No Heroes
Part 7: After the rain

Wednesday morning, February 1, 2017,
Men's Locker Room, Laird Hall, Whateley Academy.

One of the morning Tai Chi class's better features was that the female-to-male ratio left the guys' locker room practically empty until Mongolian wrestling practice ended. 'Practically' and 'entirely' stopped being the same thing once Benjamin Keeling reentered Peter Raiford's world. Whether Peter had personally contributed to the chaos or not, the point still stood.

"Yo, Peter–"

Of course, Benjamin would find him before the caffeine could flow. Oh, wait. They were in the same class now.

"–I've been meaning to give you this."

A business card for Rogers' Fabric Boutique?

"We usually get these sometime during Costuming Class. Mrs. Ryan was Miss Rogers's advisor, back in the day. Just so you know."

Benjamin nodded as if he'd known that. "I was worried you might not have a formal suit for the impending dance. But, if you're all set, that's cool."

"Last year, I wore my school uniform, crutches, and leg braces. Not much of a dance."

"Maybe this time can be different? Anyone tries to break your leg, I'll help you break theirs."

This is what I get for falling for the bodyguard. What if he offered me flowers?

Then again, when a member of The Five Houses sends flowers... It's probably best to not be the recipient.

"Fine. I'll see if I can get a walk-in appointment. That work?"

"Sure."

Imagining Benjamin slicked up in black tie, Peter decided a colder shower wouldn't hurt this morning. But he'd order a pair of dress shoes with steel toes, just in case.

---

Wednesday afternoon,
Theory and Practice of the Escape.

It wasn't unusual for Benjamin to show up early for class. However, this time, he didn't just look like he had a plan for the class. Here was a plan of action with milestones, on the hoof. Confronted with the possibilities, the Imp considered asking Belfry's other boss if this combination of pride and impending doom was what it felt like working with the young man.

"Miss Imp, do you mind if I borrow the classroom for a while after class? Maybe the safe for overnight? I've got a project I've been trying to work on. But lately, even the practice pages have been growing feet and walking off."

Was that a pout? Was her very own teen superspy (better than a minion, but such a hazard to fire insurance premiums) pouting?

"Is this project illegal, immoral, or fattening?" she asked hopefully.

"Um, no, not hardly, and I wish, in that order."

"Promise you'll reset the tumblers, and I'll give you a pass."

"Deal!"

What have I just agreed to?

---

After the class was over and everything put away, Benjamin emptied out the gear he'd stuffed into his book pack. In addition to a laptop and paper, there were mechanical pencils, straight edge tools, water cups, brushes, charcoal, a pair of jade ink stones, and a set of ink sticks. It was so nice to see someone meticulous about set-up and break-down!

"Who are you, and where did you hide my teaching assistant's body?"

"Don't worry," Benjamin said. "It shouldn't start smelling funky for a few hours yet."

"If I'm going to be an accomplice after the fact, I'll be the judge of that."

Benjamin muttered, "Fair enough."

---

She'd already lost the boy's attention. Now she knew how Toolbox felt getting shot down by him in class.

The speed with which Benjamin measured out his paper and sketched out the skeleton of a composition proved that this wasn't his first attempt. If her work had developed a habit of walking off, the Imp was certain she'd be looking for ways to teach those feet a lesson before trying again. Most of those ways wouldn't play well in a boys' dorm. Once he trudged off to Algebra, Imp was tempted to sneak a peek, but that would spoil the eventual surprise.

Why did adulting have to be so hard?

The boy came back to scrounge more time before dinner. Something about this project must be special!

---

One of the most irritating parts of having to redo his work over and over was that Benjamin hadn't ordered an infinite amount of Thai unryu paper. He couldn't very well just swap another type of paper in. He'd planned on the snowy effect that visible fibers lent it. Ordering more could wait until after he figured out how to pay back the assholes who'd been stealing his stuff.

Framing the right side of the page with a pair of bamboo stalks called for the only green ink he'd need to use. Grinding just enough for something between a fibrous line and pale wash was tricky enough to decide to use that first. If he screwed up, he could always cut a strip off the edge and start over. He roughed in the mountain cherry branch stretching down and to the right with charcoal. A real artist wouldn't need to do that. But, he still needed that guide to place the four lines of text that he wanted in solid red to mimic free-hanging blessing tags. After that, he'd thin out the red ink to cerise for the clustered cherry blossoms. Finishing details could be inked in in black.

Of course, that didn't mean he was finished! The ink needed to completely dry before he could even think of mounting the paper on anything sturdy. Not that he was in the mood for wasting good silk, either. So, into one of the Imp's safes that went! Next, cleanup!

"If I knew you were going to abuse my classroom for art, I'd've baked a cake!" the Imp teased. "Some ungrateful daughters would talk about ordering one from the bakery. But where's the fun in that?"

Benjamin may have forgotten about the teacher, but she hadn't forgotten him. Well, not too much. She did have papers to grade and lesson plans to update.

"Er, um, okay?"

Judging by the unfocused look in his eyes, this one was still thinking in pictures. Ruefully, she skipped the Foghorn Leghorn quote he otherwise deserved.

