See These Bones

by Chris Tullbane

  “But?”

  “He’s eighteen, stubborn, slow to trust, and proud. Worse, he’s carrying a lot of anger around with him. Not unlike my other patient, if we’re drawing parallels. But where Alan’s issues are purely psychological, there is the ever-present unknown of how Damian’s power will affect him. This is new territory, even for me.”

  “Don’t let the professors at Stanford hear you say that. You’ll tarnish the reputation of our alma mater forever.” Bard’s grin quickly fell away. “If he did graduate, what team would choose to add a Crow to their roster? The public relations cost alone…”

  “Not every Power who serves does so as a Cape.” Alexa’s voice was quiet.

  “Your agency would have him?”

  “Provided his nature doesn’t consume him, I think he deserves the opportunity.”

  Bard paused, dark eyes scanning the woman on the far side of the office. “You actually like him.”

  “Oh Jonathan.” She laughed softly. “I like everyone. It’s one of the reasons I am so good at what I do.”

  “Therapy?”

  She shrugged. “That too.”

  CHAPTER 47

  “You’re looking better today, Damian.”

  “Am I?” I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax, but the couch in Dr. Gibbings’ office was somehow less comfortable than usual.

  “Yes.” Alexa was all in black, as always, although she had draped her suit jacket over the back of her chair in acknowledgement of the August heat. “I’d like to spend today’s session discussing whatever it was that has been troubling you for the past few weeks.”

  “I thought whatever we talked about was supposed to be up to me?”

  “Normally, yes. But let’s not pretend that your behavior lately has been normal.” There was no humor at all in Alexa’s black eyes. “I don’t need to know every aspect of your life, but when it comes to your power—and your mental health—there cannot be secrets between us.” When I continued to hesitate, the corners of her mouth turned downward. “I chose not to make an issue of you missing last week’s session because of the way the semester ended, but that grace period is over, Damian. This isn’t baseball; you don’t get three strikes.”

  For those of you who were born post-Break, baseball was an archaic sport from Dr. Nowhere’s time, involving three teams armed with bats, each trying to capture the other teams’ bases. In the absence of Healers, the only thing preventing mass casualties was the ‘three strikes’ rule, which defined a limit on how many times a given player could be hit. I’m still not sure how balls figured into the whole thing, but given that my own testicles want to crawl up into my body just thinking about it, I’m okay with remaining ignorant.

  All of which is a tangent, of course; a distraction from the fact that, even now, I’m not sure how to describe the thoughts and emotions that filled me when Alexa pushed for details. Part of me wanted to refuse, of course… as much because I didn’t like being told what to do as because I was worried on how she would react to the truth. Part of me was angry at being backed into a corner, part of me was still hung up on the counselor’s own lie of omission, and yet another part of me thought I should have told her everything back when all the shit had started.

  I don’t know which of those emotions made sense—or if any of them did—but it was the last one that ended up resonating. I didn’t think Alexa could have done anything to help with my ghost problem, but if I was really, truly going to trust her with my sanity, then lying was just about the dumbest possible thing I could do.

  So I looked across the room into Alexa’s coal-black eyes and told her about Shane and the other ghosts. I told her about my last month of classes and of the way it all had come to a head that past week.

  I told her about Sally.

  •—•—•

  I don’t know how long the story took to tell. It had been four days since I’d met Sally in the clearing, but only a day since I’d reached out and found her gone, and I still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened to all the time in between, or why I hadn’t been hungry or thirsty despite losing a half-week to a single conversation. With all of that so fresh in my mind, my grasp on time was a little bit shaky, but I’m pretty sure we’d exceeded our session’s designated hour by the time I finally trailed off.

  Alexa hadn’t moved once during my recitation—she hadn’t even blinked—but just as the silence between us reached maddening proportions, she stirred. One slender eyebrow, black as night against her pale face, slowly crept upward.

  “You spoke with Sally Cemetery on Academy grounds last Wednesday?”

