by Cutter, Leah
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 s
oftly 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.
Jesse stood and walked to the door. He stopped just before it, with his back to Peter. "Couldn't get you to come with, could we," he stated.
"No, man, I couldn't. My mom and my dad and—"
"Naw. That's okay. I get it." He opened the door. "Good luck," he said, nodding toward Peter's desk.
"Hey, you too. It was good to see you. Don't be such a stranger."
"You too, little man."
Peter rolled his eyes as Jesse stepped out the door.
There was nothing he could do about Jesse, no way to ease his friend's flight. He'd draft for him if he could, but Jesse had always wanted his own sky.
Chapter Fifteen
Peter paced across his living room floor, from the TV to the futon-couch and back, as he listened to the other end of his phone call ring.
Come on. Pick up. Pick UP.
Finally, on the second call (the first had rung too many times and gone to voice mail) Peter heard his dad's bleary voice.
"Hello?"
"Dad, it's me. There's trouble." Peter didn't know what else to say, how else to explain himself.
Cai cawed, angry and mistrustful.
"Are you hurt?" Dad asked, though it sounded more like a command given through gritted teeth.
"No, I'm not. I'm fine. But Jesse, my friend, who's like me, like us, he's—"
"Whoa, son. Jesse?" his dad interrupted. "He was that troublemaker, right?"
"Does it matter?" Peter asked, his mouth bitter ash. "I think she has him."
"Oh."
Everything else was silent. No noise echoed up from the street into Peter's apartment.
Cai thrummed his beak, an odd sound, almost like someone blowing a raspberry. He was obviously unimpressed.
"Dad, you remember the recitations. About not leaving—"
"I'm going to go get Prefect Aaron."
The phone clattered as it hit the table. Then there was more silence.
They were not about to abandon Jesse, were they? He was one of their own! A raven warrior.
Peter swung his head, looking first at one end of the room, then the other, seeking anything he might destroy. The colors faded as he prowled. He selected a throw pillow his mom had gotten him a few Christmases ago, then went into his kitchen. The knife drawer screeched as he yanked it open.
"So, Peter, Jesse was here."
The voice of the prefect didn't soothe Peter at all as he selected a boning knife.
"Yeah. First time I'd seen him since he left Ravens' Hall," Peter said, aware that his voice was practically a growl and not caring. "I can't find him." Peter knelt down on the floor, placed the pillow before him, then rammed the knife into the pillow with all his strength, gutting it fiercely. "And she left one of his feathers with a note. Challenge accepted." Peter stabbed the pillow five times in quick succession, skillfully arranging his cuts so a pattern started to emerge. Letters.
"Now, Peter, what exactly do you mean that you can't find him?"
"Just what I said." Peter punctuated each word with another punishing blow of the knife.
"You're quite certain? You searched using all your skills?"
Peter blinked and sat back slowly, his vision clearing. He let the knife drop away to the floor. "No, sir," Peter said, sliding into old habits. "There are a few more things I can try."
"Call us back then, after you do, no matter the hour," the prefect instructed.
Peter nodded, though the prefect couldn't see. "Thank you," he said, instead. "For reminding me."
The prefect gave a warm chuckle that was too calculating to be comforting. "We're all a long ways from Ravens' Hall, my boy."
"Yes, we are," Peter said. "Goodbye."
Peter suspected that the prefect had been referring to time, that it had been a while since Peter had tried a finding spell.
But to Peter, it also meant he was a long, long way away from his former teachers, in every sense of the word: not just through time and space, but experiences and viewpoint.
They'd never understand his power now. Nor could they stop him.
* * *
Peter made himself a cup of coffee, letting the pot do its work while he gathered supplies.
Next to the burbling carafe he pulled out the twine from his junk drawer that he'd never been able to get rid of—too many recitation about how raven warriors always carried it with them.
He also fetched dental floss, the extra strong variety he always kept in reserve under the bathroom sink. Prefect Aaron would be appalled at the modern material, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt Peter or Cai.
After flicking off the living room lights and making sure no one watched from nearby, Peter snuck outside and gathered up a handful of twigs from the gutter. Then he raced back upstairs, heart pounding, as if he'd left a refuge and had dared being captured, or worse.
Peter sniffed the long feather again. He had no doubt it belonged to Jesse, or Jesse's equivalent of Cai. But it wasn't enough to find Jesse; it represented only half of him. Peter didn't have anything of Jesse's though, so he did the best he could. He looked at the sheets Jesse had slept on, the towels he had washed with, but they didn't have that essence of Jesse. Finally, Peter dug out a pair of his old jeans out of the laundry basket and cut a square from the bottom of a leg, purposefully rubbing dirt into the material. That reminded him more of Jesse, old dirty jeans and high top sneakers.
With the dental floss, Peter wove the twigs together into a hobo bundle. He'd learned about them at Ravens' Hall, a pile of branches that raven warriors of old always carried with them when traveling, to start fires by the edge of the road. With the twine, he added in the cloth and the feather, then cut a separate three-foot-long piece and tied it to the bundle loosely, with just a hoop knot.
After Peter prayed to Wynne, as well as to Tasmin—the god of lost causes—he rubbed his hands together earnestly to raise both blood and magic.
Cai stayed back as Peter started the human part of the incantation. "Dod o hyd i fy ysglyfaeth."
When Peter reached out and picked up the bundle, Cai pushed forward, finding the weak spots, showing Peter where he needed to layer the spell on more thickly.
Peter set the charm on the ground when the spell was complete. Cai curled up in the back of his mind and Peter slumped where he sat.
Magic was supposed to only be a human endeavor. According to Ravens' Hall, Cai couldn't help Peter cast magic. But Peter knew that Cai helped all the time, lending his strength, showing him how to improve things. He'd never understood why Prefect Aaron had di
scouraged Peter from working with Cai.
But as the prefect had said, they were a long way from Ravens' Hall, and those injunctions no longer held.
Though Peter felt the push to start, to move, to do something, he made himself breathe for a moment, drink his coffee, sit in the stillness of the night. Magic rarely worked in a rush: The more calm he was, the more focused he'd be. Besides, he needed the caffeine.
When Peter could no longer stand it, he walked to the middle of his living room. He held one end of the twine while the lure hung on the other.
After another brief prayer to Wynne, Peter said out loud, "Find Jesse." Then he swung the lure, first from side to side, then around.
Peter let it spin in six full circles and let it go. The lure flew across Peter's living room and landed close to the kitchen.
It hadn't found anything.
Cursing, Peter retrieved the lure and told it again, "Find Jesse. Find him." He spun it a second time, but again, it randomly flew and fell.
Peter picked up the lure with a sigh. He didn't want to admit that Jesse was gone, but it was starting to look that way.
Cai suddenly sent Peter the image of two birds, flying high across the endless blue.
Peter nodded, holding the lure for a moment. "Jesse," he whispered. He remembered Jesse's laughter from last night when they'd shared the pizza, his teasing grin, the way he always called him Petie-Peter. "Find Jesse," he said.
This time, when Peter let go of the lure, it first flew in one direction, then curved before it hit the ground and flew to the far corner, closest to the park, up high on a shelf.
The spell had found something.
Peter raced over to it, stopping himself before he touched it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, rubbed his hands together again, and then, with his eyes still closed, reached out and grasped the lure.
The image of the park just outside his window came to him. Then the image shifted, flying through the air, to a tree Cai recognized.
Was Jesse there, hiding high in those branches? The feeling was so faint.
Or was it just his body?
Peter shook and asked Cai to help.
In less than a minute, Cai pushed himself through the open kitchen window and headed straight for the tree. The lights were blinding and Cai cawed in frustration.