"Go get some food. If you need to come back to finish, you know the ways in."

"Food? Right! Look at the time! Sorry to—"

"No, you aren't. Now get!"

Now, why would anyone want to steal shufa calligraphy? The brushwork was deliberate and over-controlled but serviceable for a student. That was part of the problem; hardly a dozen people on campus could read the script. Candice Kade, the art historian, would have bet that this wasn't using one of the modern scripts. Most kids at Whateley would probably mistake it all for spell slips.

Some would be stupid enough to steal them.

---

Thursday, February 2, 2017,
Ground floor, Crystal Hall Cafeteria.

"Well, it took me a couple of favors, but I finally got it done," Benjamin announced as he set his lunch tray down on the table across from where Peter was seated.

"Got what done?"

"My latest calligraphy project. I picked out a cool poem for it and had a halfway decent idea for framing the illustration. It only took some favors and a half-dozen freaking attempts to end up with one that didn't turn up missing."

"You'd mentioned that. Who steals a guy's homework like that?" Well, they were at Whateley Academy, and some jerks were determined to get an early start on their careers in villainy. But, still. "Mind if I see it?"

"No problem," Benjamin said. He pulled a scroll from his backpack while Peter wiped his hands clean. He waited for Peter to get a good look before saying, "Happy Birthday, by the way. No givebacks."

"I wasn't expecting anything. Maybe a care package from my parents. But that's it."

Peter thought back to last November.

"Thank you. No parties, please."

"I didn't think you had any party time left on your schedule."

"I don't."

"Avoiding your assigned combat training?"

"The extra 'voluntary' training that none of us signed up for? Yeah. I wish. Cricket managed to book a briefing room in Laird so we can review our so-called official run before Mr. Shane makes up his own interpretation."

"I think I'd like to see how that went too."

"We're supposed to be doing our own work."

"Which, in the real world, includes jobbing out tasks to your own forensics, consultants, and legal team before handing in your own report," Benjamin said, shrugging like it was something he managed on the regular. Come to think of it, he did.

"I've met the crew already. So, you going to deal me in, or what?"

---

Leaving the bustling cafeteria, Morgana 'DragonsFyre' Jones looked over her shoulder one more time before scowling. The balance of the universe was clearly off-kilter and possibly getting worse.

"What's got you so worked up?" Bianca 'Glyph' St. Claire asked. "Is your arm brace already itching?"

"No. He's smiling again."

"Who? 'He' doesn't exactly narrow down the possibilities."

"Belfry."

"He does that. Yesterday, he looked a little goofy before and after class. What's new about that?" Bianca asked before side-eyeing Morgana. "I have to deal with something similar all the time."

"Hey!"

---

Now that the guy had successfully inserted himself into the team's way, Peter watched Benjamin eat. Wasn't love or whatever supposed to blind you to your partner's dodgy habits? Instead of drawing hearts in imaginary notebooks, his brain sized up the way the other leaned in over his food tray. Somehow, he paused long enough to wash down every thoroughly-chewed bite with coffee or juice. Anyone getting a hand too close to Benjamin's fries risked getting speared with a fork. Okay, that hadn't changed, but the guy was carb-loading.

"You pulled an all-nighter, didn't you?"

"Not really," Benjamin mumbled. "I napped while waiting for the glue to set and stuff."

Liar. Those are the same thing, except when I do it.

"Hey guys!"

Annaliese and Tabitha ignored Benjamin's half-hearted glower. Looking groggily ferocious fell flat with a mouthful of potato. Even if it had worked, why was he anxious over competition for Benjamin's attention?

"So, what's happening, other than the usual Whateley trauma and drama?"

They hadn't answered Annaliese, had they?

Peter recovered first. "Benjamin got me a scroll of, what is it?"

"Since your birthday's in early February, it's a poem about cherry blossoms. I've been practicing my writing, so, yeah."

Now, more people know his birthday. Yay.

"My hands are still clean," Tabitha said, "So, give over, let's see it."

Annaliese smiled at Peter's reluctance handing the present over. So, so obvious.

It wasn't exactly a masterpiece of art in either of the girls' eyes, but Benjamin might have promise, if he kept at it.

Benjamin's voice wasn't loud enough to carry far, but they saw what they were hearing clearly enough. Peter felt his cheeks and ears heat up. Mountain cherry blossom pink.

Tabitha carefully rerolled the present and returned it to him.

"You hang on to this. You only get given things like this once."

Annaliese kept quiet until everything was secure and the boys were back to the Important Things (i.e., eating).

"Fess up. When did you two idjits finally figure it out?"

Her telepathy gave her the answer before either one could slap a dignity-sparing response together. She shook her head at the images and two sides of a lame argument. How could someone know Benjamin so well without knowing which team he batted an eye for?

"Never mind. I think me and Tabbs would rather imagine something almost, vaguely, romantic."

---

Friday afternoon, February 3, 2017,
after Theory and Practice of the Escape.

Two hours until Peter and Max are out of class, assuming Max doesn't go over. Then, one hour until dinner, followed by Disciplines for Psychos, and the weekend.

