Peter curled up at the back of Cai's mind, cold and shivering with fear. Leaves slapped Cai's wings as he flew up, trying to avoid the massive tree the dark had hidden. With a tremendous squawk he landed on one of the top branches. It bent under his weight, sending them plunging back toward the mass of the tree.
Fly! Fly! Peter urged.
Cai took off again, curving up hard to avoid the electrical wire that suddenly cut them off, landing safely in next tree.
But that tree hadn't fully bloomed: tiny leaves covered the branches, leaving them exposed, even in the night.
Go, go, go, Peter said.
Cai agreed wearily and flapped to the next tree. More leaves, but still, not safe.
Up? Peter suggested, looking upwards toward the dark sky, the helpful stars hidden by the city lights.
Bright, Cai explained.
Up above the streetlights they'd never be able to get back down: All they'd see would be the light.
Slowly they made their way, by tree, car, and building, block by block, until they reached Peter's apartment building. His kitchen was on the far side of the construction, away from the lights.
Peter always kept the kitchen window cracked. Even from the nearby tree he could smell the toast he'd burned for breakfast.
Home, Peter urged Cai.
Cai flew up, clawing at the sill, then folding himself up and pushing himself into the apartment. Then he hopped from the sill to the kitchen counter, puffing his feathers up and shaking.
Just enough light came in from the windows to see the drying dishes on the counter; the coffeemaker all set up on the breakfast bar; the pale, clean linoleum floor.
Now, Peter said.
Cai didn't let go.
Be still.
The raven glided from the kitchen counter to the back of the living room futon-couch, clenching his claws hard enough to pierce the rough wool blanket. Balanced there, Cai peered into every corner, under Peter's desk and the mess of computer gear there, behind the chair and the pile of books next to the TV and the stacks of video games and controllers.
Messy nest.
Cai kept in firm control as he hopped from one end of the living room to the other. Finally satisfied that it was empty, Cai flew into the bedroom, landing with a bounce on the bed.
Peter knew better than to believe Cai was playing.
Cai patrolled the bedroom just as carefully, and only after they were back in the shiny bathroom did he relinquish control.
Peter unfolded himself from the cold tile floor, stopping to glance in the mirror. His gray eyes stared back at him, looking enormous, and his normally dark face looked pale. His hand shook when he reached up to brush his hair back.
Peter checked and double-checked the apartment door, making sure both the deadbolt and the chain were set before he went back into the bathroom. He turned the shower on full and stepped under the spray when it was steaming.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn't, obviously.
All he'd wanted was that one date.
Now he had an enemy for life.
* * *
Peter held his phone at arm's length.
It rang again.
The number was unknown.
Finally, he swiped it on and brought it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey, sport! How are you?" Peter's dad said on the other end of the line.
With relief, Peter sank onto his living room futon-couch.
"Hey Dad. I'm—yeah. How are you? How's Mom? Where are you calling me from?"
"We're good, good. Your mother decided we needed some city time, so we came in on the ferry this morning. I'm calling you from the B&B. Have you had breakfast? Or brunch?"
Peter heaved a huge sigh. Dad was here. He'd know what to do.
Cai stirred restlessly at the back of Peter's mind—Peter assumed he was still unsettled by what had happened the night before.
"Course I can eat," Peter said with a broad grin. He quickly took down the address of the B&B on Queen Anne Hill that his parents were at, then the restaurant nearby. It would take a while to get there by bus—particularly on a Sunday—but he didn't want to rent a Zipcar again.
"Dad…" Peter said, delaying the end of the call. "Uhmmm. You remember my friend Cai?"
Absolute stillness came from the other end of the phone. "Yes."
"He's—he's in trouble." Peter didn't want to say anything more, not until they were together.
Cai gave an unhappy caw.
"We'll talk about it after lunch. Breakfast. Brunch. Whenever you get here."
"Thanks, Dad," Peter said, shoving his keys and wallet into his jeans pockets.
"Son, we'll make it right. You can regain your balance, you know."
"No, Dad, not like that," Peter said hurriedly. "Cai and I are great. It's something else."
"Really?" The doubt was obvious, even over the phone.
"Trust me, Dad. It's something else."
Peter was aligned with Cai. He knew his recitations. He wasn't a half-breed.
"All right, son. See you soon. Bye."
"Bye."
Peter looked at his phone, wondering if Cai had actually been uneasy about his dad, and if Peter had just made everything so much worse.
