There’s a reason Paladin—the real Paladin, not Matthew-fucking-Strich—had been one of my favorite Capes growing up. I had as much chance of getting past Matthew and Orca as Prince did of sprinting a five-minute mile. Shit just wasn’t going to happen.
“He started it,” I said instead, like a child.
“Maybe so… but you can finish it right now, by letting this go.” His eyes bored into mine. “You didn’t kill Unicorn and Caleb knows it. You’re not going to kill Caleb, and you know that. Do you think this is what Shane would’ve wanted?”
“What the fuck do you know about Shane—?”
“Look around you, you jerk! Think about someone other than yourself for once in your life,” he hissed. “We all knew Unicorn. We all liked him, Caleb included. You’re not the only person who just lost a friend.”
Against my better judgement, I took Paladin’s advice and scanned the crowd. Wormhole was still weeping, clinging to Silt, who’d taken a step or two in my direction. Olympia was long gone, of course, but everyone else was still there. Most were watching the drama unfold with undisguised horror, but some of the class remained isolated in their own personal misery. Winter’s long nose was bright red, dripping rivers of snot that mirrored the tears still streaming down her face. Tessa was kneeling in the grass, heedless of the stains it would leave on her ankle-length dress, her eyes closed and her hands clasped in front of her as her lips moved soundlessly through another prayer. Even Santiago—the always-slick, always-presentable El Bosque—was white-faced and red-eyed, holding onto London as much for his comfort as for hers.
Matthew was right. For all that Bard had said about Unicorn, maybe the biggest testament to the little ginger’s character was that he’d somehow managed to befriend us all.
But that was the only thing Matthew was right about. Truth is, I didn’t get the chance to finish anything. I was still looking at the circle of grieving first-years when I heard Orca cry out. I spun to see her stumble backwards. She came back to her feet in a smooth backwards somersault, but by then it was too late.
Rookie Jitterbugs are predictable. But that only matters if you’re in a position to use that predictability against them.
Flat-footed and partially restrained, I never saw the punch that dropped me.
CHAPTER 39
There were times in that first year where the medical ward felt more like home than my actual dorm room. I sure as shit spent enough time there. Once again, I found myself waking up on a hard metal gurney, swaddled in bandages.
For a second, I wondered if the whole funeral had been a dream.
That question answered itself when I opened my eyes and saw Dean Bard seated in a chair next to me. He was still wearing the suit from Shane’s service, and looked tired, old, and more than a little bit angry.
“You should see the other guy,” I told him, wincing with each word. My jaw felt like it had been pounded with a sledgehammer. Given that I’d clearly been healed, Caleb’s punch must have initially broken it.
“I did see the other guy, while you were being treated. Now it’s your turn.”
I’d never had a father figure in my life, since my biological dad was a murdering asshole monster and Mama Rawlins’ wrinkled old booty call didn’t want anything to do with us kids. Bard didn’t qualify either, but there was something in the way he was looking at me—half-disappointed, half-resigned—that made me feel like a little boy being called to task.
Given what life as a little boy had been like, I can’t say I enjoyed the feeling.
“You know Caleb started it, right? I didn’t even punch him.”
“Only because Mr. Strich was there to stop you.”
“That’s one way to look at it, I guess.” I shrugged. They’d done what they could to fix my back again, but the new skin was tight under the many layers of fresh bandages. “Still, Supersonic attacked me. I just defended myself.”
Bard’s face hardened. When he finally spoke, there was nothing smooth about the words that came out. “I have multiple witnesses who will testify that you threatened Caleb’s life. I have just as many who say that he blindsided you while Matthew was playing peacemaker. Truth be told, I don’t particularly care about the details.”
“Then what do you care about?” I shot back.
“Your future at my institution. I have neither the time nor the inclination to coddle you as if you were a child. You can either grow the fuck up or get the fuck out of my school.”
I met the dean’s cold-eyed glare with one of my own. “I’m betting Caleb didn’t get that same ultimatum…”
“A bet you would lose. As I said, I saw him already.”
“Oh.” The thing about healing is that it takes a lot of its energy from the patient. I was exhausted, and that was making it hard to hold onto my anger. “So what did he say?”
“That is between Mr. Mikkazi and myself. At the moment, I am more interested in your response.”
I turned my gaze to the ceiling. “You know I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Yes.”
Bard could do more with a single word than most people could do with a monologue. I sighed.
“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. But Shane is… was… my friend. I’ll be damned if I let anyone, from Caleb to Dominion himself, blame me for his death.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Or are you one of those people who think it was my fault?”
“I think there is ample blame to go around, but none of it falls upon you or Kayleigh Watai.”
“Who then?”
“Ms. Stein for presenting the Maze to you first-years and then inadequately securing it. Ishmae for thinking that being a High-Four meant the rules did not apply to her. And last but not least,
