Raven and the Dancing Tiger (15 page)

Peter prepared himself for the lie.

"The first recitation…stay hidden, stay safe. I would be very much surprised if that wasn't the first recitation for all the clans," the prefect said reasonably.

"So what you're actually saying is that sometime in the past, you all agreed to disappear," Peter guessed. "You had contact, probably regular contact through the birds, and something made you decide to break ties and run to ground."

The prefect looked up at Peter, still confident, still invulnerable.

Peter didn't know what the prefect saw, what made him change his mind. But his mask crumbled, and for the first time, Peter saw actual sorrow cross the prefect's face.

Cai was still unmoved.

"I don't know," the prefect said, no lies coming from his lips for once. "It may have been exactly as you said. There was a…purging. Of records and histories."

Peter nodded, hearing the unspoken
of people and troublemakers.

"You have to believe me, very few fragments exist from that time. There were some hidden books, considered apocryphal, doubly so since nothing was ever supposed to be written down. We transmit information orally so it can't fall into the wrong hands."

"I remember the histories," Peter said. The stories of
Adwar
the betrayer, who sold out the clan to save his family. Why they'd moved away from the wonders of the printing press and back to the old ways, of reciting all history orally. Even at Ravens' Hall, all the notebooks in which the recitations were written down in were collected and burned at the end of every month.

"What I've learned is not well known," the prefect assured him.

"You're not planning on bringing it into the curriculum, then," Peter accused, his old anger flooding him. "The others need to know—"

"What? That there are other clans? Or there may be? This is the first contact. What if she's a rogue? What if there's no clan, but merely an anarchy of families?" The prefect sat back, spreading his hands wide. "Tell me, what would you have me teach the next generation of students? There's been one contact. Are they
all
dangerous? Should they be killed on sight? Is there some chance for cooperation, like there was in the past? Please, Peter, instruct me."

Peter sighed and scowled with frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, the prefect was right. They just didn't know enough yet. "What
do
we know about them?" Peter asked, still deliberately including himself in the raven clan.

"They were quite populous once, primarily in India and throughout Asia," the prefect said, falling easily into lecture mode. "The coming of the British East India Company, well…they set about wiping out all resistance quite early. "

"Did we help?" Peter asked. "Is that partly why the clans broke apart?"

"We were a subjugated people ourselves at the time," the prefect said quietly.

Peter nodded. What the prefect meant was, that yes, the ravens had helped. It also meant more bad blood between the raven and tiger clans.

If the tiger warriors knew about the raven warriors, if their clan still taught about the others, well, no wonder Tamara had only ever pretended to like Peter.

"What I could find out about our friends is that they were always battling, always challenging each other, not just for leadership, but for sport. And, given your contact, it appears these challenges have continued."

"Why does she think she can challenge me?"

"Honestly, I don't know," the prefect said, turning his hands up and open. He appeared to still be telling the truth. "I could only find a few accounts of inter-clan challenge. They appeared to be quite formal, and had to be approved at the highest levels on both sides. After so many centuries, I can't imagine that such a challenge would ever be issued lightly."

"She seems certain—" Peter said, himself uncertain.

"There's nothing I could find to back up her claim," the prefect said. "The record is admittedly spotty, however."

"What happened during the challenges you could learn about?"

The prefect pursed his lips. "They weren't, well, successful. At least, not for the raven warrior."

"Were there any more details about the fight?" Dad asked, breaking in.

The prefect cocked one eyebrow at Peter. "Just that they fought bravely, and died well."

"Do you want to meet her?" Peter asked. "I don't know if she'd answer a call from me, but I could try."

Prefect Aaron looked shocked. "No. I—just, no. I wouldn't recommend any further contact with her, if at all possible."

Peter nodded, sitting back in the booth as the waitress reappeared with food. He hoped he wouldn't have to fight. If what the prefect said was true, he shouldn't have to.

However, if he did fight, he didn't intend to lose.

The raven warriors of this time really were different from the ones in the past, he assured himself and Cai, ignoring what doubt he had.

