“I’ve had to cancel classes for today. It will take us hours to get this sorted out. We’re using the Coliseum to house the refugees until other arrangements can be made. I’m negotiating with their government for accommodations.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Cara stated. “The students acted with dignity and honor in order to save these people. The academy’s role will be commended by all.”
His mouth opened, and then he seemed to absorb what she’d said. “There may be criticism from some on the council,” he hedged. “I fired off a missive explaining the situation, but most won’t receive it until the morning. They’ve also been clamoring at me to debrief the Centaur girl.”
“I will be the one debriefing her, but only once she has rested,” Cara said firmly. “Providing organized support is part of what the Shades are all about.”
Amadeus stiffened. “The council will want to talk to her directly.”
Cara pushed back. “The council can offer questions they wish answered. But a direct meeting would not be constructive, and you know it. And upsetting her is not a good idea.”
The thought that Breana might be dangerous seemed to give him pause. Then he shrugged. “They are distracted by the refugees at the moment, anyway.”
“The council may be well advised to put together emergency protocols for such events,” Cara said. “There won’t always be time to discuss in committee.”
The headmaster tilted his head. “I will recommend that in the morning.”
“Bess mentioned that you didn’t have time to process Riggs’s enrollment.”
His eyes rose to mine. “Riggs. Right.” He turned and waved to Constance, who was madly scribbling on a clipboard. When she approached, he said, “Can you get him settled? He’ll have all day to acclimatize. He’s joining Team Dragon.”
Constance appeared even more strung out than her boss, and she had a dark streak of volcanic ash across one cheek. But she brightened at the suggestion and handed the clipboard to the headmaster. “I’ve got a couple of the older students collecting refugee names as well. I’ll have to check for duplicates when they’re done.”
“Good.” The tone in Amadeus’s voice was more exasperated than pleased. “Their government is pushing for an accurate tally. As if we aren’t up to our eyeballs with healing, feeding, and clothing them.”
“They can’t expect this to come out of our budget,” Constance said. “Are you going to ask for compensation?”
“We’ll have to bill someone for it.” Amadeus seemed exasperated. “It seems no one else was equipped to handle it, and we were. But our services can’t be offered pro bono.”
“That can be discussed once their immediate needs are seen to,” Cara stated. “For now, we have work to do.”
The Watcher gave me an eyebrow waggle and moved away, leaving me in Constance’s care.
I followed the headmaster’s assistant into the building.
It was filled with milling students. Some clearly had a purpose—they carried trays of food out the doors, or helped refugees to the elevators. On their way, I assumed, to the temporary quarters in the Coliseum.
But others sat on the stairs or leaned on the railing overlooking the foyer, just watching. Their soot-streaked clothes and the blank look in their eyes indicated they were still processing the horrors they’d seen while rescuing people from the volcano.
I sensed their eyes on me as Constance took me back to the office. If Cara had hoped I would blend in, she might have been wrong. Between my height and the sword on my back, I seemed destined to stand out like a sore thumb. Averysore thumb.
That didn’t mean anyone would figure out who or what I really was.
Heck, I didn’t even know that.
Constance pulled out a pack from a cabinet along one wall. It unnerved me when she turned to eye me intently, beforemuttering under her breath, and opening a drawer. It appeared to be filled with clothes, all in the academy black.
“I prefer long sleeves,” I said.
“Well, that helps,” she replied. “Because we’re low on short-sleeved tee shirts in your size.” She shook her curl-topped head. “The students just seem to keep getting bigger.”
When she shot me a look, all I could do was shrug. “Sorry.”
Constance smiled. “It’s my problem, not yours.” She pulled out a few shirts and shoved them into the pack, then opened another drawer and added sweatpants. When she reached for underwear, I held up a hand. “Don’t bother.”
One brow rose. “Bare-assed is a shifter thing.”
Uh oh. I plastered a silly grin on my face. “Just don’t like underwear—so overrated.”
