Raven and the Dancing Tiger (10 page)

Jesse wanted revenge. Against Peter, and no one else.

Peter handed the still-warm chicken to the next panhandler he saw, then trudged home.

Cai shuffled, nervous, when they turned the corner of his block.

Peter looked all around, but no one was there, either on the sidewalk or close to the edge of the park. After looking and waiting, Peter finally climbed the stairs to his apartment building.

A brown heap next to the door caught his eye.

Cai cawed a soft warning.

Peter's hand was steady as he picked it up. It was his leather jacket. Huge claws had shredded it like paper. Strips of leather and lining hung from the ribbed collar. One arm had fang marks in it. The points spread out as wide as his palm.

At first, Peter wanted to fling the jacket, throw it as far away from himself as he could. Then he grew calm and drew it closer to his chest, the implications clear.

Tamara knew where he lived.

And was planning the same destruction for him.

* * *

"Thank you again for dinner," Peter said, holding open the door of the restaurant for Sally. It wasn't fully dark yet, the spring twilight making the edges of the nearby buildings soft and casting halos around the lights. Hipsters in skinny jeans, oversized pea jackets, and artsy glasses passed them, going on their way up and down the hill.

"My pleasure," Sally said, grinning at him as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I can't believe you've never been there before."

Peter shrugged. "It said French food. How was I to realize French food meant these really great crepes?" He didn't tell Sally that the food had to be incredible for him to pay attention to it, and not to her in a silky red blouse that showed off her shoulders and broad collarbones, while still demure enough to leave everything else to his imagination.

Sally giggled at him and Peter shrugged again.

Cai murmured peacefully, happy and full.

As they started walking up the hill, toward the dance hall, Peter bumped shoulders with Sally. Even through her thick wool coat, she still felt warm to him. He really needed to replace his leather jacket.

Sally smiled at him and bumped back.

Feeling bold, Peter reached down and took Sally's hand. It was smooth and strong in his, warm and soft.

She nodded and squeezed his in return.

Peter felt like crowing his victory to the world. He wanted to stop the heavily pierced Goth chick with pink hair coming toward them and tell her, "See? She's holding my hand!"

He contented himself with a grin, while Cai gave a raucous caw.

"What got you interested in dancing?" Peter asked, instead of asking if she'd be his girlfriend. It was too soon for that, and he didn't want to press his luck.

"I danced as a kid," Sally told him. "Ballet. Tap. Jazz in college. So I've always danced."

Peter nodded. It explained why she was such a good dancer and why she learned new steps so quickly.

"How about you?" she asked.

"I like the spontaneity of it, the personal style," Peter said.

Sally gave him a confused look.

"I—I did martial arts as a kid," Peter said. It was the closest he could come to describing warrior training. "I liked the way it felt, being precise with my body and how it moved. But that was all—I don't know. So serious. It wasn't for fun. The moves were so—prescribed."

"That explains a lot, you know," Sally said.

Peter looked at her. She didn't appear to be making a joke.

"It's like you've gone to the opposite extreme with your dancing," she explained seriously. "You're so loose, shuffling your feet, swaying, doing those free-form circles. Sometimes you snap a perfect turn, but you're like the opposite of precise. Maybe you should try to meld the parts together, sometime."

Peter couldn't help the shudder he gave. "I don't see how," was all he said. Intermixing his raven warrior training, all those hard blocks and kicks, with the softer, gentler, flow of Lindy Hop, just didn't seem right. He didn't want to bring Ravens' Hall any closer to his current life than it already was.

Peter shook his head and squeezed Sally's hand. He needed to stay here, in the present, and not get lost in the past. "So what other styles of dance do you do?" he asked as they stopped for the light.

Sally shook her head. "I really don't. It—"

"Hey! It's Mr. and Mrs. Petie-Peter!"

Peter sighed and turned.

Jesse stood outside the store on the corner, by himself this time. He still wore the same dirty clothes and carried the same crumpled cardboard sign.

"Jesse," Peter said with a sigh. He knew he shouldn't have stopped looking for him.

"I know, I know, it
ain't
safe for me here. Is it safe for her?"

