Raven and the Dancing Tiger

by Cutter, Leah

  Big signs outside the door proclaimed "No shoes!" so Petie took his off just before he walked in, placing them and his socks in one of the cubbies beside the door. The room was warm, like all of Ravens' Hall, so Petie felt comfortable in his T-shirt and jeans.

  Petie had never trained in the Warrior Room before. Prefect Aaron had said he was too young the last time he was here. But the assignment had just showed up on the revised schedule slipped under his door.

  It wasn't just for today, but every day for the whole two weeks.

  When the two tall boys—the troublemakers, Chris and Thomas—came in the door, Petie wondered if there had been a mistake. Or maybe a trick.

  But Prefect Kitridge came in next, as did half a dozen other kids, though most of them were older than Petie. Today she wore a white tank top and loose, brown yoga pants. Her blue and red tattoos looked washed out in the harsh lighting, but her orange and green hair still shone brightly.

  Kitridge walked slowly to the front of the room, put her fingers in her mouth, and whistled. No one had been talking that loudly, but now she had everyone's attention. "Y'all are here for training as fighters and warriors. That means training and training only. No fighting, not here, not anywhere on school grounds. Do y'all understand?"

  Petie muttered, "Yes, ma'am," with everyone else.

  "The number one thing I'm here to teach you is control. Y'all are fierce, and some of you think you know how to fight." She paused and glared at the troublemakers. "But y'all got no finesse."

  Petie shook his head. He wasn't even certain what finesse was.

  "I'm here to teach you how to be subtle, how to be in control, and how to stay in control, even when your blood's racing and your hands are itching and you're raring to go."

  Did she mean be in control of Cai? He remembered the fight from the day before, when he hadn't been in control, not really.

  "Today, you're gonna learn how to fall. If you don't know how to fall, you're just gonna get hurt. Now, Petie, right?"

  Petie swallowed nervously and nodded.

  Cai puffed himself up defensively.

  "Come on over here and show 'em how it's done."

  "Me?" Petie shook his head, ashamed at how his voice squeaked.

  The other kids laughed.

  Kitridge just tsked at them. "Y'all know why I insist on a range of ages for this class? It's because Petie here will do this better than any of you. There'll be some things that y'all will do better than him, at least to start. But in this one thing, falling, which is the most important thing, he'll do it best. Come 'ere."

  Petie gathered himself together and walked next to Kitridge. Her gray eyes were almost kind.

  "Now, I want you to curl to the side when I push you, okay?" She showed him where she expected him to tuck himself, then she shoved him, hard.

  Petie curled and rolled, automatically coming back up to his feet.

  "Did you see that?" Kitridge asked the rest of the class. "That was exactly right." She had Petie demonstrate a few more times.

  Petie bit his lips to hide his smile: His mom wouldn't want him to gloat, even if he was really good at this.

  "That's great," Kitridge said. "None of y'all will do that good."

  "Of course he can fall. He's short. Closer to the ground," one of the tall boys complained.

  "Chris, right? Come here."

  Chris glanced at his buddy, then swaggered forward. Though he was tall, Kitridge looked him directly in the eye. "Push me," she said.

  Chris shrugged, looked again at his buddy, then suddenly shoved her, without warning, moving much faster than Petie expected.

  Kitridge flowed and folded, rolled, and stood just as quickly, shooting up and shoving Chris just as hard.

  Chris stumbled, but didn't fall. Instead, he shook his head and spread his arms, bent over, his eyes raven-hard.

  Petie couldn't see feathers, but he knew they were close to the surface.

  Cai shuffled restlessly, suddenly very awake and near.

  Petie held both of them very still.

  "You're not really thinking of attacking me, are you sugar?" Kitridge shook her head. "I wouldn't."

  Chris gave a shudder and stood up tall again. "No." His voice sounded full and human.

  Cai relaxed and Petie grew less tense.

  "That's good. Now, even with your height, you can learn to fold and fall. And you must." Kitridge stared hard at Chris.

  Chris broke the look first. "Yes, ma'am."

