Kingmakers, Year Two

15. Cat

15

CAT

T he second challenge in the Quartum Bellum will be much more pleasant than the first, because I get to be a spectator instead of a participant.

It’s the perfect event to watch: an MMA tournament, with three champions chosen from the Sophomores and Seniors, and only two from the Juniors as punishment for finishing third in the obstacle course. The spectators get to sit on outdoor bleachers erected around a large canvas-floored ring.

I watch Leo agonize over which three fighters to put forward for the Sophomores. The obvious choice is Dean Yenin. To Leo’s credit, he admits that at once, making the request of Dean during lunch hour in the dining hall.

Leo intercepts Dean as he carries his tray to his usual table stuffed with Bratva and Dutch Penose. I’m sitting close enough to hear them talk, and close enough to see how Dean bristles up the moment Leo approaches, expecting conflict instead of conversation.

“I’m picking the fighters for the Quartum Bellum ,” Leo says without preamble. “I thought you should represent us.”

Dean narrows his eyes at Leo, looking more offended than flattered. “Obviously,” he says.

I’ve never heard Dean speak before. I’m surprised how low his voice is, since his face is almost pretty. That’s a strange thing to say about someone who looks mean enough to drop-kick a puppy, but it’s true—Dean Yenin may have bruised, bloody knuckles and a perpetual scowl, but those features are paired with long lashes, violet-colored eyes, and full lips.

Dean is the boy I saw outside the stables the night of the Halloween dance. I pointed him out to Zoe a week later, and she shook her head, saying, “That’s Dean Yenin. Stay away from him.”

“Why?” I said, out of curiosity, not because I had any intention of speaking to him. With the exception of Zoe’s friends, I never approach upperclassmen.

“He’s Leo’s cousin,” Zoe said. “But they hate each other. Their families are enemies. They came to school already wanting to kill each other. Then they both fell for Anna. ”

That was so intriguing that I had to know more. Having something of a girl-crush on Anna myself, I could perfectly imagine the kind of obsessive rivalry she might inspire.

“Did Anna like Dean?”

“At first,” Zoe says. “Until she got to know him. He’s dangerous. He tried to kill Leo—he’ll fuck with you just for being Leo’s friend.”

“I don’t think he knows I exist. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it that way,” I promised Zoe.

So I watch Dean and Leo from a table away, careful not to stare too obviously.

“Yeah,” Leo says, trying to keep his temper. “You’re one of the best fighters. So I?—”

“ One of the best?” Dean scoffs. “I am the best. And it’s not close.”

Leo grits his teeth, torn between his desire to argue and his need to secure Dean’s cooperation.

“You’ll do it, then?” he says.

Dean doesn’t answer immediately, savoring his power over Leo, the delicious dynamic of Leo forced to come begging for a favor.

“Who else are you picking?” he demands .

I don’t know whether that will influence his choice, or if he’s just curious.

“I’m not sure,” Leo says. “Maybe Silas Gray . . .”

Dean gives a curt nod, as if he was expecting that. “He fought well in the final challenge last year. But he’s not strategic. All size and rage.”

“Who would you suggest?” Leo says, half irritated and half actually wanting the advice.

Dean is silent a moment, thinking.

“Ares surprised me,” he says, at last.

Leo casts a swift glance back at my table, looking at Ares calmly eating a chicken salad three seats down from me. I fix my gaze on my own half-eaten food, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.

Over the din of the dining hall, I can just barely hear Leo’s lowered voice saying, “I don’t know if he’d want to.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think he’d like it. With everybody watching.”

“He’s shy?” Dean sneers.

“I dunno. I haven’t asked him. Who else would you suggest? We need three. ”

“Aren’t you picking yourself?” Dean queries.

“Not necessarily,” Leo says. “I can fight, but I’ve never done it in a ring.”

