Let’s also say that ducking under a follow-up blow, climbing the slab-like wall of your opponent’s back, and choking him out is way harder than it might seem in theory, especially when one of your two hands is already shattered.
As soon as I’d pulled myself onto his back, I realized something else; leaving the ground negated any advantage I’d had in terms of speed and mobility. I was halfway up, my good arm reaching for Erik’s throat, when an enormous hand reached around, peeled me off like I was a wet towel, and swung me right into the wall.
If you want to know more, go find the fucking vid. I still ache just thinking about it.
•—•—•
After Combat came Control… still the only class we had five days a week, even if it had been moved to a new building on campus. More than a month after Shane’s death and Ishmae’s departure, Ms. Stein remained a shadow of her formerly cheerful self. Part of me was glad about that. She’d played a role in what had gone down with Unicorn and Phoenix, just like I had. Neither of us got to just shrug that shit off and pretend it hadn’t happened.
That first Monday, I missed Control, courtesy of another extended stay at the med ward. By the time I peeled myself off the gurney and stole yet another pair of sweats, it was time to head over to Projection.
Fucking Projection.
I’ve told you about Emery, right? Guy with a stick the size of one of those archaic baseball bats wedged up his ass? Only good thing I can say about him was that he made Isabel’s Ethics class almost enjoyable by comparison. I mean… the willowy professor hated me as much as Emery did, and Ethics was one of the dumbest courses in the history of academics, but at least she was halfway decent to look at. A damn sight better than the four-limbed, walking cock known as Emery Goldsmith.
It didn’t help that I had to see him four times a week—twice for Projection and twice for Perception. It also didn’t help that I had no idea what I was doing in either class. At least in Combat, I could throw a punch. But Projection? I wasn’t an Earthshaker. I couldn’t wave my hand and cause a rockslide.
Perception was just as dumb, except that—to the naked eye—the other first-years seemed every bit as useless as I was. More than half the first-years were in Projection, but there were only three of us in Perception. I spent each class kneeling in a circle with Vibe and Freddy—our Switch, now going by Muse—as Emery droned on about opening ourselves to the flow of energy of the world around us. While the other two closed their eyes and tried to open their chakras or whatever the professor was saying, I spent my time focused inward, trying to repeat what I’d managed in the clearing with Sally, digging down for the empty space at my core.
There were a few times in that first month where I thought I almost had it, only to have something intrude; irritation, annoyance, even the occasional cramp in my quads from the stupid kneeling pose Emery insisted we maintain for the entirety of his class. Each time, I found myself back at square one, an entire living world somehow separating me from my power.
Emery Goldstein hated me from the moment we met. After a single day in his classes, that feeling was mutual.
•—•—•
If Mondays and Wednesdays—where I had Combat, Control, and the two P’s—were my worst days, Tuesdays and Thursdays were my best.
Just after breakfast was Weapons Training. Even in a world of Powers, it seemed like the sort of thing that would be useful to every first-year, but there were surprisingly few of us in attendance. The two Stalwarts were a given, of course; the irritation of spending more time with Matthew-fucking-Strich far outweighed by the opportunity to spend that same time with Nadia. My surprise at Tessa’s inclusion ended the first time she used her telekinesis to pick up a half-dozen weapons off the nearby wall. She damn near cut my head off three times in our first minute of sparring. Last in the group were Kayleigh and Evelyn. Neither Vibe nor Wormhole’s powers were offensive in nature, so weapons offered them another way to contribute.
The best part about Weapons Training wasn’t my classmates though. It wasn’t even Jessica Strich, who was surprisingly funny and light-hearted, and would have been devastatingly sexy if she hadn’t reminded me so much of her little brother. The best part about Weapons Training was that it was the one class where I didn’t totally suck. I was lousy with any gun larger than a pistol—Jessica said it had to do with the way I was sighting down the barrel—but everything else, from daggers to staves, just made sense.
That’s not to say I became some sort of master or anything in the span of a few weeks. Jessica put me on my ass nine times out of ten, and Orca wasn’t far behind. But I didn’t feel utterly useless either. As much as part of me enjoyed the raw, combative nature of Nikolai’s class, Weapons Training was flat-out fun.
•—•—•
Weapons Training was succeeded by another boring hour of Control, but after that came Mobility. Macy Johnson was bald and whip-thin, with skin the same soft brown as Ishmae’s, but without the Pyro’s almond-shaped eyes. She was always smiling and always in motion, her individual movements frequently too fast for the naked eye to see.
Like Emery, Macy had been surprised to be sent a student who didn’t have powers suited for her class. I couldn’t fly or teleport, I didn’t have super speed, and what agility I possessed paled to that of Paladin and Orca, making me by default the worst student in her class. Unlike Emery, the older Jitterbug didn’t care. She’d left for a fraction of a second and come back with a scaled-down set of agility drills for me to participate in. Before I knew it, I was dodging around obstacles and learning how to incorporate Jessica and Nikolai’s lessons in falling while running at full speed.
We both knew I’d never make it to the higher-level Mobility classes, but Macy worked her nonexistent ass off anyway to ensure I learned something as her student.
