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“Compared to you I’m the fucking Flash, old man!” he laughs, deliberately poking the biggest bruise on my arm.
Dean and Bram drop down on the mats next to Leo.
“Why is it hotter than the gates of hell in here?” Bram complains, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. His shirt is soaked through with sweat in the front and the back.
“Shakespeare called it Halloween Summer,” Dean says, proving yet again that he’s surprisingly well-read.
“Americans call it Indian Summer,” I say. “I dunno if that’s racist.”
“Probably,” says Bram. And then, turning his scowl on me, “How come you’re being all chummy with that Malina brat? I thought you knew what a fucking snake her father is?”
“I don’t care about her father,” I say.
The biggest lie yet.
“You should,” Bram says darkly.
I can feel Dean watching me.
There’s a strange dynamic between us these days. Dean’s a lot more chummy with Leo since he and Cat visited the Gallos in Chicago over the summer. I think the feud between their two branches of the family is finally at an end.
I wasn’t there to see it, ‘cause I have to lay low over the summers so that nobody who knows me as Ares sees me anywhere they shouldn’t. Or vice versa, for anyone who would recognize who I really am.
On top of that, I don’t think Cat trusts me, which means Dean doesn’t trust me either.
It’s nothing specific. Just too many little things that I’m sure Cat has noticed.
“I like Nix,” I say to Bram. “She didn’t do anything to you. So quit giving her shit.”
“It’s not me you have to worry about,” Bram says. “Her own cousins hate her fucking guts.”
“Oh man, I wonder what that feels like?” Leo says.
Dean laughs—still a relatively new sound, coming from him.
“What kind of a dick hates his own cousin?” he says.
I push up from the mats, feeling jealous even though I know how stupid that is.
Dean is a better friend to Leo than I am, because for all his flaws, at least he’s honest.
“Where are you going?” Leo asks.
“I’ve got a free period next,” I say. “I’m gonna study.”
The perfect excuse for any occasion.
In actuality, I think I’ll wander around for a while feeling like shit.
I leave the castle grounds,intending to go for a walk in the woods. Instead, I’m drawn toward the shooting range by the whoops and howls of students engaged in some apparently highly stimulating task.
Curiosity draws me on until I’m in the middle of the field that abuts the west wall where the targets are set up for long-range shooting.
Careful not to cross the line of fire, I tramp through the dry, golden grass, joining the raucous cluster of Freshmen.
I hadn’t heard any gunfire.
The silence is explained when I see Professor Knox and Nix Moroz facing off with bows instead of rifles.
