by W. J. May
Now? He couldn’t wait to join them.
Never before had the clock moved so slowly. Never before had Professor Lanford’s lecture failed to capture his interest. This was coming from a boy who lived for school. Who loved the academic portion of Guilder, although he often looked down on its teachers.
By the time the bell finally did ring, he felt as though the hour had surely passed them by several times already by some fluke turn of the sun.
He leapt out of his chair and joined the queue by the door, stretching up on his heels, like if he could see the exit, the whole thing might go faster. So intent was he on his goal that it took him completely by surprise when he received a tap on the shoulder.
“Simon?”
He spun around to see Professor Lanford himself. He hadn’t noticed the professor standing there, but from the way he was looking, he’d obviously been staring at Simon for a good long while.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized quickly. “I didn’t see you.”
“That’s quite alright. I was wondering if you might stay a moment after class. I was hoping to speak with you.”
Without meaning to, Simon glanced longingly at the kids filing out the door. Oh, how he wanted to join them. But Lanford was already heading back to his desk, leaving Simon very little choice in the matter. As if he’d had one to begin with.
As the rest of the class poured out into the hall, Simon shut the door behind them and went to stand respectfully in front of his professor’s desk.
“You wanted to speak to me, sir?”
When Lanford looked up and saw him stiffly standing there, he gestured quickly to the desks in the front row. “Please, Simon. Sit.”
After a second’s hesitation, Simon did as he was told, wondering all the while what this was all about. Had news travelled so fast of his and Tristan’s showdown in the hall? Was he here for a reprimand? Or maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe his favorite professor simply wanted to wish him a happy belated birthday and offer him another cup of coffee.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you made a miraculous recovery.”
Simon blushed to high heaven. Oh. That. Yeah—why the hell didn’t I see that one coming? “Uh…yeah, I did.” He didn’t like to lie. He especially didn’t like to lie so badly. And to a teacher, to boot. Not to mention his favorite teacher.
“Well, I’m happy to hear it.” Simon looked up in surprise to see Lanford looking at him with a twinkling smile. “It’s good to have you back, Simon.”
Miracle of miracles. Maybe I’ll get some coffee after all.
“Thank you, sir,” he said with a good deal of gratitude. Gratitude that he was surprised to realize was heartfelt. If only more teachers around here were like Lanford. Lanford got it. Lanford understood.
“I don’t expect that we’ll be losing you anytime soon to some other mysterious illness,” the professor continued. “Typhoid, perhaps? Or possibly the bubonic plague?”
Simon stifled a smile and bowed his head. “No, sir. Here to stay.”
“Good.” A secret smile was dancing behind the professor’s eyes. Along with something else. Something Simon didn’t quite recognize. “Sometimes it’s not about fitting in, is it? Sometimes, it’s about rather standing out.”
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
A beaming smile crept up Simon’s face before he nodded respectfully. “Yes, sir.”
They locked eyes for a moment before Lanford pulled out a stack of exams and dropped them heavily on his desk. “In that case, you had better go. I expect you’re required elsewhere, and I…” his face fell with a weary sigh, “…I have an evening of freshman idiocy ahead of me.”
Simon chuckled softly and backed away to the door.
“Yes, sir. And…thank you.”
“Shut the door on your way out.”
Simon did as he was told, and made his way to the Oratory with a bit of a grin still flickering on his face. As people cleared a path, he could swear they were looking at him a bit differently. Sure, he was still Simon Kerrigan, the resident monster, but there was something else to it as well. An edge that hadn’t been there before.
A curiosity. A wonder.
Perhaps…even a bit of respect.
Power is power, people. The grin twisted into a smirk as he made his way across the grass. You can get out of the way, or you can fall in line…
Chapter 9
Nothing was ever, nor would ever be, the same for Simon Kerrigan after that day.
It was as if unlocking the secret of his ink had unlocked something else inside him as well. Something even greater.
Long gone was the quiet boy who kept to himself, his nose buried in a book. Never again would Simon hide in fear of those around him, those same people who feared him. The concept of fear itself had been entirely transformed. Whether it was due to Masters’ words of advice, or Simon’s personal revelation, he no longer shunned it but wore it as a banner.
It was exactly as the headmaster had said. Fear was just another tool in Simon’s arsenal.
When others felt it, he used the feeling to bend them to his will—commanding a respect and attention that, in his opinion, was long overdue. When he felt it himself, it compelled him to even greater heights—pushing him past him limits and propelling him forward into a realm of untested, uncharted, and unimaginable possibilities.
Unfortunately, not everyone shared his newfound sentiments.
Tristan Wardell, for example, seemed firmly committed to hating him until the end of time. There were times when Simon almost resented this. Times when he almost wished things could be different. But he knew deep down in his heart that he could never feel anything but animosity towards the boy either. Tristan was the epitome of everything that Simon had coveted his entire life. He had looks, brains, talent, and a natural way of ingratiating himself to a crowd that made Simon seethe with jealousy. Sure, he had looks and brains, too, but the natural charm? The easy, genuine way with which he won people over? Simon didn’t know if that was ever something he would have. It would always be something he’d have to create.