After a couple of weeks of "surviving to plan your escape", Benjamin could use a break. What little that Pastel and Glyph were willing to say backed up the instructors' notes suggesting that they'd earned their Survivor merit badges. Asking why Toolbox needed the class had somehow annoyed the U.S. Department of Energy. Assay had practically been a frequent flyer with Air Abduction.

Benjamin shook his head. Dr. Delacroix must be feeling abandoned compared to her colleagues' workloads.

All of which was not his problem until next week's topic, evading all the ways your captors can turn the screws! Morbidly fitting that it would be the week before VD Day.

"Hi! Can we talk?"

Had Morgana been waiting for him to finish up? That made no sense since she had a girlfriend who might not be in class at the moment. Wasn't that high-tech cast she was wearing good for some sympathy cuddles? He wouldn't have hesitated.

Note to self: get back into the habit of tracking schedules. Two class periods, and coming from the range, Peter usually likes to shower before dinner. If he remembers. Too predictable, but low risk.

"Okay?"

"You don't sound too sure."

"I've still got algebra, dinner, and my evening class, but I like to pretend someone would notice if I went missing before then."

Morgana smiled, showing her fangs, "That sounds like plenty of time for a cup of coffee and a little talk."

Benjamin replied, "That's what I'm suddenly worried about."

"Can't a nice dragongirl invite a boy out for an innocent cup of coffee?"

"This boy's innocent. I've never been convinced of the cup's innocence."

"And here we were going to surprise you!"

"We?"

"Thulia's already there. Once we get to the caff, you can go sit; I'll bring something for us both."

"Thanks, but I prefer getting my own. Can't blame anyone else if the drink order turns out dodgy."

Morgana frowned but relented. Honey was better than vinegar, and all that.

---

At the cafe table, Benjamin bent down to secure his bookpack before asking, "Is this going to be an intervention? Because I'd kind of like having the fun part of the addiction first."

He attached a a multifrequency jammer to the underside of the table before straightening up. While he worked, Colombine set up a hardlight projection to confound lip reading.

"Caffeine doesn't count as an addiction?" Thulia asked.

"I can quit any time I like."

"Isn't that one of those cheap lies, like "I'm with the government and I'm here to help you?"?"

"Speaking of, have you considered a position with Her Majesty's government?" asked Benjamin. "The pay's a tasteless joke, but there are retirement benefits should you live so long, what with the stress and all. Or, so I'm told."

Thulia purred, "I have other obligations."

"Worth a shot. So, what's the problem?"

"We, well, mostly Morgana, have questions."

"Thanks for putting me on the spot!" groused Morgana.

"But?" Benjamin prompted. "Here we all are?"

"Fine. Easy one first. What's between you and Mrs. Turner?"

"Nothing. She tried to pull I'm-the-Mommy-here! on me. Our lawyers corrected that mistake. Next?"

Morgana hadn't heard of anything like that ever happening. If anything, Whateley's lawyers usually held all the trumps. Then again, Bianca's attitude had changed after her people turned up something about him they didn't want her to know. What would upset heroes and mobsters that much?

Benjamin broke the relative silence with: "For all I know, my so-called birth mother drank more in one day than Mrs. Turner manages in a year. If that isn't a disqualification for the position, what is?"

Gods.

"Er, actually, we were wondering what had you so cheerful lately."

Benjamin's expression turned thoughtful, almost relaxed, then sadder.

"It turns out that I'm in a relationship. That is, I am until he realizes just what a load of damaged goods he's dealing with."

Morgana scowled.

"Really? So what makes you think you're any more damaged goods than I am?"

Benjamin reflexively pulled his shirt sleeves down.

Great. Now she remembered that she'd never seen more exposed skin than Benjamin's face and wrists.

Thulia nodded, saying, "You're very foolish. If you care about each other, then you can work through anything like that."

Benjamin shook his head.

"I have my reasons. One or two of them I can't even talk about."

I dare not.

Thulia tried changing whatever the subject was. There was always a way to fix things. "Morgana, Benjamin does have one problem. This is Whateley, where spying on the other kids is a spectator sport. Benjamin, you'd want to plan for what to do when someone outs your relationship. Ideally, you won't need it, but it's a lot wiser to have one just in case."

"If anyone on the floor bitches, I'll tell Max he can crank the stereo up more often."

Morgana sighed deeply. "Benjamin. If you do anything that shows you have a relationship, someone will see and start serious spying, if only for the lolls. One of the reasons I didn't try and deny it when Thulia said we were girlfriends was that I always knew it would come out."

"So, they find out from their spying that a relationship is really a relationship? I'd worry more about what our bosses have to say."

Morgana scoffed, "Bosses? You expect me to believe that?"

"Have I lied to you so far?" Benjamin dug into one of his jacket pockets to hand Morgana a business card.

Below the title, the card displayed a telephone number that certainly wasn't local.

"Kapalangpur's twelve hours ahead of us here, but there's always someone on that line. Whether they pass the call along to me – or to my boss on my behalf – depends on where I am and what I'm doing."