* * *
The restaurant was in a beautiful old house that had been converted, but it still had the original hardwood floors, scarred and scraped, not replaced with perfect boards. Cool looking leaded glass made up the big windows in the front, and beautiful stained-glass pieces hung on the smaller windows. The original gas fixtures had been converted to electricity and kept in the house. Normally, this was the kind of place Peter loved, and he would have spent time digging into the history of the house.
This morning, his stomach was tied in knots.
Mom had given him a big hug, and she smelled of soft wool and the clean garden in the back of their house, plus a little bit of the Puget Sound still clung to her from when they'd crossed on the ferry.
Dad, though, had merely shaken his hand. He smelled of storms and fear and his leather jacket.
"Aren't you cold?" his dad asked, plucking at the hoodie Peter wore.
"Layers, Dad. It's Seattle. Cool now, but it'll be much warmer later," Peter said with a bravado he didn't feel. He'd have to tell his dad later what happened to his own leather jacket. It wasn't that he was warm, that Cai didn't always feel the cold.
"Hmmm," was all the reply he got.
"Are you still dancing?" Mom asked, tucking her arm through Peter's, his hands stuffed deep in the hoodie's front pockets to keep them warm.
Also to hide their shaking.
"Yeah. Lindy Hop. They have social dances a couple of times a week, plus classes that I go to. They'll have a live band next weekend. If you want to come back into the city next Sunday, you should come."
Peter knew it was an empty offer: His parents didn't dance.
"Thanks, dear, but no."
Dad asked, "How's work?"
Peter shrugged. "It's work." At his father's raised eyebrow, he added, "We're upgrading the system at the end of the month, which will mean overtime." More money to pay off his student loans would be good.
"How was the ferry ride this morning?" Peter asked, trying to stave off his dad's comments on his job. Being a system administrator for a printing company wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills, was sometimes interesting, and usually didn't get in the way of dancing.
They chatted easily about things: Mom's garden, Dad's paintings. Peter talked of the volunteer work he did with Northwest Harvest, hanging out with his friends or playing Frisbee in the park, as well as dancing, doing everything he could to convince his dad that he lived a balanced life.
When they finished breakfast, they stood together on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.
"So what do you have planned for the rest of the day? Can you join us for supper?" Mom asked Peter.
"Yeah," Peter said. "But, ah, first, Dad and I have to talk."
"Man things," Dad added with mock seriousness.
"Oh," Mom said, looking from one to the other. "Is everything all right?"
"Sure, everything's fine," Peter assured her. "Why?"
"You haven't had to have one of your 'man things' talks for a while. I had thought everything had…settled down. Since you finished high school."
"I'm okay, Mom. Really." Though his mom knew a few things about his abilities, she still wasn't part of the raven clan. His dad protected her, and only told her what she absolutely needed to know, both of them hiding the rest.
Peter reached out and enveloped his mom in a tight hug, her wool coat scratching his chin as he bent his head down. When had she gotten so short?
When he stepped back, she held onto his biceps. "You're just so grown up now, Petie."
"Peter," came the automatic response.
"I know, I know," Mom said, cupping his cheek. "I try to remember."
His dad reached out and touched her hand, running a soothing hand down her arm, his fingers sparking in a way that only Peter could see.
Peter shivered and turned away, not wanting to watch his dad use magic to affect his mom. At least he couldn't pull that shit on Peter, not anymore.
"I'll see you back at the B&B," his mom called as she turned away. She walked down the street, away from them, stopping to peer into the next storefront.
Dad laughed and shook his head, turning to walk up the street. "I might get back to the B&B before she does, if she starts shopping."
"Was that necessary?" Peter asked as they turned off the main street and onto a quiet side street.
"Your mother worries. I just eased her mind a little. You'll understand when you have your own mate."
Cai gave a rude caw at that, and Peter agreed. That was exactly the sort of thing they wouldn't do to their mate.
The sun peered at them from a pale blue sky. Though it was only mid-spring, cheery yellow dandelions waved at them from brilliant emerald lawns. The cherry trees had already blossomed, littering their petals along the sidewalk. Other trees, like the maples and birches, merely budded, a mist of green covering their twigs, no good cover for the birds or squirrels.
As they walked, Peter kept trying to think of what to say, how to bring up what had happened with Tamara.
Finally, after two blocks, Dad asked, "Do you want to tell me about it?"
"I met a girl—asked her out on a date," Peter started.
"Oh," Dad commented.
"No, jeez, not like that. A real date. I took her out to Poppy's."