“Hm.” Dean sounds surprised that Leo wouldn’t jump on the chance to put himself in the spotlight. He’s mildly less irritable as he says, “What about Kenzo Tanaka? Or Corbin Castro?”

I sneak another glance at Dean. This is the first time I’ve seen him and Leo in close proximity without open aggression. Their expressions are curiously alike as they consider the problem.

“Kenzo could be good,” Leo agrees. “He’s smart and fast, and I’ve seen him take some hard hits without going down.”

Dean nods. Then he seems to remember who he’s talking to, and his face stiffens once more, the chill returning to his voice. “It won’t matter who else you pick. I’m gonna win the whole thing.”

“I hope you do,” Leo says evenly. “It would send us to the final round.”

He and Dean part ways without further conversation.

I can hear Anna’s relieved exhale as Leo rejoins her.

“He’ll do it? ”

“Sounds like it,” Leo says.

Ares has a textbook propped up against his milk glass and he’s reading as he eats, oblivious to the drama going on around him.

“He had some other suggestions for who he thinks should fight,” Leo says.

“Oh yeah, who?” Anna says.

“Ares,” Leo replies, looking over at his friend.

Ares glances up, eyebrows raised. “Does he know we won’t be fighting each other? ‘Cause it sounds like he wants a re-match.”

“You rung his bell.” Leo grins. “Knocked a little sense into him.”

“Maybe if I punch him fifty more times he might turn halfway decent,” Ares says, returning to his textbook.

“You want to do it?” Leo asks.

“Punch Dean? Of course.”

“No. Do you want to compete?”

Ares pauses, eyes still fixed on the page. Without looking up he says, “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? ”

A muscle jumps at the corner of his jaw. “You know I don’t like that shit. I wanna help the team, but there’s better fighters than me.”

Leo doesn’t argue. Everyone knows Ares hates attention. Even I know it, and I’m barely an acquaintance.

“What about you, Hedeon?” Leo calls down the table.

Hedeon is a pretty good fighter—the fact that he can hold his own with Silas is proof of that, even if he only wins one out of four fights.

“Fuck that,” Hedeon snarls, shoving away his tray. “Not interested.”

He might be offended that Leo didn’t ask him earlier. It came off like he was the fourth choice, after Dean and Ares and maybe Kenzo Tanaka.

Or he’s just having one of his days. I don’t know what his problem is, but Hedeon seems to suffer from a particular brand of bipolar that vacillates between mildly grouchy and full-out homicidal.

We accept Hedeon’s outbursts like we accept Ares’ modesty. It’s a part of them and not likely to change.

The morning of the second challenge dawns bright and clear with a light breeze. Perfect weather for sitting outdoors.

As I leave the Undercroft, Rakel says to me, “Don’t forget to index the source materials for our History paper.”

I agreed to do the indexing if Rakel proofread my paper.

“I tried yesterday,” I tell her. “But I can’t find any book that has replicas of Shimizu Jirocho’s letters.”

“They’re not in a book,” Rakel says, that old note of why-are-you-so-fucking-dumb creeping back into her voice. “They’re down in the archives. Ask Miss Robin to get them for you. Or Saul—he’s a library aide. He’s allowed down there.”

“I will,” I promise.

“But meet me at the computer lab first, ‘cause that project’s due tomorrow.”

“Right.” I nod. “Lab first, library after.”

I’ve been doing a lot of my schoolwork with Rakel, and my grades have improved somewhat. She’s bossy, but she has a better background on subjects like the history of the mafia clans. I’m picking up some of the chemistry and programming faster than her, so we’re useful to each other.

I hurry to breakfast, and then I follow Zoe through the stone gates to the outdoor bleachers assembled around the boxing ring. I’m glad I get to sit with Zoe and her usual group of friends.

For once Leo gets to sit back and watch a challenge, instead of having to orchestrate the victory. I’m not sure he prefers it this way—he looks tense and nervy, even with Anna cuddled up next to him.

