by Lucy Auburn
“She was so magnificent on the high wire.” He turns towards me and calls fire to one hand. With the other he makes a little shadow puppet and holds it up to the light of his flame, sending it skittering through the air, flipping and dancing. I’m mesmerized. Until the puppet falls. “One day, she slipped.” The puppet twists its neck. “And died.”
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.” And I am. “But what does that have to do with our class?”
Sighing, Yohan pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s trying to banish a particularly bad headache. “If you waited, you would’ve heard me tell you that after she died, she lived again. As a phoenix.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.” He raises his brows at me, giving me his best Yohan-is-judging-you-insufficient look. “‘Oh’ indeed. Risen from the dead, my sister was even more beautiful as she crossed the high wire with flames at her back. So beautiful, in fact, that we got the notice of Grims, and were forced to flee once more—this time, to a place we’d heard in rumors, a place that was safe: the school.”
“So there’s more to the story.”
“There always is.”
Behind me, Sebastian mutters, “He takes his time, doesn’t he?”
I ignore him; this is the most fascinating this class has ever been, and it beats meditating. “What happened to her that makes you talk about her in past tense?”
Yohan focuses in the distance, again, then clears his throat and fixes his eyes on me. “I’m not sure I should tell you this, but you’ll find out one way or another from one of the students, so it’s best a teacher told you. Over the summer there was an incident during a field trip with the students. Seven Grims arrived with their swords and guns and chest-cracking tools, anticipating a harvest of hearts.”
I shudder. “I didn’t know.”
“Yes, you didn’t. Because they were stopped.” His voice grows thick with emotion. “With Headmaster Towers keeping watch over the school, my high-flying sister was the instructor guiding the trip. She gathered her Shields, two bear shifters and a wolf shifter, and raced to the front lines to protect the students. One by one her Shields fell, and my sister fell with them. She died.”
His eyes glimmer hard, his fire gathers at his back, as he says, “And then she lived again. Her fourth life, by then. Instead of retreating, she continued to fight. She burned many of the Grims to death, then fell again.”
The fire of his wings grows with the telling of the story, as if it’s fed by his emotions as well as his calm self-control.
“When she rose one last time, the final Grim left was attacking the weakest, first year students. So Victoria put herself directly in the line of fire, and as bullets ripped through her body, she summoned the full power of her wings to protect herself and the students. Because they were wingless. Because they could not protect themselves.”
Heat licks all around him, rising the temperature of the room, and for the first time I’m truly afraid of his wings as well as awed by them.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him again, because it’s all I can think of to say.
He nods, expression shuttering closed, wings withdrawing to their previous muted state.
But there’s just one thing bothering me. “I thought I was the only first year here. Or at least, the only first year phoenix.”
“You are now.” He looks out the window again. “After the invasion, the Headmaster sent all the incoming first year phoenix students to our sister school in London, hoping they would be safe there while we rooted out the source of the leak. Not long after that, there was an invasion at that school. Our information network discovered that the Grims were working with an oracle, and we ended the threat—but not before every single one of the phoenix students sent away was killed. In the end, my sister died for nothing.”
A hollowness fills my chest, indescribable and yawning wide. I understand now why he’s always held himself separate, seemed distant, even cold and quiet; he’s mourning. And more than that, no doubt having a new phoenix student reminds him of what he’s lost.
“I’ll get better, I promise.” Licking my lips, I try to make myself feel like it’s true, even though I’m not confident at all. “I won’t let you down.”
Behind me, Ezra adds, “I hope you’re right about that, since I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to save your ass from Grims a second time.”
“Better study hard,” Lynx calls out.
This time, when Yohan goes through the steps for meditation, turning my focus inward, and pushing it out again, I listen close. I go through all the steps. I try to remind myself of how I felt in Sticky’s attic, when I saw that weird glowing pulse coming from my hands.
But as much as I try, nothing happens—that much is clear from the sliver of disappointment in Yohan’s eyes when the class bell rings.
“There’s always next week,” he says, and I don’t know if he’s consoling me or himself.
Friday, 1:00 PM: Hand-to-Hand Combat with Laura McKinley
With such a terrible start to the day and a bad night’s sleep behind me, it’s no wonder that I find myself getting utterly trounced in combat class. Which isn’t exactly a change from the usual.
“C’mon, Dani!” The teacher, an unassuming blonde woman with surprising strength, circles around me on the mat as I try to practice certain moves on another girl my size. “Block and control. Kayla is slowing things down as much as she can for you; if you can’t stop her during an attack like this, you’ll never be ready for the real thing.”
Yeah, that sounds like me: not at all capable of taking down anyone with my hands alone, even in a fair fight. My smartass attempts to prove hair pulling and eye gouging are part of combat did nothing to help me. Even with Kayla firmly sticking to the rules and going as slow as possible, I can see that she doesn’t believe I’ll ever be able to block her attack and reverse it on her.
I’m not sure I disagree with the judgment in her eyes, either. I also feel like I could do better than this. But I have no fucking clue how.
“Try it one more time,” the teacher growls, her eyes flashing, and for a moment I see the wolf that another student told me lives beneath her skin.