"Fancy. You like her?"
Peter couldn't contain his shudder.
"Go on," Dad said, sounding concerned.
"I thought she was nice. We'd met at dance class, and…I don't know. I just wanted one date. But…Cai didn't like her. I didn't realize."
"That's not usual, is it? For Cai not to like someone?"
"No, no, Dad, it's okay. It's not like that. We're balanced, Dad. Okay?" Peter couldn't afford to let anyone think that he and Cai weren't aligned.
The raven clan didn't allow half-breeds, those who weren't fully human or raven, whose human and raven souls were misaligned—half here, half there, and never truly whole.
"Hmmm," was the only response Peter got.
"All right. Anyway. I asked her out on a second date. It was kind of a first date again—never mind. She let me pick her up at her place. She's…she's like us, Dad."
"From the raven clan?" Dad asked.
"No."
Peter stopped and finally put what he'd seen into words.
"She's—she's a tiger. From a tiger clan. Some kind of tiger warrior."
Tamara's eyes had changed, grown cat-shaped and golden in the candlelight. Sharp fangs sliced down over her lower lip. Her kinky red hair had straightened and wrapped around her, turning into orange fur with black stripes. Her white skin had condensed across her neck and down her chest, changing into stark white fur. Deadly claw-tipped fingers quickly changed into paws. She wasn't a full tiger, or a human woman anymore, but a terrifying tiger warrior.
"We—we barely got away."
"Does she know what you are?"
"Yes," Peter said, unsurprised by the question.
Protect. Hide.
Almost all the recitations were about keeping their raven souls hidden away from others.
"I think she knew about me before I knew about her."
"And she agreed to a second date?" Dad asked. Then he answered himself. "Oh. She was toying with you."
"Yes," Peter said, the realization more bitter than the blackest coffee.
"Does she know where you live?"
"I don't think so," Peter said, turning and starting to walk along the sidewalk again.
He'd spent a lot of time worrying about that. It wouldn't be too hard to find him, though. She knew he lived on the park, and pictures from his place that he'd posted on Facebook (and since removed) would make it easy to figure out.
"If she's some kind of warrior, Peter, she may come after you again," Dad said after they'd walked another half block or so.
The sun disappeared behind the clouds and both of them drew their jackets more tightly around them. The morning grew sharply colder.
"Oh."
Cai fluffed up his feathers and curled in on himself.
"What can I do? My training—well, you know—it was never about tigers."
Dad laughed, but the sound didn't warm Peter at all. "You'll have to fight. And win."
"That all?" Peter asked, shaking his head. "How?" It wasn't like the ancient times, when his people, the raven warriors, were well known as mercenaries and extraordinary fighters. It wasn't as though he could challenge her to combat or something. He wasn't even a full raven warrior himself.
"I don't know," Dad said softly. "There might be someone who does know, though, at Ravens' Hall."
Peter nodded. That was what he'd thought. The people at Ravens' Hall would want to be informed of a tiger warrior, possibly a whole clan of them, living in Seattle.
"But, ah, should I call them? Would it be safe?"
"Are you aligned?" Dad shot back. "You didn't listen to Cai."
"Both of us, together, got us out of there," Peter said. They'd needed his weight to break the window, and Cai's wings to save them from the fall.
"Let's wait," Dad said after a bit.
"Will this get you in trouble? If they find out you didn't call right away?" Peter asked, knowing he had to; Mom's voice was still in his head, asking about consequences.
"It could." Dad gave a hard shudder, then turned his head sharply. He looked at Peter with hard raven eyes. "But you're my son," he squawked.
For the first time since the night before, Peter finally felt the chill inside him thaw.
Cai, however, stayed mute.
* * *
Peter bounced as he climbed the steep steps to the ballroom. The sweet smell of waffle cones and ice cream floated up from the shop below, then switched to rich wine and mouth-watering garlic chicken as he climbed, coming from the restaurant at the top of the stairs.
It all smelled so good, despite how full Peter's belly was still from the dinner he'd had with his parents. Stuffed, actually; even Cai was satisfied.
Music spilled out of the ballroom, classic swing. Time to sweat off some of those calories.
Only two people stood in line to get in; Peter had timed it just right. Sam was taking the money while Joe was stamping hands. If it had just been Sam, Peter might have tried to get in for free.
"Hey, Sam," Peter said, handing over his cash, peering beyond Sam to see how packed it was.
