glee I felt either, as my fist shot downward. All I knew was that I’d lost my friend, and this asshole had picked the wrong fucking day to mess with me.
I know, I know; I’ve been saying that sort of shit for hours now, practically since the story began. I’ve been building up the tension and the angst and the fury and now that the moment I finally do something has arrived, here I am, talking again!
Get to the blood already, am I right?
Wish I could. Problem is, my whip-fast punch only made it about three inches before it stopped cold, an iron hand locked about my wrist. And before I could try one of those fancy escapes Nikolai had taught us, I was being pulled off of Caleb and tossed eight feet across the clearing.
So much for the bandages the Healers had wrapped my arm and back in. I could feel burnt skin tear as I hit, feel blisters pop, pus suddenly wet against the fire of my raw, still-forming layers of new skin. Not even the realization that my other hand held a clump of black hair, torn from Caleb’s scalp, could outweigh that sudden rush of pain.
Paladin was there by the time I’d managed to stagger to my feet. Because of course it was Paladin who had stopped me. He slid past my punch—a punch that tore even more skin on my back—and got right up in my face. His blue eyes were blazing like tiny stars, but his voice was soft, the words meant only for me.
“Enough! I’m not letting either of you turn this memorial into a brawl.”
Over Matthew’s shoulder, I saw Caleb rolling to his feet, but Orca was there to stop him. Flyboys and Jitterbugs are a pain in the ass to fight, no doubt, but in the realm of close combat, nothing compares to a Stalwart. Other Powers have them