We were never friends. I was only in her class for the one semester, but I can still remember Macy Johnson’s smiling face. I remember the way her dark eyes sparkled when Supersonic challenged her to a race, and the arch look she gave him when he stumbled across the finish line forty seconds later, having been lapped twice by the older woman.
We were never friends, but I miss her.
CHAPTER 50
The upside of owning nothing but sweats is that you don’t have to worry about hanging them… or even folding them. The downside is that it can take weeks before you notice that someone did hang something in your closet.
“What the fuck is this?” I’d just come back from doing laundry to initiate a room-wide search for the one sock that somehow always went missing when I realized that the only hanger in my closet was no longer bare.
On his side of the room, my roommate cracked one eye open, saw where I was pointing, and let that eye drift shut again. “It’s called a suit.”
“I know that. Where did it come from?” In addition to the black jacket and matching pants, there was a synth-leather belt and a dark red button-up shirt.
Jeremiah sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, slowly hoisting himself to his feet in the way only big men ever have to. “I brought it from home. Figured you might appreciate having something other than sweats the next time a formal occasion comes up.”
“Did I ask you to buy me clothes, Stonewall?”
“I knew this was going to go to shit,” the other man muttered. “I didn’t buy the suit. My little brother outgrew it, and my parents were going to donate it since he’s the last one left in high school. I figured you could use it instead.”
“You figured wrong.” I threw the suit, hangar and all, across the room, where Jeremiah plucked it out of the air.
“Are you kidding me?” He stocked past me to gesture at my empty closet. “You’ve got nothing, Damian! Are you going to wear sweats to the Remembrance Day dance?”
“That’s my problem,” I growled. “I don’t need your charity.”
Stonewall threw his hands up in the air, suit, hanger and all. “What is it with you and charity?”
Three months earlier, I would have just sneered and stalked off. But that was before Shane’s death and Bard’s lecture. That was before Sally Cemetery’s visit and Alexa’s baseball reference. Instead, I dropped back onto my bed and, for the first time that I could remember, tried to put the feeling into words.
Before I could, there was a knock at the door, and Paladin’s blonde head peeked in.
“Everything okay in here?”
“What the fuck business is it of yours, Matthew?”
Blue eyes turned on me and he motioned to the wall by my bed. “Supersonic has the hangover from hell. Normally, I’d be all for him being taught the error of his drunken ways, but I’ve had to empty the bucket twice already, and he just finally dropped back off to sleep. If you guys want to rage at each other and wake him up, you can deal with the next bucket.”
I opened my mouth to tell Paladin what he could do with Supersonic and his vomit bucket, but Jeremiah cut me off.
“Sorry, Paladin. We’re hashing some shit out, but I’ll try to keep it down.”
“I’d appreciate it.” He nodded to the big man. “Hektor was looking for you last night at The Liquid Hero.”
“Yeah.” Jeremiah sighed. “I know. I’m going to find him this afternoon.” He waited for the door to close and then turned back to me. “I know you and I aren’t ever going to be friends, but could you at least try to stop assuming every little thing I do is an attack?”
“The first time we met, you called me a thief and threatened me.”
“And how many times have you beaten the crap out of me in Combat class since then?”
“A bunch, although I guess that’s over now that powers are in play.”
“Maybe.” He shook his enormous head. “Keep the suit or toss it. I was trying to do something nice, as an apology for sticking our noses in your business last semester, but if you don’t want it, that’s fine too.”
I looked at the suit in his hands. “You really want to know why I don’t like charity?”
Jeremiah’s tone was wary. “Maybe.”
“Everything I’ve ever been given was taken away again.” I waved off the question I could see forming. “My parents… the Jacobsens… even my time at Mama Rawlins’ came with a built-in expiration date. My enrollment at the Academy lasts exactly as long as I remain sane. Whenever they decide I’m nuts, I’ll be out on my ass, and the only thing I’ll be taking with me is me. What I’ve learned, what I’ve done, and who I am. Everything else is just temporary bullshit.”
“What does that have to do with my brother’s suit? I’m not going to ask for it back if you get kicked out.”
“When the only constant in your life is you, you can’t afford to rely on anyone else.”
“That’s dumb.” Despite the words, Stonewall’s voice was a quiet rumble. “Everyone ends up alone, but that doesn’t mean you go through life that way. And how many pairs of sweats have you stolen from the Academy med ward now? Fifteen?”
“I lost count somewhere around ten,” I admitted.
“Do you really think Gladys doesn’t know you’re taking them?” He shook his head. “This isn’t about self-reliance. It’s about pride.”
I swallowed the first three expletive-laden retorts that came to mind. “Maybe. Pride’s something I can take with me.”
“You know what else you can take with you?” He shook the hanger at me. “A fucking suit! You could be the best dressed asshole at the nuthouse. How’s that for pride?”
“Fuck you,” I said half-heartedly, my mind suddenly filled with images of me parading around an asylum in formal wear.
“I can throw in a top hat too,” he added, teeth flashing white against his dark skin and darker beard. “Maybe a cane. There goes Damian, they’ll say, fanciest damn honky we ever did see.”