While Morgana mentally worked on forcing a square "Authorized Expediter" peg to fit an elliptical Belfry-shaped hole, Thulia advised, "You should tell family first. You can always get another boss."

"That's not how these things go in my line of work. I can't just quit."

"Why not?"

Benjamin said, "Because. It's hard to explain to civilians."

Thulia frowned at that, saying, "You make it sound like you're under a geas."

"I'm pretty sure that I am under a geas or two. But, with my employer, it's a little more complicated than blood-in-blood-out initiations and oaths."

Thulia shrugged. Some humans never quite grasped how magic worked in practice. "Geasa can always be broken or worked around."

She frowned at Morgana's attempt to cover up her laughter with coughing.

Morgana eventually explained, "Trust me, Thulia is an expert at working around geasa."

"I'll take your word for that, just so long as you don't claim that it doesn't come with a price. Some folks, even I would think once or twice before pissing in their magical Wheaties."

Morgana smiled at a personal memory, "Well, it let her save my life for the second time. So tell me, Benjie, are you planning on asking, um, him, to the Valentines Day dance?"

"It's Benjamin. I don't go around making fun of your name."

"That wasn't an answer to the question. Benjamin."

Benjamin mimed straightening his tie. "Well, if you must know, Peter asked me first." Not seeing the response he wanted, whatever it was, he sighed and said, "Not that I know how to dance. Never needed to. Never met Miss Rogers until a month ago, either."

"And that makes you different from 90% of the boys and 60% of the girls here how, exactly?"

"Isn't that the point? Seeing and being seen? Until someone cops an attitude over what's pinned to your jacket?"

Morgana grins and puts an arm around Thulia. "You're missing the point. An inability to dance allows you two to hold your partner close and fake it. Wait. Why would someone..." He's got one of those infuriating looks again! "What on earth are you planning to pin to your jacket?"

"A boutonniere is traditional. So are the miniature medals, but I already have the scars to back them up."

"And you're worried about something like that starting a fight?"

Thulia shrugged. "Well, if it's that much of a problem, you should practice before the confrontation. We do."

Morgana laughed, making Benjamin wonder if it amounted to more than just practice.

"Well, remember you also need to cover magic." She grinned, not terribly reassuringly. "Maybe you could persuade us to help?"

"What are you offering, and what are you interested in in exchange?" Benjamin asked. Hopefully, hookers and blow weren't at the top of the list. That would be an awkward shipment to get through customs.

"You do realize I'm not Bianca's minion, right? And it would be interesting for us to practice against non-magic holdouts. We'll also take care not to damage you."

"For the record, I'm not Erica Abendritter's cousin either. But in a fight, I'm decent with a blade or a staff."

"You don't have a distance weapon?"

"In the real world? I can rely on my contacts, firearms, and a knack that I've been advised to chill out on. Here? I'm banned from the ranges and the dojos until cleared by my neurologist."

Seeing puzzled looks on both dragongirls, Benjamin added, "Traumatic brain injuries plus PTSD, carry the seizure disorder, makes range masters and senseis nervous. Tase me, I drop. Whether I get back up again, ever, remains to be seen."

"That makes more sense than I'd expected. However, if it's training, we have access to non-lethal guns just for practice. And it's not as if we aren't bulletproof."

"At close range, reaction times favor blades over bullets. No problems with materials, are there?"

"Not for us, although a blunt blade is probably safer. For you too, as long as you have body armour."

"Body armor is easy. The hard part would be manifesting a blunt balisong. Train as you fight."

Thulia scoffed. "Unless it's magical, I'm not terribly worried..."

Walking up to the trio was another student, roughly Morgana and Benjamin's age. His dark hair contrasted with code-monkey pale skin. His eyeglasses barely concealed the glitter of a heads-up display. Something about the BFG carrying bag strapped over his shoulder suggested that it concealed a functional weapon, not a toy or display piece. The student pulled out a chair and straddled it. Now, the freshmen could clearly see the lapel pin he wore, showing one black and one silver acorn joined at the stem.

"Hi, Morgana. I remember you from Calculus last term. The Halloween party, too. I hear the two of you've got questions. Anyone care to deal me in?"

Benjamin perked up immediately. "Icejack, on the bill here we have Thulia Firedrake and Dragonsfyre, partners. Both are starring talent and in demand. Straight to video, as you know. My sources report that they sandbagged last month's off-Broadway run of The Hunger Games. Matinee availability limited due to recent injuries. Thulia and Morgana, Peter. I thought you had Combat Pistol now?"

"Charmed, I'm sure. Also, it's Friday, and a couple of dimwits decided to make it Cowboy Pistol class."

Thulia stared longer than either boy would have thought they rated. Short, ruddy blonde. Tall, pale brunette. The pair were a budding fujoshi's dream come true. Wait 'til Tanau hears about this!

Morgana pointed to the carrying bag Peter had hung on his chair. "That's not a pistol. Or were you just happy to see us?"

"Thought I might bag some open range time later."

Benjamin struggled to voice an objection but thought better of it.