  Kitridge had them drag out soft mats, then directed them to fall, over and over again.

  Though Petie was good at it, he learned more about controlling his hands and his arms, as well as falling on both his left and right side.

  Toward the end of class, Kitridge paired each student up with someone about the same height. Petie was paired with one of the three girls in the class, Sylvia. They took turns pushing each other and falling. Sylvia's hands were hot and she had a honking laugh, but she laughed at both Petie and herself, which made her okay.

  When Kitridge finally called an end to their practice, Petie felt tired and dizzy, and his thigh muscles were sore. But he was looking forward to the next class, more than when he'd started.

  Prefect Kitridge showed them how to put their hands together over their chests and bow to the cardinal points before she dismissed them.

  Petie grinned as he put back on his socks and shoes. This was going to be okay. He could do this.

  Cai was also happy—the impression Petie had was that Cai wanted Petie to learn to fight. He was a bit uneasy with that, so Cai tumbled once, making Petie more dizzy but still giggling as he left the Warrior Room.

  "Yeah, show us how it's done," came a harsh voice from behind.

  Petie didn't fall and flow when the unexpected hard shove came from behind. Instead, he turned on his attacker, puffed up and ready to fight.

  The pit of Petie's stomach felt like it was still tumbling, and his hands trembled in his fists, but he wasn't backing down. He'd done too well in class. He could do this, too.

  Chris, startled, gave a squawk. He recovered quickly. "So you want to play, little boy?"

  "No fighting."

  Prefect Kitridge suddenly stood beside them, glaring at both of them.

  "If I ever catch either of you—no, any of you fighting," she said with a pointed glare at Chris and Thomas, "there will be consequences."

  Petie stood up straighter, ashamed that he'd let himself be drawn in. Why was Cai so ready to fight? It wasn't Petie, not really. Though honestly, it wasn't just Cai. Just the way he, they, felt.

  "Getting your wings clipped hurts like hell," Kitridge told them. "And that's one of the consequences. Just one."

  Petie didn't know what it meant to get his wings clipped, but it sounded like it would hurt.

  "Learn control. No more fights."

  Prefect Kitridge turned and walked back into the Warrior Room. Petie didn't look at the other boys still standing there, he just nodded and started down the hall, his arms wrapped over his chest.

  They couldn't fight, him and Cai, but he had to protect himself, somehow, from those boys. He didn't have to look behind to know they still stared at him, that they were still out to get him in trouble.

  Suddenly, warrior training didn't sound like as much fun.

  Chapter Five

  "I'm glad you asked me to dance again," Sally said as Peter led her to the floor. More couples had joined in, but there was still room to dance in the corners. The air buzzed from all the people laughing and talking. Like most of the older Seattle buildings, there wasn't any AC. However, cool night air blew in from the wide windows, and black industrial fans were scattered around the room, trying to move the air around as well.

  Peter had tried not to approach Sally again, worried about Tamara, but found himself helplessly drawn to Sally, watching her from the corner, always knowing when she was on the floor, where she was, who she danced with.

  "What if I hadn't?" Peter asked, teasing.


  Sally shrugged. "I would have waited. Until you did."

  Peter shook his head and spun Sally out, keeping her at arm's length, turning her a few times, then turning himself. He didn't know if she felt the same way he did, couldn't ask. But he could hope. Peter knew he was a good dancer, considerate, and a firm lead—he knew all about showing off his partner, letting her shine as well. However, this was the first time he'd really felt it.

  The dance was all about Sally, bringing her close to dance side by side and "showing her the love" as his first dance teacher had called it, then spinning her out and watching her do her thing, the pair of them circling and shimmying, twisting their feet and legs, hopping with their own individual styles.

  He'd never felt so connected with a partner, catching her laughing eyes across loosely held hands, adding his own flair but really showcasing her.

  When the song finished, Peter brought Sally close to dip her, but also to take in more of her scent: her slightly salty sweat; the sweetness of her shampoo; the warm, womanly essence of her. He reluctantly let Sally go. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, unwilling to let her stray far.