Not much—people were dancing pretty closely together—maybe only a few feet between them. He'd just have to carve out his own space.
"You look happy," Sam grumbled as he passed Peter his change.
"Parental units are in town. Got fed."
"Dude," Sam said, holding up his fist for a knuckle bump. Peter continued to grin at him.
"See you out there?" Peter asked, passing by and holding out his other wrist to Joe.
"Yeah, yeah, later."
"Thanks," Peter said, blowing on the mark. He didn't want it smearing across the fingers of his first partner—that was just rude.
The center of the ballroom was lit with white, red, and blue lights, the combination making it very bright. The edges were dark, with no lights at all, making it easy to stumble over the chairs and tables there. Chandeliers hung above the wooden floor. A tall black booth in the corner to the right held the DJ. It was Mark, which meant Peter's luck was holding, and there would be great music all night.
Peter walked past the bar in the other corner, noticing that Brin was tending. He didn't try to say hi; she was too busy with her show, flipping bottles and glassware. He'd talk with her later, but he wouldn't ask her to dance. The last time he'd done that, she'd bruised his foot landing on it so hard. It had probably been an accident; however, he hadn't liked how she'd laughed at him.
The crowd looked like the usual mix for a Sunday, with some guys wearing fancy vintage suits while their dates matched in cute 50s dresses and flipped hair. Others were dressed up for modern times in nice shirts and jeans. Still others wore "Seattle chic" flannel shirts and T-shirts with obscure bands' logos on them.
Peter was only wearing a nice, dark purple shirt and black jeans, not his usual vest and suit pants. He hadn't wanted to dress up too much for dinner. He carried his black dancing shoes.
In the far corner, Peter finally saw the rest of his dancing buddies, Adam, Vamshi, and Bob.
"Yo!" Adam called.
"Where you been?" Bob asked. "Called you for Frisbee earlier."
"Oh good, you're here!" Kaitlin came up from the side. "We're dancing now."
Peter held up his dancing shoes.
Kaitlin took them from him and tossed them to Adam, then took Peter's hand and led him to the dance floor.
They paused for a moment on the side, counting the beat, then hopped into it.
Kaitlin was a good dancer, joyous and light on her feet. Peter spun her out right away, letting her turn and turn again, both of them grinning like crazy as the music brought them higher. When he brought her back in to dance next to him, their arms intertwined, their feet still hopping, she said, "Why can't you teach Jay to lead like this?"
Peter laughed and shook his head. It was an old complaint. Jay, her boyfriend, couldn't hear the beat well enough to be a good lead. He tried, though, for Kaitlin's sake.
"I can't help that he's rhythm deaf," Peter said, spinning Kaitlin out so they each danced their own steps, circling each other, holding hands and getting their shimmy on.
She laughed and didn't bring it up again. They danced familiar rhythms—in, out, hop and snap—effortlessly. Peter brought Kaitlin in just at the end of the song so he could dip her, both of them laughing as he raised her back to her feet.
As they walked back to the corner, a newcomer who Peter hadn't seen before came up. "Would you like to dance?"
She was cute, with brown hair tied up in a high ponytail, a plain white T-shirt with a fancy black vest, jeans, and heels.
"I need to change into my dance shoes," Peter told her. "Next song, okay?"
"Okay," she said, shrugging and walking away.
Kaitlin hit Peter on the shoulder.
"Ow! What did you do that for?" Peter asked. Kaitlin hit hard.
"She's cute and you could have changed your shoes later."
Peter shook his head. He'd never be able to explain how meeting a new girl scared him right now. Anyone new, actually. What if they were like Tamara?
Adam scooted his chair over next to Peter while he was tying on his shoes. "So, what's up with you and Tamara?"
"What?" Peter asked, forcing himself to keep his smile on his face and play dumb. "Nothing, why?"
"She was asking if we'd seen you, said she was worried about you."
Peter shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me."
Cai shifted uneasily.
"Is she here?"
Tamara never came to the Sunday night social dance. She always said she had to be up too early Monday morning for work.
"Yeah, she's out dancing."
Cat! Cat!
Peter gripped the edge of his seat to keep himself from standing and bolting.
"Here she is!" Adam said.
"Hi, Peter."
Peter stood slowly.
Cai bristled his feathers.
"Let's dance," Tamara said, taking Peter's arm. Claws dug into the tender flesh of his wrist.
Peter followed Tamara to the dance floor. When she released him, he stood and glared at her.
Fly away.