Kayla resets. I square myself off, ready to dodge her attack and somehow turn it against her... if I even get that far.
Suddenly, Ezra is behind me, not at all observing from a distance like he has been. He leans forward and puts his hand on my left side, non-corporeal fingers brushing close enough to the skin to make me shiver. “Look at her shoulders to see her intentions. Shift your weight to the left to dodge her attack, parry, and control. Don’t look at her fist—by the time you see it coming, it’ll be too late.”
Combat tips from a demon. I suppose there are worse teachers. And despite knowing better, I find myself wishing that his fingers could touch me.
“Also,” he adds, “it’d be great if you could use your senses instead of acting like some kind of normal buffoon. I don’t know why you’re making yourself seem weaker, Dani. I’ve seen you move. I know you can do this.”
My lips tighten as I hold back a response. It’s easy to forget that the demons have been beside me many times without me even noticing. They no doubt saw it in the club when I dodged through that crowd, or when the blonde ponytail Grim attacked and I froze her before the bullet could hit me.
But I’m scared. None of my teachers have told me that phoenix can slow or freeze time, much less sense other’s movements before they happen. If I use that skill, they’ll see it. And they’ll know I don’t belong.
I want to leave on my own terms.
I don’t want to be kicked out. Again. Running away is better. If you run before they get rid of you, it doesn’t feel like you weren’t wanted.
I want to feel wanted. I want to be touched like I matter, like I belong.
“You’ve got this.” Ezra squeezes my shoulder lightly, and instead of his fingers going through, I feel them actually touch my skin. I startle, staring down at his fingers as a s
ensation goes through me at his touch. But he draws back before I can examine the feeling any further, his form going semi-translucent once more.
I don’t get the chance to order my thoughts. Laura calls out, “Begin!”
I don’t mean to at first. But with Ezra’s words on my mind, those senses of mine, the ones I’ve been suppressing every class, surge to the forefront. Suddenly I can see the energy surging beneath Kayla’s skin, can sense her actions just before she puts them into motion, and instinctively know every move she’s going to make before it happens.
Time slows. I dodge, dropping my right elbow and pivoting. Her fist goes wide, slipping above my right arm. I catch her arm in my right hand and strike her elbow with my left.
I’ve got her. In a blink, time is normal again. But the fight isn’t over yet; Kayla’s eyes are sparking, and I can tell she doesn’t want to lose to me, not even a simple one-and-done move like this that even a child could do. She’s going to counterattack.
I’ve seen you move. I know you can do this.
The fight goes on. Kayla pivots out of my grip and lowers her center of gravity, arms up in front of her neck and face. I feel it before she prepares her kick, slipping her weight onto one leg to free the other to take me out. Her hips pivot, and I have to decide what to do.
A voice whispers in my ear in the second I have to plan my next move. “Take her out, Dani. You were born for this.”
Sebastian. Wicked demon with his lips brushing against—and through—the shell of my ear.
But his words feel right. I turn my leg to take Kayla’s kick full on, then shift my weight forward and punch. My strike, pulled at the last minute, hits her in the chest. With her weight shifted as it is, she stumbles back, eyes shocked.
“You haven’t even learned kick counterattacks yet!” she protests.
The teacher cuts in, voice sharp, “Which is why you never should’ve used one on her, Kayla. Go to the mats.” Walking over, she claps my shoulder, a tiny sliver of approval in her eyes. “Good job, Dani. Now try to do that more than once. This class isn’t just for fun, you know.”
“I know.” Thinking about the creeper in the club, the woman in Sticky’s attic, I can see how being able to defend myself against either would’ve helped—though there wasn’t much I could’ve done against their guns. “Is there a part of the curriculum that covers disarming people with weapons?”
Cocking her head to the side, Laura smiles at me. “Oh, there is. And it’s far, far too advanced for you. But if you keep showing improvement, little by little, you’ll get there.” She turns to the rest of the class and adds, “Five minute break, water, then back to it.”
As I walk over to my corner and grab a cup to fill from the water jug, I can feel the demons’ eyes on me. Beneath my breath I mutter, “What do you want?”
“To congratulate you,” Ezra says, brows raised. “You finally showed them a little taste of what you’ve been capable of this whole time.”
Lynx adds, “Now they might actually have expectations for you.”
For some reason, this makes a blush tingle in my cheeks, and a pleased little smile curl up the corners of my mouth.
Friday, 2:00 PM: Group Combat with Jared Fisk
It seems unfair to have another combat class so soon after the last one, but my Monday and Friday schedule is tough. Three other students from Hand-to-Hand Combat trail with me to the second classroom, all of them still wearing the academy-assigned combat uniforms, which are far easier to work out in than a wool blend with a blazer would be. One of the students is, of course, Kayla, whose eyes I can feel burning the back of my neck.
“I know what you’re doing,” she says, catching up to me as we turn the corner towards the classroom. “You’re that thing people do where they pretend to be bad at something they’re actually good at.”