  Cai cawed a caution—neither of them could afford to get drunk, not with Tamara there, perched in the corner and ready to strike.

  "Some juice would be good," Sally said. "I don't really drink when I dance."

  "Totally understand," Peter said, nodding as they started walking toward the bar. "I sweat a lot, too, when I dance." Horrified, he realized what he'd just said. "Uhmm. Not that I think you're sweaty. Or gross. Or anything."

  Sally giggled at him. "It's okay. I realize I'm beyond glistening at this point."

  "Huh?" Peter berated himself. Way to sound intelligent there.

  "It was something my grandma told me. Pigs sweat, while ladies merely glisten."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Peter said, grinning, as he helped Sally step closer to the bar. His palm stayed warm and tingling even after he removed it from the small of her back.

  "Hey, Peter, what'll it be?" Brin called out, wiping her hands on a bar towel. Her hair, shaved close to her skull, was purple and blond tonight. She had piercings on her eyebrow, nose, lip, and probably other places Peter couldn't imagine. She had only one small visible tattoo, a black-and-white portrait of a Saint Bernard on her left shoulder, with a scroll underneath that said Mom.

  "Brin, this is Sally," Peter said, using the introduction as another excuse to touch Sally.

  Brin's eyebrows shot to her hairline, but she merely said, "Nice to meetcha. Want me to make it a special, Peter?"

  "Two," Peter said. "But no alcohol in either."

  "You sure?" Brin asked. "I got some cherry-infused tequila tonight."

  "Positive," Peter said, confused. Brin had never questioned his order before.

  "All right then. A challenge," Brin said, moving off.

  "A special?" Sally asked, bumping shoulders with Peter.

  "Bartender's choice," he explained, leaning closer, maintaining the contact, speaking directly into Sally's ear. He was glad to see she had pierced ears: Two strings of colorful beads dangled from the lobe and a gold ring with a beautiful blue bead hung from the top. Now he knew what he could get her when he decided to buy her jewelry.

  "Do you always just let her choose?" Sally asked, watching the show Brin was putting on as she flipped the mixer, then one bottle of juice, then a second.

  "Usually, yeah. Sometimes she makes something that knocks me on my ass. But mostly it's good." Actually, the last couple of times she'd really left him looped. Maybe he shouldn't let her mix alcohol for him for a while.

  Brin finished with energetically shaking the mixer while dancing behind the bar before she poured the drink into two glasses, adding a splash of grenadine to each. The red curled through the light brown liquid, like veins suddenly visible.

  "Cool," Sally breathed, though Peter wasn't sure.

  They clinked glassed and Peter took a sip. It had citrus in it—maybe grapefruit, maybe lemon—with something sweet, and an aftertaste of cool cucumber. It was instantly refreshing, and the red muddled the rest of the colors after the first taste.

  "Wow," Sally said. "Okay. I'm down for any more experiments Brin wants to do."

  "Welcome to the wild side," Peter said. He coughed nervously, as he realized what he'd just said. He and Cai were wilder than Sally had probably ever expected.

  Cai cawed softly, sending Peter the soothing image of blue skies.

  Peter knew Cai was just trying to comfort him, but he was still unsure. He liked Sally. He really, really liked her, a whole lot. But there were so many ways for this to go horribly wrong.

  "Hey, where ja go?"

  Peter shook his head, pushing against Sally's shoulder again. "Sorry. You said you moved here from Minnesota? Why?"

  Sally made a face. "Job that didn't work out. I'm working at a food bank right now, but I came here to be a regional manager for a non-profit group."

  "Which one?" Peter asked.

  "Where am I working now? Jewish Family Services center, JFS."

  "I volunteer at Northwest Harvest once a month."

  Sally blinked at him, surprised. "Really? You do volunteer work?"

  "Yeah. My parents—" and Ravens' Hall "—always made it a priority."

  "You don't know how cool that is," Sally told him. "Seriously. So many people talk about it, but no one does it."

  "It's only one Saturday a month," Peter warned her, though he was really happy she thought it was cool.