  “Yeah. And for most of Thursday and Friday, I think. Some of it gets a little hazy.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Damian, I’m not sure how to say this, but—”

  “I know,” I said. “Sally’s been dead for years.”

  •—•—•

  Most of you already knew that, of course. Some of you probably remember when Sally’s death became national news, when men all across the Free States breathed a sigh of relief. And those who didn’t know were no doubt wondering how a Crow as infamous as Sally had just waltzed past the Academy’s defenses. Maybe you put two and two together, and got an incredibly-fucked-up-but-no-less-accurate-for-that-fact four.

  But here’s the part that’s really going to fry your brain. Sally Cemetery had told me that ghosts weren’t people at all, that they were just mindless shells whose sparks of life had yet to fully fade. But Sally had been dead nineteen years, which meant Sally herself was a ghost. So how had she spoken? How had she taught me to access my power? How the fuck did anything from the past few days add up?

  •—•—•

  Over the next half-hour, Alexa and I talked through some of those same inconsistencies. She was hard to read, her professional mask every bit as effective as her Cape mask had been, but the questions she asked were thoughtful and detailed. Either she believed me or she was doing a spectacular job of faking it while waiting for security… and I was pretty sure the woman formerly known as Midnight didn’t need security’s help to deal with one baby Crow.

  “So what do you think? Am I crazy?”

  “Do you feel crazy?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. “Mostly, I’m just confused. But I’m not a therapist either.”

  “Despite what some of the tremendous assholes in my profession would prefer everyone think, a doctoral degree doesn’t grant omniscience,” said Alexa. “I can’t tell you whether you actually met with Sally Jenkins, or if that whole encounter was something your mind created internally to help you deal with a traumatic situation. Post-Break, such things are less cut and dried than they used to be. What I can say is that the Damian I saw two weeks ago was clearly struggling, and that is not the case today.”

  “You could tell?”

  Alexa’s right eyebrow crept back up. “It’s my job.”

  “Did you tell Bard?”

  “No. Jonathan is a gifted man and a brilliant orator, but he is not a trained psychoanalyst. He doesn’t understand that therapy is a process, with peaks and valleys, and that sometimes those valleys are where the greatest progress is made.” She shrugged. “The mind goes through struggles, just like the rest of us. Sometimes, those struggles are what make the mind even stronger.”

  “And if they break it instead?”

  “Then I will honor my promise to you, and ensure that no one else suffers.” For just a moment, the shadows seemed to spill from her eyes. “And then, and only then, will I inform Bard.”

  CHAPTER 48

  “Sally Fucking Cemetery?!? Are you serious?”

  I nodded absently at Silt before turning to Vibe and pointing to the sandwich I was in the process of demolishing. “I thought the cafeteria food was good, but this…this is fantastic.”

  “It’s the marinade. That and high-quality, actual beef. I told you my family’s chef is amazing.” The Empath had brought sandwiches back to school for all of us, and was eating hers one-
handed, her other hand resting atop my bare arm.

  “If I’d known food could taste like this, I would’ve been a lot less happy with the synth-rations back in Bakersfield.” I took another bite and let the multitude of flavors roll around in my mouth.

  “I’m all for listening to the two of you talk about how much you love having meat in your mouths, but could we get back to the bomb that Skeletor just dropped?” asked Silt. “You seriously saw Sally Cemetery?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sally Jenkins, pale and wary… the Sally Cemetery?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded to the bench Silt was perched on. “She was sitting about three feet to your right.”

  Unconsciously, Silt shifted to the left. “But she died before any of us were even born!”

  “I know.” I’d decided I owed it to Vibe and Silt to tell them everything, starting with my parents, and ending with what I’d gone through over the break, but the story wasn’t any less confusing on its second telling. “It was her ghost, I think. And before you ask, I have no fucking idea what that means.”

  “What did Shrink Spooky think?”

