The Slippery Slope [Worm AU]

The Slippery Slope

Part Six: Fight or Flight


My head was spinning, my ears ringing. I would have slumped to the floor, my knees somewhere between jelly and water in consistency, but for her grip on my dress. "Whaa ...?"

"Peter's mine, bitch," she gritted before throwing the next punch, which gave me time to bring my hands up in a vague attempt to fend her off. I caught the blow, sort of, but her punch knocked my hands into my face, so it wasn't a total win. My head whipped around sideways and my glasses came off; even as I tried to catch them, she smashed her fist into my stomach.

Coughing and gagging, I doubled over; she let go of my dress and grabbed my hair, pushing my face down hard. My vision, blurry as it was, cleared just in time for a good view of her knee, coming up fast. All I had time to think was, This is gonna hurt.

But it never connected. Instead, Julie lurched backward, losing her grip on my hair. I stumbled, falling to my knees, wondering muzzily why I was still conscious. A high-pitched shrilling in my ears resolved itself into words. "Leave her alone! Julie, leave her alone!"

Blinking, I stared at Julie. Her blurry form was wrestling with a smaller one; though hampered, she seemed to be picking herself up from the floor. I couldn't see properly, due to having lost my glasses, but I thought it might be Helen who was struggling with her.

“Let go, you little twerp,” grunted Julie, pushing Helen away, the child fell heavily on to her backside.

“Don't hurt her!” Helen insisted. “I'll tell Peter! I will!”

“Yeah, like anyone'll believe you, squirt.” Julie moved toward me; I had used the respite to get to my feet. I was wobbly, my face hurt, my stomach hurt even more, but I was up.

“Helen, go get Peter,” I told the younger girl, gingerly feeling my face; my nose felt like it had swelled to three times its normal size, but I didn't think it was broken. “Go get help.”

“Yeah, Helen, run away,” Julie told her. “Get lost.”

“No!” Helen launched herself gamely at Julie's legs. I didn't see Julie move, but I heard the smack of hand striking flesh. Helen cried out in response.

“Leave her alone!” Almost by instinct, I lunged forward, clumsily tackling Julie; we fell heavily to the ground.

This close up, I could see Julie more clearly. But it didn't help me when she brought her elbow around, striking me in the mouth. I thought I felt a tooth loosen. We rolled over and she ended up on top of me; she was stronger and more adept at fighting, but I wasn't giving up. Wildly, I flailed at her, my knuckles grazing her cheekbone; in return, she punched me again, this time in the eye. Fireworks flashed in my head and I felt woozy all over again.

And then Helen began to shriek. It is possible to get sounds that are louder and more piercing than a girl of that age screaming, but not many. She had good lungs and she was putting her all into it.

“Shut it!” Julie went to get off of me, to grab for Helen. At the same time, I stopped pushing her back and grabbed hold of her. I didn't know what she was going to do to Helen to stop her from spreading the alarm, but I didn't want to find out.

At the same time, I managed to get my knee into her gut; the air went out of her with a gratifying whoosh, but it didn't incapacitate her. It did, however, slow her down long enough for me to pull her close and bring my forehead up sharply into her face. The impact hurt, a lot. I wondered dizzily why I had ever thought head-butting someone might be a good idea.

Helen was still screaming, at a particularly ear-splitting level, as Julie recovered. Using one hand to push both of mine away from my face, she punched me again; this time, I was pretty sure that she'd split my lip. I struggled to free my hands, but she punched me yet again; more fireworks erupted inside my head and my vision narrowed until all I could see was her expression. From all appearances, she had forgotten about Helen and was going to do her best to make me pay for fighting back.

That reminded me of someone, but my head was swimming from the repeated impacts and I lost the connection almost immediately. Besides, I had more immediate concerns. I heaved, trying to throw her off, but she had strength, position and leverage on me; holding me down with one hand, she readied a punch with the other.

And then someone was looming over her, dragging her off of me. I blinked, trying to focus as my brain struggled to add two and two. I could hear someone soothing Helen as Julie struggled and protested; there was a sharp smack and Julie shut up.

“Get her out of here.” That was Peter's voice. “I'll see to Taylor.” A form knelt beside me and blurry features resolved into his familiar face. “Taylor, talk to me. Are you all right?”

“No.” It came out as a whimper and I tried to get control of myself. A hand slid into mine and another under my back, helping my to sit up. One of my eyes was swollen shut, I was pretty sure my nose was broken and I could taste blood in my mouth. The places where she had hit me were no longer discrete points; all were part of the swollen, throbbing whole. “Don't – don't look at me.” Knowing that I must look horrific, I tried to turn my face away from his.

“Hey, it's all right. It's not your fault. I'm here now.”

His words failed to reassure me; my memory flashed back to Theo, isolated by choice, and Peter's comment that his Uncle Max – more powerful than he seems – was trying to 'toughen him up'. Had this been some sort of setup to toughen me up? If so, I wanted nothing more to do with it. “Peter,” I mumbled, trying not to cry. “I wanna go home. Let me go home. Let me call my dad.”

“Sure, of course,” he agreed at once. “I'll arrange for a car to take you home. I'll go with you, make sure you get there okay.”

“Not looking like that, you won't,” interjected another voice, feminine. “Come on, help me get her up.” I thought I recognised the voice. Was it one of the people who had greeted Peter on the palazzo? “If you go home like this, your dad's going to absolutely freak, and worse, you're going to get blood on your dress. Come on, let me take you to the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”

“And then let me go home,” I insisted, allowing them to get me to my feet. My head spun and I wobbled but stayed upright, more through their efforts than mine.

“Of course,” Peter assured me. “Anything you want. Absolutely anything you want.”

“Julie's head on a pike?” I asked, more hopefully than serious.

Peter's voice was deadly serious. “We're already working on that,” he told me grimly. “That was unforgivable. But come on, let's get you to the bathroom.”

The woman – she was blonde, but I wasn't sure whether the colour was natural or bleached – helped Peter escort me along to the bathroom, but turned him back once they got me to the door. “Peter, honey, you go talk to your dad about what happened. Me and Taylor have got this. Okay?”

He sighed, obviously wanting to help me further. “Okay,” he agreed. “Taylor, come see me before you go, okay?”

I nodded; it hurt. “Okay,” I mumbled.

He turned and left; the woman helped me into the bathroom, through into where a sofa was set up for nursing mothers. Gratefully, I sat down; the spinning in my head eased a little. She disappeared for a moment, then returned with something in her hands. “First aid kit,” she explained; with a click, she opened it and started dabbing at my face with what felt like cotton balls. It stung a little – some sort of antiseptic, I figured – but it also felt good in a weird sort of way, so I didn't pull away.

