“My mom’s ghost showed up when I turned nine. It’s not the sort of thing you forget.”
“The first official record of you having powers is yesterday afternoon, at your testing.”
“Yeah, right.” I waited for the punchline, but it didn’t seem to be coming. “That’s crazy. My foster parents kicked me out of their house when they found out!”
“This would be the Jacobsens?”
“Yes.” I choked down the old, familiar hurt. After the Jacobsens, I’d been tainted goods. There hadn’t been a set of foster parents out there willing to take me.
Bard shook his head. “I’ve looked at the paperwork. All it shows is that they canceled their bid for adoption. There is no mention of necromancy there or in Mrs. Rawlins’ own notes.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. It does, however, explain how a Power in Bakersfield managed to avoid the government’s notice.”
“I thought you said you got one or two students like me a year.”
“From the Badlands. From the Dirty South. Even a brave few smuggled out of the East, from under the local warlords’ noses. But Bakersfield?”
Bard seemed to have a higher opinion of Bakersfield than the rest of us. Clearly, he’d never been there.
“So… what does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” Bard pinched the bridge of his nose, aging twenty years in an instant. “I will put in a request to speak with both your Finder and Mrs. Rawlins, but the government moves slowly in all things—and the present administration more than most. It is anyone’s guess whether I ever hear back.”
“Does it even matter?”
He sighed. “It’s a mystery and I don’t like mysteries. But as far as you’re concerned, all it means is that you are very lucky that Mr. Grey found you when he did.”
“That depends on whether you let me enroll.”
“True enough.” Bard put down his pen, and leaned further back in his chair, the very image of a thoughtful professor, if you could ignore his clothing. “People say that being a Cape is not just about who you are, it’s also about what you are. By that logic, and given that there has never been a Necromancer hero, I’d be a fool to admit you.”
I dropped my eyes.
“People also say,” Bard continued, in that same considering voice, “that Dr. Nowhere broke the world. They’re wrong about that. We broke the world. People. He handed us loaded weapons, but we were the ones who chose to pull the triggers.”
“I think they’re just as wrong about what makes a Cape. It all comes down to choice. We don’t choose what ability we’re given—if we’re given one at all—but we can choose what to do with it. To the people who lived in those dark times, every Power was evil. No heroes, no Capes. Just the strong lording over the weak and the innocent suffering because of it.”
“Until Dominion,” I pointed out.
“Exactly. He chose to do something different with his gifts… and what was left of the government chose to believe in him, despite the examples of every Power before him. And because of those two choices, and the myriad of choices made since, we have a country. We have Capes. We have hope.”
Dark eyes met mine for a long moment. “There has never been a Necromancer hero. And there never will be one… not unless we allow them that choice.” He grinned suddenly. “My wife used to say I could turn a simple I love you into a twenty-page dissertation on flowers and rainbows, but this is my long-winded way of saying that what happens next is up to you. If you choose to become a Cape, then I will choose to believe in your ability to do so.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Bard’s smile was wry. “But the first step is you making that choice.”
The odd thing is that I had to stop to think about it. I didn’t want to go crazy… that much was a given. And I didn’t want to be a murdering asshole like my dad either, let alone a larger terror like the Crimson Death. But a Cape, with a code name and costume and endorsements? Baron Boner, Defender of Cemeteries? What the fuck sort of hero could a Necromancer even be?
I had no idea. But part of me wanted to find out.
I looked back at Bard. “I’m going to be the first Crow Cape.”
“There will be conditions,” he warned me.
“Anything except anal.”
That knocked him off his game for just a moment, but he shook his head and pushed on. “We provide voluntary counseling to all our students, but for you, it would be mandatory. One hour every week, minimum. Miss a session and you’re out. If your counselor red-flags you at any point, you’re out.”
“Got it.” I’d had counseling following my mom’s murder, and it had sucked, but after almost nine years of wondering if I was going crazy—and driving myself a little bit crazy in the process—there was something almost appealing about offloading that worry to a professional.
As long as they didn’t ask about Mom. Especially on the days she came to therapy with me.
“Second, you will not leave the campus except under direct supervision.”
That one kind of sucked, especially with the ocean so close by, but… “It’s not like I have anywhere to go, right?”
He winced for some reason, but the truth was hard to deny. “Third, there will be no special treatment. You will be one of twenty-five incoming first-years, and will be subject to the same rules and regulations they are.”
After all those years at the orphanage, that didn’t even faze me. I nodded my acceptance.
“These conditions are iron clad,” he warned me. “Break any of them and you’re gone. As of tomorrow, you’ll be an adult in the eyes of the government. You’ll need to live with the choices you make.”
“I get it,” I said. “I don’t have a problem with your rules.”
By the end of that year, I’d have broken every one of them. But at the time, I meant it.
“I’ll hold you to that,” said Bard. “The only thing left is for you to pass your academic evaluations.”
“Seriously?” Mama Rawlins had home schooled us, but my education had eventually taken a back seat to Alicia and her magical lady parts. “There’s no wiggle room there at all?”
