Raven and the Dancing Tiger (19 page)

She tilted her head to one side and looked at him. "No. Y'all were doing what's natural to you. To all raven warriors." She straightened up and looked at him directly. "It's good. But you
gotta
learn the other way as well. The human way."

Peter shook his head, not understanding.

"Schedule some chapel time," Kitridge instructed.

"Some what?"

"Priest teaches meditation. It'll help." The prefect turned to go, dismissing Peter.

"Help with what?"

"So you stay fully human, all the time. So no one accuses you of being a half-breed."

* * *

By the end of the first day, Peter felt like he was crawling out of his skin. Something about Ravens' Hall was wrong. He could feel it. It made him itchy and restless, worse than when he'd been at home. He nearly lost it twice, transforming when he hadn't planned on it.

He had to do something. Anything.

Flying would help, but it would be a temporary fix.

Instead, Peter heeded Prefect Kitridge's advice, and headed to the chapel. He'd been there before, dutifully going with the history class or to the celebrations. The teacher had walked them along the beautiful blue-and-white stained glass windows, telling the stories of Wynne and the saints.

This was the first time Peter had come in on his own.

Calm billowed out from the space, as if the air was thick with peace. He immediately glared into the corners, seeking charms. He didn't spot any with his human eyes, so he nudged Cai, asking for help.

Though the windows lost their color, the fluted columns that rose up two stories up lost none of their appeal. The light colored wood had been carefully constructed to give the impression of graceful tree branches as they spread across the ceiling. The thick beams had plenty of good spots for roosting. It looked peaceful, still. And Cai didn't call it messy, as he did most human structures.

"There aren't any charms," came a deep voice from behind Peter.

Peter blinked back to his human sight and turned around.

A youthful man stood there, his slight frame belying his deep voice.

"Prefect Becker," he introduced himself. "Or Priest Becker, depending on your calling," he added, holding out his hand.

"Peter," he replied, instantly uneasy.

None of the parts of the priest seemed to go together. The prefect's hand was bony but strong. His face was long and skinny, as if it belonged on someone taller. He stood shorter than Peter, his brown hair streaked with blond and gray. His soft gray eyes made him look much older.

"Meditation?" the prefect asked, stepping further into the chapel.

"Yes," Peter said, hesitatingly. Had Prefect Kitridge said something to Becker? Had someone been talking about him?

"Anyone who notices the peace of the chapel generally needs that type of help," the prefect explained, as if reading Peter's fears. He continued to walk down the center aisle between the pews.

"Okay," Peter said, still unsure, following behind him.

Cai, however, stayed unruffled.

"You can relax here," the prefect assured Peter. "Though we aren't Catholic, we do recognize the sanctity of the confessional."

"Confessional?" Peter asked, looking around. He'd been in a Catholic church before—one of his friends from school had dragged him along once. But he didn't see anything like that here.

"No, no formal booths. Just…whatever you say to me here, stays here. I don't talk about the boys to the other prefects. Sometimes that makes them angry. I don't care."

"Really?" Peter said, reaching out to stop the prefect and force him to turn and face Peter and Cai. They both searched Becker's face, earnestly looking for any lie.

"I promise," the priest said.

He appeared to be telling the truth. Peter took a deep breath, relaxing.

Cai gave a cheery caw.

Maybe they would survive this year.

* * *

Peter caught up with Jesse after dinner, just as he was heading back up to his room.

"Where were you?" Jesse asked. "I know you didn't miss your grub."

"Extra work," Peter said, pretending to be disgusted.

He didn't want to talk about the weirdness of meditation, or how he felt more relaxed in what felt like forever. Hell, maybe since he'd become a teenager. He'd fallen asleep during the last part of the prefect's exercises and had woken up refreshed and ready.

"Say," Peter paused, looking around them, making sure no one was really paying attention to them, mindful of the extra charms just ahead. "What the hell's the matter with Chris?" he asked quietly.

Jesse now repeated Peter's actions, abruptly looking around to make sure no one heard Peter's question. "Come on," Jesse said, tugging at Peter's sweater.

