Balance: Book 2

Balance - Book 2

By Marc Dickason

Copyright 2015 by Marc Dickason

Smashwords Edition

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Balance

Book 2

PROLOGUE

My mother was leaning over me, the meat cleaver in her hands.

Mommy loves you, she said.

I love you too mommy, I replied.

But already the blade was descending towards my wrist, cold razor edge glowing in the florescent light of the Sushi Palace.

‘Strange,’ I thought, ‘doesn’t she realise that’s sharp? Doesn’t she realise it will cut me? This is just some kind of joke. She wouldn’t…’

Skin split and parted, releasing a burst of blood ten clear inches across the table. Pink wetness was revealed beneath. My mother pushed; the blade sank deeper.

‘Stop!’ I wanted to cry out, ‘Stop it! You’ll kill me! You’ll kill me if you do that!’

But I could only watch, horrified, as blood first pooled, then began to disperse into the white tablecloth. Panic exploded; I tried desperately to withdraw the arm, body tensing in effort and muscles tightening into ropes, but it stubbornly refused to obey.

Mother loves you, she said again.

It was not Liza Clarence speaking, it was someone else. And I was not in the Sushi Palace as first thought; it was a penthouse, top floor of The Marlon. The table before me was laid out with playing cards and gambling chips.

Mother loves you, Conrad said, smiling, Mother loves a winner, Jet.

How are you here? I gasped, You’re dead! I killed you!

Panic spilled over into horror and I felt my Spirit crackle into life. Blue sparks blossomed in the air, dancing and popping eagerly, swirling as they fell into a slow orbit about my body. I called it and there was a shimmering as it moved to obey, gathering in the space before my eyes.

Get away from me! I heard myself yelling.

Take it, he replied, pushing the gambling chips towards me, We both know you’re going to win. You’re cheating.

He chuckled then pivoted up on his toes to angle more weight on the meat cleaver. The blade pushed through to the bone.

I screamed and released the Spirit. In response his face smashed flat, blood squirting from both nostrils as cartilage and cheek bones shattered. His head snapped back far enough I could have sworn the back of the skull struck the area between his shoulder blades. Then a limp body hit the wooden floor with a thud.

Silence. For a long time I stared, my mind telling me I had just committed murder, had taken a life and left an empty place in the world where a person should be. But, strangely, this knowledge did not register. I wasn’t sorry. I wasn’t sorry because…

He deserved it, a voice said.

I looked to my right and saw Brent Kingston, cheek pressed against the surface of a table adjacent to mine. A black bullet wound in his face leaked blood.

They deserved it, he said, eyes pleading.

He didn’t deserve that, I breathed, He was just a boy. An arrogant, cocky boy. I didn’t mean to kill him, we just wanted the money. Your life depended on it, Brent.

Then help me, he urged, Please help me.

I tried to stand, again feeling the muscles in my body contract. But I could not.

I want to, Brent. But I can’t. I can’t move. You didn’t deserve that.

He closed his eyes. Tears leaked over his nose. Don’t let me die.

I heard a shuffle behind me and looked round. A figure was crouched at the far end of the penthouse. Only, it was not a penthouse, but a small filthy room in Valhalla Hotel. On the wall a heart shaped florescent light glowed pink.

They deserved it, the figure said.

It was doing something; ripping with clawed hands at a ragged pile and wrenching out chunks of something wet. After a moment my eyes adjusted and I realised the ragged pile was a man. Heavyset loan shark, the man I had branded Pout. His skin was pale and eyes glazed.

Stop that, I said to the crouched figure, Leave that man alone.

A face turned to me. Red eyes in a blue face.

They deserved it, the demon said, plunging its fingers into Pout’s wobbling chest and grasping his heart.

Leave that man alone! I roared, Leave him alone, you monster! Leave him alone!

Did I deserve it? a new voice asked, thick Spanish accent dripping from every syllable.

I turned. Selena was watching me; body slouched in a wheelchair and eyes glazed. Her raven hair was a mess of cobwebs.

Oh God, Selena, I moaned, What have they done to you?

"What have you done to me," she corrected.

I didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t my doing; they needed someone to take the blame and you were just too obvious a choice. If it could’ve been someone else…

A figure appeared behind her, easing into existence and gaining substance from background patterns. The Gloria-demon. It reached down with one gnarled hand and stroked Selena’s cheek.

Mommy loves you, it said to her, Mommy loves you.

Leave her alone! I roared, Leave her alone…!

