Page 51 of Storm of Shadows

“Hey,” he says, “less of the violence.”

“I don’t want to think about their dicks,” I mutter.

“No, I can imagine that would be quite intimidating. Especially when there are three of them,” Clare says.

“Three of them,” Fly says, waggling his eyebrows, “that’s like my ultimate fantasy.”

“Mine too,” Clare says, stuffing a piece of bread into her mouth. Fly and I both stare at her. I don’t think either of us were expecting that.

“Really?” I say, now staring at them both as they nod.

I haven’t had a lot of time or space for fantasies. And my experience with Stanley put me off boys, men, and sex. I’ve tried to push that part of myself aside, buried it away and refused to acknowledge it. It only got me hurt after all, and I don’t think anything has changed. Even if the way Beaufort touched me stirred something long dormant inside me. That was a slip up. Next time I’ll do better. I’ll be prepared.

“Anyway,” I say, “I’m not going to have to worry about any of that. If they wanted some sex bunny, there are much better and more willing candidates.” I roll my eyes. “They probably want me to scrub their toilets. Which is why I’m not interested.”

I was Muriel’s slave for five years, as well as her punching bag. I didn’t have a choice back then. I was young with nowhere to go. I’m not going to let that happen again.

“I’m pretty sure they already have someone to clean their rooms,” Clare says factually.

“I guess you’re going to find out tonight,” Fly says.

“Yeah,” I say with absolutely no enthusiasm. “I guess I am.”

The next lesson is an algebra one which leaves me to mull in my thoughts and that conversation. I come to the realization that I’m pretty damn scared about tonight – actually pretty terrified. But I survived all those years with Muriel; I survived all the ridicule and bullying Stanley put me through; I survived the first night at the academy plus an attempted murder and a punch to the nose. I can survive this too.

I’m going to have to. Because I made that promise to Amelia and I’m going to keep it.

I skip dinner – partly because I’m too nervous to eat and partly because I’m not sure I can cope with Fly and Clare discussing my upcoming evening in detail.

Instead, I head for my room and after I’ve checked on my bag, I tackle the most pressing issue – what the hell am I going to wear? Of course, it shouldn’t be an issue or a question. I should grab the first thing I find in my wardrobe and be done with it. But as usual my pride is niggling at me. I don’t want to turn up at their rooms looking like I’ve just been dragged from the Slate Quarter. Problem is all my clothes say exactly that. Most of them were hand-me-downs from my sister or bought from one of the many thrift stores – filled with unwanted clothes imported from the other Quarters. All my clothes have been mended – patched up or sewn back together numerous times.

As the clock tower strikes seven o’clock – the gongs vibrating right across the academy – there’s a knock on my door, followed by a voice.

“How you getting on in there, Cupcake?”

I open my door, still dressed in my uniform, to find Clare with him in the doorway.

“Fine,” I tell them both.

“Oh,” they both say in unison.

“What?” I say, resting my hand on my hip.

“We thought you’d be getting ready,” Clare says.

“We assumed that was the reason for ditching us at dinner.”

Is it bad that I’m regretting introducing them to each other? Seems I neglected to think through the consequences. The consequences being their ability to gang up on me.

“I’ve been trying,” I say dramatically. “I have nothing to wear. Maybe I should just go in my uniform.”

We all stare down at the shapeless gray garments hanging from my frame.

“You must have something,” Fly says, strolling towards my wardrobe. I launch myself in front of him and block him off. I do not want him rummaging around in there.

“Trust me, I don’t.”

Fly and Clare look at each other.