Raven and the Dancing Tiger (12 page)

They were locked like iron across his chest.

Peter took a deep breath and didn't panic, didn't flutter and try to escape. He knew he could get out, away. He knew he shouldn't do it that way. But he still remembered how.

"Don't make me hurt you," Tamara said, tugging tighter. "Big bad raven warrior like you."

Peter went with her easily, still looking for a different escape, some way to slip out of her grasp without throwing her or hurting her. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

"Or maybe I should dance with her," Tamara said.

Peter glanced at Sally. She had her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Tamara. "Leave her alone," Peter growled.

"Then dance with me."

"Never," Peter said. He pushed back against Tamara suddenly,
folded
himself together, and dropped out of her grip. Then he sprang back up, out of her reach, and turned back to face her.

Tamara looked surprised; her arms still locked and now empty. Was that fear that crossed her face? Then she gave Peter a smug smile. "Nice move. You'll have to show me more next time we play."

"Leave me alone," Peter gritted out.

"I don't think so," Tamara said as she moved away. "We're going to keep playing until I'm bored enough to challenge you."

She floated off the dance floor and Peter shuddered. Her scent still encased him, and it was still all too human. He turned to Sally, to her goodness and warmth, reaching for her again.

"Challenge?" Sally asked as they got into position.

"Dance contest," Peter said glibly, the first thing that popped into his head.

Sally glared at him. "Don't lie."

Peter sighed and shook his head. He brought Sally in close, dancing side by side, their steps smoothly aligned. He couldn't tell her everything. The recitations were too strong. He needed to tell her enough, though, if he didn't want to lose her. "I don't know what she means by challenge," he admitted.

Sally nodded. "But you think it's a thing. Something you'll have to face."

"Maybe it will only be a dance challenge," Peter said weakly.

"She wants to hurt you," Sally insisted.

Peter pulled Sally closer for a few steps, circling both his arms around her before spinning her out, dancing with her at arm's reach. When the song ended, Peter pulled Sally in again, putting his arm over her shoulder as they walked back to the corner where all his friends sat.

Sally didn't say a word, but Petie knew he needed to reply. "I know she wants to hurt me," Peter finally said into Sally's expectant silence. "I don't know why. But I'm afraid she'll try to hurt you, too."

"I can take care of myself," Sally assured him.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, his heart heavy. They sat down together in the darkened corner. He took both of Sally's hands in his and leaned closer. "Maybe we should—"

"Stop right there," Sally said firmly. "Don't say it unless you really don't want to see me, ever again."

Cai bristled and Peter clenched Sally's hands more tightly.

"That's what I thought," Sally said after a few moments of silence. "No more of that nonsense. We'll be better watching each other's backs, right?"

Peter gulped and nodded, despite the rush of guilt that flooded over him, the memories of Jesse and those words. But Jesse had never wanted Peter to watch his back, just to watch for charms and traps.

Maybe Peter should do that now, as well.

He waited until Tamara was out on the dance floor before he asked Sally to get their next round of drinks. He leaned far back in his chair, slipping further into the dark corner before he asked for Cai's help.

The contrast between the lighted dance floor and the dark edges grew more stark. The bright party dresses, even Sally's red dance shoes, faded.

Sally remained deeply human in Cai's sight, nothing to mark her as his mate, just a feeling, a pull, that was stronger than ever.

Peter dragged his gaze from Sally back to the dancers, looking for Tamara.

Tamara still looked completely normal. That couldn't be right. Peter searched her from head to toe, standing to get a better look. No charms hung around her neck, wrists, or waist. Even her shoes were ordinary. No hairpins sparkled in her hair, and her ankle socks didn't hide anything, either.

Peter kept staring at her. There had to be something, some reason why he couldn't sense anything
other
with her. He knew he was out of practice, but he still felt strong.

For a brief moment, Tamara lit up, brighter than everyone else on the dance floor, as if a revolving spot light had illuminated her. Then the light was gone.

What the hell had that been?

