by Cutter, Leah
"You said you had dinner with him this week," Sally asked, leading the way finally.
"Yeah. He's retired, visiting my dad."
"So you both went to this boarding school?" Sally asked, surprised. "I thought that kind of thing only happened in movies or something."
Peter shrugged. "It's a family tradition." He'd loved Ravens' Hall for at least part of his stay there, when it hadn't been barbaric.
Would he send his own son there? Ignoring the fact that the raven clan might kill both Peter and his son if he didn't.
"The prefect always wanted me to come back and teach there, actually," Peter admitted. Which was true enough, if Peter could have conformed enough to be brought into the fold.
"Would you?"
"If things changed, if the school went through a serious reform, I might go out for the summer sessions, yeah. It was in Wyoming, and you can't believe the scenery. The mountains, and the woods, and that sky that just went from end to end." Peter sighed and shook his head. Both he and Cai missed that endless blue sky.
"You know, reform sometimes has to start from within," Sally told him seriously.
Peter bit his lips together. He really couldn't talk about it, tell her about practices that were millennia old, the recitations, and the magic. Or about the lost boys, and how the clan controlled and policed their own. "If I thought I had a chance, I might," he finally said when he realized she was still waiting for an answer. "But I'll never get that chance." He couldn't change the world.
"You know, I always thought I was too little to help," Sally said. "I'm just one person, right? Against something huge, like institutionalized hunger or poverty. But I can make a difference, and I do."
"I know you do," Peter said warmly. "You're amazing. Me, I'm not sure what I am."
"You'll get there," Sally said, squeezing his hand. "I have faith in you."
Peter ached to sweep her up, hold her close and kiss her, to draw her closer into his heart until there was no distinguishing between the pair of them, when he was her and she was him. He settled for a smile and squeezing her hand back, while Cai urged him forward, closer, wanting to brush his feathers against her skin.
Sally lived in an old, turn-of-the-century building, just a few blocks west of the main drag. The stairs were white marble with black streaks. The intercom system was old-fashioned, as well as the lock. The list of tenants, with their last names, was right there next to the buzzer. Leaded glass surrounded the wooden door, which wouldn't hold out long against anyone determined to come in.
Peter wrinkled his nose when Sally opened the door. The smell of old cats and unclean litter boxes washed over him.
Cai huffed up in distress. There wasn't a cat nearby, but he didn't like it.
Dingy white paint over textured wallpaper made up the hallways. The dark red of the carpet didn't hide its ancient stains. Peter checked the ceiling automatically. At least the fire alarm system and sprinklers seemed up to date.
What worried Peter more, though, was that Sally lived on the first floor, in the back, right next to a door that was equally unprotected.
Peter longed desperately for the library of spells he'd left behind at Ravens' Hall, those in the forbidden books near the top of the shelves in the Charms Room. The ones he had memorized were inadequate to protect her. He heard the skittering of claws against wood on the far side of the door and froze while Sally opened the door.
A small black dog with bright eyes and big ears sat on the other side. He gave a small yip, looking from Sally to Peter.
"Come in," Sally said, holding the door open to Peter.
An antique wooden dresser sat in the vestibule, mail piled up on one side, bright green and blue bowls holding coins and keys on the other. The walls were painted a burnt orange, highlighted with bright white boards at both the top and bottom. It seemed cozy and warm. No rug covered the scarred wooden floor.
Peter stepped across the threshold, unsure what to do next. Sally indicated he should walk to the right, into the living room.
A long olive-green couch ran along one wall. Papers, books, and magazines covered the coffee table in front of the couch. A black hutch partially hid the flat-screen TV in the corner. The other walls held shelves filled with books and knickknacks.
Peter walked into the center of the room. He stood on the faded white-and-red Oriental rug and turned back toward the door.
Pixie followed right behind. He wasn't doing the dancing greeting that Peter had heard about. Did it mean he didn't approve of Peter?
Pixie came closer, circling Peter silently, sniffing at him.