She was really good at this first aid thing, I concluded; as she worked on my face, I just felt better and better. She was also fairly chatty, but I didn't mind; it took my thoughts off of the fact that I'd just had my ass thoroughly handed to me, by a jealous ex. Not something I ever expected to happen to me.

“So you and Peter have known each other for a while then?” she asked, dabbing at my eyebrow; the cotton ball came away red.

“Yeah, a bit,” I agreed, finding to my surprise that I could talk without my mouth hurting. “I kind of got bullied at school, a lot, and one of the girls doing it is black.”

“Ah, say no more,” she agreed. “So he helped you out, huh?”

“Well, he offered,” I admitted. “But I didn't want anything to do with the Empire at first, but then they kept doing it, and he kept offering, so I didn't see a good alternative. And it's been good. It really has. They've had to lay right off me.” Honesty made me qualify that. “Well, mostly.”

“Mostly?” she asked, getting a new cotton ball and dabbing under my nose. It, too, came away red.

“It was my locker,” I began. “They filled it full of crap over the Christmas holidays and then they shoved me in it at the start of term. But Peter and the others were there -”

“I remember that,” she interrupted brightly. “They grabbed the girls, and let you out, and called the police, right?”

I nodded; if the others, outside, had heard about it, then it was no surprise that this woman had. “Yeah, that was basically it.” With a rueful tone, I went on. “It looks like Peter's having to make quite a habit of rescuing me from psychotic bitches.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “You may be right. Though I don't really think he minds. See if you can blink your right eye.”

I blinked my right eye; to my surprise, it opened and I could see clearly with it. Well, as clearly as I could see with my left. “Wow, what did you do?”

“Oh, I just cleaned it up a bit,” she assured me. “It wasn't as bad as it looked.”

I snorted, which brought me to the realisation that my nose was no longer swollen or even sore. “I couldn't even see out of it. What are you using on it? And did you just re-set my nose?”

“I'm just using antiseptic,” she assured me, holding up the small bottle close enough that I could see it. “And no, it wasn't broken. I just cleared out the blood that was clogging it. Your nosebleed's stopped, by the way.”

“Oh wow, I thought for sure it was broken.” Carefully, I probed my teeth with my tongue. None of them were sore or loose. “I thought she hit me harder than that.”

“Have you ever been in a fist-fight before?” she asked me, packing away the first-aid kit.

“Uh, no,” I admitted. “I've been slapped and pushed around a bit, but never actually held down and punched.” Gingerly, I touched the back of my head. No swelling, no pain.

“Well then.” She disposed of the used cotton balls in the trash can. “There you go. Being punched for the first time can be a shocking experience and can feel much worse than it really is.”

“Oh, right.” There had to be something wrong with her statement, but she was so cheerfully positive about it, and the evidence was right there, that I decided to provisionally accept it. “Uh, my glasses -”

“Last I saw, Melissa was holding on to them for you. How do you feel?”

“I … I actually feel really good,” I told her. “I mean, wow. I just got beaten up and now I feel like it never even happened.”

“That's the spirit,” she encouraged me. “Go wash your face and I'll see where the girls have gotten to.”

“Thanks,” I told her and headed for the basins. Just before I got there, I turned back, realising that I hadn't even gotten her name. “I really appreciate it, uh … ?”

Too late; the outer door swung shut behind her, leaving me alone. Bemusedly, I went to the basin and washed my face as instructed; leaning close so that I could see myself in the mirror, I frowned. There were no bruises, even around my eyes, although I had been punched repeatedly in the face. My lips weren't split, my mouth not even swollen, even though I had tasted the blood, not to mention swallowed some of it. Experimentally, I touched my nose, wiggled it from side to side. It wasn't even tender. There was a little blood around my nostrils, but paper towels got that out and they were clean afterward.

Frowning, I pulled the ribbon from my hair – I had not lost it, although my hair wasn't exactly neat any more – and re-tied it. There were no tell-tale spots on my dress, except from water, and that would dry out. I really had come through without a mark.

Which, I decided as I headed for the door, was rather suspicious. Did I Trigger with a regeneration power?

Opening the outer door, I came face to face with Peter's sisters; Melissa, as promised, held my glasses, while Helen bore my handbag. Both looked at me anxiously.

“Are you all right, Taylor?” asked Helen. “She was hitting you really hard.”

Which only bore out my suspicions as to the fact that something weird was going on. “Yes, sweetie, I am,” I told her, leaning down and hugging her. “And you're really brave. You could have gotten hurt, jumping in like that. Are you all right?”

“I'm okay,” she assured me, hugging me in return. “I'm just glad that you're okay. Julie shouldn't'a done that.”

“Here, I found your glasses.” Melissa offered them to me.

“Thanks.” I took them and put them on, and only then noticed the fading mark on Helen's face. “Is that where Julie hit you?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed it self-consciously. “Peter says it'll go away pretty soon. He told me that he's gonna take me down to the Boardwalk on my birthday and buy me all the ice-cream I can eat.”

I smiled. “You've earned it, munchkin.” Taking her hand, I turned to Melissa. “Do you know where Peter is?”

“Oh, you're going?” The disappointment was clear in the older girl's face.

“Don't go, please?” Helen's expression echoed it.

“I ...” My earlier determination was fading; between my miraculous recovery from Julie's beating and the concern shown me by the girls, I was rethinking my initial desire to go home and hide under the covers. “I don't know yet. Peter?”

Melissa nodded. “He's with Father. Come on.” She led the way; I followed with Helen at my side.

As we did, Helen handed me my handbag. “Here you go, Taylor.”

“Thanks, munchkin.” I slung it over my shoulder. “Uh, the lady who came out of the bathroom just before me. Do you know who she was?”

“Uh -” Helen began to speak, but Melissa cut in ahead of her. “Just some lady. We've seen her around sometimes, but we don't know her name.”

“Uh, yeah,” agreed Helen, catching on somewhat belatedly. “We don't know her at all.”

Which to me shouted out that they knew something about her, but that they had been enjoined most carefully to not speak of the matter. Was she a cape? Did she heal me?

If she had, she'd done it most subtly; I hadn't even noticed her doing it. Does the Empire even have a cape who can heal? I seemed to recall that regeneration was one of the powers that … Othala. Was that Othala?

