“All right, then. Let me introduce you to the cafeteria. They’re busy feeding the refugees, but I’m sure we can score us some meatrolls.”
I felt a stab of guilt. “I should really go out there and help.”
The big shifter snorted. “They have too much help. What they need is organization, which the headmaster is working on.” He eyed me. “And you need food.”
“You don’t have to show me. I can go myself,” I protested as he rose with me. His head hovered somewhere around eight feet.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Sid stated. “I can read anytime. Showing someone around for the first time only happens once.”
I put the sword back on—something he noted with a barely raised eyebrow—and he led us out into the hall. Where I discovered another thing about him—he loved to talk. At least,he loved to talk to me. Maybe it was because I didn’t say much in return.
By the time we’d descended to the cafeteria, he’d informed me of the number of students at the academy, including a breakdown of what species they were and the powers they possessed.
“We have an interesting mix of powers and talent at this place. Our own team features a Faerie who can transform to full-human size. A Selkie who is also part Siren. A Sea Krayt with unhealthy stalker tendencies. And I’m not sure exactly what Bree’s story is”—he paused—“but she’ll tell us in her own time, I expect. We all have secrets.” His eyes drifted over the hilt of the sword. “But she shapeshifted to a horse, which is interesting. Not a Unicorn—an actual horse. And the thing she did to freeze the water…” he eyed me and continued, “Never seen anyone do that. So whatever her story is, it will be interesting, for sure.”
He hesitated, and I gritted my teeth. I hated lying to him, but knew I had to. So I launched into my cover story, keeping it to a minimum. Horny Akolachian bastard who screwed the wrong woman. Now exiled.
Sid’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. I’ve heard of your people. They have a reputation for being secretive and protective. They are good enough fighters to repel anyone who comes close, so not much is actually known about them.”
I shrugged. “I’m not Akolachian any longer. Now I’m a Shade. Or I will be, if I make it through the program.”
His gaze moved to the sword again. “I take it you know how to use that?”
“Sort of.” I didn’t know if I did, really. “I have another talent that they want to develop. Something between a Shaker and a Mover. I’m kind of unique.”
He grunted. “That pretty much describes most in this place.”
“Do you have a talent?” I asked, and then backpedaled. “You can tell me to take a hike if you like.”
Sid didn’t answer as he led us down the hall to where the wonderful scents of food wafted free. Students passed us carting loaded trays, heading down the stairs. They all left a bubble of space around Sid, as though they knew something I didn’t.
Wasn’t sure if he noticed, but when he reached the doorway to the cafeteria and turned to me, his eyes had shadows in them that indicated he did. “My talent seems to begin and end with my beast,” he said.
A fragment of memory surged—of a hairy creature ripping trees out of the ground. “I’ve heard that your beasts are powerful.”
His eyes flared yellow, and a lip lifted over a large, but still human, canine.
“I live in fear of what it can do,” he said quietly. “It is why I am here.”
He turned and led the way to the food.
The Anisau and I sat at the Team Dragon table and consumed an untold number of meatrolls.
All the while, I watched the kitchen staff struggle to keep the trays filled.
“I think I know how we can help out,” I said. “They look overwhelmed.”
Sid’s bushy eyebrows rose as he followed my gaze. “Do you cook?” he asked.
I had no idea, so I went for the safe bet. “No. You?”
“Yes,” he said rather surprisingly. “This is an excellent idea.”
Minutes later, we’d bulldozed our way into the kitchen, where a very harassed supervisor handed over an entire counter—well, a corner, anyway—to the two of us. We found ourselves stuffing bits of dough and rolling them, before passing them on to those tending to the ovens.
Over the next hour, Sid managed to appropriate a selection of spices that he added to the different mixtures of meat and vegetables.
At one point, when he confessed he often just had a feeling something would work, I blurted out, “You’re a regular Baxter Stockman.”