Peter followed Jesse down the familiar halls and outside, into the backyard.

It was already dim there; not dark, but soon. The cold bit into Peter's skin. He wrapped his arms over his chest to barricade in what heat he could as he followed Jesse to the far wall where they always stood.

"Nothing here, right?" Jesse asked, rubbing his hands together intently.

Cai groggily pushed forward. The meditation had left him even sleepier than Peter. The world brightened a bit. No charms hung on the wall near them.

The school, though, lit up. Every window had some kind of charm in it, and the back door had that same residue around it as Peter's door.

Were they watching everyone who came in and out?

"Nothing near us," Peter squawked, then he shook himself and came all the way back.

"Okay, good," Jesse said, pacing, on edge. He stood facing the wall, picking at the mortar between the bricks, silent.

"What happened?" Peter asked again.

Jesse nodded, not looking at him. "Chris—he doesn't have a good friend like you. Someone to see the traps. So they caught him." Jesse's voice faded to a hoarse whisper. "They caught him doing something—something they call half-breed but it's natural, like breathing. And they clipped him."

"What—what does that mean?" Peter asked, afraid he already knew the answer. A cold ice ball of fear rolled in his gut.

"In the cellar, there's a room. Where they tie boys down and do just horrible things to them." Jesse turned huge dark eyes to Peter. "They broke—they broke one of his fingers. You know what happens when you break a finger."

Peter nodded. It was why his parents discouraged him from baseball or volleyball, anything that could damage his hands. A broken finger meant a broken wing.

Cai wouldn't be able to fly.

Peter shivered, not just from the cold. "Why did they clip him?"

Jesse snorted, looking away again. "Some kind of
backass
thinking. That by hurting him, they'll somehow control him. That they'll get him under their thumbs."

That hadn't been what Peter had asked, but it was a good answer. "It's made him crazy," Peter said.

"Yeah, it has."

They stood silent in the darkening yard. The ball of fear in Peter's stomach seemed sickeningly huge now.

Jesse turned around, sagging against the wall, brushing his shoulder up against Peter's. It was the only spot of warmth for miles, Peter knew.

"Prefect Kitridge was clipped," Peter said eventually.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I bet it was for fighting, too." No wonder she was always insisting that they didn't fight, if that's what had happened to her.

Jesse glanced at Peter. "Chris wasn't clipped for fighting."

"Then what did he do?" Peter asked, still curious.

Jesse looked down at his feet and scuffed his high tops into the dirt.

"I won't tell anyone, Jess," Peter promised.

Jesse nodded but kept his gaze on his feet. "There was another cow. Out in the pasture."

"He was eating carrion," Peter said, trying to keep the revulsion out of his voice. The recitations were so clear about that.

Jesse nodded again, then added, "He wasn't the only one—there were others. But because of the fighting and everything else…" he shrugged.

"Too many strikes." Peter sighed, not sure what else he could say.

Because he knew when Jesse said "others," he actually meant himself.

* * *

Peter stared down with disgust at the straw strewn across his desk. It kept breaking instead of bending when he tried to loop it around. The broken ends pricked his fingers and tried to slide under his nails, and the dusty smell made him sneeze.

The twine he was trying to use to bind the straw together was even worse. It was stiff and scratchy, and he couldn't get it to hold a decent knot.

Peter tossed the misshapen bundle across his desk, stretched, then looked up at his ceiling. What had ever made him think he could make charms? Prefect Aaron had warned him that few could. But Peter had wanted to try, and had begged long enough that the prefect had let him.

"Come in!" Peter cheerfully called out when a knock came at the door. Any kind of distraction was welcome at this point.

"Hey, Petie-Peter," Jesse said, sticking his head in. He looked messier than usual, his hair hanging in greasy strings, his hands and neck dirty. Peter hadn't seen him in a week or so, which wasn't unusual, but seeing Jesse made Peter feel worried and guilty.

He should have made more of an effort.

"Hey, man, what's up?" Peter waved Jesse in. "Just knock that stuff off," he said, indicating his bed, full of books and clean laundry that Peter had meant to fold up but hadn't.