“Honky?”
“My grandpa used to call our neighbors that. Not sure what it means. Asshole, maybe.” He shrugged. “You can’t eat pride. You can’t wear it, and it sure as shit won’t cuddle you at night. So maybe you should put pride aside every now and then and let people help you?”
For some reason, my thoughts turned to Her Majesty and her moment of almost-compassion outside the Academy. She’d been paid to get me there, sure, but everything else… had that been kindness or pity? And did it matter? Had Shane been less of a friend because he wanted to see if he could heal Crow insanity? Was Vibe less of one because she was using me as an emotional shield? Was Silt…
I stopped myself and shook my head. Silt was even crazier than I was. There was no point trying to guess her motives.
Stonewall misinterpreted my head shake. “Fine. Then don’t think of the suit as charity. Think of it as… an exchange.”
“For what?”
“I need your help.” He laid the suit down on top of his dresser, and sank down onto his own bed, face turned to the small window. “You saw my match with Orca, right?”
I winced.
“My first sparring match in full stone form, and it didn’t help at all. She wiped the floor with me.”
“How am I supposed to help with that? I’m the worst fighter left in Combat.”
“No, you’re not. You’re the weakest one.”
I frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference is that you do the right things. You make the right moves. You only lose because you don’t have the power to actually hurt any of us.”
I fought unsuccessfully not to clench my jaw. “And?”
“And I’ve got the power, but I’m never in position to use it. If you had my power, you’d have shattered the Viking’s ribs instead of your hand. Me? I’m going to be pawing at nothing but air.”
“You want me to teach you to fight?”
“I want you to show me what I’m doing wrong. I feel like I get the moves in practice, but when it comes to sparring…” He shook his head. “I’m a Shifter. If I can’t win a close-quarters fight, I’m useless.”
As someone whose power still remained a total mystery, I knew all about being useless. The problem was, I had six powers classes, four non-powers classes, multiple tutors, and weekly sessions with Alexa. What I didn’t have was free time.
Much free time, anyway.
“Fine. Friday nights.”
My roommate’s smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared. “Seriously? Friday nights?”
“Do you have any idea what my schedule is like?”
“This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, so… no.” He sighed and shook his head. “Friday nights it is. And this,” he added, picking the suit back up by its hanger, “is yours.”
I took the suit and returned it to my closet. “If I can help you win a match or two, I’ll expect something more.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Like a top hat,” I said, “and a cane.”
Jeremiah’s laugh was just loud enough to wake Caleb back up next door. For some reason, Paladin didn’t carry through on his threat about the bucket.
CHAPTER 51
“Let’s try that again.”
“Are you serious?” Stonewall pushed himself back to his feet. His grey sweatshirt was dark with sweat, and his beard was matted with the same.
“You wanted my help,” I reminded him.
“Yeah,” he huffed. “Starting to regret that, to be honest. Three weeks and all I’ve gotten are more bruises. And Paladin still handed me my ass last week.”
“Which gives you tonight’s session to prepare for Alan Jackson.” I shook out my right hand behind my back, hiding a wince. I was pretty sure I’d cracked a knuckle in that last exchange. Even in human form, Jeremiah was solid.
Across the pit, he continued like he hadn’t heard me. “I think Gladys is starting to wonder what’s going on.”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s seen worse.”
“Yeah… like you, every other Monday.” Jeremiah paused. “I can’t believe I’m giving up my Friday nights for this.”
“And I can’t believe you still have the energy to bitch about it,” I shot back.
“Cardio’s not my problem.” Stonewall cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and raised his fists, but it was my turn to stop the fight before it could begin. Something in his last statement had set my mind buzzing.
“No, it’s not. And your problem isn’t size or strength either, even if the Viking has you beat in those two areas.” I frowned. After three weeks training together, my roommate hadn’t improved at all. Teaching wasn’t my strong suit, but the extra practice should have been helping. “So how is it that I’m still kicking your ass?”
“The dampeners are on, and I can’t use my powers,” he rumbled. “Pretty sure it’s going to be different when we face each other in class.”
As if on cue, my injured hand twitched. If I’d cracked a knuckle—and broken at least one finger—hitting Jeremiah while he was flesh and bone, I didn’t even want to think about what it would feel like trying to take him down when he was stone.
Even so, his answer rang false. “You’ve got six inches on me, at least that much of a reach advantage, and fifty-plus pounds. Even with the dampeners on, that should be enough.”
“Except I suck. I know that already. Isn’t that why we’re here?”
“You don’t suck. You do as well in training as the rest of us. It’s just the actual fighting where you fall apart.”
“Great. That’s going to look fantastic on my Cape resume.”
“At first, I thought it was just a question of experience. Some people freeze up when the adrenaline starts to flow. Hell, I did the same in my first few fights.”
Jeremiah gave me an odd look. “You didn’t freeze at all when you were fighting Paladin. Even after you were unconscious.”
“I’m not talking about at the Academy.” I sighed and leaned back against the curved wall of the pit. “How many fights did you get in growing up?”
See These Bones Page 26