Chay and Ozzy sit on their other side. You might think they were a couple, if Chay didn’t keep protesting otherwise. She looks plenty comfortable leaning against Ozzy’s shoulder while she chats with Anna. Ozzy finally got his bandage off, but his arm looks awful—the skin a mat of puckered scar tissue, mottled red and purple, only half-healed. The scars darker in the patches that used to be tattoos.

Hedeon and Ares sit in the row in front of ours. I don’t see Miles anywhere—I ask Zoe what he’s doing. She shrugs, unconcerned. “I’m sure he’ll be along soon enough.”

The Sophomores, Juniors, and Seniors mostly cluster in their respective groups so they can cheer for their fighters. The Freshmen have already been eliminated, so it doesn’t matter where we sit or who we support.

I’m cheering for the Sophomores, though the only fighter I know is Dean, who terrifies me.

Leo ended up selecting Dean Yenin, Silas Gray, and Kenzo Tanaka. The Juniors picked Kasper Markaj, an Albanian Enforc er who Zoe tells me was a team Captain in last year’s Quartum Bellum .

“He’s decent and hardworking,” she says. “It was a shame his team was eliminated so early. I know he felt bad about it.”

Their other fighter is Jasper Webb, the boy with the skeletal tattoos who harassed Chay during my first breakfast at Kingmakers. The one who helped hold my sister down while Rocco cut her clothes off. Needless to say, I fucking hate him and hope he gets his face pounded in the first round.

The Seniors selected Calvin Caccia, an Italian Heir who Zoe says was also a Captain last year.

“I don’t like him as much,” Zoe tells me. “He’s arrogant and rude, and he’s got a grudge against Leo.”

“So do a lot of people,” Leo says, from the other side of Anna. “Don’t hold that against him. If you hate everybody who hates me, you won’t have many friends left.”

Zoe laughs. Leo may have enemies, but he’s still one of the most popular students at our school.

“Who are the other two?” I nod down toward the last two fighters warming up at the edge of the ring. One is a tall black guy with a ripped physique and a shaved head. The other is beastly in size, but he looks more fat than muscular .

“That’s Zeke Golden and Lee Sparks,” Anna says. “Zeke is skilled. And don’t be fooled by the extra fluff—Lee’s no slouch, either.”

The fighters reach their hands into a sack to pull out an opponent’s name. Leo gives an irritated grunt when Silas draws Lee Sparks, and another when Dean is paired up with Zeke Golden. It’s bad luck that two of the Sophomore fighters will have to face experienced Seniors. Kenzo Tanaka draws Jasper Webb. The two previous Captains—Kasper Markaj and Calvin Caccia—are the first to enter the ring.

The fight is swift and decisive, Kasper easily outclassing Calvin Caccia, ending with a TKO after only one round.

“Ha!” Zoe cries, not having dropped her dislike of Calvin. “Good for Kasper. Bet that makes him feel better about last year.”

Silas and Lee Sparks face off next. It’s a battle of titans, the two heaviest fighters charging each other like bulls, clinching and thrashing around as if their horns are locked. Each time one throws the other to the ground, the crash echoes around the bleachers.

Hedeon is sitting right in front of me, close enough that he could rest his spine against my shins if he leaned back. He watches Silas swing his heavy ham-like fists into his opponent’s face. With every blow his brother lands, Hedeon flinches. His skin has turned almost as gray as his name .

Silas wins, but only at a heavy cost. He’s battered and bleeding, not that it seems to bother him any. Lee looks even worse and has to be helped out of the ring and taken directly to the infirmary.

Hedeon rests his face in his hands, looking ill.

I want to ask if he’s okay, but I don’t dare do it.

“You want a drink?” Ares says, passing over a bottle of water.

Hedeon raises his face, wild-eyed and angry, like he’s going to snarl at Ares. He stops himself, just barely.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking the water and drinking it down.

Dean is up next, against Zeke Golden.