* * *

Peter knew his feet still touched the damp sidewalks of Seattle, but it felt as if he were flying as he walked Sally down Broadway after their third date, toward the corner where he'd dropped her off last time. Despite the cold, despite the dark of the night, despite the threats hanging over his head, despite everything, his heart was still light and he felt like taking wing.

At the corner, Sally paused, considering. She swung their linked hands before she turned to him and said, "I'd like you to meet Pixie. Or for Pixie to meet you. Or both."

Peter nodded and said, "Sure." Pixie would approve of him. He had to.

"But," Sally said, still standing still, not heading down the block yet, "it's just for a few minutes. Just to meet Pixie. All right?"

"I understand." He paused, not sure how to reassure her. "My old prefect would have my head if I didn't behave like a gentleman with you."

She didn't need to know that Peter meant it literally. Prefect Aaron was a stickler about such protocol, and would happily strangle him if he didn't behave like a gentleman, accusing him of being a half-breed.

"You said you had dinner with him this week," Sally asked, leading the way finally.

"Yeah. He's retired, visiting my dad."

"So you both went to this boarding school?" Sally asked, surprised. "I thought that kind of thing only happened in movies or something."

Peter shrugged. "It's a family tradition." He'd loved Ravens' Hall for at least part of his stay there, when it hadn't been barbaric.

Would he send his own son there? Ignoring the fact that the raven clan might kill both Peter and his son if he didn't.

"The prefect always wanted me to come back and teach there, actually," Peter admitted. Which was true enough, if Peter could have conformed enough to be brought into the fold.

"Would you?"

"If things changed, if the school went through a serious reform, I might go out for the summer sessions, yeah. It was in Wyoming, and you can't believe the scenery. The mountains, and the woods, and that sky that just went from end to end." Peter sighed and shook his head. Both he and Cai missed that endless blue sky.

"You know, reform sometimes has to start from within," Sally told him seriously.

Peter bit his lips together. He really couldn't talk about it, tell her about practices that were millennia old, the recitations, and the magic. Or about the lost boys, and how the clan controlled and policed their own. "If I thought I had a chance, I might," he finally said when he realized she was still waiting for an answer. "But I'll never get that chance." He couldn't change the world.

"You know, I always thought I was too little to help," Sally said. "I'm just one person, right? Against something huge, like institutionalized hunger or poverty. But I can make a difference, and I do."

"I know you do," Peter said warmly. "You're amazing. Me, I'm not sure what I am."

"You'll get there," Sally said, squeezing his hand. "I have faith in you."

Peter ached to sweep her up, hold her close and kiss her, to draw her closer into his heart until there was no distinguishing between the pair of them, when he was her and she was him. He settled for a smile and squeezing her hand back, while Cai urged him forward, closer, wanting to brush his feathers against her skin.

Sally lived in an old, turn-of-the-century building, just a few blocks west of the main drag. The stairs were white marble with black streaks. The intercom system was old-fashioned, as well as the lock. The list of tenants, with their last names, was right there next to the buzzer. Leaded glass surrounded the wooden door, which wouldn't hold out long against anyone determined to come in.

Peter wrinkled his nose when Sally opened the door. The smell of old cats and unclean litter boxes washed over him.

Cai huffed up in distress. There wasn't a cat nearby, but he didn't like it.

Dingy white paint over textured wallpaper made up the hallways. The dark red of the carpet didn't hide its ancient stains. Peter checked the ceiling automatically. At least the fire alarm system and sprinklers seemed up to date.

What worried Peter more, though, was that Sally lived on the first floor, in the back, right next to a door that was equally unprotected.

Peter longed desperately for the library of spells he'd left behind at Ravens' Hall, those in the forbidden books near the top of the shelves in the Charms Room. The ones he had memorized were inadequate to protect her. He heard the skittering of claws against wood on the far side of the door and froze while Sally opened the door.

A small black dog with bright eyes and big ears sat on the other side. He gave a small yip, looking from Sally to Peter.

"Come in," Sally said, holding the door open to Peter.