In any case, the point was moot; I was healed, and Othala – if it really was her – obviously didn't want a big deal made of it. Though I resolved to keep an eye out for her, if she hadn't left already, so that I could thank her again. Which in turn made me wonder again how important Peter was and how important that made me, given that she'd risked outing herself by using her power on me.

I was pretty sure that we both knew that the risk of that happening was essentially zero; I wouldn't unmask her, even if I knew her real name. She had offered to help me entirely selflessly and had turned the night from utter disaster back into something fairly good. Although I wanted to see Peter before I went any farther with that line of thought.

“Just here,” Melissa told me, breaking into my musings. She pointed at a door marked 'Conference Room 1'. Standing outside it was one of the security guys who had been out at the front, earlier. “Peter said he'd be in there.”

“Okay, thanks,” I told her. “Oh, here.” Pulling the three twenties from my bra, I handed them to her. “The rest of the change. There should be tokens in the vending machine.”

“Oh, thanks,” she replied. “Come on, Helen. Let's go play arcade.”

“Okay. Bye, Taylor.” Helen hugged me again, then took Melissa's hand; they moved off together.

Turning, I approached the security guy; he watched me come, his face showing no sign of his emotions.

“Uh, hi.” I took a deep breath. “Is Peter Ferguson in there? I need to speak with him.”

This close, I was almost certain I could hear raised voices within. Raised angry voices. Is Peter in trouble with his father over me?

“Name?” he asked. It was almost a grunt.

“Taylor,” I told him. “Taylor Hebert.” Here it comes. He's going to tell me to get lost.

To my surprise, he nodded. “You can go in.” Stepping aside, he knocked once on the door, then opened it.

<><>​

As I entered, I saw that there were four people in the room; Peter, his father, Julie, and a man whom I had not yet met. Julie was seated in a chair, while the other three were standing on either side of her. All four turned to look as I entered; the door clicked shut behind me. I desperately wanted to find out what was going on, but right then I only had eyes for Peter, who was coming to meet me.

“Taylor,” he murmured as he reached me. “Are you all right?” Cupping my cheek in his hand – and how good did that feel – he looked over my face.

“I'm fine, now,” I informed him in similarly low tones. “As you well knew.”

He smiled in response to my comment; oh yeah, you know what I'm talking about. “Yes, but it's still good to see. It's good to see you.”

“Flatterer,” I replied with a smile and rewarded him with a decorous kiss on the cheek before sliding my arm through his. “So what's happening?”

“We're just deciding what to do with Julie.” Turning, he walked with me back to the small group.

As we approached, I saw Julie's eyes searching my face for the damage she had done me; as she registered that there was none to see, her eyes grew wider and wider. I saw her lips moving involuntarily; it wasn't hard to read the words no fucking way.

For her part, she was looking somewhat the worse for wear from our little scuffle. There was a bruise coming up on her cheekbone and another around her left eye, her hair was disarranged, and I was pretty sure that her lip was starting to swell. I wasn't quite sure how much of that I was responsible for, but I felt a fierce glee at the clear indication that she had not come out of it unscathed.

“Taylor.” Ed Ferguson turned to look at me as we approached. One eyebrow raised slightly and he continued, “You're looking well.”

“Uh yes, sir,” I agreed readily. “I got cleaned up in the bathroom. It turns out that Julie hits like a powder-puff.”

Beside me, Peter choked on what sounded like an aborted laugh and even Mr Ferguson hid a smile. “I … see,” he noted, giving me a very slight nod. He knows that I'm covering for Othala and he approves. Good.

The look on Julie's face, on the other hand, was almost worth the whole ordeal; she turned white and then red by turns, with such a look of baffled fury that I nearly burst out laughing myself. The other man, staring at me in puzzlement, frowned heavily. “What is this, Ed?” he demanded. “I was told that my daughter attacked your son's girlfriend without provocation and hurt her badly. And now the girl has no marks at all upon her, while Julie here is the one who has been battered.”

Her father. Right. I was beginning to wonder if having Othala heal me was the best option after all, especially if it gave her father the chance to accuse me of attacking her.

Ed Ferguson turned to him. “Joe,” he stated, “there's something you need to know.” Stepping forward, past where Julia sat in the chair staring at me, he took the other man by the upper arm. They moved away into the corner of the room. I shared a glance with Peter; we both knew exactly what was going to be said in the privacy of that corner.

Julie, it was obvious, did not. “How the fuck?” she hissed. “I beat you bloody, you skinny cow!”

I opened my mouth to reply; Peter squeezed my hand briefly and I closed it again. “If I were you,” he told her warningly, “I would worry less about what you think happened and more about what's going to happen. You attacked Taylor and you struck Helen. Either one would be bad enough on its own, but you had to compound your mistake and do both.” He would have said more, but his father and hers were returning from the corner; from her father's expression, I figured that he'd been clued in about Othala. Julie, I presumed, was to be kept in the dark.

“Well then,” Ed Ferguson observed, as if carrying on a previous conversation. “Now that Taylor's here, we can get down to brass tacks. Taylor, you're the injured party here. You get first voice in Julie's punishment. What do you say?”

“What, really?” Julie's astonishment was clear for me to see. She'd been ready, I suspected, to be given her punishment in front of me, but Mr Ferguson's words came as just as much a surprise to me as to her.

“Yes.” Mr Ferguson's voice was flat, hard. “Really. Unless you want us to take this further up the chain.”

Julie's expression indicated that no, she didn't want to take it 'up the chain', whatever that meant. But nor was she thrilled about me being given first option on her punishment. Of course, I wasn't so sure about it either.

“Uh, may I just confer with Peter for a second, please?” I asked.

Mr Ferguson nodded. “Certainly.”

I moved away into the same corner as Mr Ferguson had spoken to Julie's dad and turned to Peter. Keeping my voice down, I murmured, “Okay, what's expected of me here?”

“Exactly what Father said,” he told me. “You designate a punishment and it will be carried out.”

“But there's limits, surely,” I replied, a little desperately. “I mean, not death or something like that.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Nothing that will cause lasting harm. But if you wanted to, say, have her caned or something, that could easily be done.”

I blinked; the mental image of Julie yelping under the impact of a cane was somewhat compelling. “What would you do if it had been you?”

“Oh,” he replied readily, “I would demand physical satisfaction. One on one in the ring. Beat the tar out of them.”

“Oh,” I responded glumly. “That's out, then. She'd cream me.”

“You can always nominate a representative,” he noted. “Such as me. Or maybe Jenna. I know she could smack Julie into next week.”

“You'd beat up your ex for me?” I stared at him. “You'd do that?” I didn't bother asking about Jenna; she and I got along pretty well.