Tension sweeps the crowd. The Seniors have already lost two of their fighters—if Zeke doesn’t win, they’ll lose the challenge and be eliminated from the Quartum Bellum .

The pressure is visible on Zeke’s rigid frame, and on Dean as well. Both fighters look strained as they climb into the ring. Unlike the first two pairings, both Dean and Zeke are experienced boxers, hands wrapped with professional care, both falling naturally into their stance before Professor Howell has even tapped the starting bell.

“Fucking hell,” Anna breathes as the fight begins .

Dean and Zeke are so fast that I can hardly keep track as they attack each other with rapid, intricate combinations. This is the difference between trained and highly-trained, boxers vs. brawlers. The crowd collectively holds their breath, the punches landing too fast even for cheers.

The fight goes the full three rounds. I can’t tell who won, though I suspect it might have been Dean. His face is almost unmarked, other than a small bruise under one eye.

The judges—Professor Howell, Professor Bruce, and the Chancellor himself—bend their heads over their scorecards. The crowd silently waits. The Chancellor gives Dean an approving nod as he announces the unanimous decision.

The Seniors howl with rage. They’re out of the Quartum Bellum without even the dignity of advancing to the final round.

Dean looks angry instead of pleased. He probably wanted to win that fight outright, not by decision.

“I can’t believe it!” Anna cries. “We’re safe!”

“Yup,” Leo says with a strained smile.

“That was intense,” Anna sighs.

“Dean’s a good fighter; that’s why I picked him,” Leo says, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

Anna catches it anyway. She grabs his face and kisses him .

“You’d knock the shit out of any of them if you were down there,” she says.

Leo smiles, mollified. “I don’t know about that. I’d definitely beat that fucker Calvin Caccia though, wouldn’t I, Zoe?”

“That’s right.” Zoe grins.

With only Sophomore and Junior fighters remaining, the matches continue for bragging rights, and possibly an advantage in the final challenge.

The last pairing is Kenzo Tanaka against Jasper Webb.

I know who I want to win, and not just because I’m supporting the Sophomores. Any friend of Rocco deserves an ass-kicking.

Jasper Webb climbs up in the ring. He looks calm and unphased, even as the surrounding students scream down at him. He shucks off his shirt, revealing a chest and back tattooed in the same manner as his hands, with a perfect anatomical representation of the bones beneath the skin.

“Why do you think he did that?” Zoe says quietly, beside me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “To remind himself of our inevitable end, I suppose. Or he just thinks it looks scary.”

I say it mockingly, but in truth Jasper does cut an imposing figure as he tosses his long, dark red hair back out of his face. His body is lean, hard, and pale, with ripples of muscle beneath the tattooed bones. Even from up here, I can see that his gr een eyes are vivid as my sister’s, though infinitely colder.

He faces off against Kenzo Tanaka, who has his dark hair brushed into a retro-style pompadour, and his shirt likewise stripped off to show the dragon tattoo running from thumb to shoulder.

“It’s the battle of the ink,” Leo says. He’s trying to sound casual, but his eyes are fixed on the ring. He wants Kenzo to win. He wants the Sophomores to triumph.

We’re all destined for disappointment. Kenzo starts out strong, hitting Jasper with some vicious kicks and punches to the head. Jasper barely seems to feel it. He takes blow after blow, never staggering.

The second round begins, and Jasper walks to the center-ring as fresh as if the fight is just beginning. Kenzo fires a few more combinations at him. Jasper slips them easily. Waiting patiently for an opening, he shoots the gap and hits Kenzo with a single hard right-cross straight to the jaw. Kenzo goes down limp and boneless.

The crowd roars. Jasper isn’t popular, but no one can deny the perfect precision of that punch. Professor Howell hoists Jasper’s arm in the air. The cheers are deafening.