And if he was being honest with himself, that was exactly the thing that bugged him most about Tristan. That it was easy. Everything came so easily to him. The popularity, the ink, the line of pretty girls who chased after him every time he went with his friends into town. He’d never had to work for any of it—it was a natural gift. Something that took nothing to achieve, but had to be respected anyway.
It drove Simon nuts.
Another person not exactly falling in line with his new ‘conquer the world’ attitude was his own best friend. Argyle.
At first, this had surprised him. When he’d finally found his stride, he’d expected Argyle to be right there with him, moving step by step, catching onto all his enthusiasm and helping him plan out the next great chapters of their lives.
But Argyle was hesitant. Cautious. While the power of the warlock had initially excited him, it worried him as well. Worried him in a way that Simon didn’t fully understand. The concept of ‘limitless power’ didn’t strike an automatic good chord with Argyle; his first instinct was not to embrace such a thing. His first instinct was to respect it. Control it. Carefully examine it from every angle so as to never accidentally use it in a way that might be untoward.
On the respect aspect, they were at least in agreement. As well as the overwhelming excitement of unveiling the warlock’s true potential. As a result, both boys had holed themselves away for hours—cloistered in the quiet corners of the library, or in one of their unoccupied rooms—to discuss all the possibilities of what the warlock could let Simon do.
“It’s a shame, really, that we can’t just turn you loose in the world,” Argyle said one day as they were walking through a hall of busy students. “You could be like an ‘ink indicator.’ If there were any unknowing people out there, walking around with tatùs, you could bring them into the fold.” His eyes lit up with belated excitement. “And you cou
ld try out their ink in the process.”
Simon flashed him a grin as he waved his hand in an automatic response to a ‘Hey, Kerrigan!’ that had been thrown his way. Those random greetings and brief acknowledgments were becoming more and more frequent, and Simon was loving every second of it. For a boy who had grown up in a house with no open displays of fondness or affection, the attention was like life’s breath to him.
In fact, it was an attention he was planning on taking to the next level that very day.
“Come on.” He grabbed Argyle’s arm and steered him towards a corner of the cafeteria they had never been to before. “I want to sit somewhere new today.”
Argyle followed along curiously, but dug in his feet the second he figured out where they were going. “Are you serious?” he hissed. “Come on, Simon. Let’s go back.”
“Nope.” Simon held him firm, fixing a casual smile on his face as they neared the table in the back corner. “We should be able to sit wherever we want, right? No Guilder rule says that we can’t.”
“No,” Argyle’s voice dropped to a low mutter, “only a basic rule self-preservation…”
“Afternoon, guys.”
The entire table looked up in surprise to see Simon and Argyle standing there. They had been absorbed in a discussion of some sort, and hadn’t noticed them coming over until now. As it stood, none of them really knew what to do. They simply stared in surprise before twisting around to discreetly glance at their leader.
Tristan Wardell sat in the middle. It was his table. It had been unofficially marked as his table since his first day at school. The day when he did a back-flip off the highest point of the astronomy tower to the deafening cheers of the student body.
He’d filled the table with guys who were exactly like him. Smart, attractive, popular, with a set of powerful ink to back it up. It was a table that could only be reached through invitation. And those invitations were not given out lightly or often. Only twice in all the time Simon had been there had he seen a member get added. And those members always, always had the scars to prove it.
Simon ignored the questioning stares from the others and fixed his eyes solely on Tristan. “Mind if we sit?”
For a second, it was an outright standoff. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Then, Tristan leaned back with a gracious smile and kicked out the chair directly across from him. “Be my guest.”
Another chair was acquired for Argyle, and together, the two boys took a seat, both decidedly awkward despite their best attempts to appear normal.
“So,” Simon glanced around with a nervous grin, “what are we talking about?”
He’d never realized before how tall each of the guys at the table were. Had they always been this tall? Or was it just because he was so close? Simon was a tall guy himself, but sitting in this company it certainly didn’t feel like it.
“We’re talking about the spring dance,” one of the boys answered, after getting a permissive look from Tristan. He quickly looked Simon up and down before asking, “You going?”
Am I going? To the spring dance?
To be honest, the thought had never even crossed Simon’s mind. There had been three dances now since he’d come to Guilder. One every fall, and one every spring. He had never gone to any of them. He had never been remotely tempted to go to any of them. And even if he was a bit tempted now, if only to secure his social standing, the only girl he’d want to take with him was Beth, a prospect that didn’t seem likely given both her location and her father.
“Uh…I dunno. Maybe.”
The rest of the boys nodded casually, but Simon’s hesitation had given him away. His eyes flickered up anxiously to see Tristan watching him with a slight smile. At first, he thought the boy-king was going to call him out right there on the spot. But Tristan said nothing. Did nothing. He merely sat there and bided his time.
“What about you, Argyle?” another boy asked. This one shared at least three classes with Simon, although they’d never spoke before today. “It is Argyle…isn’t it?”