“In a heartbeat,” he confirmed. “Especially after what she did to you and to Helen.”

It was so very, very tempting. But I didn't want to seem to be hiding behind anyone else, making them do my dirty work for me. “What about that thing you said earlier, being banned from the Gatherings? Would that fit?”

“Well, sure,” he agreed. “But if you do that, you can't apply any corporal punishment. Are you sure you want to go there?”

“I'm sure,” I told him. “Okay, let's go.”

We strolled back to where Julie sat with the two men; I nodded to Mr Ferguson. “Have you reached a decision yet?” he asked.

“Yes, sir." I hope this is acceptable. “I request that Julie be banned from further Gatherings,” I told him, then paused.

He cleared his throat. “You're going to have to nominate a time limit. One with a finite span. 'Until Hell freezes over' has already been tried at least once and has been judged to be not a viable limitation.”

“Understood, sir,” I assured him. “The ban should cover at least one Gathering – that is, the next one – and, after that, ends when one of two things happens. The first is that I meet Julia at a place and time of my choosing and beat the living crap out of her." I took a deep breath. "The second is that she gets down on hands and knees and grovels to me and to Helen in front of Peter, and poses for photos while doing it. She's got to sincerely apologise to both of us for attacking me and hitting Helen and also acknowledge that Peter is my boyfriend and that she has no claim on him.”

"Grovel? To you?" Julie's voice was strangled with rage. "Like hell I will!" She swung around to Mr Ferguson. "She's not even a member. Where does she get off -"

"Julie." Her father's voice cut through the tirade. "Be quiet."

Her eyes opened wide, but not as wide as her mouth. "But, Dad -"

"I said quiet." She fell silent then, staring at him. He turned to Mr Ferguson. "Ed?"

"I think it's a fair punishment," Peter's father decided, rubbing his chin. "Peter?"

My boyfriend nodded. "Tough but fair. I like it."

"Good to hear. Joe?"

"Sure, if you say so." Julie's father eyed me. "You've got a mean streak, young lady."

"Your daughter punched me in the face for no good reason," I told him, keeping my voice level. "She's got to learn not to do that."

“She was distraught,” he protested. “Peter had split up with her and then she found that he was going to be here with his new girlfriend -”

“I'm kind of distraught too,” I pointed out. “I got attacked out of the blue. She didn't approach me, she didn't talk to me, she didn't try to get me to dump Peter. Just boom, fist to the face. So yeah, I want to make sure that never happens again.”

“She's got you there, Joe,” Mr Ferguson decided. “I agree with the punishment. Unless you want to take it further, it's settled.”

Reluctantly, Julie's father nodded. “Okay, fine. We'll do it your way.”

“Good.” Mr Ferguson turned to me. “Is that to your liking?”

“I – uh – yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

A wintry smile. “You're very welcome. Did you still want to leave?”

Leave? When Peter's right here? Hell no. I hugged my boyfriend's arm closer to my side. “Uh, no, sir. I guess I did at first, but then I changed my mind.” Just to make it certain, I added, “I want to stay, sir.”

“Good.” He inclined his head toward Peter. “You two can go now. Enjoy the Gathering. I've got this.”

“Thank you, Father.” Peter turned toward the door; I followed.

As we escaped down the corridor toward the noise of revelry, I turned to him. “What's going to happen now?”

He didn't even need to think about it. “Oh, her father will be reprimanded and she'll be officially banned from attending Gatherings until one thing or another is sorted out. In fact, she's going to be escorted from the premises and sent home immediately.” He gave me a serious look. “The Empire Eighty-Eight is all about supporting each other against those who would tear us down. When she attacked you like that, she went directly against everything that we stand for.”

“Even though I'm not a member?” I asked, recalling her comment.

“Well no, but you're a proven friend of the Empire and you're my girlfriend, which kind of counts for a bit as well.”

“Oh. Wow.” I thought about that for a moment. “Your family's pretty high up in the Empire, isn't it?”

“We're somewhere up there, yes.” He eyed me with interest. “What are you getting at?”

“She wanted you more for your family than for you,” I concluded. “I mean, apart from the fact that you're devastatingly handsome and charming as hell.”

“Quite apart from that, yes,” he agreed, sounding amused.

“But you already knew that, didn't you? That she wanted to marry you because of who your father is.” I paused, then daringly added, “And because of who your uncle is.”

It was his turn to pause. “What do you know about who my uncle is?” he asked, the bantering tone gone from his voice.

“I know he's someone really important in the Empire,” I replied. “He's someone that people listen to. People with gold pins, while he wears a silver pin.” Something occurred to me and I asked, “Or is it really silver? Platinum, maybe?”

“Well well,” he murmured. “Well, well, well. I should know not to be surprised by you, Taylor, but you just keep managing it. Yes, some of the silver pins are really platinum. And yes, some people at this party are more important than they seem at first glance.” His eyes searched mine. “You know why it's a good idea to leave it at that, right?”

“Oh, heck yes,” I agreed. “I just wanted to know. It just didn't make sense, otherwise.” I gave him a half-shrug. “That lady who helped me clean up in the bathroom; she was wearing a platinum pin, wasn't she?”

“Yes, she was,” he confirmed. “And I'm not going to ask if you know who she really was.”

“Good. Because I'm not going to tell you.” I grinned at him. “See, I can keep secrets.”

He smiled back at me; I felt weak in the knees once more, but in a good way this time. “Yes, you can.”

<><>​

We emerged into the party once more and almost immediately I spotted a friendly face. “Jenna!” I exclaimed, breaking free of Peter to go to her.

“Taylor!” she replied, with equal delight. We hugged, careful of one another's dresses and traded kisses on the cheek.

“It's good to see you,” I told her sincerely. “I didn't know if you were coming today.”

“I was a bit delayed, is all.” She waved it off. “Well, I'm here, now. What did I miss?”

Peter and I shared a glance, which Jenna caught on to immediately. “Ooh, ooh,what happened? Tell me, tell me now.”

So I related the story, which she followed with bright-eyed interest. “That bitch,” she muttered, once I got to the part where Peter pulled her off of me. “I'm gonna go find her and kick her ass so hard -”

“Don't bother,” interjected Peter and he then told her the rest of the story, including the punishment I'd had passed on Julie.

“Hah!” Jenna put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed; my ribs creaked. “I knew there was a reason I liked you and not just because you and Peter make such an adorable couple.” The startled look on Peter's face made me giggle. “Well, you do,” Jenna insisted.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Just don't say that where Father can hear it. I'd never hear the end of it.”

