by Cutter, Leah
Fortunately, Cai could fly by feel, the tug of Jesse threaded to him from Peter.
The dark shape appeared to be close to the trunk, though Cai could barely see it. He landed on an outer branch then hopped in closer, his movement sure and swift.
The lump in the Y of the trunk turned out to be a bag, shapeless and rough. Cai cawed loudly, mourning.
It was Jesse's backpack. The thing he was never, ever without.
* * *
After finally getting Jesse's backpack home, Peter pawed through it eagerly. Cai helped, looking at everything without Peter asking, searching for anything to tell them where Jesse might be.
They found clothes, a little money, Peter's key, sugar packets, the toothbrush Peter had given Jesse, soap, a scratched fork, and a folding knife. It wasn't a lot, but Jesse hadn't been in Seattle for very long, and he'd flown in with nothing.
Jesse didn't have any charms, nothing magical, though Peter's throat dried suddenly when he ran across the rough bundle of twine.
Nothing had blood on it, either.
Peter tried throwing the lure again after that, but it either landed on the backpack or in some random corner.
There was nothing left of Jesse's to find.
Peter finally sat back down on the floor and called his dad again. "I found his backpack, but nothing else," Peter told first his dad, then Prefect Aaron.
"Then there's nothing else to do until morning," the prefect said.
"We could go to the cops—"
"Peter," the prefect admonished. "We'll take care of it. This is raven clan business. We take care of our own."
Peter opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap. How Ravens' Hall took care of their own, and how Peter thought they should, were at opposite ends of the open sky.
"I'll talk with Ravens' Hall first thing in the morning," the prefect added.
"But he's in trouble now," Peter reminded the prefect.
"If you're that worried, son, I can call them immediately."
"Please," Peter said, the word bitter in his mouth.
"You should get some sleep. I'll alert the elders and the prefects. You know they'll move quickly, once they devise a plan."
Peter knew he was trying to be reassuring, but he felt even more uneasy than Cai.
"We'll find him," the prefect added. "Or we'll avenge him."
Peter nodded, not bothering to correct the prefect.
He would do the avenging.
After Peter hung up, he saw the boning knife lying forgotten on the floor, beside the mutilated pillow. He left the pillow where it was, unfinished. He knew, to anyone else, it would just be a series of random cuts.
But in his mind's eye, Peter could still connect the lines and spell out a single name.
Aaron.
* * *
Morning dawned bright and too early. Peter lay on his bed, blinking up at his ceiling, weariness smothering him.
Cai stood with his head under his wing, not interested in stirring at all.
Despite his uncertainty and anguish, Peter had slept deeply, with no nightmares. Just not long enough.
He picked up his phone and debated calling into work sick. He wouldn't be his brightest today. But if the challenge was real, he might need even more time off later. Better to go in and lay the groundwork, say that he had a sick uncle and might have to leave if the call came.
When Peter walked out to his living room, a part of him hoped the previous night had just been a dream, that Jesse would be crashed out on his futon. That they could still drive to the mountains that weekend, and maybe Peter could start teaching Jesse dancing.
But no, just Jesse's pack lay dissected across the floor, the lure still lying beside it.
Peter rubbed his hands together and strengthened the spell, despite how it drained him, then he swung the lure again.
It landed once again on Jesse's pack.
Was that all that remained of Jesse in this world?
Peter explained his distraction to his boss with his story about his uncle. Which then left him justified checking his phone for messages every fifteen minutes or so, alternating between anxious and pissed off that the prefect hadn't called back yet.
When "Little Birds" played, Peter eagerly took the call, though he had no idea what he was going to say to Sally.
"Hey you," he answered, stepping into the rack room for some privacy. Wire shelves holding sleeves and servers filled the cold, small room. He walked over to check that the server he'd had problems with earlier was still clicking along.
"Hey. Whatcha doing tonight?" Sally asked.
"I—" Peter stopped and sighed. "I don't know," he said honestly.
"What's wrong?"
"I have an uncle who's sick," Peter explained in a rush.
Cai gave an unhappy caw. Neither of them liked lying to her.
"No, you don't," Sally replied.
"You have a lie-detecting superpower, don't you?" Peter asked, relieved that he didn't have to continue with that lie.
Sally chuckled, a warm, comforting sound. "What's really wrong?"
"I—I can't tell you. Not on the phone," Peter said. He had no idea what he could tell her, but he'd figure something out, something that would satisfy both her and the recitations.
"Lunch?" Sally proposed.
Peter hesitated. He really didn't want to take the time away from work. "Coffee?" he suggested.
"That bad, huh?" Sally asked. "Okay. Dinner, then."
"Dinner," Peter promised.
He hoped he'd have something more to tell her by then.
* * *
As Peter walked in the door of his apartment, "Old Man River," his dad's ringtone, sang out.
"Dad?" Peter said, dropping his hoodie on the floor as he scrambled for his phone.
"No, it's Prefect Aaron."
The crisp tones made Peter automatically stand straighter. "Is my dad okay?" Peter asked, worried. Had Tamara gotten to the rest of his family?
"No, no, everything's fine. I'm sorry, son. I didn't mean to worry you."