Peter held out his hand, which Pixie ignored, continuing to sniff at his pants and shoes. Finally, Pixie sat down in front of Peter, shifting onto his hind paws and holding up one paw, obviously looking to shake hands.
Peter looked at Sally.
She shook her head and said, "I never taught him to shake. He doesn't know any tricks. At least, not from me. I've never seen him do that before."
Peter nodded and squatted down so he'd be closer to the dog, his black glass armor at the ready in case the animal attacked. But Pixie didn't seem aggressive. He just sat there calmly, one paw out. Peter took it in his hand, shaking it slightly.
Pixie looked at him curiously, with large, liquid black eyes. Eyes that were more intelligent than any Peter had ever seen belonging to a dog.
Peter said the first thing that came to his mind. "You have the biggest eyes," he told Pixie.
"He does, doesn't he?" Sally said, sounding pleased.
Pixie pressed down with the one paw still in Peter's hand, lifting up the other.
Peter took both paws, then looked down at them in his hands.
Pixie's paws now completely covered his palms.
Cai gave a cautious caw.
"And big paws, too, for such a little dog," Peter said as Pixie lifted himself up and away, dropping his feet to the ground. Yet when Peter looked at Pixie's feet, they seemed to be in perfect proportion, not large at all.
"You think so?" Sally asked as Pixie skipped up to her. She picked him up and lifted one of his paws.
His paws were normal-sized in her hands. They weren't huge at all.
What was Pixie? Was he part of the hound clan? Why was he here with Sally?
Pixie gave Sally's cheek a quick lick before squirming. Sally laughed and put him down.
Then Pixie sat in front of Sally, giving Peter a quiet bark, watching him steadily with those too-knowing eyes.
"You protect Sally, don't you?" Peter asked.
Pixie gave a happy bark and wagged his tail, coming back to Peter.
Peter bent to scritch Pixie around the ears. "You be sure to take good care of her," he instructed Pixie.
If a dog could have rolled its eyes, Peter had the impression Pixie would have.
Whatever Pixie was, it appeared to be his job to watch out for Sally.
"I will, too," Peter told Pixie.
Pixie shook himself and wandered away, off to the kitchen. The sound of quiet crunching followed.
Peter stood up.
"I think he approves," Sally said with a shy smile.
"I'm glad," Peter said. And he was.
Pixie was more than he seemed; however, he also appeared to have Sally's protection well in hand.
Peter just hoped that Sally wouldn't need it. Before Sally could say anything more, Peter walked back to the door. "I should be going, now," he said. "Thank you for introducing me to Pixie."
Sally came closer.
Cai gave a happy bounce.
She touched Peter's arm, then looked up, taking yet another step, until there was barely an inch between them.
Peter looked down at her beloved face, lifting his hands up to cradle her head. "I'd like to kiss you good night," he said, his voice coming out rough and deep.
"I'd like you to kiss me good night, too," Sally said with a small smile.
Peter took his time. This was important. This was special. This was thei
r first kiss, and he'd only ever get one.
He brushed his nose against Sally's, taking her scent further into his skin, then again, before he finally brushed their lips together, softly to start with, then with more pressure. He slid his right arm around her while he kept his left in her hair, holding her close as he nibbled on her lips, first the top, then the bottom, before he finally swept his tongue into her mouth and tasted her sweetness.
For an eternity Peter stood in that goodness, tasting and being tasted, his heart beating faster than he'd ever imagined, soaring higher than Cai could take them.
But he knew he had to step back. It would be easy, too easy, to distract Sally, to put some calming magic into his palms and persuade her to go further. Not that he would ever do such a thing, not to any woman and particularly not to Sally.
Never to Sally. He wasn't like his dad.
So Peter pulled back, going from open-mouthed kisses back to chaste ones, finally ending with a shaking sigh, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing hard, unable to go forward or back just yet. He dropped his hands along her waist and just squeezed.