Jenna and I chuckled in unison. “Really?” she asked.

“Oh god,” he muttered. “Now you sound positively evil.”

Taking pity, I leaned into him. “Leave him be, Jenna,” I told her. “He did get Julie off of me. I think he's definitely earned a break.”

She nodded consideringly. “I can go with that,” she agreed, then looked around as an announcement came over the PA system. “Oh, good. The buffet's open. I knew we got here just in time.”

“It's not all about the food here, is it?” I asked, as we were swept along with the crowd, back into the building.

“Oh, you have no idea,” she assured me.

<><>​

“So, Taylor, how are you enjoying the Gathering so far?”

I looked around guiltily, after ladling one more dollop than I really needed of that delicious gravy on to my plate. Standing there, plate in hand, was none other than Peter's uncle Max. Max Anders, CEO of Medhall Corporation and, if my intuition was correct, something more again. I noted in passing that yes, he had loaded up on the crackling.

“I – I'm enjoying it quite well, thank you,” I stammered. Honesty compelled me to add, “Well, mostly.”

He nodded briefly. “Yes. I had heard of that. It was all resolved to your satisfaction?” It wasn't really a question. He knew the answer already; he just wanted me to say it.

I was beyond surprise where this man was concerned. “Yes, sir. Very much so. Please thank the lady for me, the one who cleaned me up.”

“Indeed I will.” His gaze searched my eyes, then he nodded once. He knows, I realised. He knows I know.

To venture any deeper into that conversational minefield invited embarrassment or worse; I didn't know how much I was supposed to know and I didn't want him thinking I knew more than I really did, in case it backlashed on me. “So, uh, so Peter's your nephew, huh?”

“Yes, he is,” he agreed. “My sister's son.” Nothing that I hadn't already known. “He thinks quite a lot of you.” My cheeks heated slightly, but I'd been pretty sure of that too.

“Oh, uh, I think a lot of him too,” I blurted.

He smiled very slightly. “Good. I trust his judgement.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me somewhat stunned. Did I just get a compliment from Max Anders … whoever he really is?

I was too young to drink – not that alcohol was available to those of us at the junior table – but I was still a little light-headed when I got back to my seat. Peter was sitting on one side of me and Jenna on the other, with several of Peter's other friends from Winslow up and down the table. Helen waved from her seat; I waved back.

“I saw you talking to Uncle Max,” Peter observed. “Do I need to be worried?” His tone was light, unconcerned.

“Not really.” I related the conversation, as short as it was.

At the end of it, Peter blinked. “Wow. Uncle Max must like you.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that.” I shook my head. “I feel kinda like Alexandria just dropped down out of the sky, shook my hand and told me that I was doing a great job and to keep it up.”

“And left you wondering exactly what you'd done right and if you needed to do something more?” he guessed.

“Exactly,” I admitted. “It feels great to get a compliment, but I get the feeling he never gives them out without a really good reason.”

He smiled wryly. “You're on the money there. In any case, Dad likes you and Helen thinks you're cool and Melissa's already told me she thinks you're a keeper -”

“Peter!” I protested, my cheeks heating again.

“Well, it's true,” he pointed out reasonably. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to ask whether he meant that Melissa had really said it, or that what she had said was true. Either way, I would probably get more embarrassed than I already was, which I really didn't need.

“Can we change the subject, please?” I begged.

“Sure,” agreed Jenna readily enough. “I'm having a problem with my computer homework. I can't get that stupid Visual Basic to work right.”

Now, this was something I could handle without blushing. “What are you trying to do?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Mrs Knott wants us to create a calendar that updates … “

I listened and nodded and gave advice. The dinner went on.

<><>​

“So, I hope you didn't let Julie spoil the night for you?”

Peter and I were standing out on the palazzo, near the rail. Only a few people were out here as well, but none of them were anywhere near us. Soft music drifted over us, played from hidden speakers.

“Julie who?” I asked rhetorically.

“Ah.” He smiled. “That's good.”

The night's chill was drifting down over us; I pulled my wrap closer over my shoulders.

“You're cold,” he stated. “Should we go in?”

“No, not yet,” I murmured and pulled him closer. “Do you dance?”

“Some,” he admitted. “Do you?”

“A little.” I put my hand up on his shoulder. He put one hand on my lower back and took my hand with the other. Slowly, we began to move, back and forth, with the music. It probably wasn't the best music to dance to and I wasn't the best of dancers, but with Peter to guide me, we seemed to float across the flagstones.

In time, I moved closer to him and we stopped dancing so much as moving from side to side slowly. I had my head on his shoulder and he had both arms around me.

“I had a really good time tonight, Peter,” I told him softly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for accepting,” he replied. I raised my face to his and he kissed me. It was as soft and gentle as his hold on me and left me floating on a cloud.

We were still standing on that spot, holding one another and swaying gently to the music, when Melissa came to fetch us with the news that it was time to go.

<><>​

“Well, I had a good time tonight,” declared Helen. “Except for Julie, who's a big meany. I hope you're all right, Taylor?”

“Yes, munchkin, I'm all right,” I told her fondly. “Thanks to you.” I turned to address Peter, in the front seat. “I understand that you're going to take her to the Boardwalk on her birthday and stuff her full of ice cream?”

“All she can eat,” Peter confirmed cheerfully. “Why, do you have a better idea?”

“Not really,” I told him. “I was just thinking, I might come along, if that's okay with the two of you?”

“Hmm,” Peter replied, pretending to consider the matter. “Helen?”

“Yeah!” Helen bounced in her seat. “I like Taylor!”

“Good, then it's settled,” Peter decided. “We'll both come along and buy you birthday ice cream.”

“Yay!” Helen exclaimed. “My birthday's gonna be the awesomest!”

"Well, you've earned it," I told her sincerely. "I think she would've done worse, and gotten away with it, if you hadn't been there."

"You mean, she would've gotten away with it if it wasn't for that meddling kid?" asked Peter.

He sounded so serious that it took a moment for me to get it. Melissa groaned out loud. "Peter, that was awful!" Helen took a more direct stance; she leaned forward and punched Peter on the shoulder.

"Now, now, kids," Mr Ferguson told them mildly. "This is your house isn't it, Taylor?"

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “Thank you again for the lift.” Sharing a quick hug with Helen, I gave Melissa a nod, then got out of the car. “I'll see you guys later.”

Peter buzzed his window down and I leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips. Fourth kiss. Wow. We're on a roll, here. Mr Ferguson ostentatiously looked out of his window, Melissa pretended not to notice and Helen giggled loudly.