Peter took a deep breath and tried to calm himself as he walked into the living room.
Cai still bristled with anger.
"You have news?" Peter asked.
"Yes. Rather remarkable, actually," the prefect said. He sounded excited.
It doubled the dread Peter was feeling.
"The tiger clan had gotten in touch with Ravens' Hall."
"Shit," Peter said, dropping onto his futon-couch.
"They want to bring together an elder council. To judge the merit of one of their warrior's challenges."
Peter couldn't help but groan. He was doomed.
"No, no, this is good news," the prefect assured Peter. "It means we can gut this challenge before it goes any further."
Neither Peter nor Cai felt assured.
"Why would the raven clan do that?" Peter asked. Into the silence on the other end he spoke his fear. "Why wouldn't they just treat this challenge as a way of dealing with a troublemaker?"
"Peter, may I assure you, that record's been cleared. You've kept your nose clean and to the grindstone for years, now. Even if there were a faction who wanted you punished for your youthful infractions, none at Ravens' Hall would want any raven warrior to suffer defeat at a tiger warrior's hands."
"Thanks," Peter said, aware of the irony that what might save him from a fight was that no one thought he could win. "But what about Jesse? Did the tiger clan mention him?"
"Yes," the prefect said slowly. "They claim he issued your challenge."
"He did what?" Peter squawked.
"You didn't tell him to go contact this tiger warrior, did you?"
"No. I told him to stay away from her. "
"Good, good. So we'll all meet this weekend at Ravens' Hall. You'll need to be there. We'll fly out together Saturday morning. I already have our tickets."
"Okay," Peter said, nodding. "Thank you," he added belatedly. At least Ravens' Hall was picking up the bi
ll.
"You're welcome. We will take care of our own."
Peter declined to comment on that and hung up.
Saturday seemed like it was the end of the world, even though it was only three days away. He was still worried about Jesse. Maybe he was with the tiger warriors though.
Peter took another deep breath. At least now he had a bit more to tell Sally.
When her ringtone sounded, he sat up straighter on his couch. "Hey, you—"
"Peter, something's here. At the door. Pixie's going crazy."
Sally sounded scared.
Cai bristled and Peter jumped to his feet. When he reached out with his presence, he felt a presence of something at her door.
"Peter—"
The phone went dead.
Chapter Sixteen
"This is wrong," Prefect Aaron announced, dropping the charm Peter had worked so long to create back onto the table.
"What's wrong?" Peter asked, just to make sure. Normally the prefect told him both good and bad things about his classwork. He didn't just comment like that.
At least the rest of the class had already left the Charms Room.
"Did I do something wrong with the spell? Or did I make the charm wrong?" He was pretty sure he'd followed the prefect's instructions, and the magic had seemed to seep into the charm well. Cai had looked at it carefully, and Peter had followed the raven's intuition about where he needed to lay the spell on thicker.
"It's too strong," the prefect said, frowning as he turned it over. "Plus, what is this? What material did you use there?"
"Dental floss. It held the straw together better."
"You can't use untested materials. What if this floss of yours had twisted the spell? Taken the charm away? It would have been a waste. Plus, you have no idea how long it will hold the magic. You need to use the traditional materials."
Peter nodded, but he wasn't sure. The floss had worked perfectly, held the magic well. He didn't see the harm.
Cai agreed. The floss was better than the twine.
"How did you get the spell so even?" the prefect asked, holding the charm up closer to his raven eyes.
"My raven soul helped," Peter said quietly, bracing himself.
The prefect dropped the charm onto the table in front of him. "You cheated," he accused Peter.
Peter lifted his chin stubbornly. Cai ruffled his feathers up, preparing for a fight.
"Magic is strictly a human endeavor. That's why our raven souls can see through the glamours and charms."
"I don't see how what I did was cheating," Peter said. "Aren't we supposed to work with our raven souls?"
"You don't understand all the subtleties of working with your raven soul," the prefect said.
Cai bristled more at his tone.
Peter tried to stay calm, but the prefect sounded just like his dad every time he'd asked about grown-up things, like girls or getting a job, saying that he'd understand later.
"You need to learn the old ways. You can't trust these modern materials. You have to train your human eye. Redo this, from scratch. You must learn the true way."
Peter took back the offending charm, shoving it into his pack before he left the Charms Room. He ignored everyone in the hallway as he walked slowly to his room.
He'd learn the old ways. He'd learn the magic that was so exciting to him.
But he also trusted Cai more than the prefect. He'd rather work with Cai any day.
* * *
Peter took one last deep breath and opened his eyes. The calm meditation room greeted him, the smoky blue-gray walls reminding him of mist from a fantasy painting; nothing in the real world was so fragile and serene at the same time. Sweet incense from the burner on the altar against the wall still tickled his nose. The lights were still off; only candles in the four corners shone.
The students sitting on the floor in front of Peter were also motionless, as unwilling as Peter was to move and end their time together. The guided meditations Prefect Becker led the class in fed Peter's human soul the same way flying did.