Morgana said, "We were just reminding Benjamin here that once people get the idea that the two of you are a couple, they're sure to start snooping around."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "And you're worried that my reputation might tarnish his?"

Thulia coughed. "Not necessarily. We also pointed out that your families' approval would be more important than any boss's."

Peter frowned. The ladies were talking in English, but their words didn't make sense.

"My mother added a box of brick condoms to the belated birthday care package she's sending." To a swiftly-darkening Benjamin, he said, "My father called to warn me that she means well."

"So, Peter," Thulia asked, "Your parents have already met Benjamin?"

"On more than one occasion."

"There's still Benjamin's family to consider as well."

Peter explained, "I met them last year. Very nice people," and left it like that. No one would understand. He wasn't sure he did.

"Likewise, if Benjamin's boss disapproves, he can always get a new one. That's another thing to plan for."

"If his... what? His boss? Excuse me, but I'm going to need a lot more caffeine to process that concept."

"What did we say?" Thulia asked herself. How to clear this up? She asked Benjamin, "Aren't you supposed to be the nice guy and him the bad boy?"

Benjamin blinked.

"Nice guy. Huh. That's a step up from <karao> and underage merc."

"What's a car-ah-oh?" Morgana asked.

"A word you should not use in front of Nairobi policemen. It won't go well."

Peter returned to the silent table with a triple cafe americano. He took a long tongue-etching sip from the cup before speaking. When in doubt, start small and build the cover over time.

"Let's see. My understanding is that Benjamin is presently working for the school under The Imp's direct supervision. If they didn't get along well together, either one could ask for him to be reassigned. Are you with me so far?"

"Like I said, he can just get a new boss."

Peter put a hand up, "We're not there yet." Another swig of coffee was followed with him saying, "That's because you're looking at him and his status as unskilled labor, like bagging groceries. In reality, a teaching assistant works with the instructor to learn the behind-the-scenes side of the subject."

The not-quite-unskilled labor objected, "It's a professional relationship!"

Peter wasn't sure whether to be more worried about what The Imp was teaching Benjamin or what Benjamin might be teaching her. When had his life become so confusing? Probably the day Benjamin stole his wallet.

Thulia thought about it. "She's his mentor as well? That could change things."

"If you've ever listened to this one talk about Jameson, you'd know who's been mentoring Benjamin. In fact," Peter stopped cold.

"In fact, what?"

"Fuck. He's the one who was dropped on his head, but I'm the one who forgot." To Benjamin, he said, "And I still haven't forgiven you for that!" He went on with, "His boss does have a right to know. Damn."

"What? Why?"

Back to Benjamin! Peter said, "Now that I think about it? What the Hell were you thinking, leaving campus with a complete stranger like that the other day?"

"Instructors and staff are vetted before hiring. Hell, they interviewed me over Yuki's position!"

"You. Were. Her. Boss. Everyone knows that. Who here vouched for whats-her-name?"

"Probably Mrs. Carson. But the Imp says she's reliable for someone not in the business."

Thulia waved a clawed hand between the bickering partners.

"How does any of this have anything to do with Benjamin's boss getting involved with his relationships?"

"Because playing with a guy's heart is one of the best-known tricks in social engineering," Peter said. He crossed his arms and slouched down in his chair. "Well, shit. I should know."

Benjamin put a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Hey, now! That wasn't your fault. If anything, we should have been looking out for you more last year."

Peter shrugged the hand off. "That's not the point! How do you know that I'm any different?"

"What I do know is that your caffeine pressure must be dangerously low. Drink up."

"Fuck you. Jerk."

With Thulia striking out, Morgana asked Benjamin, "Why would anyone want to play tricks like that on you, either of you?"

Benjamin shrugged. "Why would anyone honestly want to be with me? It's a mystery. But, some people think that winning at life requires making as many others hurt as much as possible."

"That sounds to me like you both need to learn to fight. If you can behave yourselves until after Spring Break, I know just the folks to help..."

---

Belfry and Icejack.

The discussion dissolved into small talk before the two couples went their separate ways. By curious circumstance, Benjamin and Peter ended up in a quiet section of Whateley's Tunnels, off the beaten path. The trouble with 'quiet' was that it gave Peter too much time to think of ways for things to go wrong. After last year's events, Benjamin couldn't blame him. Could he?

"You know, I wasn't kidding earlier. How do either of us know that I haven't been fucked in the head like that prostitute?"

"She wasn't originally a hooker. That was just a personality engram."

"That's... really not helping."

Benjamin blew out a breath. Peter wasn't going to take this well.

"We know to at least the depth and extent that you were psychically examined in London during last year's Spring Break."

"What? I went skiing with my parents. Well, they went skiing."

"Nope. Those are engineered memories. Your mother already knew she was pregnant."

"If that were true, how could you know about any of that?"

"..."

"How dare you?"

"Your depression was worsening, so the first thing we thought of was psychic or magical interference. Losing you to suicide was not, is not, a goddamned option!"

Peter groaned at the characteristically hypocritical-as-fuck, invasion of privacy. Fine. He'd deal with how he felt about that later.

"What all did you get to see?"