All of you leave me alone!

My body was rigid, teeth clenched so tight my gums ached. Above me rectangles of moonlight painted the ceiling.

Oh Christ, oh Jesus, I heard myself moan.

Tears squeezed passed my clamped eyelids and trickled onto the bed. I opened them and regretted it. Faces were looming at me; images seared into my brain like burning photographs. I attempted to dispel them; they refused to be forgotten.

It was only then I registered the air was alive with dancing blue sparks, popping and crackling angrily as they orbited the bed. I closed my eyes again and sucked in deep breaths, grappling for my Place of Calm. But it would not be locked down. There was a fist of red hot coal in my stomach, floating in a pocket of flames that screamed and scorched.

Not long now, I told the flames, Not long now. I’ll find her. I’ll find mother.

The flames simmered and flickered; around me the sparks sizzled in the air and extinguished. Internal rivers of Spirit shifted, drawing in, redirecting.

Not long now. I’ll find her. I’ll find her.

The faces of Brent Kingston, Pout the loan shark, young Conrad, and Selena Stephania faded. Relief.

Time passed. I stared at the ceiling and listened to the sounds of a dozing city beyond my window. A car drifted by, somewhere else a siren declared that one or another law enforcement service were on the job. At some point I realised one of my hands had started massaging the wrist of the other, kneading at the scar without instruction. I stopped and tucked my hands under the pillow.

After an hour the TV came on in living room next door, indicating Benny was likewise unable to sleep. He had heard me, I knew. My nightmare induced screaming and moaning. But he would not ask about it, and I would not tell him.

I considered going to join watching whatever garbage happened to be on late night TV, but knew I should try getting back to sleep, that I had Academy lessons the next day and needed to be on top form. But one image residue remained in my head. Liza Clarence. Mother.

Part of me said I would never find her, that the world was enormous enough to swallow a person even without the magical abilities she possessed. Hell, doing what she could, and being the person she was, thinking I might locate her was a childish notion.

But no, another part of me insisted, she hadn’t gone far; my mother had been part of some something big that she would not, or could not, abandon. There must be threads that could be discovered, trails that could be uncovered and followed. Anyone could be found if you asked the right questions and knew the right people to squeeze. It was just a matter of having time, and having the right resources…

CHAPTER 1

She knew what would be there, even before her trembling hand reached out and drew back the curtain.

‘Don’t do it,’ I wanted to say, ‘We both know what’s there, just don’t open the damn curtain and it will go away. Alright?’

But I didn’t say it; rules and regulations. Instead all I could do was watch as with bulging eyes and trembling hand she tore aside the curtains, revealing the view out onto the front garden. And, twenty meters away, past the wooden picket fence; that god damned black horse. Its body shone in the moonlight and mane lay flat across its neck.

It looked like a black horse. More then a dozen times I had witnessed similar scenes, and on every occasion the creature had made the hairs on the back of my neck tingle. Its nature was completely absent of horse-like characteristics; no whinnying, no tail flicking, no twitching ears. And it stood rigid to the point it could be mistook for a statue, with only heaving flanks betraying the illusion.

But it was the eyes that froze my blood. Like two smooth pale stones, too alert and calculating for an animal, never blinking and never straying from the girl. My brain screamed.

And the girl had a similar reaction. She backed away with knuckles pressed against mouth. A muffled squawk escaped her.

Oh God, oh God, she muttered, thrusting the curtains closed, Oh God, why won’t it go away? Please go away, please go away.

But her eyes were already darting to the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

‘Yes, it will be there,’ I wanted to say, ‘Just don’t open the curtains. Don’t look, ignore it.’

Slowly, head shaking and breath hissing between teeth, she staggered to the rear curtains and ripped them open. The black horse looked at her, head framed by the window and white eyes unblinking.

And then the screaming started. Her mouth popped open and she wailed a piercing shriek so unchained it made me flinch every time. An expression of terror, so raw it trumped every horror movie in history, stamped itself on her face and would not depart till the scene concluded.

Oh God! Go away! Go Away!

She turned and lunged for the corridor. And now the voice made its appearance. A little late this time, the hissing, whispering voice, and vaguer then it had been previously, sounding more like the static of a dead radio frequency on this occasion.

She stumbling, sending a decorative table crashing, but regained her footing and tore up the narrow corridor. I moved to follow; watching as she rounded a corner and flew into the bathroom, slamming the door in my face. I eased through it to again bear witness to the inevitable conclusion.