Jesse came in and sat on the edge of the bed instead of sprawling across it like he usually did.

"
Whatcha
working on?" Jesse asked before Peter could say anything more.

"Eh, a charm," Peter said, rescuing his abandoned bundle of straw. "Can't get it formed right. Stupid twine."

"Making a charm, huh?"

"Trying."

"Can I see?"

Peter shrugged and tossed it to Jesse. He looked at the straw, then at the twine. "Why y'all using this?"

"It's traditional?" Peter guessed.

"Can't you use string or something?"

"Prefect gave me this to use."

"
Here.
"

Peter watched, confused, as Jesse got up and went into his bathroom, then came out with his dental floss. "Use this. Poor man's twine. Shit don't break, and usually
critters'll
leave it alone."

"Thanks, man," Peter said. He drew out a piece of floss, felt its strength, how it stretched between his fingers. The scent of mint gave him ideas as well. He could already see lots of possibilities.

"So, what's up with you?" Peter said, putting the straw and floss down on his desk, then turning back, focusing all his attention on Jesse.

Jesse indicated the door with his chin.

Peter reached out and pushed it, both of them watching as it slowly closed.

"Got any charms so they can't hear?" Jesse asked.

"
Naw
, don't need it." Peter walked over to the door and
pressed
, his presence seeping into the strip around the lintel. "See that?"

Jesse shook his head.

"Nothing can get through, now, without me knowing." Peter repeated the process on the cold balcony door, his reflection stark and pale in the window, against the black night outside. "Every door in the dorm has these." He dropped his voice. "I think they're sometimes used by the prefects, to see who comes in and out. But you can tune them to yourself, so that only you will know if something or someone tries to get through."

Jesse looked thoughtful. "Most of the other students, they don't know about these things, right?"

Peter shook his head. "I only just figured it out. Before, they were always neutral. This time, they were different." He shrugged. "I just changed '
em
, here. So remind me to show you the ones in your room. We can get them attuned to you, and just you."

"Thanks," Jesse said. "That would be great."

Peter waited while Jesse looked at his hands. What did Jesse want? Something big, something that Peter wasn't going to like.

Cai was more ambivalent. He liked Jesse. Wanted to help. No matter what.

"You know Chris," Jesse started finally.

When Jesse didn't continue at Peter's nod, Peter added, "Yeah, I know him."

"He's
gotta
get outta here, you know?"

"He can't run away. They'd declare him a rogue." Rogues were almost as despised as half-breeds; they were raven warriors who didn't follow the recitations, who'd turned their back on the clan.

"Staying's only making him crazy."

"I see that." Peter still didn't know how he could help.

"I'm thinking about going with him," Jesse said, so softly Peter wondered if he'd imagined it, until Jesse caught and held his eye.

Ash filled Peter's mouth. "You can't. Jesse…. Don't," he implored. "You've only got the rest of the school year. You can make it."

Jesse looked toward the window and the rich blackness. "It was okay, at first, here. Having food and clothes, and always a place to sleep, on my own. But I hate being inside so much. And the winters here. The cold just gets in your soul."

Peter shivered at the bleakness in Jesse's voice. Cai sent the image of flying away, fast and free.

"Please. Stay." Peter's voice cracked. He felt his heart breaking. "You don't know what they'll do to you. To keep you here. In line." He knew what they'd already done to Chris. What if they did something worse to Jesse?

Jesse turned back and glared at Peter, his eyes raven black. "Can't live scared, Petie-Peter. Not no more."

"Talk with Prefect Becker first," Peter begged. Cai pushed at him, wanting to fly, wanting to get away as well.

"Who, the priest?" Jesse scoffed.

"Yeah. If any of the prefects can help, it'd be him." Peter had felt safe with him, the only adult he felt understood him, whom he could talk with and not fear immediate reprisals.

"All right," Jesse finally said, his eyes fading back to their natural cold gray. "Since you seem to set so much store in him. But Chris—"

"I don't know. Chris may be too far gone." Peter shivered again, remembering their last encounter.