“Bye,” I told them – but mainly Peter – and stepped away from the car. I headed along the front path and up the steps to the door; as I reached it, it clicked as Dad unlocked it from the inside. Only then, as the door opened, did the car pull away from the curb.

“Hi, Dad,” I greeted him; as I stepped into the house, I noted that the TV was on, the sound turned down low. He'd been waiting up for me.

“Taylor.” His tone seemed split between relief that I was home and curiosity about how it had gone. “Did you have a good night?”

“Well …” I hesitated for half a second. I got beaten up by my boyfriend's ex, then healed by a supervillain. Yeah, no, let's leave that bit out. “Yeah. I met some interesting people and the buffet was really good. And I danced a bit, too. And I met Peter's younger sisters. They're really sweet.”

“Oh. Good.” He seemed a little taken aback at the normality of what I was describing to him. “Well, I'm glad you had a good time. Do you think you'll be going to more of these Gatherings?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I know so, if I'm going to be joining. “It was fun.” That bit, at least, was true, for the most part.

“Well … good, I guess.” He paused, seemingly at a loss.

Taking pity, I gave him a hug. He returned it. “I did have a good time, Dad. Thanks for letting me go. But it's kinda late and I'm kinda tired.”

“Okay then. Good night, Taylor.”

“Good night, Dad.”

That night, I dreamed of Peter.

<><>​

One Week Later
Winslow High School

Collecting my books from my new locker – I had categorically refused to use the old one again, however much they cleaned and fumigated it – I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for class. Things had eased off tremendously since Sophia and Emma had been caught for the locker incident; I hadn't seen Sophia around at all, Madison had made a practice of avoiding me and Emma stared defiantly whenever we passed each other, but never spoke.

As a result, my bodyguards had eased off on their protectiveness; I still saw them and spoke to them in the halls, but they didn't dog my every step. Paradoxically, this made me feel better, not worse; I was no longer in need of protection from bullying. My life was looking up.

Humming a tune to myself, I had just turned a corner when my world suddenly went dark. Some kind of cloth bag, smelling vaguely of vegetables, had been yanked down over my head from behind. Arms wrapped around me from behind, trapping my arms at my side. I yelped in protest, but the thick cloth muffled it. Struggling didn't help; whoever it was had a stronger grip than I could wriggle out of.

Before I could really start to worry about what was going to happen next, I was shoved off balance, my arms released, then someone tripped me. I fell, flailing my hands wildly to protect myself. One hand hit something solid and angular; I caromed off, landing with my other hand on the floor. Coming to rest, sitting on the floor, I reached up and yanked the bag off my head. I was in a classroom. Alone, even. Okay, what the hell's going on here?

Picking myself up and retrieving my backpack, I headed for the door. The handle clicked, but the door didn't open. I was locked in. All right, this isn't good.

Pulling my phone out, I sent off a quick text. Locked in classroom … I checked the door. … 173. Great going, guys.

A text came back immediately. On the way.

Less than ninety seconds later, someone rattled on the outside handle. “Hey!” I called. “In here!”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter replied from outside. “The door's locked. Someone used a key.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I told him dryly.

“Okay, give me a second. Stand back from the door.”

I stood back. There was an impact on the door, then a second one. This time, a crunch heralded part of the door frame giving way. The door opened.

“You okay?” he asked me, stepping inside and putting his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah, sure,” I told him. “Whoever it was just put this bag over my head, shoved me in here and locked me in. Where were the guys?”

He grimaced. “Not sure. I'll have to check. Sorry about this.”

“Nah, it's fine.” I kissed him on the cheek. “No harm done. They probably wanted me to stew for the period and get in trouble for missing class.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.” He squeezed my hand and led me from the classroom. “I'll walk you to class. Make sure nothing else happens.”

I smiled up at him. “I'd like that.”

<><>​

We got to math class without further incident; Peter departed, tapping on his phone as he went. I wondered where the boys had gotten to, but put it from my mind. They could take care of themselves and there'd been no harm done.

Or so I thought, until halfway through the period, when the geriatric PA system burbled into action. “Taylor Hebert … please report to the principal's office … Taylor Hebert … please report to the principal's office …”

Frowning, I looked up. Mr Quinlan stared over at me. “I suppose you'd better go, Miss Hebert.”

“I guess so,” I admitted. Standing up, I slung my backpack over my shoulder.

As I left the classroom, I heard running feet; looking around warily, I spotted Kelly, heading in my direction.

“What's the matter?” I asked, as he slowed to a halt next to me. “And where were you guys earlier?”

“We got decoyed away,” he confessed, sounding angry and upset. “Peter thinks it's an ABB thing, to prove they could have taken you away without any of us being able to stop them. Fuck with our heads, you know?”

“God, what is this?” I threw up my hands. “Politics? I don't want that! I don't hate the ABB. I just wish they'd leave me alone.”

“Yeah, well, it's a thing,” he noted. “Anyway, I'm here to walk you to the office, just in case that's some kind of trick too.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at him. “I appreciate it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Peter'd have my balls if anything else happened to you today.”

“Well, let's just make sure it doesn't, all right?” I set off down the hallway, with Kelly beside me.

<><>​

When I entered the office, I saw two boys and a crying girl in front of Principal Blackwell's desk. The first thing I noticed was that all three were Asian; the second was that the girl had a bruised face, a split lip and a bloody nose. Distracted by the reminder of what had happened during the Gathering, I tried to make sense of the scene before me.

“Uh … you wanted me, Principal Blackwell?” I ventured.

“Yes.” Her tone was forbidding. “Come on in and close the door.”

Frowning, I did so. “What's going on?” I asked. “Why did you call me here?”

Her answer was direct, to the point, and made no sense whatsoever. “Because these three say that you beat up this girl just before this period started and stole her purse.”

I blinked. “I … what?”

One of the boys pointed at me. “She did it,” he told Blackwell. “She was the one. She beat up Jill pretty bad and took her money.”

As he spoke, the other boy was nodding. “We saw it happen, but her Empire friends stopped us from interfering.”

Blackwell wasn't looking happy. “Jill. Is that what happened?”

Hesitantly, Jill nodded. “She grabbed me and shoved me into a classroom and beat me up,” she claimed. “Then she took my purse. My friends tried to help me, but Empire Eighty-Eight skinheads held them and stopped them. Then they locked me in the classroom and my friends had to break the door open to let me out.”

