Raven and the Dancing Tiger

by Cutter, Leah

  * * *

  Petie floated, content and safe, at the back of Cai's mind. He didn't really have the sense of banking hard as they circled, there was no thrill involved. Just a general sense of where they were. Woods spread far beneath them, a prickly carpet with plenty of hiding spots if they should need them.

  The branches got closer, the light gone as they dipped into the shade.

  A scent rose, rotten and sweet.

  It rolled Petie forward, dislodging him from his comfortable place and closer to the front. He didn't understand. This was Cai's time. Yet Cai was bringing him closer.

  Why?

  The caws of other ravens rang through the still afternoon, along with the rustling of birds in the layer of dead leaves under the trees.

  Cai dropped farther down, bounding from one bush to the next, until they came to a clear spot.

  Just beyond the dark trunks, a wide meadow spread out, full of sunshine. On the edge of the meadow, just under the trees, lay a mottled white-and-black rock. It looked strange there, dropped hastily by some giant hand.

  Cai cawed softly to get Petie's attention.

  No. It wasn't a rock.

  Tasty ants lay trailed across the carcass, seeking tidbits to carry away. Fat, juicy maggots burrowed into the soft flesh. Delicious black flies buzzed around its head.

  Cow, Petie said, giving a name to the dead thing before them.

  Cai replied with a whine Petie had never heard before. It took him a few moments to put together all the feelings Cai was bombarding him with.

  Cai was hungry. It was a dead thing, here, ready to be eaten.

  But Cai stopped, because he knew Petie cared.

  Petie gave Cai the image of blue skies and sunlight on his wings, how good it felt to fly. They could go back to Ravens' Hall, where it was warm and safe. Tonight, Petie would eat a lot. He promised the feeling of contentment and a full belly.

  Cai nodded and hopped, once, twice, past the dead beast and back up into the air.

  The ravens in the trees merely watched them leaving, a great chorus of sound rising behind them.

  * * *

  Petie set his tray down next to Jesse's and plopped into the hard plastic chair beside him. They were serving spaghetti that night, meat sauce over fat, worm-like noodles, with loads of cheese bread and some kind of pickled carrots and radishes that actually tasted good, plus ice cream later for dessert. Petie had loaded up with everything. He didn't want to be hungry, or for Cai to feel like they were hungry. Not now, not ever.

  Cai had done the right thing.

  Petie kept thinking about it.

  The dead cow, that was Cai's natural food. Petie had seen enough Animal Planet to know. Cai was never going to feel bad about eating the dead things in the field.

  But Cai cared about Petie. At least a little. Enough to stop.

  Petie tore into his bread, inhaling about half of his spaghetti before he took a breath, intending to talk to Jesse.

  Jesse's plate was barely half full. And he wasn't really eating, just pushing the food around.

  "What's up?" Petie asked.

  Jesse shrugged. "Nothing's up."

  "You okay?" Petie insisted.

  "Sure, everything's fine. Nothing to worry about."

  Jesse's smile looked painted on, false and mask-like.

  "Someone picking on you?" Petie asked, remember Chris and the almost-fight they'd had that morning.

  "No, no, no one's picking on me," Jesse said. "Is someone picking on you?"

  Petie bit his lips together, not wanting to blurt anything out. Was Chris still going to pick on him? He didn't know. He didn't want to fight, though he still thought it was cool Prefect Kitridge thought he'd win. "Maybe," Petie finally answered with a shrug. "But I got it," he added with a confidence he only kind of felt.

  Jesse bumped his shoulder. "You got me at your back," he said, finally giving Petie a real smile, though it was small and still pale.

  "And I got your back, too," Petie said.

  "Naw," Jesse said, teasing. "You don't need to do that. You jist need to keep your eyes peeled for charms, you got that?"

  Petie nodded, uncertain. Did Jesse think Petie couldn't protect him? That he wasn't good enough for a friend, or a fight?

  Jesse must have seen something, because he dropped his voice and leaned closer to Petie, saying, "Don't you go worrying about me. I always land on my feet."

  "Like a cat?" Petie teased.

