Part 15 (2/2)

Tobin steps in front of her, angrier than ever. ”Don't you touch her.” He tries to wrap his arm around her shoulders, but she twists away from him.

”Don't either of you touch me,” she says. She looks at me. ”And, you, stop stalking me!” She stumbles away, still cupping her hand to her cheek.

It's against my nature, but my first instinct is to go after her, and it must have been Tobin's, also. We both start in her direction, but a woman steps in front of us. I a.s.sume she's a teacher who's been summoned from her lunch, because she's still holding half of something that resembles what Simon had called a sandwich in her hands. ”All three of you”-she points to Tobin, Garrick, and me- ”princ.i.p.al's office. Now!” she commands as if she were the king of the underworld.

The teacher is a small, middle-aged mortal and I can hear the arthritis grinding in her knees. It would take me less than a second to disable this feeble mortal and make my escape, but I am in barely enough control to know that probably isn't the wisest course of action. I watch the human boy for cues to the proper reaction. He hangs his head and says, ”Yes, Mrs. Canova,” and surrenders himself to the teacher. I do the same and give Garrick a stern look until he follows suit, and we allow the teacher to propel us toward the main office. She leaves Garrick and me to sit in two chairs under the watchful eye of a dark-haired woman with gla.s.ses that remind me of the shape of Brim's eyes.

The teacher takes Tobin to an office marked Vice Princ.i.p.al Jordan and knocks on the door. ”Your mother just happens to be meeting with the administration. I'm sure she'd like an explanation of your behavior.”

Tobin hangs his head lower.

The door opens and I catch a glimpse of a man who must be the vice princ.i.p.al and a woman in a bright red suit. She looks surprised to see Tobin in the teacher's grasp.

”What's the meaning of this?”

The teacher gives a quick recount of the scene she'd broken up in the cafeteria and I hear the woman ask, ”What is this all about, Tobin?” before the teacher shuts the door and leaves them to talk it out.

”A guidance counselor will be with you two shortly,” she says, and then instructs the dark-haired woman to buzz the ”new guy” and tell him, ”He's got a couple of fighters waiting out here.” Guidance counselor? I think. Like any of these humans could offer me guidance.

Garrick twitches in his seat next to me. As a Lesser, he's probably even more keen on avoiding authority figures than I am.

”Don't even think about it,” I whisper, knowing he's calculating how many seconds it would take him to cross the room and escape. It would take him seven. Three for me. I know because I estimated the distance before I even sat down. ”Sit still, keep your head down, and follow my lead. I'll do the talking.”

”Why should I listen to you?”

I blink at him. It's an awfully insolent question for a Lesser. ”Because I'm giving you an order. We might not be in the Underrealm anymore, but I am still the Champion and you are still my servant. I'm ordering you not to do something now, just like I ordered you not to do something in the cafeteria.”

”Follow your orders? You expected me to sit and do nothing after that human dumped food on me?

Yeah, right.” Garrick surprises me with his bold words, and I have to admit that he is sc.r.a.ppier than I would have ever given him credit for. ”You could have easily taken that guy, you know,” he says.

”I know,” I say.

”But you just let him attack you. You did nothing.”

”I know.”

”But you could have blasted his face off if you wanted.”

”I know!” I whisper through gritted teeth. ”That's why I didn't do anything. Don't you understand that? Now drop it.”

”But you could have at least let me-”

”And then where would we be?”

And how badly would Daphne have been hurt if I hadn't stopped Garrick in time? It is harder to control our powers here-I am starting to see that-and humans are far more fragile than the people of the Underrealm. Imagine Ren's wrath if something happened to the Cypher. . . .

”Anywhere but here,” Garrick says, bouncing his knee. ”I hate this place.” I hate this place as much as he does, but I'm not going to show it. ”You should be grateful to be here.

This place might not be ideal but I'm betting it's infinitely better than the Pits. You should be clamoring to do what I want. Thanking me. I'm the one who took you away from that miserable life.”

”Thanking you?” he says, his voice rising louder than my whisper. ”Do you really think I don't know why you chose me?”

”What do you mean?” I ask with a lowered voice, but dread his answer. Shame bites at my insides.

What if he really does know why I chose him? What if he knows what I did to him all those years ago - ”I know you chose me so you could make Rowan look stupid in front of the Court.” His answer rings somewhat true, but it's not what I was dreading he would say. Maybe he has no idea what I did, after all?

”In a way,” I say, trying to hide my relief.

Garrick looks away. ”But you didn't think about what that would mean for me, did you? You didn't stop to think how Rowan might decide to take that out on me when we return. My life might have seemed pitiful to you before, but it's nothing compared to what it will be like when we get back.

Rowan will make sure of that.”

No, I hadn't stopped to consider that. Just like I hadn't considered the consequences of another decision I'd made concerning him several years ago. Both had been impulsive choices. . . .

I don't know what to say, so I sit and watch the woman with the gla.s.ses as she picks up the receiver of a large beige-colored phone.

”You always do what you want for your own benefit,” he says, ”and don't think about what that would mean for anyone else.”

That shameful feeling eats at me again. Maybe he really does know.

I don't get a chance to consider asking because the woman with the gla.s.ses waves at us. ”One of you can go into Mr. Drol's office now.” She points to the door we're supposed to enter.

I rise from my chair. Garrick sinks farther into his seat.

”Stay,” I say to him, making very certain that he can tell it's an order, not a request.

I open the door, expecting to find another feeble human whom I have to appease, but my jaw pops open when I see who is sitting behind the desk in the counselor's room. ”So, honey, how was your first day of school?” he asks.

”What are you doing here?” I ask as I quickly shut the door behind me.

”I thought you'd be happier to see your new guidance counselor,” Dax says. He's wearing a light yellow sweater with brown patches on the elbows and sucking on the end of a . . .

”Is that a pipe?”

He nods. ”Not lit, of course. No smoking allowed on campus. I thought it made me look older. What do you think?”

”I think you're addled. What are you doing here? What if this Mr. Drol comes back?”

”I am Mr. Drol,” he says, raising his eyebrows and biting the end of his pipe. ”I am too old to pose as a student like you and Garrick, but I didn't want to dump you here all on your own, so Simon got me a job instead. His powers of persuasion were quite effective on the administration.” I nod.

”But the part I didn't tell him is that this arrangement will give us better opportunities to talk in private. I think I might be recommending twice-weekly counseling sessions for you.” He smiles around the stem of his pipe. ”You're looking quite emotionally disturbed.”

”I feel emotionally disturbed,” I say, sinking into the seat across the desk from him. ”You were right; this place is torturous.”

”So what's this about you picking fights? Do I need to suspend you?”

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