  "It's still more than most," Sally countered, raising her glass.

  They toasted each other and Peter knew it wasn't the alcohol—there wasn't any—but Sally's smile that warmed him.

  "How about you?"

  "I work IT for a printer," Peter said. "Keep the lights on and the servers running."

  "I'm not the most technical," Sally admitted. "My phone is probably the most complicated thing I own. I don't even own a car."

  "Who needs a car in Seattle?" Peter asked. "I rent a Zipcar when I want to go hiking in the mountains."

  "Mountains?" Sally asked wistfully. "Look—" Then she stopped and shook her head.

  "What?" Peter asked.

  She shook her head again.

  "Come on," Peter said, bumping her shoulder. "I've already accused you of not being a lady and sweating. Can't be worse than that."

  Sally took another drink, looking at the bar and not at him.

  Had he ruined everything already?

  Finally Sally took a deep breath and spoke, addressing her glass. "I like you," she said quietly.

  Peter had to lean closer to hear, his stomach strangely floating.

  "I don't know why. We just met."

  "Me too," Peter broke in.

  "So, here." Sally grabbed a pen off the bar, flipped over the coaster and wrote out a phone number. "Call me. Text me. Whatever," she said, shoving the coaster at him. Then she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Or don't, and we'll just dance together sometime. Good night." Sally turned and left before Peter could say another thing.

  Cai cawed unhappily, already lonely.

  "She'll be back," Peter said out loud.

  "Will she?" Brin asked, her tone doubtful.

  "Yes."

  Peter sent the image of a nest to Cai as he programmed Sally's number into his phone.

  He wasn't about to let her go.

  * * *

  Peter sat on his futon-couch, his phone in his hand, resting on his leg. He stared at it. While he was nervous about calling Sally, he told himself it wasn't the same as when he'd called Tamara.

  The rolling of his stomach hinted otherwise.

  Peter looked out the window. The leaves had come in more; in just a few days he'd be in what he called his "tree house," unable to see the park. Then he looked back down.

  His phone wasn't about to dial itself.

  Peter swiped it on and dialed Sally's number.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey
, Sally. This is Peter."

  "Hi there. I'm glad you called."

  The warmth of Sally's voice made Peter warm in return. "I know tomorrow's a work night, but would you like to have sushi with me?"

  "Sure. I love sushi."

  Cai gave a happy bounce that startled Peter.

  "Um, yeah. Sorry," Peter said into the growing silence. "6:30? The sushi bar at the far end of Broadway?"

  "I know the place. I'll meet you there," Sally said. "Thanks for calling."

  "Great! Great. I'll see you then."

  "Bye."

  "Bye."

  Peter ended the call, still glowing.

  Cai gave another happy bounce.

  Peter didn't break into his full victory dance, but he did spin once on his heels before shimmying into the kitchen.

  She said yes. Of course she said yes. She wasn't Tamara.

  Peter danced a little more as he made coffee. He felt more in control than he had after he'd called Tamara the first time. He and Cai were in better alignment now, he realized.

  An involuntary shiver overtook Peter. He'd been misaligned with Cai and he hadn't really known it. And for a while, too. At least none of the prefects had been around to see it.

  Peter stretched out his hands automatically, his gaze drawn to them.

  The bones there were perfectly aligned. It had never been his hand that had been broken. It had never been his wings clipped.

  But nightmares of others' pain lingered, ghost pains of what might have been still wrapped deep around his bones, a place where even Sally's smile couldn't bring warmth.

  * * *

  Sally stood just inside the door of the sushi bar, wearing a black leather jacket that looked supple and soft. She wore her hair down. It fell in natural waves, curling up just past her shoulders, and Peter wanted to touch it. She wasn't bird bright, no. She was more like the bleary sun, warm and gracious on a hazy summer afternoon.

  "Hi," Sally said, smiling at Peter as he came in.

  They flowed naturally into a hug that Peter didn't want to give up. "I hope you weren't waiting long," Peter said as the waitress led them to a table.