“What did I just say about special treatment?” Bard rolled his eyes and grinned, but his voice remained serious. “As a first-year and second-year, your curriculum includes regular schoolwork, in classes with the non-powered student population. The evaluations are designed to ensure that all of our students meet the same minimum academic standards.”
“No problem. I’ve got this.” I said, trying to convince myself as much as Bard. “So do I take the tests… now?”
“I think you’ve had enough excitement for the day,” he decided, “especially given the presumably joyous news of your non-pregnancy. Agnes will schedule your examinations for tomorrow, and arrange a dorm room for you to stay in until orientation. Tonight, you should clean up, let one of our two resident Healers take a look at those scrapes, and get some rest.”
Sleep sounded amazing, but passing my exams sounded even better. I’d take a shower and visit the Healer, as suggested, but after that? I was going to find some food, borrow a Glass, and study my ass off.
CHAPTER 13
“Do you want the good news or the bad news, Mr. Banach?”
I was back in Bard’s office the following afternoon, officially regretting the two hours I’d spent sleeping and not studying. Not that the studying I had done had seemed to make any difference with the tests I’d taken.
“I’m kind of shocked there’s any good news,” I told him tiredly, for the first time wondering if learning to take off Alicia’s bra one-handed had really been the best use of my time.
Which just went to show how tired I really was. I mean… of course it had been.
“Surprisingly, there were a few bright spots,” said Bard.
“Seriously? Like what?” I’d left the testing convinced that I had not only failed, but done so in so spectacular a
fashion that future generations would use me as an example for others.
“English.”
“No fucking way.”
Bard winced. “Despite all evidence to the contrary. You also eked out a score of 63% in Math.”
Fucking-A. If the whole Cape thing didn’t work out for me, I could become an accountant. An insane accountant, sure, but who would be able to tell the difference? “What about the other tests?”
“You bombed them all. Life Science, Physics, Geography, and both Pre-Break and Post-Break History—although you did somehow ace the Powers-related questions.”
Some of you are probably wondering how anyone could fail Geography, given what little was left of the known world to be quizzed on. Let’s just say I had a gift.
I sighed. “I’m guessing I know what the bad news is.”
“That was the bad news. The good news is that you have friends in high places.”
I risked a glance upward—when people can fly, you can’t afford to assume someone is speaking figuratively—but there was nothing but ceiling above us. “Huh?”
“This morning, while you were singlehandedly disproving the merits of home schooling, I received a phone call from Mr. Isaac Clearwater. The Secretary of Superhuman Affairs,” he clarified, when I gave him a blank stare.
“We have one of those?”
Bard shook his head slowly. “I guess it’s a good thing political science isn’t part of our academic screening. Yes, we have one of those. Despite being on his way to a budget meeting, Mr. Clearwater was taking the time out of his busy schedule to inquire about the promising Necromancer prospect his top Finder had personally delivered us.”
I blinked. Since when did the government give a shit about me? Let alone this Secretary guy, who—from the way Bard had said his name—had to be at least somewhat important.
“I make the final decision on who attends my school,” continued Bard, “but the Academy does not exist in a vacuum. When a member of the President’s cabinet calls, even I have to listen.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your life just got busy. I will not design a new curriculum to accommodate a single student, so you’ll be taking the same classes as every other first-year. I’m assigning you tutors to help you actually pass those classes… although that depends on your willingness to put in the work, I suppose.”
“You mean I’m in? I can stay?” After the awful morning of tests, I was having a hard time wrapping my brain around that fact.
The two hours of sleep probably didn’t help either.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Bard warned me. “The life of a first-year is intentionally frenetic, but at least they get weekends off. You’ll be spending every weekend with your tutors. If you can’t pass those classes… not even Sean Weatherly will be able to keep you here.”
I wanted to ask who that was, but didn’t want Bard to think…
“Sean Weatherly,” he sighed. “President of the Free States.”
Bard wasn’t the only one glad we’d skipped the political science test.
INTERLUDE
Jonathan Bard sat at his desk for almost twenty minutes after Damian’s departure, reviewing the many steps still needed to make the young Crow’s enrollment a reality. Parent notifications, waiver agreements, and legal contingencies in the event that things went poorly… it was a mountain of paperwork, and he pitied whichever assistant ended up having to complete it on his behalf.
Before he could set those wheels in motion, however, there was one thing only he could do. Bard reached over to his desk phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. A number that very few other people in the country even had access to.
It rang for a few seconds then stopped. Whoever had picked up on the other end remained completely silent, but Bard was used to the security measures by now.
“It’s Jonathan,” he said into the silence. “Remember that student we talked about?”
“Yes.” The voice was slow, smooth, and unmistakably female.
“Now there are two of them.” He shook his head even though she couldn’t see him. “The second one is a Crow, believe it or not.”
“A Crow first-year?” Something like surprise leaked across the line. “How are the other families taking the news?”