“You mean hustling,” I point out, rolling my eyes. “And the last time I checked no one is gambling, Kayla, so I can’t be hustling you. There’d be no point.”
She scoffs. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Carpenter.”
Whatever that means. I have enough going on without a paranoid rival following me everywhere. Knowing my luck, she’ll see me talking to the demons, decide I’m some kind of lunatic, and try to get me committed.
Lynx mutters, “She seems fun.”
“Watch me all you want, Kayla,” I tell her breezily, using the same tactics that saved me with the bullies at the group home. “You’ll get bored after a day or two. Also disgusted. I eat like a pig.”
I’m saved from her response as we walk into the classroom. Like the other combat classes, Group Combat is held in a large room, more like a gym than anything. Unlike the other rooms, this one has a divider down the middle, a giant red line painted onto the floor.
The teacher is already here, standing with one foot on either side of the divider; the sight of him shuts Kayla up instantly. Jared Fisk is a big man, not just in height but in pure physical width; he looks like he could take even the demons on, just based on sheer size. His light, dirty blond hair is close-cropped, his eyes serious, his arms crossed over his heavy chest.
He doesn’t look like the kind of instructor to tolerate nonsense, so I quickly find a seat on the mats and stay quiet. Other students file in behind me, all similarly closed-mouthed, like they’re afraid to get his notice. Fisk doesn’t seem mean, though; he doesn’t give me that impression of a bully the way the Fern Valley kids did or some of the workers at the group home. He just looks like his tolerance for any kind of shenanigans is low.
“Welcome to Group Combat. I’m sure you’re all looking forward to the weekend.” His eyes skim over us; the last student to enter the room closes the door, and it has an act of finality to it. “Well, don’t start celebrating the fact that it’s Friday just yet. You still have two hours of work ahead of you—and I’m going to make sure every minute is full.”
I swallow as his gaze finds me. “Dani Carpenter. Stand up.”
Licking my lips, I do so, my back straight and hands clasped in front of me. Behind me, Mateo calls out, “Oooohhhh, you’re in trouble already.”
I keep my eyes forward and ignore him—as well as the distinct sound of Ezra elbowing him firmly in the middle, and the oof of pain that follows. Serves Mateo right for trying to distract me during class. I’d get rid of him if I could.
Even though his little comments and quips often bring a smile to my face, an expression I’m fighting against right now in an effort to look serious in front of my latest teacher.
“Dani, I want you to walk over here, to where I’m standing.” He moves aside, striding to the left side of the combat area. Cautiously, I approach, and stop where he’s pointing. “Good, very good. Stay right here in the center.”
Looking out towards the other students, Fisk studies each of them. I silently count: eighteen. More than in the other combat classes, but for a class about groups, I was expecting more. But I have no idea what this class is supposed to look like to begin with; even more than Pixie Resistance or Phoenix Fire, it was a mystery on my schedule.
“Today, all of you are going to finally do what you’ve been studying all this time: protect a phoenix. Those of you on the left side of the room are the attackers; those of you on the right side are the protectors. We’ll rotate and change until you’ve all gotten a taste of each. It’ll be your job to defend Dani—or to try to break past your classmates’ defenses to attack her. You’ll use all your knowledge up until now in this.”
Kayla’s hand shoots up, her eyes eager. “What about Dani? What’s she supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” he says, his voice firm. “In the event of a Grim attack, a phoenix like Dani is their first target, disabled and contained in the blink of an eye. You should never expect a phoenix you’re assigned to protect to be able to defend themselves during an attack. Your only job is to keep them alive—or if they die, keep their heart in their chest long enough for them to regenerate.”
I can’t hel
p smiling this time, and I make sure Kayla sees my smile in all its shit-eating glory.
This is going to be the easiest class ever.
Chapter 16
Two hours later, I’m laying flat in my bed, regretting my earlier assumption that being the bait in the middle of Group Combat would be easy. It turns out that when Jared Fisk orders his students to try to attack someone, they really do attack. Seriously attack. And while there were no actual injuries, and no one came for my head or tried to break anything, I find myself with more bruises now than I got in days of hand-to-hand combat training.
I suspect Kayla went extra hard with a few of her take-downs while she was on the attackers’ side.
The worst part? I couldn’t fight back. Fisk ordered me to pretend like I’d been disabled or injured already, which wasn’t hard to fake after a few rounds of being thrown to the ground and dragged away by my “attackers.” After a while I started the rounds on the ground with my arms folded over my chest and legs up, like a dressed turkey just waited to be basted and roasted in the oven.
Mateo thought it was very, very funny.
At least now I have a whole weekend ahead of me. Plenty of time to rest, nurse my bruises, and get up to stuff on my own, finally. I’ve got ten thousand dollars burning a hole in the top of my wardrobe and an important mission: open a bank account so I have somewhere safe to put it. That’s if I can convince the headmaster to let me off the grounds—or sneak away without attracting the attention of another murderous Grim.
There’s another thing I want to try this weekend, too. I’ve been thinking on it for days, every time I sit down with Olivia, Liam and the others for lunch or dinner, or pass friendly easygoing Sam in the hallway.