  Jesse made a face at him. "You know, my ma always said that our luck just went from bad to worse. That anyone watching our backs were just gonna see 'em sliding downhill."

  Petie wanted to reach out and pat Jesse's arm, or something. Anything. It all seemed so mean, what his mom said, what he was saying.

  Jesse shook his head, then gave Petie a wink. "Maybe my luck can be changing, though. I'm here, right? And things can only get better," Jesse said with determination, turning back to his plate and starting to eat.

  Petie bit back his frustrated sigh. He didn't understand what was wrong, why Jesse felt his luck was so bad.

  But Jesse was also right. Raven warriors looked after their own. Dad was always harping on that, and it had been in the recitation that day as well.

  They'd take care of Jesse, too.

  Chapter Nine

  At the first few notes of "Tuxedo Junction," Peter grabbed Sally's hand. "Come on!" He started walking toward the dance floor while a sea of dancers left, going the other way. A smaller group of dancers stayed in the middle of the wooden floor, arranging themselves in lines.

  Sally pulled back, literally dragging her feet. "I don't know the line dance," she said.

  Peter stopped. "It's called the Shim Sham. And I'll teach you."

  Sally smiled and linked their fingers together, squeezing lightly. "All right."

  Peter walked them to the back of the group of dancers already lined up. He counted off the steps for Sally as they went through the first iteration. She watched intently, trying a few of the steps herself, getting the easier parts like the Tacky Annies, which were mostly just step-tap, step-tap.

  "See? You got it," Peter told her, though it was fast and complicated and she still flubbed a bunch of the steps. They danced it together the second time through, Peter calling out the steps for Sally, laughing with her through the shimmy forward and jumps and claps backward.

  Just before the end, Cai bristled and called out a warning.

  Peter didn't have to look to know Tamara now danced behind him. He moved closer to Sally, who didn't seem to notice.

  When the line dancing part of the song was over, the group split up to dance the rest of the song in couples. Ideally, everyone was supposed to dance with the person next to them.

  Peter turned eagerly to Sally, but before he could reach her, Tamara threw her arms around him from behind and purred in his ear, "Don't you want to dance with me?"

  "No," Peter said, digging his hands into her white, fleshy arms and tugging up.

  They were locked like iron across his chest.

  Peter took a deep breath and didn't panic, didn't flutter and try to escape. He knew he could get out, away. He knew he shouldn't do it that way. But he still remembered how.

  "Don't make me hurt you," Tamara said, tugging tighter. "Big bad raven warrior like you."

  Peter went with her easily, still looking for a different escape, some way to slip out of her grasp without throwing her or hurting her. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

  "Or maybe I should dance with her," Tamara said.

  Peter glanced at Sally. She had her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Tamara. "Leave her alone," Peter growled.

  "Then dance with me."

  "Never," Peter said. He pushed back against Tamara suddenly, folded himself together, and dropped out of her grip. Then he sprang back up, out of her reach, and turned back to face her.

  Tamara looked surprised; her arms still locked and now empty. Was that fear that crossed her face? The
n she gave Peter a smug smile. "Nice move. You'll have to show me more next time we play."

  "Leave me alone," Peter gritted out.

  "I don't think so," Tamara said as she moved away. "We're going to keep playing until I'm bored enough to challenge you."

  She floated off the dance floor and Peter shuddered. Her scent still encased him, and it was still all too human. He turned to Sally, to her goodness and warmth, reaching for her again.

  "Challenge?" Sally asked as they got into position.

  "Dance contest," Peter said glibly, the first thing that popped into his head.

  Sally glared at him. "Don't lie."

  Peter sighed and shook his head. He brought Sally in close, dancing side by side, their steps smoothly aligned. He couldn't tell her everything. The recitations were too strong. He needed to tell her enough, though, if he didn't want to lose her. "I don't know what she means by challenge," he admitted.

  Sally nodded. "But you think it's a thing. Something you'll have to face."

  "Maybe it will only be a dance challenge," Peter said weakly.

  "She wants to hurt you," Sally insisted.