Howell calls a short break before the second round of fights. Only a couple of students leave the bleachers. Though the final round of the Quartum Bellum is already assured, the Sophomores and Juniors are still intently interested to see whose fighter will triumph. The Freshmen and Seniors likewise seemed glued to the ring, eager to see who will have to fight Silas next and whether Jasper will be able to employ that sledgehammer punch against a different opponent.

Miles scales the side of the bleachers, squeezing into the gap between Anna and Zoe.

“Where have you been?” Zoe says, her cheeks flushing pink just from the sight of Miles.

“Thought you might be getting hungry,” he says, passing around a paper bag of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. They’re warm and soft, the chocolate chips still melty from the oven. I scarf my cookie down in two bites.

“A present from your friends in the kitchen?” Zoe laughs.

“I told you, they’ll trade their souls for the right baggie.” Miles grins.

“No milk?” Leo complains.

“Only for Zoe,” Miles fires back, pulling a chilled glass bottle out from under his shirt and ripping off the paper top.

“Zoe. I will pay you five hundred dollars for that milk,” Leo says, eyes fixed on the bottle. “I’ll do all your homework for a year. Please. I need it. ”

“There’s plenty,” Zoe says, taking a sip and passing it along. “I’m happy to share.”

“And she doesn’t want your homework help,” Anna laughs. “It wouldn’t improve her grades.”

“I’ve been studying this year,” Leo says, pretending to be hurt.

“Not as much as Zoe.”

“Well if that’s the standard, then none of us study.”

“Except Ares,” Zoe amends.

I’m only half-listening to the conversation because I’m looking across the ring at the double rows of seats reserved for the teachers. Miss Robin sits at the edge of the second row, her red hair flaming in the sunshine and her lumpy, oversized cardigan ill-suited to the warm spring weather.

“Look at that,” I say to Zoe. “Miss Robin came.”

“It’s funny seeing her in sunlight,” Zoe says.

“Well, now you know for sure she’s not a vampire.”

“I bet she’s finally getting comfortable at the school,” Zoe says. “I’m glad—I’m sure it takes a while to get used to this place. And the other professors.”

“I like Miss Robin,” Miles says, taking the milk back from Leo and washing down his cookie. “She did me a solid the other day. ”

“What did she do?” Anna asks.

I see a quick, amused glance pass between Miles and Zoe.

“She found my textbook in the lost and found,” Miles says.

Professor Howell climbs up into the ring, easily vaulting over the top rope though it’s chest-high on him.

“Ready for the second round?” he shouts up to the crowd.

The students roar their approval, not nearly satiated yet.

The fighters draw lots again, and this time there’s an audible gasp as Silas is paired up with Jasper Webb. Jasper barely had time to recover from his last fight, but he takes his position, looking cool and uncaring even in the face of Silas’s granite bulk. Jasper cracks his knuckles, the sharp popping audible all the way up in the stands.

The fighters raise their fists. Professor Howell rings the bell.

This time Jasper is careful to avoid Silas’s blows. He dances and dodges with a speed almost approaching Dean’s. Silas is ferociously strong. When he clips Jasper with even a glancing blow, the impact is brutal. Jasper begins to bleed from nose, lip, and eyebrow.

Still, he’s giving almost as good as he gets. Sniper-like, he fires off sharp, snapping punches that hit Silas precisely where Jasper intends. He opens a cut over Silas’s left eye, then hits him again in the same spot, sending a torrent of blood into Silas ’s eye, half-blinding him. Staggering around off balance, Silas is struck again and again.

By the third round, Silas tires. Jasper redoubles his speed. He’s just as fast as he was to start with, maybe even faster. But Silas is so massive that Jasper’s blows don’t have the same effect as they did on Kenzo Tanaka. Silas stumbles and reels without going down.

When the bell sounds, it’s clear that Jasper has won on points. Both he and Silas are a mess, blood raining down on the canvas.

By contrast, Dean makes short work of Kasper Markaj. Zoe wants to cheer for Kasper, even though he’s a Junior, but it’s clear from the start that he can’t keep up with Dean.