“I haven’t informed them yet. I wanted to make sure you were okay with the extra burden before I did anything else. I know I am asking a lot.”
“It’s okay, Jonathan. I can handle two patients as easily as one. I’ll see you in a few days.”
And then there was nothing but dial tone. Bard set the receiver back in its cradle and looked back at his notes.
One problem solved. A dozen to go.
CHAPTER 14
The dorm room I’d slept in before my exams turned out to be the room I’d be staying in as a first-year. Either someone had been confident I was going to stick around or it had been the only free space available.
According to the Academy handbook—which I had pulled up on my school-provided Glass and was presently reading, thanks to my newfound commitment to academic excellence—the majority of dorm buildings on campus were designated for the non-powered population, leaving only a handful of buildings for the first-year, second-year, and third-year Cape dorms. The last was frequently empty, as third-years spent a good portion of their school year off-campus, either interning with established teams—for those students who’d managed to win an invitation to do so—or doing mission work in the Badlands with the rest of the unwanted.
Students had begun pouring into campus shortly after my meeting with Bard, but none had made their way to the first-year dorm yet. I took the opportunity to pass out on one of the room’s two beds, where my dreams mostly revolved around my new roommate being blonde, tan, and hugely stacked.
I ended up getting two out of three… just not the two I would have picked.
“How’s it going? Looks like we’ll be rooming together as first-years.” Blonde and tan, sure, but given his gender, it was probably just as well that he wasn’t stacked. He did have a mouthful of perfect teeth though, the sort of physique you saw in hero vids, and a hell of a grip.
“I’m Damian. Nice to meet you.” I told him. At Mama Rawlins’ place, that would have been the ideal time for one of us to sucker punch the other, but Blondie didn’t seem concerned with asserting his dominance, and I didn’t see the wisdom in starting something with a guy who outweighed me by at least thirty pounds of muscle.
“Likewise.” After shaking my hand, he carried two enormous suitcases into the room—the lack of effort telling me he’d either packed feathers or had some sort of augmented strength—and then took a quick look around him. “You know, Dad talked about first-year dorms like they were prison cells, but this isn’t bad at all.”
It sure as hell beat the orphanage. Each dorm room had two full sets of furniture—bed, desk, dresser, bookshelf, and closet—with enough space left over to not make the whole thing feel crowded. No vid screens, but the common room I’d walked through to get here had one that was almost as big as I was, along with couches, chairs, and a ping pong table.
The blonde kid finished unloading his suitcases—which held a shit-ton of clothes, a personal Glass that was two generations newer than what the school provided, and a framed picture of other absurdly attractive people—before sitting lightly on the edge of his bed, and turning back to me with a smile.
“Sorry about that. If I’d waited to put everything away until after we chatted, I'd have spent the whole time worrying my mom was going to bust in here and stare disapprovingly at my suitcases.”
My own mom was standing nearby and didn’t seem to care at all that the only unpacking I’d done was to toss my bloody clothes into a laundry basket, while pulling on the Academy-logoed sweatpants I’d found in my top drawer.
“Anyway,” he continued, still offering that easy smile, “I’m Matthew… Matthew Strich, but I prefer to go by—”
“Hey Paladin!” Another k
id—almost as pale as I was, with spiky black hair and bushy eyebrows—stuck his head in our doorway, “They just posted our class roster in the commons. Come check it out!” Just as quickly, he was gone.
Matthew rolled his eyes and grinned. “Can you tell Caleb is part Jitterbug? Come on, roomie, let’s go see who we’ll be spending the next three years training with.”
It was a bit early to be sure, but I was cautiously optimistic that my new roommate wasn’t going to be a complete asshole.
Still would’ve preferred a girl though.
•—•—•
Despite Bard’s joke about a tunnel to the girls’ dorm, the Cape dormitories were co-ed. The girls’ rooms and bathroom were in one wing, while ours were in the other, but at the center of the two wings was the common lounge we all shared.
That room was far from full—I never saw it full during my year there, no matter how many people flooded into it—but there were a handful of teenagers clustered about the two sheets of paper that had been pinned to an old-fashioned cork bulletin board.
Matthew and I joined the crowd, where Caleb was already reading through the class roster.
“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, “We have a High-fucking-Four Pyro! Ish… Ish…”
“Ishmae, although she goes by Phoenix.” The speaker was almost as skinny as I was, her most prominent features being large green eyes and black, curly hair.
“I think I’ve heard of her,” said my own roommate. “Some kind of prodigy, right?”
As a High-Four, she kind of had to be. There were a handful of Cat Five Powers in the entire world, so a High-Four was the next best thing to royalty. It also made my Low-Three seem particularly puny by comparison.
“She must be,” agreed the woman. “She looks like she’s about fifteen.” She sighed. “Out from under the parents’ nose at last, and I get stuck with a child as a roommate. I bet she doesn’t even drink.”
“Don’t worry, Tessa,” said another woman, this one blonde, pale, and attractive. “London and I are next door to you two, so you’ll always have a place to party.”
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