An antique wooden dresser sat in the vestibule, mail piled up on one side, bright green and blue bowls holding coins and keys on the other. The walls were painted a burnt orange, highlighted with bright white boards at both the top and bottom. It seemed cozy and warm. No rug covered the scarred wooden floor.

Peter stepped across the threshold, unsure what to do next. Sally indicated he should walk to the right, into the living room.

A long olive-green couch ran along one wall. Papers, books, and magazines covered the coffee table in front of the couch. A black hutch partially hid the flat-screen TV in the corner. The other walls held shelves filled with books and knickknacks.

Peter walked into the center of the room. He stood on the faded white-and-red Oriental rug and turned back toward the door.

Pixie followed right behind. He wasn't doing the dancing greeting that Peter had heard about. Did it mean he didn't approve of Peter?

Pixie came closer, circling Peter silently, sniffing at him.

Peter held out his hand, which Pixie ignored, continuing to sniff at his pants and shoes. Finally, Pixie sat down in front of Peter, shifting onto his hind paws and holding up one paw, obviously looking to shake hands.

Peter looked at Sally.

She shook her head and said, "I never taught him to shake. He doesn't know any tricks. At least, not from me. I've never seen him do that before."

Peter nodded and squatted down so he'd be closer to the dog, his black glass armor at the ready in case the animal attacked. But Pixie didn't seem aggressive. He just sat there calmly, one paw out. Peter took it in his hand, shaking it slightly.

Pixie looked at him curiously, with large, liquid black eyes. Eyes that were more intelligent than any Peter had ever seen belonging to a dog.

Peter said the first thing that came to his mind. "You have the biggest eyes," he told Pixie.

"He does, doesn't he?" Sally said, sounding pleased.

Pixie pressed down with the one paw still in Peter's hand, lifting up the other.

Peter took both paws, then looked down at them in his hands.

Pixie's paws now completely covered his palms.

Cai gave a cautious caw.

"And big paws, too, for such a little dog," Peter said as Pixie lifted himself up and away, dropping his feet to the ground. Yet when Peter looked at Pixie's feet, they seemed to be in perfect proportion, not large at all.

"You think so?" Sally asked as Pixie skipped up to her. She picked him up and lifted one of his paws.

His paws were normal-sized in her hands. They weren't huge at all.

What was Pixie? Was he part of the hound clan? Why was he here with Sally?

Pixie gave Sally's cheek a quick lick before squirming. Sally laughed and put him down.

Then Pixie sat in front of Sally, giving Peter a quiet bark, watching him steadily with those too-knowing eyes.

"You protect Sally, don't you?" Peter asked.

Pixie gave a happy bark and wagged his tail, coming back to Peter.

Peter bent to
scritch
Pixie around the ears. "You be sure to take good care of her," he instructed Pixie.

If a dog could have rolled its eyes, Peter had the impression Pixie would have.

Whatever Pixie was, it appeared to be his job to watch out for Sally.

"I will, too," Peter told Pixie.

Pixie shook himself and wandered away, off to the kitchen. The sound of quiet crunching followed.

Peter stood up.

"I think he approves," Sally said with a shy smile.

"I'm glad," Peter said. And he was.

Pixie was more than he seemed; however, he also appeared to have Sally's protection well in hand.

Peter just hoped that Sally wouldn't need it. Before Sally could say anything more, Peter walked back to the door. "I should be going, now," he said. "Thank you for introducing me to Pixie."

Sally came closer.

Cai gave a happy bounce.

She touched Peter's arm, then looked up, taking yet another step, until there was barely an inch between them.

Peter looked down at her beloved face, lifting his hands up to cradle her head. "I'd like to kiss you good night," he said, his voice coming out rough and deep.

"I'd like you to kiss me good night, too," Sally said with a small smile.

Peter took his time. This was important. This was special. This was their first kiss, and he'd only ever get one.

He brushed his nose against Sally's, taking her scent further into his skin, then again, before he finally brushed their lips together, softly to start with, then with more pressure. He slid his right arm around her while he kept his left in her hair, holding her close as he nibbled on her lips, first the top, then the bottom, before he finally swept his tongue into her mouth and tasted her sweetness.