The tops of Argyle’s cheeks flushed pink, but he nodded quickly. “Yeah, it is. And, um, no, I don’t think I’ll be going. There’s someone I’d want to maybe take, but she doesn’t live anywhere near here.”
Simon would have given anything for his unassuming friend not to have added on that last part, but it was too late. Like jackals smelling blood, the boys circled in on the hunt.
“So there’s a girl, huh?” The boy who’d spoken to Simon before leaned forward as a little gleam flashed through his eyes. “But she’s not close? Where does she live?”
“In Scotland,” Argyle answered, unaware of the fact that they were closing in. “In the town where I grew up.”
Simon stiffened protectively as the rest of the table leaned eagerly forward as well. All of them except Tristan, who remained aloof, watching the proceedings with an almost bored indifference. It wasn’t until a third guy asked for the girl’s name that he gave even a trace of a smile.
“It’s Hannah,” Argyle replied, his eyes flickering to Simon in confusion. “She’s actually really nice. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
Isaac, a quick-tempered boy who could shift into a wolf, cocked his head to the side with a vaguely predatory expression. “Lots of pretty girls there in Scotland?”
Argyle shifted uncomfortably. “There’s some. Actually, Simon went with me over the holidays and he—”
“—didn’t really like it,” Simon cut in quickly. “Too cold for my taste.” His eyes flickered up to Tristan, silently asking for this to stop. But Tristan just stared evenly back with that same ghost of a smile. Simon had chosen to sit down, hadn’t he? Simon had decided to bring his friend? Now they would suffer the consequences.
“So this girl,” Isaac brought them back on point, “how far have you gone with her?”
“Tristan,” Simon said under his breath, loud enough that only the fox would hear.
Tristan said nothing, but turned to the shifter with a slight frown.
Isaac smirked. “Are we talking above the waist? Clothing optional—”
“That’s enough.” Tristan didn’t bat an eye.
Quiet as it was, the command did the trick. Isaac’s eyes shot quickly to Tristan before he sat back in this chair, busying himself with his lunch tray. For his part, Tristan ignored Simon’s look of thanks, and turned to Argyle instead.
“So if Simon were to take a girl to the dance…any idea who she’d be?”
It seemed even insufferable despots had a code. Tristan would step in to protect a quiet, nerdish boy who meant nothing to him strictly out of principle. But when Simon was involved? It was open hunting season.
Argyle froze nervously in his chair, glancing from one to the other. While he clearly had no intention of betraying his friend’s trust, the man had asked him a direct question and they were sitting right smack dab in the center of his brood of vipers. What was he supposed to do?
After watching him freak out for a silent second, Simon sat forward with a sigh. “What do you want to know, Tristan?”
The boy didn’t blink. “I don’t know, Simon. You sat down at my table with my friends. Why don’t you make an effort to entertain us? We can start with her name.”
A wave of red-hot rage shot through Simon’s veins. His eyes flashed as he half-rose from the table, leaning across it towards Tristan. “I didn’t come here for your damn entertainment.”
Tristan kept his seat, but his eyes danced with wicked promise. “Relax, Kerrigan. I thought you and I were cool.”
Simon was about to reply, but at that moment a quiet voice cut in between them.
“Everything good here?”
Simon looked up in surprise to see Andrew Carter standing behind them.
Of all the students here at Guilder, Carter was the only one who had a revolving-door policy when it came to the table. He could sit whenever he liked, although he was by no means a regular. Simon had never quite unders
tood why this was. Carter was a nice enough guy, and Tristan was a smart enough guy to recognize that. But he and the rest of the students treated Carter with a strange kind of deference, a respect that was uncommon for one so young. Simon had always assumed it had a lot to do with Carter’s tatù, but whenever he’d asked around no one had given him a clear answer on what exactly it was.
“Everything’s fine, Andrew.” Tristan’s eyes never left Simon. “Want to sit?”
Carter shook his head. “No, I’ve got to get to class.” His eyes flicked curiously between Simon and Argyle and the rest of them. “See you later.”
“Yep.”
That. Right there. That was the kind of effortless cool thing Simon had been talking about.
The way Tristan talked to people without even looking at them. The way he just expected that they would listen. Probably came from having a normal childhood. One where he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail just to get his family to notice he was back from school. But still, that didn’t mean that Simon couldn’t hold it against him. He was smug, after all. Unbearably smug.
“What about you, Trist? You decided yet?”
Tristan broke their death-lock stare to turn to his friends with annoyance. “What? Are you guys still going on about this stupid dance?”
“You could take Mary…” Isaac offered slyly.
Tristan turned to him sharply. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
The conversation was immediately closed.
Even Simon had to admire the authority with which he shut down any sign of insubordination. But the next second, Tristan shoved the guy with a playful grin. A gesture that Simon didn’t remotely understand.
Before he had time to obsess over the oddities of ‘jock’ dynamics, the bell rang, bringing about a merciful end to Simon’s disaster of a lunchtime idea. The table rose to its feet in swift accord, each of the members scattering to different exits after hastily gathering up their bags. In the end, the only ones who remained were Argyle and Simon, as well as Tristan and Isaac.