gets really weird after a while. You start noticing little things, like how someone moves or goes still,

and it shouts their age more effectively than the clues everyone normal wears on their skin.

Benjamin didn’t really feel that old. Older, sure, but not as old as Dylan.

God, was I going to have another day of painful thoughts jumping me every time I relaxed? The obvious solution—to just not relax—was kind of sucking.

“The Council,” he said patiently. “They run the Prima and every other Schola and, by extension, the

Order. They’re very interested in you.” Behind him, I heard the slight unsound of the rest of them.

Three more boys: two blonds, and a mouse-haired thin kid with a weird crooked smile. “We’ll wait

outside. But you’d better get dressed. They’re formal.”

I wished Graves would look at me. But he just stood there, glaring out from under his hair. I’m sure

he could have painted fuck off on his forehead and it would have been more subtle. “Okay. All I’ve

got is jeans.” Like, one pair of jeans. And this sweater and the hoodie, taking turns.

Benjamin swallowed whatever he was going to say. My legs quit running with iron-tipped needles

and steadied. I stepped cautiously out into the hall, between the loup-garou and the djamphir, and

wished I could stay back in the cell.

At least with Ash I knew what was going on. Sort of. Maybe.

Silence stretched between us. They had to move so I could close the door, but nobody seemed much

inclined to. The mousy kid with the crooked smile—Leon, I remembered with an effort—glanced

back over his shoulder, a quick lizardlike flick of his head.

“I guess we’d better close this up, then,” I finally said. “You guys’ll have to move.”

Benjamin stepped forward and I retreated, almost running into Graves. The door was shut and

locked in a trice, and Benjamin handed me the key. “You should probably keep this. Since you’re

down here every night anyway.”

He said it like he was disappointed.

I felt my chin rising stubbornly, what Gran called that’s a look like a mule. “He’s better.” At least

Ash wasn’t throwing himself against the walls. As much.

“He’s Broken.” But Benjamin stepped back, forestalling the same old argument. “To your room,

then.”

It sounded like an order, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t have much argue in me.

It was a miracle. But like all miracles, it had a nasty side.

Jealousy

CHAPTER THREE

This is the Schola Prima, the biggest and oldest one in North America: shafts of sunlight falling between velvet curtains to gently brush mellow hardwood floors; priceless antique carpets; more velvet draperies in red, blue, hunter green; marble pedestals holding busts of good-looking teenagers—

fighters and diplomats you won’t find in any history book because they’re djamphir. Which meant