Peter bit his lips together and squeezed Sally's hand. It wasn't. And he should warn her away as well, instead of drawing her closer to his heart. He glanced at Sally. She merely looked confused, not concerned.

"I get it, Petie," Jesse said. He folded his sign in half, then tucked it under his arm. "I'll be your honor guard."

"No," Peter said immediately, horrified at the suggestion. Jesse was homeless and alone. He didn't have much honor left.

"Your wing man?" Jesse teased.

"Just go away," Peter said. "Come on," he added to Sally, turning back toward the street as the light turned green.

Cat
,
Cai warned.

Across the street, Tamara stood, a smug smile on her face as she took in Peter, Sally, and Jesse. She wore a tight black leather jacket that showed off her ample curves, her red hair a flowing halo around her head—the perfect seductress, drawing men to their doom.

A heavy hand landed on Peter's shoulder, making him jump.

"That's who you need protection from?" Jesse asked, his rank breath cascading down Peter's shoulder as he spoke directly in Peter's ear. "
Ain't
she
somethin
'."

"Stay away from her," Peter warned, shrugging off Jesse's hand.

Tamara turned and preceded them down the street.

After they crossed, Peter stopped on the far street corner, where Tamara had stood, her very human perfume still lingering. "She's not what she seems to be," he said urgently to Jesse, who had followed them. "Please, Jesse. Don't go near her."

"But you are, right? To that fancy dance hall of yours?"

Peter shrugged. He couldn't give up dancing. He just couldn't. It was the closest thing to flying that he knew as a human.

"I get it," Jesse said. He nodded to both of them, then marched down the sidewalk after Tamara.

Helplessly, Peter turned toward Sally.

"Bad breakup?"

"We only had one date," Peter assured her. "And now she's found out where I live."

"She hasn't threatened you, has she?" Sally asked, concerned.

"No," Peter said automatically. "Just—be careful around her."

"You too," Sally said.

They walked down the street, silence wrapped around them.

Outside the door to the dance hall, Jesse stood at full attention, looking like a vet who'd lost his way, who was still in the war, on guard against unseen threats.

Or like a raven warrior, protecting his own.

Peter sighed and shook his head, holding open the door for Sally.

Jesse had no idea what he was playing at, what he was supposedly protecting Peter from.

Peter hoped Jesse left before he found out.

Petie tried to eat after recitation class. Dinner that night was meatloaf—juicy and moist, not at all like his mom's—with crispy Tater Tots, some kind of creamed greens that weren't too bad 'cause they also had bacon, and chocolate pudding. Petie should have been shoveling it all in.

But it all tasted dirty, somehow.

Not like dirt, or insects, or ants, or any of those things Petie wasn't supposed to eat. No. Just—not right.

Normally dinner was loud, too, with dozens of different conversations about superheroes and video games, baseball versus soccer, but tonight it was quiet, almost like a study hall.

Before Petie could escape to his room, Prefect Aaron came into the cafeteria. The room stilled without him saying a word, his silver, hawk-like gaze peering into every corner.

"Boys, and girls, I am aware some of you were put off by this afternoon's recitation. But what is the first recitation?
Stay hidden. Stay safe.
All together now."

"Stay hidden. Stay safe," the students recited, the chorus dully spoken.

Petie felt trapped, and Cai stirred restlessly. What else could they say?

"So I don't need to remind you not to talk about this with anyone. What happens in Ravens' Hall, stays in Ravens' Hall."

At least a couple of the older boys chuckled at that. Petie couldn't quite smile, but he did start to relax, fiddling with the zipper on his hooded jacket.

"The only way to stay safe is to stay balanced, human and raven souls together, not fighting, not separate. Be true to each other, honor each other, and keep each other pure. Beware the half-breed."

Petie shivered. The cafeteria grew silent again, all the kids restrained and very still.

"Your classes for tomorrow will be printed tonight and slipped under your doors. Curfew will be extended three hours, until 11 p.m. Fly safe. Good night."