Prefect Becker, sitting cross-legged on the floor at the front of the meditation class, put his hands together in front of his chest and said the traditional phrase that he always used to end their class: "May Wynne guide you and keep you, give you sweet winds and safe havens."
"And the same for you," Peter intoned with the rest of the class, bowing his head.
Slowly, the world crept back in. Peter's worries came back: Prefect Aaron's insistence that magic could only be done the old-fashioned way, Chris' increasingly bizarre behavior, Jesse thinking about running away, how restrictive warrior training was, how there had to be a better way.
As the other boys got up slowly, folding up their mats and putting them in a pile in the corner, Peter moved even more slowly, waiting for the line to trickle down so he'd be the last one and could have a moment with the prefect.
Fortunately, no one else seemed to have the same idea that day, so Peter was able to put his mat away, then walk over to the prefect.
"Peter. What's on your mind?"
"I have a friend who's thinking about running away," Peter admitted softly.
"That's not good," the prefect said. "You know they'd declare him rogue, right?"
Peter nodded. "I told him to come and talk with you."
"That's good," the prefect said. "See if you can get him to come to meditation sometime."
"He won't," Peter said. He'd already tried.
"Do you want me to go talk with him?" the prefect asked. "If you give me his name—"
"No, no," Peter said, shaking his head. He'd never give anyone Jesse's name. Or Chris', for that matter. That would be too much of a betrayal, not just of his friends, but also of the recitations.
"Peter—" the prefect started, then stopped and placed his warm hand on Peter's shoulder. The comforting weight grounded him. "Sometimes, the only adult thing to do is to walk away. I know, I know," the prefect said, lifting his hands and holding them out and open. "That feels like a betrayal as well. You'd never leave one of your raven brothers behind. But sometimes you must. Sometimes, it's either you and your soul, or them."
Peter shook his head, and Cai bristled.
"You may have to consider it someday," Prefect Becker assured him. "Sometimes the only way to move forward is to let go of the past. You might ask Prefect Kitridge about that. How she moved past what happened to her."
Peter almost nodded at that, but no, he couldn't. Jesse was the only real friend he had here.
He had to save him, somehow.
"Thank you," Peter said as he left, "for at least trying."
"Sometimes that's all you can do," the prefect told him.
Peter shook his head and walked away, denying that a deep, deep seed had just been planted inside him, that a fraction of a fraction of his human soul might find relief in letting Jesse go.
* * *
Peter sat at his desk, studying the ballad assigned for English, when a loud knock startled him. With Cai's eyes, he turned and looked at the door.
The warning tape that lined the doorframe gave a brief flare of red, then faded.
Peter wasn't sure what that meant. Was an enemy here? Someone who meant him harm? He pushed his chair back and opened the door cautiously.
Thomas stood in the beige hallway, hands on his hips. He wore his usual flannel shirt—green and black this time—with jeans and hiking boots. His beard bushed out red and long, down past his chin, almost to his chest. It held its own life, as if it, by itself, could beat up Peter.
"Yeah?" Peter asked, wishing he'd taken a moment to put on more clothes, not to be in his ragged sweats and a sleeping T.
"Can you come talk to Chris?" Thomas asked. He jerked his head to the side.
Peter slowly poked his head out. Chris leaned with his back against the wall just outside. "Sure," Peter said. He stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him.
"He's not making much sense," Thomas warned under hi
s breath.
Peter nodded. "Hey Chris," he said softly as he approached, not wanting to startle him.
Chris swung around instantly. "Okay. Look. I got it all figured out."
Cai ruffled up, ready for battle.
"You've just got to accept me."
Peter looked at Thomas, who just shrugged. "Okay…I accept you."
"No, not like that." Chris started pacing the short width of the hall, taking quick, nervous steps. "See, you're the fastest warrior here. And the strongest."
"No, I'm not," Peter said. "Thomas here is mighty strong. And fast."
"Not like that, no. You can change the quickest. Into a raven warrior."
Peter shrugged. Of course, when he'd been younger he'd participated in the contests to find out who could transform into a raven the fastest. He'd been fast, but he'd rarely been the fastest. "You can change pretty quickly too," he told Chris.
"Fastest changing into a raven warrior, idiot. Not a raven." He gave an exasperated sigh.
"I'm not following you there, buddy," Thomas broke in.
"Look," Chris said, stopping and glaring at them. "He's the closest to a true raven warrior that we've got. It's why they're all scared of you. The prefects."
Peter snorted. "Not really." And he couldn't change into the true raven warrior form—none in his generation could.
"The old guard, they won't accept me." Chris went back to pacing. "They'll never accept me." He started rubbing the knuckles of his left hand in the palm of his right. "Not now. Not after what they did."
Peter's mouth went dry and Cai pushed at him, telling him to back up, get out, fly away.
"But you. If you accept me, then when you challenge the old guard, they'll have to accept me, too."
"I'm not challenging anybody," Peter pointed out.
"You have to. When you accept me. You must."
Peter opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say. He turned to Thomas, who shrugged.
"You're still not making much sense, there," Thomas added.
Chris stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face Peter. "Will you accept me and challenge the old prefect?"
"I'll accept you, but I'm not challenging anybody," Peter said with his hands up, placating.