Then a second person in the crowd flared; one of the older guys, Rudi, with silver hair and a perpetual smile. He was one of the better dancers, always friendly, always willing to chat or explain a more complicated dance move. He was continuously circling the room, looking for different partners. Some of the older women compared him to George Clooney, particularly since Rudi had that same chiseled chin and perpetually single air to him.

Peter had never suspected anything about him, either. But now, Peter had someone else to watch and wonder about. Was he the same as Tamara? He didn't seem the same. Tamara gave Peter the feeling of sleekness, while Rudi always seemed doggedly patient and kind.

Before Sally came back, Cai retreated and Peter settled back in his chair. He should have asked Cai to look earlier.

However, Peter had thought he'd left all magic behind, a long time ago.

* * *

Peter paused his video game when his phone started playing K*D's hip-hop version of "Old Man River." Darkness pressed in from outside, making the little lighted apartment feel isolated. He was glad his dad couldn't see him, or he'd surely frown at Peter's comfy sweats and ratty T-shirt.

"Hey Dad," Peter said as he drifted from his desk and sank down on his futon-couch. He smoothed out a wrinkle in the rough, red wool blanket covering it.

"Hey sport.
Whatcha
up to?"

"Playing a video game, relaxing," Peter said honestly, taking a sip of his now cold and stale coffee, then making a face and putting it down. "How 'bout you?"

"I talked with Prefect Aaron today."

Peter grew very still, as if hiding in his own living room from some creature stalking him.

Cai puffed up, ready to do battle.

"Why?" Peter asked flatly.

"Peter, it's okay. The prefect isn't at Ravens' Hall anymore."

Of course not. He was out hunting rogue ravens.

"Where is he?"

"Retired."

Peter snorted in disbelief. The prefect would never just retire to his studio, to putter around his garden, dabbling in the odd spell or charm. No, he was part hawk, and always needed to be on the hunt. Not literally, of course: raven warriors didn't suffer half-breeds.

"Believe what you may," Dad said patiently. "I thought he'd be our best source of information about what you're fighting."

"Fighting?" Peter asked, sitting on the edge of his couch, ready to take flight. "Who says I'm fighting anything?"

Cai puffed up further, wings partially expanding, ready to attack.

"The tiger warrior clan is set up differently than the raven warriors."

Peter took a deep breath and made himself lean back. There was nothing to fight, not yet. "So what did you learn?" He'd ask about the price later, what his dad paid or promised in exchange for information.

"Our clan elects its leaders. There used to be challenges, but it's more democratic now."

Peter nodded. He remembered this from his history lessons, how
Ebril
had challenged
Katar
for leadership, and how she'd battled him as a true raven warrior and won. And also how Chris had tried to force him into a challenge. But Peter wasn't in any sort of leadership position. How could Tamara challenge him for that?

"As far as we know, the tiger warriors never ended that tradition. When we were last in contact with them, they still issued challenges, not just for leadership in the clan, but to each other. The battles are fierce, and even the ones that aren't meant to be mortal often are."

"So they challenge each other. Why does Tamara think she could challenge me? And to what?" Peter asked. He changed hands on his phone, rubbing his sweating palm on his jeans.

"There have been clan-to-clan challenges. Generally over some insult, perceived or real."

"So when she issues this challenge, I'll have to go fight her," Peter said flatly. "No one in the raven clan will stand up for me."

Cai gave a menacing caw, still ready to battle.

"A challenge from the tiger warriors to the raven warriors hasn't been issued in hundreds of years," Dad said, trying to sound reassuring. "If your friend did this, it would be serious."

"So she couldn't just issue a challenge for the hell of it?" Peter asked, finally seeing a glimmer of hope.

"No," Dad said. "But that doesn't mean she wouldn't try to attack you, sometime."

"She keeps saying she's going to challenge me," Peter said. He didn't add the threat of her killing him.

"She'd have to go before both councils to do that."

"How come we never learned about this tiger clan at Ravens' Hall?" Peter asked, still puzzling over Tamara's threats. She seemed so certain.

