Raven and the Dancing Tiger (17 page)

Peter blinked and sat back. What was his damage? He rolled his shoulders and leaned forward again, determined not to be intimidated.

The one standing, in a plaid shirt—Thomas—caught Peter's eye and shook his head slightly, while at the same time laying a hand on Chris' shoulder.

Chris broke the stare and leaned back, looking to the side. He shrugged off Thomas' hand. He brought his own hands up and started wringing them, then switched to rubbing the knuckles of his left hand with the palm of his right.

Prefect Kitridge came in, wearing her usual snug white sleeveless tank and loose brown karate pants,
 
her feet bare. She had more tattoos than before: The bright red and blue ink now swirled past her elbows and halfway down her forearms. Her hair was bleached white this year, and stood up in a Mohawk down the center of her skull. The rest was dyed black and shaved close to her skull.

She paused when she came in the room, glancing from Chris to Peter, then back again. But she didn't say anything. Instead, she walked toward the front of the room, then turned and bowed to the class.

Every student shuffled quickly into place and bowed back.

"Today's my favorite day," Kitridge announced. "Y'all know what that means, right?"

Peter bit his lips together, not wanting to give a suggestion, hoping he was wrong.

One of the other students helpfully said, "Falling?"

"Falling!" Kitridge said gleefully.

Peter shook his head but contained his groan. He knew how to fall. He'd learned it first, along with everyone else. But falling had gotten harder as he'd grown older. It used to be a graceful, easy motion. Now…he knew the mechanics, but he couldn't get his arms tucked in or get his legs under him the right way.

Also, a push was more likely to set his back up and get his blood boiling than to send his body down to the floor.

Peter watched with envy when Kitridge called the youngest boy in the class forward for a demonstration. That used to be him, flowing so well. He tightened his jaw. He could do this.

Cai cawed nervously, unsure whether to get ready to fight or play.

Peter sent the image of somersaulting in great swaths of blue sky to Cai. Maybe if he could calm Cai down, it wouldn't be so bad.

Then Kitridge paired Peter with Thomas.

Thomas was no longer that much taller than Peter, but he was still bigger. Most of the raven clan tended toward slender. However, Tomas was meaty and muscular, already spouting a ruddy shadow across his jaw. He looked like he'd grown up in flannel shirts and lumberjack boots.

"Hey," Thomas said as he came over to stand beside Peter.

Peter tossed him a glare.

Thomas held up his hands. "I don't have any beef with you," he said, his voice mild. "You don't need a beef with me, either." Thomas appeared to be telling the truth. Of the two troublemakers, he'd always been the most calm and reasonable.

Peter nodded to Thomas. They weren't about to be best buds, but for now, in the space of this class, they could call a truce.

"Good choice," Thomas said. "Cause I would have hated to bop you one."

Peter snorted. "As if you could."

Thomas gave him a one-shouldered shrug. Maybe. Maybe not.

Peter elected to fall first. He almost managed to be graceful. Thomas was a strong, steady presence to push against, which made falling easier. He also exuded a reassuring calm.

Peter started to get the hang of things, then lost focus for just a moment, his right leg placed wrong, and he twisted his ankle as he went down. "
Ow
," Peter said, lying on the floor and moving his ankle in gentle circles.

"You okay?" Thomas asked.

Peter felt flattered by the concerned look Thomas threw at him. "Yeah," he said, accepting the hand up that Thomas offered.

Cai stayed quiet. He seemed surprisingly content with Peter's rolls.

"Maybe I should fall for a while," Thomas offered.

"Thanks, man," Peter said, surprised at his generosity.

"Try from the shoulder?" Thomas suggested.

Peter just nodded and they got into position, right shoulder against right shoulder. They pushed against each other, supporting the other's weight, then Peter stepped back,
folding
in on himself. Thomas, with nothing to push against suddenly, stumbled and managed an awkward tumble.

"Do that again," he directed Peter.

"Sure," Peter said, though he hadn't done anything special.

They pushed and strained, Thomas putting more of his weight behind him, trying to push Peter over. Then Peter stepped to the side again. Thomas tried to hold on, but he couldn't, and so he fell again.