"Me? Nothing! I wasn't in town until the following week, as Tabbie Dieulafoy can tell you. You'd've thought I was working Scotland Yard or something from the cold shoulder I got from her when I checked in at the safehouse her parents run."

"But..."

"But, one of the outcomes was that Mrs. Carson was happy to approve a change of roommates. Gideon's an ass, but Eugene's freaking insane, and that wasn't helping."

"I could have told you that much."

"You did. More than once. I'm sorry if you felt crowded over the summer but, damn it! We almost lost you!"

I almost lost you!

"Okay, okay. Maybe I'm not very sorry," Benjamin admitted. "But, throw in the OAI background checks on me, and the investigations started after September, and you're pretty thoroughly accounted for."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Just so you know, I don't regret any of the time we spent together. Hypothetical crowding or not."

"I sure as hell don't."

"So, stop getting yourself hurt!"

"It's not my fault! Not always."

"I wonder if Colombine agrees with that assessment."

"Of course she does."

Colombine rezzed in to say, "He's had plenty of help on the road to self-destruction. By the way, Peter, Jameson's ordering a miniaturized QE link for you. Other than that, now would be a good time to show off your skills."

With that, she blinked out.

Peter cocked his head, asking, "What skills?"

Benjamin smiled and grabbed Peter's tie. He reached up to Peter's shoulder to slowly pull him in closer, in case he didn't get the hint. Their lips touched before the idea sunk in.

Peter returned the kiss with one hand behind Benjamin, opening his mouth just enough to see how far Benjamin would go. He stepped in, chest and abdomen warming to the unfamiliar contact. His nose filled with the scent of warm skin, sweat, coffee, and spice. His hand tingled from the rasp of stroking short-cropped hair. He closed his eyes and grabbed Benjamin's lower back, all but desperate to feel more. To hold, but also to be held in that moment. As lips and tongues touched, time discreetly turned its back on the two.

Benjamin broke the kiss first, murmuring, "Still feeling like a counterfeit?"

"What's that?"

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

Those skills.

---

Saturday morning, February 4, 2017,
Crystal Hall.

Outside, the sun climbed the sort of clear, pale blue sky that sent otherwise sane humans launching themselves at ski slopes and skier-stopping trees. The rotten slush covering the Pilot Range of the White Mountains below looked sure to stay just frozen enough to dump unsuspecting innocents onto the rocks, mud, or pavement under it. More wet snow was forecast for the mid-week, lest anyone run out of the miserable stuff. Benjamin Keeling's knee already ached under the walking brace he'd put on after Tai Chi.

Safely indoors, Benjamin parked his breakfast roughly midway between the Nerd Herd and Underdogs tables. Easy to find, even though it looked like people were avoiding him. The empaths certainly were. As for anyone else, he couldn't blame them. But why should he care? Everything could go to Hell, and it would all boil down to his fault, somehow.

"What's wrong?"

When had Peter sat down?

"Nothing."

That pretty much covered everything, depending on how you looked at it.

Peter asked, "Going back to bed?"

"I could do that. But I'm supposed to show up for Living and Working with GSD."

"Mm-hm. It sure looks too cold to go mucking about outside anyway."

"Way too cold. My knee hurts."

Peter spoke into the space between them, asking, "Colombine, has he taken his meds?"

"Morning doses only," she replied through his earpiece.

"Do you have your rescue medication on you?"

"I should."

"I think you need it now, before later. Or I call Max and Yuki. You know who they'll call."

Benjamin winced. "That's evil," he said. He still dug into his utility belt.

A split tablet might not do the job, but a whole one could trash the day. He washed what he had down with coffee.

Benjamin glummed, "No practice today, then."

"If whatever it is can't be helped, make the best of it," said Tabbie as she put her tray down next to Peter's seat. Stella and Annaliese followed suit on Benjamin's side of the cafeteria table.

"The best I'm left with is English homework. Peter's got an appointment in Dunwich this afternoon." Benjamin slumped his head onto his arms crossed on the table. "I'm too young for life to be this dull."

Peter shook his head at the melodrama. If anyone could, Benjamin tried to live twice as much life as a person his age.

"You once told me you're too young for ulcers, but you still hang with Max."

"Hey!" Stella objected. "Max is a nice guy. Scary intimidating at first, but a girl could do worse."

"I happen to know he's planning to go stag if he can't find a date outside his fan club," Benjamin hinted.

Tabbie said, "Food for thought, oh roommate-of-mine. By the way, what kind of practice were you two getting up to? Playing Doctor?"

Peter choked on his pancake. Waste of good maple syrup, and what?

"I saw him take something just now," she said. "What did you perverts think I was talking about?"

Annaliese laughed, "A much more fun version of Doctor, just like you. Don't deny it!"

Stella stared at the crazy people.

"Benjamin, you weren't really taking ulcer medicine just now, were you?" she asked.

"No! I'm only sixteen," said Benjamin. "And, for the record, we have some drone control software to test out. If my knee didn't hurt. Which sucks."

Peter said, "If you're going to be sitting in on a lecture, I'll hit the Ranges for a couple of hours."