The voice was starting to clarify. She cringed away from it, huddling her trembling body beside the toilet and drawing up both knees.

‘…mommy doesn’t want to ride baby… mommy doesn’t want to ride…’

Oh God go away! she shrieked, hands clamping over ears, Go away leave me alone! Leave me alone!

And then; the first clomp of hoof on tiled floor, from beyond the bathroom door. Her face froze in a mask of dread.

Clop.

Another one.

Clop. Clop.

The sound was drawing nearer, advancing across the living room.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

Her eyes widened with each hoof beat, mouth gaping so wide it took on the appearance of a wet tomb.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.

Just beyond the door now. She gaped, eyes locked on the door handle. Above us the yellow bulb flickered and grew dimmer.

There was pause, then the handle turned and door swung open. Behind it the black horse was waiting. White eyes in a coal black face. Her piercing screech nearly drowned out the voice. But not quite.

‘…mommy doesn’t want to ride baby… mommy doesn’t want to ride…’

Alright, Clarence? my examiner, Gibson, asked, "Bit of a rough one?’

I blinked, trying to dispel the images. It’s always a bit rough frankly, sir.

Yes, indeed, he chuckled, Ready to proceed?

It should have been a relief to be back in reality, but the enormous hall was only marginally less disturbing then the horror in the girl’s head. My heart settled and I nodded.

I’m ready, sir. Go ahead.

Excellent. He adjusted his bifocals and referred to the clipboard. What animal is the demon of Judy Carlson?

A horse.

A mark was made on the clipboard. And what colour was the animal?

Black.

Another mark made.

Just then Judy lurched on the bed beside me. I jumped, eyes fixing on her and heart cranking back up into overdrive. In my head the warning buzz sounded.

Sir..?

What is it, Clarence?

Her body went rigid and jaw clenched, contracting muscles in her neck stood out like rope. And, dumping a bucket of ice water down into my loins, her eyes sprang open. I was sure she would scream, and even braced in anticipation. But no sounds emerged. Instead, sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, her cavernous mouth opened and closed a few times, like a fish breathing air, then she was limp again.

Oh my God, I breathed, Sir…

What is it, Clarence? Gibson repeated, looking up.

The girl…

He glanced at her. She moved?

My head flapped up and down. But already the warning buzz was fading.

A bit startling isn’t it? he said, smiling. But reassured was the last thing I felt. Don’t be alarmed, Clarence. It happens from time to time after a session. Nearly jumped out of my shorts the first time I saw it.

That’s normal?

Yes, it happens. But I assure you she is in no physical pain. His eyes hardened. You didn’t interact with the projections, did you?

No sir.

Good. And that also happens to be the next question, so I’ll just put a tick here. He paused and studied me, pen poised above clipboard. You’re a little shaken, Clarence, aren’t you?

A bit, sir.

Yes I can see that. Why don’t we call it a day?

Alright. Thank you, sir.

He put the clipboard aside and his bushy grey eyebrows merged. Look Clarence, I know it can all be a bit troubling, but do try to understand the circumstances. Nobody likes what goes on in here, it’s just necessary. And somebody has to do it. Understand?

I guess so, sir.

If I can be honest I really rather hoped you would specialise with us. You are a true natural, there is no question. And we do so need you. But then other Heads of Department have said likewise, I assume?

Some have, sir.

Indeed. Well, don’t let me keep you, Clarence. Another excellent performance. Well done.

As I exited the hall, my hollow footsteps clicking on tiled floor, I recognised what I had just seen as among the most disturbing situations of my life. I had no idea who Judy Carlson was. Or, rather, who she had been. But the living nightmare that was her life clutched at my heart with such bottomless horror I would certainly never forget her face.

Then again, I thought as I weaved between the beds, perhaps it was not her that was the most troubling thing I had ever witnessed, but the entire Godforsaken hall. Its row upon row of beds would put anybody at disquiet. A hundred of them, stretching off to the hall’s extremities. More?

Hello, Clarence, a nurse said, pausing in her task of administering drugs, Another good evaluation?

Yes, I replied, attempting to return the smile and failing.

I had thought after the first visit it would get easier, that I would find the environment more bearable. On the contrary, it had been getting harder with every visit.

And it was not the first time I had felt a bit shaken. Twice during recent visits I had had to fight off a creeping sensation that the terrible hall was somehow alive.

‘Nerves,’ I told myself, ‘Just a few more weeks and you’re done.’