"So how—" Thomas started.

Peter saw movement out of the corner of his eye and ducked instinctively.

Chris came rushing up, barreling into Peter, carrying him to the ground.

As they fell, Peter grabbed Cai with one hand and raised his warrior glass armor with the other.

"You lay off him!" Chris shouted at Peter. He held Peter down with both hands on his shoulders.

Peter reached up and pushed at Chris, pushing against his chest, not letting him get any closer. "Get off me!" He didn't want to hurt Chris. Didn't want to hit him. Held himself back even though he really, really wanted to just lay into him.

"Dude, hey, chill," Thomas said, pulling on Chris' shoulder, trying to help.

"You hit him. He fell." Chris bared his teeth at Peter.

"Let go! Both of you! Now!" Prefect Kitridge came rushing up.

Peter knew Chris would never let go first, so he did, slowly, releasing his hands from Chris' chest, bringing them out to the side slowly.

Chris let go after a few more moments. He was panting suddenly and his skin had turned gray.

Peter scrambled up onto his feet. Was Chris about to upchuck all over him?

"No fighting," the prefect said, glaring at the both of them.

"I was standing on the other side of the room when he attacked me!" Peter complained. "And I didn't hit him. I just held him off. How is that fighting?"

"Y'all shouldn't have provoked him," the prefect said sternly.

"What? How was I—" Peter squawked.

"Ma'am," Thomas said at the same time. "We weren't—"

"No fighting," Kitridge insisted. She held up her left hand.

Peter noticed again that her forefinger wasn't completely straight.

Chris grew even more pale, as if his raven soul were stricken ill. "No," he whispered hoarsely, holding up his left hand. His forefinger, also, was slightly crooked, out of line with the other digits.

"He wasn't hurting your friend," Kitridge said, dropping down closer to Chris.

Chris took an obvious, deep breath, and let it out loudly. "No. But—" He waved at Peter.

"What?" Peter said, taking a step back when everyone turned and stared at him.

"Your armor," Kitridge said.

"Sorry," Peter said, though he wasn't sorry, not at all. He shivered and let it fall from him. His human eyes couldn't see, but he imagined it flaking off, falling like soot from a suddenly quenched fire.

"You know you was bringing it up before, right? When you slipped away from Thomas," Kitridge said, still kneeling next to Chris.

"What? No, I didn't," Peter said.

Cia shook himself, abruptly, as if about to say something, but no images came from him.

"I know what the armor feels like," Peter added, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Chris. "I only raised it when I needed to."

Kitridge shook her head. "No. Y'all are doing…something else. Something slippery and glass-like."

"No," Peter denied. He just—
folded
in on himself. Made himself smaller. It wasn't magic. It certainly wasn't the armor. He was in control of it.

Kitridge shrugged and stood. She held out a hand to Chris, who took it gingerly and stood as well.

"Smells the same," she said. "Keep it off."

"Okay," Peter said nodding, though he knew Prefect Kitridge was wrong.

"And no fighting," she added as she led Chris away.

Peter rolled his eyes. He hadn't been fighting. Just defending himself.

"Okay, let's you and me try this again," Thomas said, his tone cold. "Only let's try to do it this time without cheating. All right?"

"I wasn't—never mind," Peter said.

Cai gave a weird happy bounce, as if he were ready to begin again.

They got into position again, Peter seething with frustration.

He hadn't been cheating. He was in control of the glass armor. It hadn't been sneaking up on him. But despite that, he'd managed to piss off the biggest of the two troublemakers.

And it was only the first day of class of a whole new year.

Peter rounded the corner of his apartment building, still making plans in his head with Sally, his heart dancing and free. His lips practically tingled from touching hers, and his stomach kept doing flips. The harsh light from the construction site next door made the street as light as daylight, though it washed out all the colors.

Maybe this weekend he could invite Sally over for brunch and make his special waffles with raspberry jelly and whipped cream. Then they could hang out, and maybe go dancing—

"Hey, Petie-Peter!"

Jesse's call jarred Peter back to the present. He tugged his jacket closer against the cool spring night.