“Wait, no, no, that didn't happen,” I stated flatly. “I was the one shoved into a classroom. This girl wasn't there at all.” I took a step closer; the girl shrank back from me, raising her hands defensively. “Tell her. Tell her the truth!”

“Don't come any closer, Miss Hebert,” Blackwell warned me. “You say you were shoved into a classroom? Were you beaten up?”

“No,” I told her. “Just locked into the classroom. I called my boyfriend and he came and got me out.”

“Was anyone else there to see you? Any witnesses?”

I hesitated. “Uh, no. There was a bag, that they shoved over my head, so I never saw who did it.”

“Hm.” She paused. “Which classroom was this?”

“One-seven-three. Why?”

“That's the one you beat me up in!” Jill shouted.

Fuck, this is a setup. I castigated myself for not seeing it earlier. Wait a minute.

“I texted my boyfriend to get me out,” I told Blackwell. “He replied. Here, I'll show you.”

Stepping around the cringing Jill and her scowling friends, I pulled up the texts in question and showed them to the principal.

“The times are about right,” she noted. “But those could have been simply made to cover your tracks …”

“Or they could be genuine and all of this could be a huge set-up,” I retorted. “Shove me into a classroom, then claim that I beat someone else up in the same classroom.”

“I somehow doubt that they would beat up a friend of theirs just to get you in trouble,” Blackwell replied, but I could tell that she was starting to see my side of things.

“What about my money?” demanded Jill. “My purse! She took it!”

“Like hell I did,” I snapped. “I haven't got your purse.” I slapped my pockets, pulling out my phone, as well as my own purse. “See?”

“In her backpack.” One of the boys pointed. “She put it in her backpack.”

Oh shit. A cold feeling started creeping over me, as I realised that I may just have been outmanoeuvred. But it was too late; Blackwell gestured to me. “Pass your pack over here, please.”

Reluctantly, I passed it over. “If it's in there,” I told her rapidly, “it was planted when I was shoved into the classroom. You've got to believe me.”

She didn't reply, quickly and efficiently, she lifted the books and pencil-case out, then held the pack upside down. Nothing fell out. Unzipping the case, she checked inside; again, nothing but pens and pencils. But then she looked at the side pockets. One was flat, empty. The other was bulging. Opening the flap, she reached in … and came out with a fancy pink purse.

“Jill, is this your purse?” She hardly had to ask the question.

The Asian girl's eyes lit up and she stepped forward to accept it. “Thank you, Principal Blackwell.” Opening the purse, she checked through it. “It's all here.”

“She probably didn't have time to go through it yet,” one of the boys remarked.

Blackwell turned her attention back to me. “Miss Hebert, this looks very bad for you. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Just that this is all a set-up and you're buying it hook, line and sinker,” I told her angrily. “I'm the one who was being bullied here, not all that long ago, remember? Remember the locker? All the shit that was in it? How about all those complaints that were made on my behalf? The ones that you tore up in front of me? That happened to me. How come you're coming down so hard on me when you never did anything until you were forced to, any other time?”

Her lips tightened. “You could never produce witnesses to your alleged incidents until the locker incident,” she snapped. “Jill has two, right here. Now, I am sympathetic to your problems, but having been bullied is in no way an excuse to become a bully yourself. I understand that you are friendly with people in the Empire Eighty-Eight?”

She paused, making it a question that I really didn't want to answer. Of course, I didn't have many ways out of it. “Well, yes,” I admitted. “But that doesn't mean that I -”

“I hadn't finished, Miss Hebert,” she interrupted coldly. “I've seen this before. A loner joins a gang and in order to prove their loyalty, they have to do something, such as beat up people from a rival gang. Is this what you were doing?” She paused. “Were you coerced into doing this?”

“No!” I protested hotly, then realised what that sounded like. “I mean, I wasn't coerced because I didn't even do it!”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I think I've heard enough. This could be an expulsion offence, but given your previous good record, I think detention is in order. Five afternoons, from now until Friday.” She made a note on her desktop calendar. “Is that understood?”

I stared. “I can't believe this. I did nothing and I'm being punished for it?”

“That's the problem, Miss Hebert,” she told me flatly as she loaded my belongings back into my pack. “I believe that you did something. And therefore, the punishment is in my hands. Detention. Until four thirty. Is that understood?”

Glumly, I nodded. There was no point in screaming about it now, but when I got home, Dad was going to hear all about it. Maybe he can change her mind, where I can't. “Got it. Detention.”

“Good.” She held my pack out to me. “Now get back to class.”

<><>​

Kelly fell into step with me as I exited the office. “So what happened?”

“You know that movie with Morgan Freeman in the prison? I can't recall who the main character was. Where the main character escapes?”

“Yeah, Shawshank?”

“Yeah, that one. Remember that quote from it? 'Lawyer fucked me'?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

I nodded. “Yeah, well. Lawyer fucked me.”

“Why, what happened?”

So I told him; how the story had been spun that I had beaten up Jill in the classroom and two boys had pretended to be witnesses. How the purse had been planted in my backpack and I was now on detention for the week.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned. “That's gotta suck big hairy donkey balls.”

“Oh, it does,” I assured him. “It does. And I didn't even do what I was supposed to have done!”

“Would you like to?” he asked. “I mean, she's already been beaten up, or pretended to. We do it for real and she can't complain.”

It was tempting, but I shook my head. “That brings me down to her level,” I told him. “I'm not going to go there.”

“I was just offering,” he noted. “But hey, you're a better person than me.”

“Just to be clear,” I told him, “it's not that I don't want to, okay?”

He grinned. “Gotcha.”

I grinned back, but internally I was a lot less cheerful. Detention is gonna suck.

<><>​

I glanced up as someone sat down beside me. Thus far, everyone else in the room had chosen to sit at a distance from me; it was kind of depressing to note that even when Emma and Sophia weren't working to keep me ostracised from everyone else, my own choices did the same thing for me.

“Hi,” grunted the newcomer.

“Hi,” I responded, looking at him curiously. I knew him from the regular Empire Eighty-Eight table; he was what most people saw as a typical skinhead, loyal to a fault but not too bright.

Well, stereotypes have to come from somewhere.

“Peter told me to get into detention, to keep an eye on you,” he confided.

“Oh, okay,” I replied. “Uh … what did you do to get in here?”

Reflexively, he rubbed his knuckles. They were reddened and one was split. “Picked a fight with three Merchants. Dared Sorenson to put me in detention.”

I revised the 'not too bright' description. That ploy showed a certain amount of native cunning. It only left one question unanswered. “So … I guess you won?”