But if I had bothered to stop and talk to the nurse, she might have told me that a peculiar thing had been happening in the hall. Judy Carlson was not the only restless sleeper.

*****

As I sat in Defence and Countermeasures Room 4, awaiting my trainer, I reflected on how smugly pleased I had been with my revelation of becoming an Enforcer. I had envisioned myself kicking in the Academy doors, blowing minds with my immense Spirit capability, smashing evaluations with deft swipes of my hand, and exiting the rear doors in a shiny uniform, having not broken my stride. And then, I told myself, with the full legal force of the government at my back, tracking down my mother would be child’s play.

As I thought back on this now, ass slowly losing sensation against a torturously uncomfortable wooden chair, it baffled me I had not taken into account the lethargic operating speed which was every Department of Magic’s M.O. The Academy was no different. It seemed to be staffed entirely, from enrolment desk to administration offices, by bored middle-aged men and women each more disinterested than the next, and each looking as if they were bitterly annoyed at being distracted from insect collecting hobbies.

You’re looking for enrolment forms B17 and G5? Very well, please take a seat while I fell this tree, reduce it to pulp, produce paper, and print said forms. Won’t be a moment.

And all the while the brave men and women who had entered the doors bright eyed and bushy tailed, bursting with youthful ambition, were sapped of strength and reduced to husks. In an effort to prepare them for the bureaucracy of government employment, I guessed.

I sighed and looked around at the other seated Cadets, all appearing seconds from boredom induced suicide. A young man, probably having introduced himself at some point and name now forgotten, caught my eye and shrugged in a can you believe this? gesture. As if my legs joining my ass in the numb department were not enough. Basics evaluations were breathing down our necks, and the particular trainer’s reputation for tardiness had begun to sting.

Finally the door opened and the Defence and Countermeasures trainer, Mister Delaney, stepped in; a tall, broad shouldered man in his forties. The female Cadets seemed to like him, though certainly not for his teaching professionalism.

Forgive my tardiness, he announced, stepping into the room and taking up position before the Cadets, There were pressing matters to attend to. I had much planned for today, but alas time runs short and we will be forced to settle with the condensed version. I will talk today about maintaining a Place of Calm under pressure.

The Cadet who had shrugged muttered audibly. Delaney’s head snapped round.

Something you would like to say? he inquired loudly, smiling.

No, Mister Delaney, the Cadet responded.

Speak up. Don’t be shy.

It’s just… he began, glancing around for support, I think I speak for everyone when I say we are anxious about our Basics, sir.

Of course. And so you should be. What is your concern?

Well we haven’t started on any aggressive technique studies yet, sir. It seems like we might have started learning practical application by now.

I see, Delaney responded, frowning for theatrical effect, My pace is too slow then?

It’s not that, sir…

Oh, I see. You are anxious to learn how to melt people’s minds. Is that it, Cadet?

I mean no disrespect, sir, it’s just that it really seems like we might have moved beyond defence techniques…

Delaney turned to the class. Does everyone agree with this?

There were a few nods.

No, you are quite right, Cadets. A volunteer?

No volunteers were forthcoming. His eyes settled on me. Won’t you join me up front for a moment, Clarence?

I blinked. Beg your pardon, sir?

Don’t be shy, step up. Quickly now.

There was a pause. Two dozen heads turned in my direction. I stood and advanced to the front of the hall.

Now, young man, he continued, Face me and take a few steps back.

I did so.

Excellent. If you would, please resist my attack.

My heart was suddenly hammering and warning buzz sounding frantically. But sir…

Yes, Mister Clarence?

I wanted to say ‘I feel a bit put on the spot, this is highly unusual for this particular class’, but my mouth did not cooperate. Instead it said;

Nothing, sir.

Delaney’s mouth drew into a line and brow furrowed. In response I took a breath and found my Place of Calm.

I’m under the table, above me is the sound of dominoes clicking into place. I’m safe, absolutely and completely safe…

But no attack occurred. The moment drew on and Delaney continued to stare, eyes locked on my own. Eventually, after thirty seconds of silence, I assumed he was playing some kind of bizarre practical joke, perhaps waiting for me to smile awkwardly before bursting into laughter. I obliged and grinned. At once a sensation of vertigo rushed in. I reinforced my Place of Calm, attempting to push back a sensation the world was contracting in around me. But found my fingertips were itching incessantly.

‘God, what is that itching? Did I put my hands in something earlier?’