"Benjamin, are you sure you can't go with him?" Annaliese couldn't help herself. "Maybe Peter could teach you how to shoot straight!"

Peter should have known better than to keep on eating. His choking fit put a stop to that. Interesting shades of red ears.

Tabbie stared at her fellow Whitmaniac. Emphasis on the 'maniac' there.

"I'm sure he's used to shooting all by himself."

And people complained about things he said?

---

Faculty and Staff Dining Area, Crystal Hall.

Such a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and the Fabulous Imp was in luck! Mixed luck, to be honest: the cafeteria was all out of Count Chocula cereal. However, Elyzia Yes-I-Know-Who-I-Look-Like Grimes was still at breakfast. Imp grabbed a mug of hot chocolate, the good kind — with mini marshmallow bits. Stirring it with a peppermint stick, she went over to see how the Amazing Kreskin Department was going.

Elyzia spoke first. "Whose students are in trouble this time? I'm assuming that taping them to a telephone pole on the Quad is somehow out of the question?"

"We've all considered it, haven't we? But, hypothetically speaking, what would happen if someone were to grab (for example!) a student's Chinese homework and cut it up to look like spell slips?"

"Usually, nothing at all, even if they conned or blackmailed one of the other students into charging it with Essence. Sad to say, there's a brisk trade in such things shortly before and after Combat Finals."

"That's a relief. Underhanded, but a relief."

Grimes added, "There have been times when the calligrapher got tired of being the butt of the joke. They'd plant a page or two of copied incantations or talismanic formulae. After that, it's a matter of time before someone lands in Doyle, ending the scheme."

"It's harmless unless enchanted or charged, right?" Imp asked. Her minion's recent mood changes didn't inspire waiting and seeing. His pre-academic reputation had been more along the lines of 'fuck around with me or mine to find out why it's a bad idea.'

"Some things don't need to be ritually activated to cause problems. The quality of the materials, skill of the inscription, the intent and labor of the scribe, et cetera, all can complicate things."

"Huh."

"What's unusual with the current 'hypothetical situation' is that Professor Wang doesn't recognize the writing from any of her students. She suspects the calligrapher is ambidextrous and working from very old examples. Has someone in your Art classes complained about thefts?"

"Nooo."

"Christine, there aren't many new students or freshmen who are literate in Chinese but aren't in Wang Ling's classes. Most of them are on one Do Not Provoke list or another. Nevertheless, until someone gets hurt, you can count on my discretion."

That would have to do.

"My teaching assistant. The only magic I've seen Benjamin pull off has been his lockpicking."

Elyzia simply said, "But, of course," before taking a well-timed sip of coffee. "We've met."

"I saw him first! Mine!" Imp claimed. Calling dibs was as important when dealing with Whateley faculty as it was in The Business.

"Until the end of the term. After that, he's fair game."

---

Rogers' Boutique, Dunwich.

Miss Rogers' business hadn't changed much since Peter Raiford had first been there for his Costuming project. Miss Rogers hadn't changed much either. She still wore her hair up and out of the way in a ponytail. A modified Workshop coat still hid a tasteful blouse and comfortable slacks. Her confidence was still kind of intimidating.

"Well, well, Mr. Raiford. I hadn't expected you back so soon. What's the occasion?" she asked.

"There's a dance up at school that's coming up, and I, um, guess I need a suit?"

"Were you planning on attending in the nude?"

"What? No!"

"Then you definitely need a suit and proper accessories. It's a black tie occasion."

Peter's eyes widened. "What sort of accessories?"

"In addition to the jacket, trousers, cummerbund or waistcoat, dress shirt, and bow tie? Do you have shirt studs, cufflinks, leather oxfords, a pocket square, a dress watch, or an evening scarf? Oh, and you'll need to order a corsage for your date. Just to be safe, you'll want to get yourself a white lapel flower in case she can't get a boutonniere delivered in time."

"How much of that can you help with?"

How much can I afford, and how much of a tool will I end up looking?

"More than you'd think. If your date has ordered a dress through me, I might be able to tell you what color will work best for the corsage."

Miss Rogers looked at Peter expectantly. Clearly, more data was needed for this. As far as tact went? Unfortunately, Peter's mouth engaged first.

"Please don't tell me Benjamin's wearing a dress to this event."

Oh, God. It wouldn't even take that much of a dare!

"... or camo, or Hawaiian print."

"That Benjamin? I have it on good authority that Mr. Keeling is planning to wear a reinforced waistcoat with his suit."

"Yeah. That might be wise. Along with allowances for a utility belt, shoulder holster, and a pair of Cobra 420 bracers."

"Are you going in expecting trouble?"

"Since neither of us are or were born female, yeah. I'm not expecting any backup from the Poe crowd either."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It took a while to figure it out, but I'm not stupid. Nine out of ten guys staring at my body, and the same for the girls not at all interested, are in Poe." Mistaking the tailor's thoughtful silence for surprise, Peter added: "If you don't want your work to be associated with us either... I guess I'm saying it's okay."

"It's not okay. You know that, right?"

