Dust

XVII

The arena at headquarters can be either a place I love or loathe at one time, never anywhere in between. Sometimes I enjoy seeing the playful gleam in the children's eyes as they run about, tackling each other to the ground, delivering roundhouse kicks to dummies, practicing the correct grip on daggers and swords, clanks and thuds echoing off the walls. Other times, the chaos of at least twenty little hunters in one area (with sharp things) makes me want to curl in a corner and disappear. It seems like a million accidents waiting to happen.

"Now, faeries can be quite tricky," I say to the boy I'm currently working with: a wizard-shapeshifter hybrid who rarely utters a word to anyone. According to Sloane, his name is Oliver, but when I asked his name earlier this morning, he just stared up at me with rare coral-colored eyes, blinking but silent. Hybrids have always been interesting to me, and not only because of the mix of species so clear in their features (Oliver's eyes change on occasion, but only to other witch colors and not nearly as fast as a pure shapeshifter), but because of their position. They don't belong to any species, really, but they are an original and beautiful breed of their own. "They like to play games and have fun with their victims. The bad ones, I mean," I correct myself, glancing at the considerable amount of faerie children training here.

"You have to learn to play the game as well as they do, Oliver," I go on. We sit cross-legged in front of each other in the corner of the arena, where the noise still echoes around us, but somehow still feel private. Sun glints off his tousled brown hair, which is neatly kept out of his eyes. "Listen closely to their words and try to pick out the meanings beneath them—"

"Or, if all else fails," comes Gael's voice as he sits down beside me, "attack them."

Oliver blinks, then leaves behind his previous silence and says: "Attack."

Gael looks pleased with himself. "That's right, my pink-eyed pal. Now go on. Go play with some knives, or something."

Oliver nods, climbing to his feet. As he walks past me, I hear him say, "Knives." This does not make me comfortable; frustrated, I turn towards Gael, who is simply smiling at me as if he hasn't just turned a little boy into a serial killer. "'Go play with some knives'? Are you kidding me?"

"Hey, loosen up," Gael says, throwing an arm across my shoulder and looking out the window in front of him, which showcases a view of the city below us. The arena's on one of the center floors of headquarters, and whenever I look out the window of it too much, I feel like I might get sick. Gael, however, looks like everything is right in the world—his chip-toothed smile on his face and his eyes gleaming; I get the feeling he's just happy not to be locked at home. When he came in today, in fact, Sloane thrust herself at him, angry at him for being stupid but relieved that he was alive. Those are my feelings exactly. "Everyone else is playing with knives," finishes Gael.

"Well, if everyone else jumps off a bridge, are you going to jump off the bridge too?"

For a second, Gael just looks at me, the green of his eyes hidden beneath his eyelids. He scrutinizes me for a second before smirking and saying, "Yes, I would, because it would be fun and my super-cool girlfriend would heal me, right?"

"You're an idiot, Gael."

"Naturally," he says, "but that is why I need a woman to tone me down."

I can't even think of a reply to that, so I don't. I just fold my arms and swivel my body towards him, uncrossing my legs and draping them across his lap instead. He looks down at them, raises an eyebrow, but decides to casually rest his hands on my knees instead of removing them. "Obviously," I tell him, "you interrupted Oliver and me because you have something you want to say to me. Let's not beat around the bush."
"Fine. I'll be honest," Gael tells me, grinning at me with the sun in his eyes. Behind him I see Sloane yelling at a clone of herself, and am confused until I see a shapeshifter boy morph back into himself—ah, pesky Timothy. "I saw you over here, interacting with that mime of a boy, and I just wanted to come over and tell you how awesome you are."