"Hey," Peter said weakly as Jesse bounded across the street, crossing from the park. It was obvious he'd been waiting for Peter under the trees, and just as obvious that he knew exactly where Peter lived.

Peter had hoped Jesse had gotten sick of Seattle, since he hadn't seen him since the previous week, outside the dance club.

"I seen your friend," Jesse said without preamble. "The one you said was dangerous? She walked up and down the street three times, looking for
ya
."

Peter glanced up and down the street, but he didn't see anyone else.

Cai didn't see anyone, either.

Peter still shivered. "We should get out of here. Come on." He turned and walked up the worn marble stairs to his apartment building. It wasn't until after he'd opened the door that he realized Jesse hadn't followed him, but instead still stood at the bottom of the stairs.

"You
invitin
' me in?"

"Never leave a fellow warrior behind," Peter recited.

Jesse snorted. "Some warriors are more equal than others," he quoted back.

"Come on," Peter insisted. "It'll be a dry place for the night. Some place safe to sleep."

"You won't try to lock me in?" Jesse asked, obviously torn.

"Why would I do that?" Peter asked. "Besides, how could I?"

"You still good with charms and magic?"

Peter sighed. "Point. So maybe I could. But I wouldn't. I swear."

Jesse climbed two stairs then stopped, skittish as a songbird. "Not even if you thought it for
ma own good?
"

Peter wondered at the strange emphasis of Jesse's words. "Whoever told you that was stupid," Peter assured Jesse.

Jesse looked up at Peter for a long moment, his eyes dark and restless in the half-light. "You're all right, Petie-Peter," he eventually said, walking up the stairs in a rush, then pushing inside.

Peter followed Jesse up the main wooden staircase. The tan carpet was new, and probably wouldn't last long: It was already growing dark brown in the center. The white wood of the wide railing reflected the bright fluorescent lamps that hung all the way up on the ceiling as well as on every landing. Pale green paint covered the walls—a so-called "
seafoam
green." Peter never looked closely at it because it made him seasick.

When they reached the top floor, Peter led the way to the corner apartment. He ran his fingers around the door jam quickly,
pressing
. Then he turned and faced Jesse squarely.

"No one has been here," he assured Jesse. "It's just a warning glyph. If you're here by yourself and someone tries to break in, I'll know."

Jesse nodded thoughtfully, biting his lip, but he didn't say anything.

Peter unlocked the door and let Jesse enter first. Jesse's rank odor washed over Peter as he passed close.

"Nice place," Jesse commented, standing in the living room, looking between the futon-couch, the desk with Peter's computer and game controllers, and the TV in the far corner.

"Thanks," Peter said, pulling towels out of the linen closet, then shoving them at Jesse. "
Here.
Go get clean."

"What, you saying I stink?"

"Hell yeah," Peter said. "Bathroom's that way." He pointed to the other door leading off the living room. On one side was his bedroom, and the other, the bath. "I don't pay for water, so use as much as you want."

"Thanks, dude," Jesse said. He stood there for a second, looking out of place and bewildered.

"Go," Peter said with mock sternness, pointing his finger.

"Thanks," Jesse said, sounding serious.

After Peter heard the door to the bathroom firmly lock, he moved back to his front door, adding a bit more presence there, too.

He wasn't about to keep Jesse locked in—he honestly wouldn't do that. But he still wanted to know when Jesse left, probably in the middle of the night.

No matter what promises Jesse might make, he'd never stay in any one place for too long.

* * *

Peter didn't think he was still hungry, but by the time Jesse got out of the shower and suggested pizza, he found he could still eat.

They sat on the futon-couch in his living room, just two lone slices of meat-lovers-with-everything lying in the open pizza box on the coffee table, each drinking their third IPA out of dark bottles. The night pressed on the windows around them, the traffic from the main drag quiet. Even the construction site had finished drilling for the night.

Peter's belly was full and Cai seemed strangely content—pleased, even—in Jesse's presence.

"So tell me about her," Jesse said, putting his beer down and leaning back.

"Who, Sally?" Peter asked, confused. Why did Jesse want to know about Sally? He'd just mock Peter about her.