Dean moves through his footwork with balletic grace. Each blow is swift, calculated, and horribly strong. His fists are scythes, slicing through the air.

Miss Robin leans forward in her seat, her dark eyes locked on the fighters. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looked transfixed, barely breathing.

It strikes me that she might have come to this particular event because she likes boxing. It’s a curious preference for someone so gentle, but people don’t always resemble their interests. There are plenty of grannies that love wrestling, or bikers who like to bake .

Dean knocks Kasper to the canvas three times in the first round. On that third fall, Kasper doesn’t get up. He concedes the victory, stumbling out of the ring supported by Professor Howell.

Dean raises his own gloved fist in victory, stern and unsmiling. He doesn’t seem to get any joy from his wins. Yet I can tell how badly he wants them.

Professor Howell announces one more break before the final round.

Not a single person leaves their seat.

Everyone is wildly curious whether Dean will continue to prevail, or if Jasper will prove some kind of dark-horse phenom.

“I didn’t even know he was that good a fighter,” Leo says.

“I did,” Miles replies, unsmiling. “I’ve seen him in Combat class.”

“Still . . . taking down Silas . . .”

“Silas was pretty beat up from his first fight,” Ares says.

Hedeon isn’t joining in the conversation. The milk and cookies seemed to revive him slightly, but he’s still broody and pale .

Dean and Jasper take their places in the ring. Jasper is heavily marked from his battle with Silas, while Dean’s face is almost pristine. Neither boy shows a trace of nervousness—just cold intention. Dean has removed his shirt as well, his body is a testament to endless hours in the gym: focused, repeated training sculpting each muscle to superhuman perfection.

“God almighty,” Chay says quietly.

Anna shoots her a quelling look, probably for Leo’s benefit.

“I’m sorry!” Chay cries. “I know we hate him, but he’s a fucking specimen. Don’t worry, Leo, you are too—I saw you naked in the dining hall, so I know what you’re packing. I’m just saying . . .”

Leo doesn’t seem bothered, but Ozzy has fallen quiet on the opposite side of Chay.

The bell rings and Dean and Jasper close the space swiftly and silently. Like hawks they swoop and twist and dive at each other, clinging and breaking apart only to attack again, even faster than Dean’s fight with Zeke Golden. I have my hands pressed against my mouth, biting hard on my knuckle without even realizing it.

The blows hit in near-constant tempo, both Dean and Jasper wincing and spitting blood, but neither slowing for an instant.

Jasper pins Dean against the ropes and hits him with a punishing combination that seems like it might just win the fight. Dean fires back with a volley of punches that are the first Jasper truly seems to feel. He drops to his knee and Dean hits him again, knocking him flat on the canvas.

The fight is over. Dean won.

“Maybe Jasper could have made it if he didn’t fight Silas first,” Chay says.

“I doubt it,” Leo says, shaking his head. “Dean’s so fucking good.”

I know the animosity between Leo and Dean is still raw, but Leo’s pragmatism won’t let him deny Dean’s skill. He’s realistic, whether he likes the truth or not.

“You’re the one who picked him!” Anna reminds Leo. “We won the second challenge!”

“Dean won it,” Leo laughs.

“Under your excellent leadership,” she gives him a light kiss on the mouth.

I see Miles and Zoe exchange another glance. Probably wishing they could be affectionate whenever and wherever they like. Wishing that, like Anna and Leo, their marriage contract was a license to date and not a prison sentence.

“Well,” I sigh. “I’d better get going. I’m supposed to work on a coding project with Rakel this afternoon. ”

“She talking to you now?” Chay laughs.

“Sometimes!” I say. “A lot, actually.”

“I bet poor Anna wishes I’d give her the silent treatment once in a while,” Chay says, grinning at Anna.

“Only after midnight,” Anna grumbles.

I climb down from the bleachers, planning to head to the computer lab in the Keep.