"Maybe. But from the way I'm talked about in back channels, I know what my quote-unquote peers think of me. They churn through a list of favorite lies for their friends if they get caught out. But, I've gotten too many eff-yous to my face to believe them."

"If you promise not to go Carrie on the rest of your classmates, I'll throw in a new stain resistance treatment I've been working on. You can guess who that's for."

"I carry UV dye rounds, among others. Does that count?"

"Not as long as you tell me what to look for in the items sent back for cleaning and repair."

"Deal."

"A deal it is!"

---

Beck Library.

Benjamin Keeling scratched the back of his head as he read out his latest translation. Maybe he should go back to his English homework instead? One headache's no different to another.

< May the fleas of a thousand camels find a new forever home in your bed. >

Colombine's hard-light avatar shook its head, "Somehow, that doesn't feel like a traditional prayer. Are you sure that the outcome will be limited to the user, not anyone viewing it? What if they sleep around? This seems like one of those times that pronouns matter."

"It's not like I want to become the graceless host either."

< May the fleas of a thousand camels find welcome in this home. >

Benjamin itched even more now.

"Maybe something more like what you'd buy to hang on your wall? You wouldn't want the seller to dump their whole stock because something disastrous happened."

Benjamin didn't quite whine, "But I do want something disastrous to happen! Repeatedly."

Colombine waited for the other half of that thought to arrive.

"Or something more like May this house be blessed by the Lady? The Lady Eris, that is."

"For some people I could name, that would be redundant. But, yes. According to its abridged catalog, this library does have sections on religious and metaphysical practices. Curses for Dummies is a frequent loaner."

"This is turning into homework."

"Think of it as researching the local resources available to an upcoming project."

"As long as I don't end up butt-dialing someone who exists and could pick up. There are sure to be plenty of things I don't want to add to my contacts list. Now that I think of it, I bet Peter would be pissed if he caught me rubbing some strange genie's bulge."

"Traditionally, that would be a lamp."

"I'd still be rubbing the round part that feeds the spout."

"Thank you ever so much for that mental image."

Without much further complaint, Benjamin went back to hunting down resources and references. Come to think of it, he'd need to come up with some fallbacks and contingencies. Nothing he'd ever heard about magic made it out to be any more reliable than a Fiat built on the Friday before a long weekend.

---

Colombine asked, just to be sure she was interpreting the gleam in Benjamin's eye correctly, "Are you sure that you want to involve that entity?"

"There's no record they've been enrolled here, is there?"

"No prior enrollments, no."

"They're a bodhisattva, so they have to be less likely to go nuclear on the stupid than I might be."

"That's not saying much."

"Besides, dragons and monkeys get along well."

And this is why the school is self-insured. All Colombine could do was watch for the fallout and hope for the best.

"Should we look into replacing my terminal casing with ebidium?"

"What's ebidium?"

"A high-density alloy developed by Dr. Diabolik to be immune to magic."

"Is he a devisor? Me and devises don't get along well."

"Good point, but no. His creations are generally reproducible."

"Could you place an order for that, Cee? It sounds like something with a brutal lead time. If someone asks why, spec out a gorget and add some bullshit about paranoia."

"Since when is paranoia bullshit?"

"When you stop using it! Duh."

---

Sunday afternoon, February 05, 2017,
Hawthorne Cottage, Whateley Academy.

One of the unspoken features of Hawthorne Cottage was that it was designed as a temporary home for its Inmates. Most gained enough control of their powers to be safely transferred to another Cottage by the first or second school term there. The obvious part left unspoken was that the longer a student needed to get there, the more likely they'd be leaving campus in a casket or a cryo chamber. Thus, Benjamin's and Max's departure after just a week was a good thing. Folks familiar with construction and permitting might even call it a miracle.

"Ow! Damn. That hurt."

A miracle that no one got hurt would be asking for a bit too much.

"Dude! What happened?"

"Caught my hand on a staple. Should've known the good boxes weren't just glued together," Benjamin said.

"Don't wipe the blood on your trousers!" Jack 'Huntsman' Hunter warned Benjamin. "Let me grab a bandage and some gauze to clean the cut."

Max asked, "What happened to those gloves you've been wearing?"

"I didn't want to trash them hauling stuff."

"Bleeding on the floor isn't an improvement."

Jack returned before there was much of the viscous black liquid to wipe up and bag for disposal.

"Thanks," Benjamin said with a smile. Bandaging really did work better with two hands, preferably not one's own.

"You're welcome. I'm surprised we don't need the first aid kit more often, to tell the truth."

"Let's not go borrowing trouble."

"Then don't let Mrs. Bardue catch you riding on the cart with all your stuff."

"Do I look like I'd do that?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Yeah. Well, off to Tugboat Town."

After the two Twain students were wrecklessly en route back to their dorm, Jack looked down at what he'd just collected. The bandage gauze wasn't the best collection material for preservation. Rumor had it that the school's supplier used a proprietary treatment to both sterilize it and interfere with magical abuse. Even so, Belfry's fresh blood was a flat midnight black, rare even among mutants.

"Faerie."

---