  Peter pulled Sally closer for a few steps, circling both his arms around her before spinning her out, dancing with her at arm's reach. When the song ended, Peter pulled Sally in again, putting his arm over her shoulder as they walked back to the corner where all his friends sat.

  Sally didn't say a word, but Petie knew he needed to reply. "I know she wants to hurt me," Peter finally said into Sally's expectant silence. "I don't know why. But I'm afraid she'll try to hurt you, too."

  "I can take care of myself," Sally assured him.

  "I'm sorry," Peter said, his heart heavy. They sat down together in the darkened corner. He took both of Sally's hands in his and leaned closer. "Maybe we should—"

  "Stop right there," Sally said firmly. "Don't say it unless you really don't want to see me, ever again."

  Cai bristled and Peter clenched Sally's hands more tightly.

  "That's what I thought," Sally said after a few moments of silence. "No more of that nonsense. We'll be better watching each other's backs, right?"

  Peter gulped and nodded, despite the rush of guilt that flooded over him, the memories of Jesse and those words. But Jesse had never wanted Peter to watch his back, just to watch for charms and traps.

  Maybe Peter should do that now, as well.

  He waited until Tamara was out on the dance floor before he asked Sally to get their next round of drinks. He leaned far back in his chair, slipping further into the dark corner before he asked for Cai's help.

  The contrast between the lighted dance floor and the dark edges grew more stark. The bright party dresses, even Sally's red dance shoes, faded.

  Sally remained deeply human in Cai's sight, nothing to mark her as his mate, just a feeling, a pull, that was stronger than ever.

  Peter dragged his gaze from Sally back to the dancers, looking for Tamara.

  Tamara still looked completely normal. That couldn't be right. Peter searched her from head to toe, standing to get a better look. No charms hung around her neck, wrists, or waist. Even her shoes were ordinary. No hairpins sparkled in her hair, and her ankle socks didn't hide anything, either.

  Peter kept staring at her. There had to be something, some reason why he couldn't sense anything other with her. He knew he was out of practice, but he still felt strong.

  For a brief moment, Tamara lit up, brighter than everyone else on the dance floor, as if a revolving spot light had illuminated her. Then the light was gone.

  What the hell had that been?

  Then a second person in the crowd flared; one of the older guys, Rudi, with silver hair and a perpetual smile. He was one of the better dancers, always friendly, always willing to chat or explain a more complicated dance move. He was continuously circling the room, looking for different partners. Some of the older women compared him to George Clooney, particularly since Rudi had that same chiseled chin and perpetually single air to him.

  Peter had never suspected anything about him, either. But now, Peter had someone else to watch and wonder about. Was he the same as Tamara? He didn't seem the same. Tamara gave Peter the feeling of sleekness, while Rudi always seemed doggedly patient and kind.

  Before Sally came back, Cai retreated and Peter settled back in his chair. He should have asked Cai to look earlier.

  However, Peter had thought he'd left all magic behind, a long time ago.

  * * *

  Peter paused his video game when his phone started playing K*D's hip-hop version of "Old Man River." Darkness pressed in from outside, making the little lighted apartment feel isolated. He was glad his dad couldn't see him, or he'd surely frown at Peter's comfy sweats and ratty T-shirt.

  "Hey Dad," Peter said as he drifted from his desk and sank down on his futon-couch. He smoothed out a wrinkle in the rough, red wool blanket covering it.

  "Hey sport. Whatcha up to?"

  "Playing a video game, relaxing," Peter said honestly, taking a sip of his now cold and stale coffee, then making a face and putting it down. "How 'bout you?"

  "I talked with Prefect Aaron today."

  Peter grew very still, as if hiding in his own living room from some creature stalking him.

  Cai puffed up, ready to do battle.

  "Why?" Peter asked flatly.

  "Peter, it's okay. The prefect isn't at Ravens' Hall anymore."

  Of course not. He was out hunting rogue ravens.

  "Where is he?"

  "Retired."

  Peter snorted in disbelief. The prefect would never just retire to his studio, to putter around his garden, dabbling in the odd spell or charm. No, he was part hawk, and always needed to be on the hunt. Not literally, of course: raven warriors didn't suffer half-breeds.