My mind began chugging for explanations, searching the day for items I had touched which might cause itching.

The itching developed and turned into a burning, fast becoming painful, quickly becoming unbearable. Finally, panic taking hold, I raised my hands and realised my fingers were melting. I stared. Skin and flesh drooped like wax and trickled to the floor, exposing white bone beneath. Horror exploded in my head.

Oh Christ! I heard my voice roaring, Oh shit!

My body spun and I lunged for the door, having the intention of bolting to the bathroom and running water over my hands. This, I reasoned, would cool the flesh and stop it melting. But I couldn’t grasp the doorknob. My hands refused to close, having lost their function as tendons and muscles slid off, now hanging in pink ribbons that dangled to the floor.

Help me! Someone help, open the damn door!

Hands grasped my shoulders.

Easy, Cadet! Easy now! Calm down! Delaney was peering at me, face lined with concern. Calm down, take a breath. Your hands are fine. See?

I gawked at my hands. They were not melting.

You’re fine, you’re fine…

Cool relief rolled in and I gasped in a breath, putting my back to the door and sinking to the ground. I realised my face was dripping sweat and wiped it away.

The relief, however, quickly gave way to paralysing embarrassment. Two dozen faces were staring at me, each frozen in a mask of silent terror.

This attack is what is referred to as Body Horror, Delaney said to the room, It has been outlawed, and for good reason. There are no circumstances in which an Enforcer will have to use it, but many occasions when you will have to defend against it. He paused, letting his gaze move from face to face. So you see, offensive techniques are not much good to an Enforcer who cannot yet efficiently defend himself. Would you not all agree?

There was a murmur of cautious agreement.

And hence, why we might all be a little less interested in aggression, and be more concerned with our defence. Class dismissed. Clarence, stay for a moment. I’d like a word.

I stood and moved aside, watching the other Cadets file out. Many still wore expressions that said they’d just sat through a twenty four hour horror movie marathon. I waited till the last exited.

Yes, sir?

Shut the door please.

I shut the door.

I’m sorry about that, Cadet. Perhaps I was a bit over-enthusiastic. Are you alright? There was a flicker of embarrassment in his eyes.

I’m fine, sir.

Perhaps you’d like to visit the Mental Wellness Department?

I’m fine, sir, like I said.

Good. There was a pause as he studied me. You don’t belong in this class, do you Clarence?

My heart lurched. Beg your pardon, Sir?

I received a message earlier today from a ‘concerned citizen’, as it were. The message was rather plain. It said you do not belong in this class. Can you think of why it might say that, Cadet?

I couldn’t say, sir.

He smiled and nodded at a paper on his desk. I did a background check, of course. It says your mother is wanted for questioning concerning irregularities with a restaurant she was running; ‘The Sushi Palace.’ Correct?

Yes, sir.

Your grandmother, Fran, was an Enforcer. Suspended from duty. Also wanted for questioning.

Yes, sir.

I see. Well, you were cleared of any wrong doing, and it is not unusual for some Enforcers to have colourful backgrounds. Comes with the territory, some might say. So this did not strike me as interesting. What did strike my interest were your application forms. They clearly state, as is expected of an individual in the Accelerated Program, that you’re ‘a student of exceptional talent.’ But in your case rather astonishingly so, as it turns out.

That’s correct, I responded, doing my best to hold eye contact.

Indeed! He raised his eyebrows theatrically. And most profound is that you had not shown any magical talent or even magical abilities of any kind until just a few months before being accepted into the Academy. Astonishing! You’re a regular prodigy, aren’t you, Clarence?

I guess so, sir, yes, I agreed.

You guess? Come now. Don’t be modest. You’re a man of incredible talents. Your time spent at the Magical Hazard Rehabilitation Centre would confirm that without question. He picked up the paper and made a show of being flabbergasted at its contents, You spent hardly a month there before being cleared? Mind blowing, utterly mind blowing. And a Class 5? Cleared in under a month? One would almost say you flew through the program, one that is notorious for sometimes dragging out for over a year, and often not even clearing a person at all. All that, and a Class 5 to boot.

I performed well, yes sir.

So you did. And after your time at the Magical Hazard Rehabilitation centre… The paper was slammed back down on the desk in an expression of boundless amazement, …you went right on and destroyed the entrance exam into this Academy, achieving flying colours in every single category!

I did, sir, yes.