Heavy footsteps follow after me. I turn, expecting to see Leo or Miles, or maybe even Ares. Instead, I find Hedeon only an arm’s reach away.

“Oh, hello,” I say. “You have a class in the Keep, too?”

“No,” Hedeon says shortly.

He still looks pale and out of sorts. I don’t think he enjoyed the fights at all.

I don’t expect him to walk with me or talk to me either. We may have danced together at Halloween, but Hedeon and I are not friends. I’m sure the dancing was purely out of necessity—there’s a dearth of girls at Kingmakers, and Chay, Anna, and Zoe were already occupied.

So I’m surprised when Hedeon keeps pace with me, silent and scowling, like a grouchy, elongated shadow.

“You’re good at those hacking classes, huh?” he says abruptly .

“Uh, sure . . . good enough,” I reply. “I’m learning.”

“You have access to the school computers?”

“Yes . . .” I say hesitantly. “Limited access.”

“Could you get more?”

He’s watching me with sharp blue eyes under the straight, dark slashes of his brows. His voice is calm, but I hear the hidden edge underneath, like a razor blade buried in a cupcake.

I stop walking. “What are you asking me, exactly?”

Hedeon grabs my arm and pulls me into the shadow of the Armory, out of the flow of students heading toward the Keep.

“I want to know if you could hack into the school server.”

“I have no idea,” I say, staring up into his face. “I wouldn’t try.”

“I could pay you,” Hedeon says. I hear the urgency now, how badly he wants this.

I should just tell him no. I shouldn’t even be discussing this. But I’m prickling with curiosity.

I used to mind my own business. I used to be timid and safe.

Ever since I came to Kingmakers, I’ve become much more inquisitive. There’s a world of secrets and lies all around me. I’d like to know the answers to a few things . . .

Maybe the Spies are rubbing off on me after all.

“I have to know what you’re looking for,” I say. “Or else I won’t know if I can do it.”

Hedeon narrows his eyes at me, suspicious.

I try to maintain my innocent, wide-eyed expression. Like I only want to help him.

“I need access to student records,” he says. “Old records.”

“You think they’re on a server?” I say. “I thought everything at Kingmakers was written by hand.”

I’m thinking of our acceptance letters, our contracts, our assignments, our grades. My impression was that it was all kept on paper so it could be burned or disposed of with no permanent record.

“There’s nothing in the archives,” Hedeon says, frustrated. “The records must be somewhere else.”

I hold my breath, realizing that Hedeon already asked Saul this question. That’s why he was in Saul’s room the day I bumped into him down in the Undercroft—he wanted Saul to check the archives, which Saul has access to as a library aide.

Saul must have told him there were no records down there.

Which means they must be online.

Or stored somewhere else .

“I don’t know if I can even look,” I tell Hedeon. “All our keystrokes are tracked in the computer lab. I’m sure they have some pretty hefty protection against us accessing the school server.”

Hedeon is already turning away, disappointment clear on his handsome face.

It’s that look of anguish that pricks me, turning curiosity into guilt. I do want to help him.

“Wait!” I say, calling him back.

“What?” Hedeon rounds on me, angry as well as discouraged.

“What about the stables?”

He frowns, not understanding me.

“The night of the Halloween party, I was sitting on a stack of boxes and I knocked them over. There were a bunch of papers inside. Old documents. That couch is from the Chancellor’s office, everybody says. Maybe the papers are too?”

Hedeon considers this, lips pressed tight together.

“I’ll look,” he says. And then, as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

“No problem. I hope it helps.”

His face darkens once more and he growls, “Don’t tell anyone about this, Cat. Nobody. Not even Zoe. ”

“I won’t,” I say. “I mean, I don’t even know anything.”

Hedeon looks at me closely, then stalks off.

It’s true, I don’t know anything.

But if Hedeon wants old school records . . . then I’m beginning to guess.