  “Alexa? She’s reserving judgement. Waiting to see if this was the final push needed to send me over the edge.”

  “What was Sally like?” Kayleigh wanted to know.

  I chewed on my sandwich for a few moments while considering the question. “Scary. Alone. Kind of sad. Scary.”

  “You said scary twice,” pointed out Silt.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Was she pretty?” pressed Vibe.

  “Yes?” I frowned. “Maybe? Sort of. I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll take Evasive Answers for six-hundred bucks, Alex.” Silt scowled when Vibe and I turned confused looks in her direction. “Come on… Jeopardy? Alex Trebek? Did the Free States purge all of its Pre-Break pop culture?”

  “I’m not being evasive.” I shrugged. “I thought I was losing my mind. I’m still not totally sure I didn’t. Why would I care if Sally was hot?”

  “Because you’re eighteen and unless you’re some sort of sex-ninja, you haven’t gotten any action since you arrived at the Academy?”

  “Sofia!” Vibe’s hand tightened like a vise around my arm as she stared at the stocky Earthshaker.

  “What, Kayleigh?” The look Silt sent back was pure innocence and all the less believable for it. “Men have needs, just like we do. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “Sally’s a ghost,” I reminded her, “and even if she wasn’t …”

  Both women leaned in as I trailed off.

  “You guys know the stories. She doesn’t want to be touched.”

  My words brought silence to the small clearing, and wiped the grin off of Silt’s broad face. For a while, the three of us just sat there, sandwiches in hand, as the first September winds rustled the leaves on the trees around us.

  “Well, I’m no shrink, spooky or otherwise, but I know two things for sure. First, you seem way less crazy now than you did before break.”

  Next to me, I felt more than saw Vibe nod vigorously. Apparently, Alexa hadn’t been the only one to notice something was wrong.

  “And second?”

  “Next time they give us a few weeks off, I’m staying here on campus where the action is.”

  “You didn’t have fun in Phoenix?”

  “Have we met?!? I have fun everywhere I go. But who would choose cheap beer over a showdown with an army of ghosts and a long-dead, ultra-infamous Crow?”

  “Is everyone from Texas insane or just you?”

  “Depends on who you ask.” Silt’s wide grin made a triumphant return.

  “You’re not a Necromancer, Sofia,” said Vibe. “You wouldn’t have been able to see any of them.”

  “Oh. Right.” Silt shrugged heavy shoulders. “Sounds like a nut that Boneboy will have to crack before next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” I said. “Everything’s good now.”

  “Sure it is.” Silt’s smile was oddly gentle. “But next time it isn’t, you’re going to make sure we’re in a position to help, right?”

  I took another bite of my sandwich and nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Of all the promises I ended up breaking that year, that’s one of the very few I take no responsibility for. None of us—Crows or otherwise—have as much control over our lives as we want to believe.

  Sometimes, the world spins, and all we can do is hold on for the ride.

  CHAPTER 49

  The first semester at the Academy is kind of like sparring a Stalwart. Orientation hits you before you’re ready for it, like a jab to the face that leaves you reeling. The weeks that follow are a barrage of body blows and by the time you’ve regained your footing, your wind is shot, your limbs are heavy, and the faint hope of victory has been replaced by the inescapable reality of your defeat.

  The second semester is different. For most first-years, the second semester feels like the prize earned for making it that far.

  Most first-years.

  See, that first semester is all about making sure every Cape has a basic foundation in certain skills; self-defense, weapons-work, even meditation. Winter or Poltergeist having to punch their way out of a fight seemed every bit as unlikely as me dating either of them, but there’s a big difference between unlikely and never-fucking-happening. As Nikolai says, it pays to be sure, because if you’re not sure, you’re gonna pay.

  It sounds better when he says it.

  Anyway, that’s the first semester. In the second semester, we’re assigned classes according to our respective powers. In addition to continued classes in Control, Close Combat, and Weapons Training, there’s Mobility, taught by Macy Johnson. If your life totally sucks, you might wind up in one of Emery Goldstein’s courses; Projection or Perception. Every first-year has to take at least two powers classes—Control and one other—but nobody takes more than four.