Sally nodded, her head moving both of theirs. "Yes," she said softly. "Thank you." Then she drew back.
Peter found himself following suit, though he didn't let go, not yet.
"Call me tomorrow," Sally said as she took that last step, breaking out of his hands.
"I will," Peter said. "Maybe we can go hang out in the park or something."
"I'd like that. Maybe a picnic lunch?"
"Sounds great. I'll call you." Peter hesitated. He didn't want to leave.
Cai gave an unhappy caw.
"See you tomorrow," Sally said, reaching forward, past Peter, and opening the door again.
Peter nodded. "Good night. Sweet dreams."
"Very sweet tonight," Sally assured him.
Peter stepped backwards out into the hall.
"Bye," Sally said with a little wave, then closed the door.
Peter turned to go, then stopped himself. He pressed his hand against Sally's door. He couldn't leave a bit of his presence there; it wasn't his space, or his door. But he still tried to leave—something. Something that would warn him if she were ever in danger. He and Cai would break all speed records ever recorded to get there. Just enough of a presence that he could feel it.
Then he walked down the hall, though he wanted to skip. He continued walking down the street, his hands firmly in the pockets of his hoodie, though he wanted to fly.
He had found his mate. Everything was going to be fine.
Chapter Twelve
Petie tumbled out of the school bus with the rest of the kids, eagerly looking around. He'd only ever visited Ravens' Hall during the summer before. While most of the trees close to the hall were evergreens, brilliant splotches of red, orange, and yellow fanned out along the horizon. The wind was about as cold as Petie had expected and planned for with his heavy jeans, boots, and sweater jacket. The blue sky was as eternal as ever.
Cai gave it a soft caw of greeting.
Petie was suddenly glad that he'd listened to his dad and come up on Friday, before classes started on Monday. He was going to get in some good flying before he had to start studying.
A heavy hand landed on Petie's shoulder. He jumped, squawking, and turned to see Jesse standing there.
Jesse raised his hands and took a step back. "Whoa, there, Petie-Peter. It's just me."
Petie shook himself, shoving Cai back.
Friend, he insisted.
"Just Peter, now," he said out loud, reminding himself as he stepped forward and awkwardly held out his hand.
Jesse grabbed his hand and pulled him into a bro hug, one arm tight around his neck.
Peter absorbed the warmth of his friend, as well as the willing forgiveness, before stepping back.
"Just Peter, huh? When didja sprout up?" Jesse asked, looking Peter up and down.
"This spring," Peter said, liking how he and Jesse were now eye-to-eye.
Jesse was a bright patch against the white background of the school, in a flame-red flannel shirt-coat that was new. He still wore dirty khaki jeans and sneakers with no socks.
"When did you get here?" Peter said as they walked to the back of the bus to get Peter's suitcases.
"Never left."
"You love it here that much?" Peter asked, surprised. The year before last, the last summer Peter had been to Ravens' Hall, just before he started high school as a freshman, Jesse was always being punished for something. Nothing the prefects did curbed his mischief.
"Naw. My mom works, like three jobs, just to make ends meet. They don't charge her nothing for my room here, or my food. It's just cheaper for me to stay."
Peter couldn't help his shiver. He couldn't imagine always staying here, surrounded by cold rock wall and the empty valley below. He loved the mountains and the blue sky, but he loved the city as well, all the different people and smells, the food and the bands.
"How did you know I'd be on this bus?" Peter asked as Jesse grabbed two of his bags.
"I didn't. I'm supposed to be helping the new kids get settled in."
Jesse rolled his eyes and Peter shook his head. The prefects must be getting desperate if they thought sending Jesse out to greet the newbies was a good idea.
"You here all year?" Jesse asked as Peter picked up his two other bags.
"Yeah. Three years, actually," Peter admitted with a sigh. His last three years of high school.
"This is my last year, thank you, Wynne," Jesse told Peter. Then he cocked his head to the side. "That why you weren't here this summer? 'Cause you'd be coming now?"
