“My father didn’t want me to get in to Saint M,” he says. “He doesn’t think I’m good enough. Now that I’m here he’s been riding my ass like I’m a French whore. If that score doesn’t change, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
His eyes aren’t trained on me anymore. They’ve lifted to stare at the scoreboard hanging above us. I hadn’t even noticed we’d gotten all the way to the great hall. I was too busy trying not to lose myself in Price’s moody glance.
“You’ve been doing really well, though,” I say, trying to console him. He looks so upset. He’s scowling, sure, but he’s also fidgeting; something I’ve never seen him do before. He blinks back at me, and I think I spot something shining in the inner corner of his eye. “I mean, I’ve seen you in PW, you’re great,” I add, awkwardly punching his arm. I don’t mention that by seen, I mean admired his abs. I also don’t mention that I think I just bruised my knuckles with that ‘playful’ punch. What’s he made of, marble?
Piers grunts. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I’m trying really hard. I really am.” He leans against the wall beside me and closes his eyes.
I take a step closer to him. I wonder if he ever talks to Owen and Bennett about this. He can’t, can he? Not if he’s so eager to spill it to me of all people. He’s like a dam filled to burst. If he doesn’t tell someone soon, he’s gonna explode.
“The last time I saw him, he was so angry. He said he’d bust my ass if I was the one dropped at the end of the year.” He presses his hand to his face. “That was back during the trials.”
It’s my turn to glance back up at the scoreboard above us.
The scores on the board have shifted some now that grades are getting put in, but it hasn’t changed much. The gap between us and the rest of the class is closing, but there’s still no way to tell who’s going to end up getting cut. All I know is I don’t want it to be me. It can’t be me.
It’s this that makes me bite the swell of sympathy on my tongue and twists my words to get the answers I seek.
“Have you spoken to him since then?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah, on the phone.”
“So he’s not at school that often?” I grimace at my thinly veiled attempt to gather information from him. I can do better, but I guess there’s a reason Erin’s at the top of Helsing’s survival class, and not me.
Piers laughs bitterly and drops his hand to his side. “No, he’s here a lot. I’m just not that high on his list of priorities. He’d rather yell at me from home than talk to me face-to-face.”
My parents are dead. Everyone knows it. I know it. But I wonder what’s worse; to have no parents at all, or a father like Mason Dagher.
“He’s gonna be here tomorrow,” Piers continues darkly. “He won’t see me then, either. He’ll just talk to the headmaster, have his fancy lunch, and leave.”
My heart skips a beat. This is the information I wanted, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable with hearing it like this. Tentatively, I step closer, reach out, and gently touch Piers’ shoulder. He glances at it but otherwise doesn’t react.
“Hey. Piers. I don’t know how you feel, let’s be honest. But it sucks. And I’m sorry.” I pat him again. “If you were my son, I’d be proud … even if you do beat up girls.”
Piers chokes out a laugh and straightens up. That sorry look is gone, replaced by his usual swagger. He punches me back, and it’s not entirely friendly. I’m going to have a bruise on that arm too later.
My stomach growls loudly, interrupting us.
Face hidden, I hear Piers laugh.
He straightens up again and turns away from me. “Jesus, Black. Let’s get you some goddamn food.”
I smile and follow him to the dining hall.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day, I take advantage of the information I got from Piers and skip PW.
Erin, as nervous as it makes her, promises to tell Professor Davies that I had to take a trip to the infirmary. I cook up a believable story involving the cafeteria chicken, but she’s still shaking when she leaves the dorm room; terrified of the lie she might be called on to convey.
That girl. I really don’t know why she even decided to come here in the first place.
This is not the place to come to prove something to yourself. This is the place you come to learn how to hunt monsters. Or, more accurately … how to stay alive while hunting monsters.
After all, anyone can hunt a manticore, but only a few have lived to tell the tale.
I have to find Piers’ father and ask him what happened to my parents. There’s no guarantee I’ll get another opportunity like this. If he’s going to be here today, it might as well be now.
I don’t know where, exactly, Mason Dagher would spend his time at Saint M, but I figure the headmaster’s office is a good place to start.