He looked almost offended that I had even had to ask. “Well, yeah. I said they were Merchants.”

“Right, right. So what happens -”

“Miss Hebert!”

I jolted in surprise and looked around. Mr Gladly had entered the room and was surveying George and myself with a certain amount of distaste. I was surprised that I had even made his radar; Mr Gladly usually only noticed the popular kids. “Yes, Mr Gladly?”

“This is detention, not a gossip meeting. Pick up your books and move over … there.” He indicated a desk well across the room from George. Raising his voice, he went on. “You will not talk to one another. You will not interact with one another. Doing so will cause me to give you more detentions. You do not want this.”

Wow, I thought. This is not your standard friend-to-all-students Mr G. I wonder who pissed in his cornflakes? Cynically, I decided that the fact of being picked to oversee detention must have something to do with his current level of disgruntlement. Oh well. Sucks to be you.

Still, there was detention to get through. And I would rather not spend it wondering about Gladly's mental state. So I pulled a book from my bag and started reading.

When the first spitball hit me in the back of the neck, I couldn't believe it; spinning around, I saw four different kids, each watching me with varying degrees of sly anticipation. I did not disappoint.

“Okay, who did that?”

Mr Gladly looked up from his paperwork. “Miss Hebert, be quiet.”

“Sir, someone hit me with a spitball,” I argued.

He sighed. “Did you see who it was?”

“No, but -”

“No throwing spitballs in class.” He dropped his eyes back to his paperwork.

“Mr Gladly!” My voice was louder this time.

He looked up again. “What, Miss Hebert?”

“Aren't you going to do anything more than that? They're just going to keep throwing them if they know you're not going to do anything about it.”

He sighed, aggravated. “Miss Hebert, you're here for beating up another girl and stealing her purse, as a wannabe member of a white-supremacist gang. I really don't think you've got much room to complain about being victimised, here.”

“For the first part, I didn't do it. For the second part, that doesn't matter. I'm here to be in detention, not to be hit by spitballs.”

“For the first part, I don't believe you. For the second part, if I catch them, I'll punish them. Now be quiet, or I will start adding detentions.”

I subsided, but I wasn't happy. George, across the room, was staring at Mr Gladly, looking distinctly murderous. I caught his eye, shook my head slightly. No beating up teachers.

He paused for a long moment, then turned his gaze to the other kids in the room. Then he stood up. I watched him, wondering what the hell he was going to do.

Mr Gladly caught the motion as well and looked up. “Mr Albert, sit down.”

“Got something to say,” George stated boldly.

“Sit down!”

George ignored him. “I don't give a fuck how many detentions I get, but if one more cocksucker throws a spitball at Taylor, I will beat the fuck out of you.” He let that hang in the air.

Gladly banged on his desk. “Sit down!” he yelled.

Slowly, George sat, but he turned his chair sideways until he had a good view of all the kids who were within spitball range of me. The look on his face promised that he'd do exactly what he'd said he would.

“You have your wish, Mr Albert,” gritted Gladly. “Detention all next week, as well.”

George didn't react; he just kept watching the other kids. Watching my back.

Slowly, the tension leached out of the room. Mr Gladly went back to his paperwork. I gave George a very slight nod and smile. Thank you. He returned the nod without smiling. Just doing my job. Peter, I decided, was going to hear about this. George deserved an official pat on the back.

Time passed; the clock hands slowly crawled around the dial. I read my book. Mr Gladly did his paperwork, then pulled out the newspaper and read it. George watched the room. Nobody threw any spitballs.

Eventually, even Gladly decided that enough was enough. At about a quarter past four, he folded the paper and stashed everything away in his briefcase. “Okay, go home,” he ordered us. I heard the unspoken part of the message loud and clear; get out of here and good riddance.

Standing up, I stretched, then bent down to put my book in my bag. At the desk, Mr Gladly let out a shout of anger. “Who threw that spitball?” Looking up, I saw the white spot decorating the middle of his shirt.

“Not me,” I told him. “I've been reading.”

Simmering with anger, he turned to George. “Did you see who threw it?”

“Nope,” replied George. “Wasn't looking.” I got the distinct impression that he would have seen if the spitball had hit me, but he didn't care about Gladly; no doubt he had not forgotten Gladly's earlier comments to me.

I moved over to George's side, thus discouraging any further attempts at spitball-throwing in my direction and we headed for the door.

“Wait!” shouted Mr Gladly. “Nobody leaves till we find out who did this!”

“Wasn't me and it wasn't George,” I pointed out. “Detention's over. We're going.” He may have sputtered something, but I wasn't listening; I pushed the door open and we stepped out into the corridor.

Immediately, George pulled out his phone. “What's up?” I asked. “Not calling in a hit on Gladly, I hope?” I was only half joking; the Empire was very serious about protecting its own.

“Nope, though he was really rude to you in there,” George replied. “Just letting Peter know we're getting out early. He was off with the guys doing something and he was gonna swing back around four thirty to pick us up.”

“Okay, cool,” I agreed. We set off down the corridor toward the main doors, with George laboriously tapping away on his phone.

Eventually he finished and put the phone away. “They're on the way now,” he told me.

“Good,” I replied. “Thanks for just before, in detention. I appreciate it.”

“Eh, you're one of us. No big.”

One of us. I hugged that phrase to me. Having been on the outs for so long, to be reminded once more of the camaraderie within the Empire, to be reminded that I was part of that, that they had my back … every time, it got me right where it counted. The warm feeling that generated in my heart lasted all the way out to the front doors and down the steps.

Which was where they hit us.

<><>​

They came around the steps from either side, ABB colours bright in the late afternoon sun. About three grabbed for me, while more again hit George. I struggled, screamed, kicked, clawed, bit. My backpack was wrested from my grip, but I snatched it back. I don't even know why I did that. There were too many people on me. I was losing, but still I didn't give up.

And then George was there, smashing into the three that were wrestling with me. He had a switchblade in his hand and it was red with blood. To my shock, he was also bleeding, on his cheek and across his chest. He slashed once, twice, and the hands holding me fell away.

“Run!” he bellowed, shoving me. “Run! Get Peter!”

I stumbled a few yards away, saw them closing in on him. “I can't leave you!” I screamed.

“You gotta!” he roared. Two started for me; I backpedalled. George lunged after them and his switchblade flashed again. One of the ABB stumbled and fell; the other turned on George. Two more started after me. They were carrying switchblades, too. The others converged on George.

There were too many. I couldn't face them. I couldn't fight them. I couldn't help George.

I turned and ran.


End of Part Six

Part Seven