  "Believe what you may," Dad said patiently. "I thought he'd be our best source of information about what you're fighting."

  "Fighting?" Peter asked, sitting on the edge of his couch, ready to take flight. "Who says I'm fighting anything?"

  Cai puffed up further, wings partially expanding, ready to attack.

  "The tiger warrior clan is set up differently than the raven warriors."

  Peter took a deep breath and made himself lean back. There was nothing to fight, not yet. "So what did you learn?" He'd ask about the price later, what his dad paid or promised in exchange for information.

  "Our clan elects its leaders. There used to be challenges, but it's more democratic now."

  Peter nodded. He remembered this from his history lessons, how Ebril had challenged Katar for leadership, and how she'd battled him as a true raven warrior and won. And also how Chris had tried to force him into a challenge. But Peter wasn't in any sort of leadership position. How could Tamara challenge him for that?

  "As far as we know, the tiger warriors never ended that tradition. When we were last in contact with them, they still issued challenges, not just for leadership in the clan, but to each other. The battles are fierce, and even the ones that aren't meant to be mortal often are."

  "So they challenge each other. Why does Tamara think she could challenge me? And to what?" Peter asked. He changed hands on his phone, rubbing his sweating palm on his jeans.

  "There have been clan-to-clan challenges. Generally over some insult, perceived or real."

  "So when she issues this challenge, I'll have to go fight her," Peter said flatly. "No one in the raven clan will stand up for me."

  Cai gave a menacing caw, still ready to battle.

  "A challenge from the tiger warriors to the raven warriors hasn't been issued in hundreds of years," Dad said, trying to sound reassuring. "If your friend did this, it would be serious."

  "So she couldn't just issue a challenge for the hell of it?" Peter asked, finally seeing a glimmer of hope.

  "No," Dad said. "But that doesn't mean she wouldn't try to attack you, sometime."

  "She keeps saying she's going to challenge me," Peter said. He didn't add
the threat of her killing him.

  "She'd have to go before both councils to do that."

  "How come we never learned about this tiger clan at Ravens' Hall?" Peter asked, still puzzling over Tamara's threats. She seemed so certain.

  "This is the first time the raven clan has encountered the tiger warriors in two centuries," Dad said. "The prefect had been told they were all dead. Something about the British rule in India. When he inquired—"

  "Wait. He told Ravens' Hall?" Peter asked, what little calm he'd achieved vanishing. He stood to pace. Cai did as well, scratching and strutting, agitated.

  "He didn't mention you."

  "Please, Dad," Peter said, exasperated. All the prefect had to do was mention Seattle, and Ravens' Hall would suspect that the troublemakers out there were causing trouble again.

  And send investigators to judge the balance of Peter's human and raven souls.

  Peter made himself take another deep breath. He followed the recitations. He and Cai were more balanced than ever before.

  But Jesse was here now, too. Somehow Peter had to protect him, better than before.

  Jesse was far from balanced at this point.

  "I'm sorry, son."

  Peter sighed. "Look, it doesn't matter now. I, um, tried to look at Tamara. Really looking, you know?"

  "I don't follow you, sport."

  "You remember the main class the prefect taught?"

  "Yes—oh! You were quite good at that, weren't you?"

  "Yeah. Anyway. Tamara—seems normal. Mostly normal."

  "I don't know anything about that. That was never my forte. You'll have to ask the prefect."

  "He's coming to Seattle, isn't he?" Peter asked, sitting down again, deflating. That was the price his father had probably paid in exchange for knowledge.

  "He's coming to Bainbridge. I figured you could come home for the weekend, too."

  "You'll pick him up from the airport?"

  "Yes, and escort him back."

  Wiley old bird could probably still make trouble, even isolated like that. "All right. When does he fly in?"

  "Wednesday."

  Peter swallowed down his sudden spike of fear. It was already Sunday. Three days. Not much time to practice his old drills. "Bring him here," Peter instructed, telling both himself and Cai that they had nothing to fear.