“Don’t either of you touch me,” she says. She looks at me. “And you, stop stalking me!” She stumbles away, still cupping her hand to her cheek.
It’s against my nature, but my first instinct is to go after her, and it must have been Tobin’s also. We both start in her direction, but a woman steps in front of us. I assume she’s a teacher who’s been summoned from her lunch, because she’s still holding half of something that resembles what Simon had called a sandwich in her hands. “All three of you”—she points to Tobin, Garrick, and me—“principal’s office. Now!” she commands as if she were the king of the underworld.
The teacher is a small, middle-aged mortal, and I can hear the arthritis grinding in her knees. It would take me less than a second to disable this feeble mortal and make my escape, but I am in barely enough control to know that probably isn’t the wisest course of action. I watch the human boy for cues to the proper reaction. He hangs his head and says, “Yes, Mrs. Canova,” and surrenders himself to the teacher. I do the same and give Garrick a stern look until he follows suit, and we allow the teacher to propel us toward the main office. She leaves Garrick and me to sit in two chairs under the watchful eye of a dark-haired woman with glasses that remind me of the shape of Brim’s eyes.
The teacher takes Tobin to an office marked VICE PRINCIPAL JORDAN and knocks on the door. “Your mother just happens to be meeting with the administration. I’m sure she’d like an explanation of your behavior.”
Tobin hangs his head lower.
The door opens, and I catch a glimpse of a man who must be the vice principal and a woman in a bright red suit. She looks surprised to see Tobin in the teacher’s grasp.
“What’s the meaning of this?”
The teacher gives a quick recount of the scene she’d broken up in the cafeteria, and then I hear the woman ask, “What is this all about, Tobin?” before the teacher shuts the door and leaves them to talk it out.
“A guidance counselor will be with you two shortly,” she says, and then instructs the dark-haired woman to buzz the “new guy” and tell him, “He’s got a couple of fighters waiting out here.”
Guidance counselor? I think. Like any of these humans could offer me guidance.
Garrick twitches in his seat next to me. As a Lesser, he’s probably even more keen on avoiding authority figures than I am.
“Don’t even think about it,” I whisper, knowing he’s calculating how many seconds it would take him to cross the room and escape. It would take him seven. Three for me. I know because I estimated the distance before I even sat down. “Sit still, keep your head down, and follow my lead. I’ll do the talking.”
“Why should I listen to you?”
I blink at him. It’s an awfully insolent question for a Lesser. “Because I’m giving you an order. We might not be in the Underrealm anymore, but I am still the Champion and you are still my servant. I’m ordering you not to do something now, just like I ordered you not to do something in the cafeteria.”
“Follow your orders? You expected me to sit and do nothing after that human dumped food on me? Yeah, right.” Garrick surprises me with his bold words, and I have to admit that he is scrappier than I would have ever given him credit for. “You could have easily taken that guy, you know,” he says.
“I know,” I say.
“But you just let him attack you. You did nothing.”
“I know.”
“But you could have blasted his face off if you wanted.”
“I know!” I whisper through gritted teeth. “That’s why I didn’t do anything. Don’t you understand that? Now drop it.”
“But you could have at least let me—”
“And then where would we be?”
And how badly would Daphne have been hurt if I hadn’t stopped Garrick in time? It is harder to control our powers here—I am starting to see that—and humans are far more fragile than the people of the Underrealm. Imagine Ren’s wrath if something happened to the Cypher.…
“Anywhere but here,” Garrick says, bouncing his knee. “I hate this place.”
I hate this place as much as he does, but I’m not going to show it. “You should be grateful to be here. This place might not be ideal, but I’m betting it’s infinitely better than the Pits. You should be clamoring to do what I want. Thanking me. I’m the one who took you away from that miserable life.”
“Thanking you?” he says, his voice rising louder than my whisper. “Do you really think I don’t know why you chose me?”
“What do you mean?” I ask with a lowered voice, but dread his answer. Shame bites at my insides. What if he really does know why I chose him? What if he knows what I did to him all those years ago—
“I know you chose me so you could make Rowan look stupid in front of the Court.”
His answer rings somewhat true, but it’s not what I was dreading he would say. Maybe he has no idea what I did, after all?