Amazing, Clarence, he crooned, shaking his head, Truly unbelievable. I would say you are the most promising Cadet I have ever encountered. His eyes hardened. Had I not just disabled you a moment ago with a spell Cadets boasting a quarter of your talent could easily resist.

My mouth flapped, requesting an excuse from my brain. None was delivered. I was nervous, sir.

He sighed, bringing down his voice. The D.O.M is an organisation fuelled by pride and dedication, Clarence, rewarding hard work and exceptional talent where it is deserved. There is especially pride in the Accelerated Program. Cadets work extremely hard to get into it, and only the finest and most ambitious are lucky enough to be accepted. The majority of this class are already pegged for commanding Specialist positions at various Departments, and rightly so, since their skills are outstanding and sorely needed in the city. It is a crying shame, Clarence, that I occasionally hear about a Cadet that slips into the program by questionable means, generally as a way to take advantage of a prominent position. Undermines the pride aspect of the Academy, wouldn’t you say?

I would, sir.

Of course you would, he muttered, drifting into silence.

Is that all, Mister Delaney? I said at last, my eyes rooted to the floor.

Yes, Clarence, that is all. And I think it only fair to mention that since you are of such exceptional talent I will be pushing you to your limits during your Basics evaluation.

I had an image of standing before a board of evaluators shrieking at the sight of my melting hands. Okay. Thank you, sir.

You’re welcome, he replied, smiling. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You have yet to even qualify for your Active status.

It’s tomorrow, sir.

Then I wait breathless with anticipation.

*****

The Cadet’s lounge, located at the centre of the Academy, was the only facility where any attempt had been made to create a homey atmosphere. But since this was in the form of exhausted looking pot plants, plastic tables, and a jukebox so ashamed of its poor music selection it hid dejectedly in a corner, the place never did much business.

I entered and spotted Benny Kingston at the bar, currently engaged in intimate conversation with a sparkly eyed young redheaded cadet. The way in which she giggled told me his Junior Enforcer medals were once again working their dubious magic.

Oh my God, I muttered to myself, having a fondness for redheads and never approving of their traumatising.

Benny looked up at my approach and grinned at full Cheshire cat level, as he always did in the presence of a victim.

Ah, Jet, he said brightly, Allow me to introduce Brenda.

He gestured to the redhead and she stood to curtsey.

So you’re Jet Clarence, she said, semi-fascinated.

So I am, I admitted, shaking her hand.

I’ve heard rumours. True or false; you’re Class 5?

True.

What’s that like?

Overrated. Useful only as a conversation starter.

Ah. And humble, she giggled, Say, did you just come from Defence and Countermeasures? I heard Delaney made a guy piss his pants or something.

My cheeks flushed. There was no actual urine, but I’d say it was close. Demonstrating some Body Horror spell.

Body Horror. Wow, sounds crazy.

Ah, Delaney, I remember him, Benny jumped in, His disposition has not improved with age, then?

So it seems, I muttered, shooting him a ‘we need to talk’ expression.

I see. It seems young Jet here requires mentoring, Brenda.

Oh, I understand, the girl said playfully, I guess I can look the other direction and ignore blatant Academy favouritism.

He laughed. My favouritism is indiscriminate. A mentor without loyalties, you might say. A number was scribbled on a napkin and handed to her. Just let me know and I’ll come running.

I might just do that, she replied, folding the napkin and slipping it into a pocket. Well, I’ll leave you boys to it. I have an appointment in the Self Deceit hall. Later.

He grinned, watching her exit with the pride of conquest.

You’re an asshole, I declared once she was beyond earshot.

"It won’t happen this time!’

Not the girl! I glanced around and lowered my voice, though the canteen was empty but for a small group of Cadets at a corner table. You didn’t think it was a little excessive giving me straight distinctions on my entrance exam? Delaney pulled my application.

His eyes widened. What?

He’s on to me, Benny.

Now hang on a second, buddy. First of all, I didn’t exactly get to specify the grades you’d be passing with. It was a little out of my hands.

Well your contact is an asshole, whoever he was.

And secondly, that was no small favour I called in, okay? The entrance exam was difficult, but getting you released from Hazard Rehabilitation was a nightmare. I’m very seriously in debt from that little sleight of hand.

I sighed and raked fingers back through my hair. My basics are a week and a half away and this shit happens.

Relax. It’s not time to hit the self destruct button. Why did he pull the application?

Someone tipped him off, apparently.

Who the hell would do that?

I threw my hands up.