  That’s what the handbook says anyway. Turned out that part was bullshit too. Six powers classes, and every one of them was on my curriculum.

  Every.

  Single.

  One.

  •—•—•

  “Why is he here, Nikolai?” asked Orca, nodding in my direction. Wherever she’d gone over the break, her dirty blonde hair was now a shade or two lighter than usual, and set off even more spectacularly by olive skin that was a an equal number of shades darker.

  In addition to looking amazing, she sort of had a point.

  Six of us had made it into second-semester Combat, informally known as Hell’s Second Coming. Me, the Viking, Paladin, Orca, Alan-fucking-Jackson, and my roommate, Stonewall. Five had enhanced strength, durability, and/or speed. The two Shifters even had accelerated healing.

  I could see ghosts. And maybe talk to them, in the case of Sally Cemetery.

  You do the fucking math.

  “Discounting powers, Damian is one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in your class,” answered Nikolai in a baritone rumble.

  “Discounting powers? Does that mean we’re not reducing the dampeners?” That was my roommate, who’d spent most of the first semester getting his ass kicked because of those same dampeners.

  “The dampeners will still be active, to keep some of you from accidentally destroying my classroom, but they’ll be turned down sufficiently to allow both you and Alan to shift.”

  Five sets of first-year eyes turned back to me, but I kept my face a mask. Low dampeners didn’t just mean Alan Jackson and Jeremiah would be able to turn into their secondary forms. It meant Paladin and Orca would be that much faster and more agile. It meant Erik would be that much stronger and more durable.

  Four of the five had kicked my ass back when the dampeners were at full power. Now, even Jeremiah was going to be a nightmare. What chance did I have of survival with the playing field completely uneven?

  Surprisingly, it was Alan who spoke. “How do we keep from accidentally killing him?”

  “The same way you’ll do it in the fie
ld,” said Nikolai. “Control. Anyone who tells you Capes never kill is a fool or a liar, but we make the choice. We don’t allow our powers to choose for us. The dampeners are down so you can learn to utilize your gifts in combat, and so you get experience fighting against powered opponents, but I’ve never lost a student in the arena, and I don’t intend to change that now. Training will be done at reduced speed and intensity until you understand and can control the movements you are making.”

  My roommate nodded, but it was Nadia’s turn to frown. “We still get to spar though, right?”

  “I was getting to that, Orca. Starting with today’s class, you will each spar once every two weeks. All matches will be full speed and full intensity, but lethal blows will not be permitted and combat will end at my discretion. Any more questions?” Nikolai waited for half a breath, then nodded. “Good. First up, the Viking and—” He paused, beady eyes fixed on me. “Have you picked a codename yet, Crow?”

  “Not yet.” Vibe and Silt had convinced me that Baron Boner was a non-starter, but I wasn’t sold on either of the two nicknames Sofia had suggested.

  “Figure one out before second-year, or one of the image consultants will choose for you.” The big man gave a mock shiver. “Not something you want, believe me. Anyway, let’s see how you fare today against our resident Titan.”

  “I’m going to break you like a twig, Crow,” said Erik, as we headed down the tunnel to the arena.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” I shot back. “All I have to do is dodge for half a minute until your fat ass keels over.”

  Turns out, his prediction was a shit-ton more accurate than mine.

  •—•—•

  I’m not going to give you a blow-by-blow of the whole fight. I’m sure there’s a vid of it somewhere in the Academy records, if you’re really curious. Maybe you can find some other Crow and convince her to get that vid and play it for you.

  Let’s just say that five months of training had done the Viking’s stamina a world of good. Let’s say that I dodged his first punch easily, then made the mistake of driving my own fist into his ribs, where regular bones—mine—met superhumanly dense bones—his—with predictable results.