After the prefect left, the boys to Petie's right started talking about flying, going out that night. Petie didn't like flying at night, but Cai wanted to go: to soar and chase away the doubt from the day. He wished he could call his mom, but calls were limited, and besides, he wouldn't be able to tell her anything. She wasn't from the raven clan. He couldn't tell her anything about Cai or the recitations or anything else.

He could talk with his dad, but Dad was also the one who sent him here, who actually loved Ravens' Hall, despite the dangers.

When Petie bussed his dishes, bringing them to the conveyer belt that led to the kitchen, he saw many of the other kids had had the same problem he'd had, with heaps of food left on their plates, merely pushed around in a semblance of eating.

"Y'all better get in line early for breakfast," Jesse's voice drawled over Petie's shoulder. "I bet the food goes fast tomorrow."

Petie couldn't help but jump.

"Hey, it's just me," Jesse said, gently placing his hand on Petie's shoulder.

Petie looked up at Jesse. He suddenly wished Jesse were his brother, or somehow related, so he could have a hug. He settled for Jesse merely squeezing his shoulder.

Then Jesse jerked his head toward the door. "Yard?" he asked.

Petie nodded and pushed past Jesse, going down the long hall toward the back, in the opposite direction of the boys all streaming up the stairs, aiming to fly off the balconies of their rooms.

The yard was merely a strip of barren dirt between the school and the cliff, a cold, rocky place that only a sliver of sunlight could ever find.

But there were no first floor windows overlooking it, and no one else ever came out that way. Jesse liked it: it was private, close, and outdoors.

Petie and Jesse stepped into the cool twilight. Raucous caws echoed off the cliff above them. Petie shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie. Jesse wasn't wearing a jacket, just a denim work shirt that was too big for him, jeans, and sneakers.

They walked together to the edge of the yard, where the cliff curved around and met the man-made, white brick wall that grew out from the school. It smelled like wet rock and cold dirt. Nothing grew in the cracks between the bricks, no moss to soften the edges.

"That sure was something," Jesse finally said, reaching down for a white pebble, then flinging it like a skipping stone across the dirt so that it bounced four times over the ground.

"Yeah," Petie said warily. Could he talk about it with Jesse? That wasn't against the recitation, was it? Jesse
was
part of the raven clan, so he was safe. Right?

"Did you see—I just—I don't know," Jesse said, skipping another stone. This one went five times. He leaned down and picked up another rock, then passed it to Petie.

"Yeah," Petie agreed. He could only skip the stone three times.

"They wouldn't do something like that to one of us, right?" Jesse asked quietly.

Petie gulped cold air, his stomach suddenly unhappy with what little he'd eaten. He didn't know. Not for certain. But he suspected they might.

Cai agreed.

They had to be very, very careful.

"I mean, if they were coming for you, you could just fly away, right?" Jesse asked, skipping another stone, not looking at Petie.

Petie just watched his own hand, small and trembling, before he put it back in his pocket.

"That chickadee—that little bird, just couldn't fly away. Wasn't fast enough."

"Jesse," Petie said. He shook his head. "It's not that. What if—what if you couldn't fly away? Or didn't want to? Or didn't think you needed to?"

"
Whatcha
mean?"

"The—the Charms Room." Petie said. Was it breaking a recitation to tell Jesse about that? Petie hoped it didn't. However, it didn't matter. Petie had to warn his friend. "Did you have a charms class?"

Jesse nodded. "Couldn't really sense '
em
."

"I can," Petie said. "There were a lot of charms there. Out, in the open. More than the prefect said."

Jesse was quiet, looking at the rock wall, plucking at the scratchy mortar between the stones. "So you're saying that flying away may not be good enough."

Petie shrugged. "May not be."

"Then you keep your eyes peeled for charms, and I'll watch your back," Jesse said with a brave grin. "Come on."

Jesse patted Petie on the back, slipping a cold rock down his shirt. "You're it!" Jesse yelled as he sprinted back toward the door of the school, shedding clothes as he ran, then leaping into the air.

Petie's breath caught as he watched his friend transform—a tall brown streak folding and darkening into a graceful black bird, arms and fingers elongating into feathers and wings, legs pulled up and bare toes and ankles becoming scaly and black.