"This is the first time the raven clan has encountered the tiger warriors in two centuries," Dad said. "The prefect had been told they were all dead. Something about the British rule in India. When he inquired—"

"Wait. He told Ravens' Hall?" Peter asked, what little calm he'd achieved vanishing. He stood to pace. Cai did as well, scratching and strutting, agitated.

"He didn't mention you."

"Please, Dad," Peter said, exasperated. All the prefect had to do was mention Seattle, and Ravens' Hall would suspect that the troublemakers out there were causing trouble again.

And send investigators to judge the balance of Peter's human and raven souls.

Peter made himself take another deep breath. He followed the recitations. He and Cai were more balanced than ever before.

But Jesse was here now, too. Somehow Peter had to protect him, better than before.

Jesse was far from balanced at this point.

"I'm sorry, son."

Peter sighed. "Look, it doesn't matter now. I, um, tried to look at Tamara. Really
looking
, you know?"

"I don't follow you, sport."

"You remember the main class the prefect taught?"

"Yes—oh! You were quite good at that, weren't you?"

"Yeah. Anyway. Tamara—seems normal. Mostly normal."

"I don't know anything about that. That was never my forte. You'll have to ask the prefect."

"He's coming to Seattle, isn't he?" Peter asked, sitting down again, deflating. That was the price his father had probably paid in exchange for knowledge.

"He's coming to Bainbridge. I figured you could come home for the weekend, too."

"You'll pick him up from the airport?"

"Yes, and escort him back."

Wiley old bird could probably still make trouble, even isolated like that. "All right. When does he fly in?"

"Wednesday."

Peter swallowed down his sudden spike of fear. It was already Sunday. Three days. Not much time to practice his old drills. "Bring him here," Peter instructed, telling both himself and Cai that they had nothing to fear.

"What?"

"Bring him to the city. We'll have dinner together."

"Are you sure, son? You, you and your friend, you're good?"

"Solid, Dad," Peter said firmly.

Cai gave a raucous caw, both angry and happy at once.

"Only if you're absolutely positive," Dad said gravely. "I have some protections out on the island."

"I know, Dad. But I want to face him here."

If Peter was going to have to face down a tiger warrior at some point, he could start by facing an old, broken-down raven warrior first.

* * *

Peter walked into the Charms Room casually, not being chased or chasing anything, just walked in as if he were going to class on a regular spring day, though the halls were strangely empty and smelled sterile, like some industrial cleaning solutions that the staff had never actually used.

He wasn't expecting the sheet of black glass that sprang up in front of him. It hung like a dark shroud before him, leaching away all color and light.

Then it started to grow, stretching out on either side as well as reaching up, bending as glass shouldn't, trying to form around Peter.

It would cut Peter off from everything he loved, encase him more solidly than any cage.

Quickly, Peter dug into his backpack. But no matter what charm he pulled out, they were either wrong or broken, crumbling to dust between his fingers.

He tried calming spells, seeing spells, fighting spells—nothing stopped the progress of the glass. He had barely an inch left behind him. He'd be able to see everything, hear it clearly, but never touch anything ever again. Somehow he knew about Sally, even though he was still in school, and he'd lose her, too, if the glass surrounded him.

Peter pounded his fists on the glass, an old prayer finding its way to his lips, begging for a miracle from the goddess Wynne.

A crack of thunder came in reply to his plea.

Peter looked up, surprised. The ceiling rolled up and away. Clouds rushed in.

Then the rain came, sweet and cold, like most Seattle rain. It streaked down the black glass, turning it clear and melting it away, dissolving it like so much sugar.

Peter turned his face toward the sky and let the rain wash away his tears as well.

When the last of the glass had disappeared, the rain stopped, and the room shrank back to its normal size.

Peter shook his head. His hair was a mess. His shirt and jeans were soaked. But the rain had filled his heart as well. He turned to go.

A solid wall of steel slammed into him, grown from the glass. It was even more impossible to escape from.

Peter pounded his fists against it, screaming and finally waking himself up.

The clock showed 2:47 a.m.