They turned and started dragging Peter's bags back toward Ravens' Hall.
Peter nodded. "It got…bad, for while. Kept losing control," he added softly.
"I noticed," Jesse said, bumping Peter's shoulder. "You really came at me when I startled y'all back there."
Peter nodded, still ashamed.
"But, you know, when your hormones settle, it might get easier."
"Really?" Peter asked. His dad hadn't said anything about that. Maybe he wouldn't have to be here so long, so far away from his friends and his family.
"That's what they keep telling me," Jesse said. "Though I ain't seen it yet."
"Sucks to be us," Peter said. He shook his head, resigned to his fate.
Being a teenager and a raven warrior at the same time truly did suck.
* * *
Peter made himself put the copy of his class schedule down on the desk in his room, though his hands trembled with the effort to let it go and not shred it into ten thousand pieces. It had shown up while he'd been at breakfast that Saturday morning, lying on the cold tile floor when he'd walked back in, like a white slug on the clean gray tile.
Warrior training. Every day. First thing at stupid o'clock in the morning.
And history. And English. And other idiotic classes.
No charms.
Magic was Peter's first love. Just thinking about it made his palms itch, made him want to rub them together, to let the magic flow out of his skin and his soul and into everything around him.
Why were the prefects punishing him? Why was magical training being denied him? Was it because he was so unstable?
Peter paced around his room, his cell, where he'd be for the next three years.
Without magic.
Cai cawed brashly, ready to fight for his territory, his rights, his anything—everything.
Peter let Cai's anger flood into him, welcoming it. He knew he should calm Cai down, but he couldn't care just then.
He stripped off his T-shirt and kicked off his jeans, underwear, and socks. He barely got the balcony door open before launching himself at the sky.
Peter's own scream of rage mingled with the harsh caw Cai gave; then he fell back, cushioned by strong wings and blue skies.
* * *
Peter came back to himself as he stumbled back into his darkened room. He shook with cold,
exhausted. The sun had set behind him, though it wasn't full night yet.
How long had he been out, flying off his rage? It felt longer than just the one day. But his desk stood undisturbed, no notes. He ran trembling fingers along the doorframe. No one had come in while he'd been gone. Then why was he so tired?
Peter poked at Cai, but he sat like a stone, head tucked under his wing.
After taking a steaming hot shower, Peter dressed in a T-shirt, a thermal shirt, and a loose flannel shirt over that, plus thick socks and his warmest sweats. He finally felt like his skin was his own.
Soft chimes sounded in the hall, announcing the last dinner shift. Peter hurried down to the cafeteria.
"Hey," Jesse called to him, leaning against the doorway, obviously waiting for him.
"Hey," Peter said, getting into line. He picked up the red plastic tray and nearly started gnawing a corner of it.
What had Cai gotten into?
"You okay?" Jesse asked quietly as they sat at a table by themselves, far away from the other students.
Peter shook his head as he started to shovel french fries into his mouth. "Went for a spin this morning," Peter started, unsure what else to say.
"Yeah, I saw."
Peter blinked and looked at him. "What?"
Jesse grimaced. "Part of seeing to the newbies. Sometimes they just up and decide to fly home."
"Back to Seattle?" Peter squawked. He wouldn't do that.
"Shh," Jesse said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "That's what it looked like. Straight west."
"You turned me back?" Peter guessed, shivering. Were he and Cai not aligned anymore?
"Hell no. Couldn't keep up. You're a fast little shit."
"Then what—"
"I kept after you, calling. You turned yourself around sometime after I lost you."
Peter stopped eating, and just stared at his hands. "What does it mean?" he asked after a few moments.
"Nothing," Jesse scoffed. "It means you don't really wanna be here, and your raven soul knows that. Was trying to help."
Peter nodded, relieved. They'd both left. Peter could admit that. But Cai had come back, too, on his own.
They were aligned. They weren't a half-breed.
* * *
