But Steve got lazy.
He stepped across his own foot, the tip of one trainer scraping the laces of the other. Alex launched himself at Steve, leading a wide, looping punch that started too far back for Michael to approve and ended with a satisfying smack below Steve’s ear, right above the base of his jaw. Steve grunted and fell to one knee, the first time he had ever even been dizzied by one of Alex’s punches. Alex was sure he had broken his own hand, the way it immediately started throbbing, but that didn’t matter now. He kept coming forward.
Alex drove his right knee into the side of Steve’s head as hard as he could manage. Steve went limp and fell sideways, his eyes weirdly defocused. Alex felt a brief moment of triumph before he collapsed in a heap himself, uncertain whether to clutch his bruised knee or his broken hand.
“Reset.”
Steve shook his head, spat, and then stood up, stumbling his way out of the circle, a yellowish-purple bruise already forming on the side of his head. He wobbled his way to bathroom, and everyone politely ignored the sound of his retching. Gustav watched from his corner looking amused, that is, if his eyes were actually open. Alex was still writhing on the ground, his arm held close to his stomach and his body curled around it. Mitsuru watched from where she sat, Japanese-style, without comment. Anastasia sighed from the doorway, and then shook her head.
“It’s his arm again,” Anastasia said reluctantly. “Do you want me to have him taken to the infirmary?”
“Alex needs to learn to ask for help. Alex needs to learn that there are consequences for his actions. These are all important lessons that he is being taught by this experience.”
“I see,” Anastasia said quietly.
Anastasia sat down quietly next to Mitsuru Aoki, and they remained there, side by side, watching the boy thrash and moan, while the rest of the class filtered out quietly, and Renton waited patiently in the corner. After what seemed like a very long time, Alex struggled up into a sitting position.
“Is the implication that if I ask, then somebody will help me?” Alex asked through painfully gritted teeth.
“Yes,” Mitsuru Aoki said, nodding.
“Then please help me,” Alex said, not caring how it sounded now. “I think I messed up my arm again.”
Miss Aoki nodded a second time, and then stood up, brushing away imaginary dust from her loose brown cotton pants.
“Now, you can help him,” Miss Aoki said generously, nodding to Anastasia and heading out the door without looking back. Anastasia waited prudently until Mitsuru was gone and the door had shut solidly behind her.
“She doesn’t have to be so unpleasant. Renton, if you would.”
“Sure, milady.”
Renton walked over and helped Alex gingerly to his feet, lifting him on his left side, opposite his injured arm. The worst of the pain had subsided, but everything from his bruised fist all the way up to his elbow throbbed insistently. It didn’t make sense to him. Every injury Alex had incurred since being injected with nanites had healed, rapidly and completely. However, the wound left by the teeth of the first Weir he had ever encountered had never fully recovered.
“What do you care?” Alex demanded shakily, glaring at Anastasia suspiciously. “Why are you even here? You aren’t in the Program.”
“It’s sad, how modern youth is ungrateful. Don’t you think so, Renton?”
“That it is,” Renton agreed.
“Always assuming the worst of everyone,” Anastasia complained, behind a very slight smile. “On a completely unrelated note, Alex, do you mind if we make a quick stop on the way to the infirmary? There is someone that I would like you to meet.”
“For God’s sake,” Alex moaned. “I think I broke my goddamn arm again or something. Do you have any idea how much pain I am in right now? Do you think I want to go make a social call?”
Anastasia looked at him with disapproval. Even after seeing it several times a week for months, Alex couldn’t adjust to Anastasia in gym clothes. Not that they were any different from what any other girl wore to the gym, but he was used to Anastasia wearing outfits that wouldn’t have been out of place in Victorian-Era England, assuming there was some sort of goth scene back then. Even weirder was the two tight braids that held her hair neatly in place. Normally, Anastasia’s hair was elaborately styled; in fact, Renton had confided that she employed a servant whose sole job was managing her hair. With her curled twin-tails, she looked like a junior-high school student on her way to P.E. class.
“Alex, you big baby. Renton, could you help my sensitive friend?”
“Of course,” Renton said, smiling at Alex. Renton’s smile was as questionable as the person that lived behind it; friendly on the surface, but the longer he stared, the shadier it started to look. “You mind dropping those shields, Alex? If you prefer, I could bust through them, but then we’ll both end up with a headache.”
“What?” Alex demanded, his suspicions renewed. He’d needed Rebecca to build the shields that protected him from telepathic and empathic manipulation for the first several weeks he’d been at the Academy, and he had only lately started to build them himself. He recalled Rebecca warning him never to drop them, even for the most innocent request. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Renton is a telepath, Alex,” Anastasia explained, tapping her foot impatiently. “He can turn the pain off. That won’t fix your arm, but at least it should stop you from whining about it until we can take you to the infirmary.”
“Oh, come on…”
“Alex,” Anastasia said firmly. “Work with me on this. I have helped you before. Have I ever lied to you? Threatened you? Have I done anything at all to harm you?”
“Actually, I find everything you say to be vaguely threatening,” Alex admitted warily.
“I’m the only person in Central who is honest with you,” Anastasia said, without a trace of humor. “Are you certain that you wish to alienate me?”
“With friends like these…” Alex muttered, and then he finally gave in, his shoulders slumping. He felt a strange sense of decompression as the shields dissipated, as if he had been keeping his head wedged between invisible blocks of Styrofoam, only becoming aware of it now as they fell away, leaving him feeling sort of naked and vulnerable. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Renton tapped one finger against Alex’s forehead. Alex knew, thanks to Rebecca’s tutoring, that most telepaths and empaths needed physical contact to work, but it still creeped him out to let Renton touch him. He couldn’t complain about the results, though, as the pain in his arm throbbed once more, weakly, and then disappeared so abruptly that he had to touch his damaged forearm to reassure himself that it was still there.
“Wow,” Alex said quietly and unintentionally.
“Right?” Renton smirked, picking up Alex’s gym bag along with his own.
“Come along, boys,” Anastasia said, heading for the door. “Let’s take a little walk.”
“This whole house is yours?”
“Yes. In a sense. This house is set aside by the Academy for the current scion of the Black Sun, and at the moment, that happens to be me,” Anastasia said modestly, leading him through the dark wood and antique furniture that lined the entry way to the home, back into the office where she conducted the majority of her business. The desk she sat down behind was impressive, carved from a heavy, stained wood and ornately detailed, but all it really did, in Alex’s opinion, was make Anastasia look tiny and ridiculous behind it. He almost tripped over a Weir lying on the floor, before he heard it growling menacingly at him and stopped just short.
“Ah!” Alex yelped involuntarily, jumping back. “What the hell?”
Anastasia gave him a surprised look that he suspected was manufactured, and then a small, apologetic smile.
“Oh, that is Donner. Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”
“That’s not particularly comforting,” Alex said, staring at Donner suspiciously. “Is that a Weir, or a normal wolf?”