No. She can't hurt us here. Crowds mean safety.
"Aren't you going to dance with me?" Tamara asked, smirking, placing one hand on Peter's shoulder, getting into position.
Peter shuddered. Her musky perfume floated up to him—she still smelled human—he must be missing something. He raised his hand and placed it in the small of her back, then took her other hand.
"You owe me for that window, you know," Tamara purred as they started.
"You owe me for that leather jacket," Peter retorted. He spun Tamara out, keeping her at arm's length.
Tamara just laughed at him.
"I think I'll keep that," she told him as she came closer, trying to take the lead. "Makes a nice cushion. The leather's good for sharpening my claws."
"What do you want?" Peter asked the next time he drew her back closer so they danced side by side.
"To play this game for a while," Tamara said, as if it were obvious.
"What if I don't want to play?"
"Challenges are so boring," Tamara told him.
Peter spun her out again. Challenges? Like some kind of duel? He danced on automatic pilot for a while, falling into the same set of steps, not trying to mix up the patterns or shapes. But he always kept Tamara at arm's length, turning her, then turning himself, instead of bringing her closer and dancing side by side.
When the music ended, Tamara slinked close enough to speak directly in Peter's ear. "You know why challenges are so boring? Because I always win. Even against you. I'd win."
With a wink and a smile, Tamara walked back to the corner, to all of Peter's friends.
Even against him? What the hell did she mean? What was he going to do? He didn't want to involve Ravens' Hall, but he might not have a choice. Who else would know about challenges? What had she meant?
"Hey—wanna dance?" The girl Peter didn't know came up to him again.
"Sure," Peter said. He automatically got into position.
"I'm Sally."
"Peter."
She gave him a gentle smile as they started. It warmed her face and made her suddenly beautiful, softening her angular lips and wide eyes.
Pretty.
Peter nearly lost his count.
Cai had never said that before, about any girl, ever.
Sally danced well, though it was obvious she wasn't as advanced as Peter. He led her in the Charleston step, both of them kicking together forward, then back, which she followed easily, as well as when Peter moved them to do a side step, followed by a series of slides. But when he tried to lead them into the hand-to-hand Charleston, where instead of them kicking together, side-by-side, they held hands and kicked in opposite directions, she got confused and had to stop.
She shook her head and giggled, an easy, bubbling sound. "Sorry, still learning. Can we try that again?"
"You're doing great," Peter said. And she was. She had a good sense of the dance, recovering quickly when she did stumble. At the end of the song, Peter dipped her, just because. She smelled like sun-warmed grass and freshly cut wood.
Cai gave a soft caw, followed with, Blue skies.
Peter nodded. "Thanks," he said.
"Thank you," Sally said with another warm smile.
They both stood, awkwardly looking at each other, as the next song started.
Peter knew he shouldn't ask her to dance again. It went against all dance etiquette and protocol. But Cai wanted to feel her hand again, brush his feathers up against her. "Would you like another dance?"
"With you? Sure. You're such a good dancer. I can learn a lot from you."
They got into position and bobbed to the beat for a few counts.
"Are you new here?" Peter asked.
She nodded. "Just moved here. From Mee-nee-so-ta, jah," she added with a grin.
Peter grinned back.
Cai sent a clear picture of a nest, safely balanced in the hollow of a branch.
Peter maintained his grin as he led them through more complicated steps, spinning and turning quickly. Sally flowed easily in and out, kicking out her feet and getting her shimmy on this time, though he wasn't paying as much attention as he knew he should be.
Cai thought she was their mate.
Peter knew it was more difficult than that. He couldn't just sweep Sally off her feet, no matter how his feathered soul longed to hold her in his wings.
The song ended and Peter asked, "Are you taking classes here?"
Sally nodded. "Yeah, I was at the Sunday class just before the dance."
"So you'll be here next week?" Peter asked, knowing he was pushing, but he couldn't help himself.
But Sally merely grinned at him. "This week and every week."
"Good," Peter said, finally backing away. "I look forward to dancing with you again."
"Me, too," Sally said. "Bye, Peter."
"Bye, Sally."
Peter turned back toward the corner, where his friends all waited. He couldn't tell them, not yet. There really wasn't anything to tell. But his heart felt light and his feet barely touched the floor.
Then he saw Tamara sitting in the middle of them, her eyes hard and mean, staring past him, straight at Sally.
Peter suddenly realized that he'd been wrong about being safe in a crowd.
Tamara wanted to get her claws into everyone he knew.