Destined (House of Night #9)(10)

Looking back on it he realized he should have expected it. How could it not be painful to change form from a human boy to a raven? But his world had been filled with Stevie Rae and the simple but complete joy of taking her in his arms, kissing her, holding her close ...

He'd not spent time considering the beast.

At least he'd be prepared next time.

The pain had ripped him. He'd heard Stevie Rae's scream echo his own. His last human thought had been worry for her. His last human sight had been of her crying and shaking her head back and forth. She'd reached for him as animal had completely replaced human. He remembered spreading his wings as if he was stretching after being imprisoned in a tiny cell. Or a cage. And flying.

He remembered flying.

At sunset he'd found himself cold and naked beneath the same tree beside the depot. He'd just pulled on his clothes that had been left neatly folded for him on a little stool when Stevie Rae burst from the basement.

With no hesitation she'd hurled herself into his arms.

"Are you okay? Really? Are you okay?" she kept repeating as she'd studied him and felt his arms as if searching for broken bones.

"I am well," he'd assured her. It was then he'd realized she was crying. He cupped her face in his hands and said, "What is it? Why do you weep?"

"It hurt you so bad. You screamed like it was killing you."

"No," he'd lied. "It wasn't so bad. It was just surprising."

"Really?"

He'd smiled- how he loved to smile- and pulled her into his arms, kissing her blond curls and reassuring her. "Really."

"Rephaim?"

Rephaim was wrenched back to the present by the sound of his name being called by the professor.

"Yes?" he responded with his own questioning tone.

She didn't smile at him, but she also didn't taunt or admonish him. She simply said, "I asked what you believe the quote on page seven means.

The one where Montag says Clarisse's face has a light that is like a 'fragile milk crystal' and the 'strangely comfortable and rare and gently flattering light of the candle.' What do you think Bradbury is trying to say about Clarisse with these descriptions?" Rephaim was absolutely astounded. A professor was asking him a question. As if he was just another daydreaming fledgling-normal-the same-accepted. Feeling nervous and completely exposed he opened his mouth and blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

"I think he's trying to say this girl is unique. He recognizes how special she is, and he values her." Professor Penthasilea's brows lifted and for an awful heartbeat Rephaim thought she might ridicule him.

"That is an interesting answer, Rephaim. Perhaps if you kept your mind more on the book and less on other things, your answers would go from interesting to incredible," she remarked in a dry, matter-of-fact voice.

"Th-thank you," Rephaim stuttered, his face feeling warm.

Penthasilea nodded her head slightly in acknowledgment before turning to a student sitting more toward the front of the class and asking, "What about her final question to him in this scene: 'Are you happy?' What significance does that have?"

"Good job," Damien whispered from his desk beside Rephaim.

Rephaim couldn't speak. He only nodded and tried to understand the sudden lightness of spirit he felt.

"You know what happens to her? This special girl?" The whisper came from the fledgling sitting directly in front of Rephaim. He was a short, muscular male with a strong profile. Rephaim could easily see the disdain in his face as he glanced at him over his shoulder.

Rephaim shook his head. No, he did not know.

"She's killed because of him."

Rephaim felt as if he'd been kicked in his gut.

"Drew, did you have a comment about Clarisse?" the professor asked, raising her brows again.

Drew slumped nonchalantly forward and lifted one shoulder. "No, ma'am. I was just givin' the birdboy some insight to the future." He paused and glanced over his shoulder before saying, "The future of the book, that is."

"Rephaim." The professor spoke his name in a voice that had gone hard. Rephaim was surprised to feel the power of it against his skin. "In my classroom all fledglings are equal. All are called by their correct names. His is Rephaim."

"Professor P, he's no fledgling," Drew said.

The professor's hand came down on the top of her podium and the entire room vibrated with sound and energy. "He is here. As long as he's here, in my classroom, he will be treated as any other fledgling."

"Yes, ma'am," Drew said, bowing his head respectfully.

"Good. Now that that is straight let's discuss the creative project you'll be doing for me. I want you to bring alive your choice of one of the many symbolic elements Bradbury uses in this wonderful book..."

Rephaim held very still as the class's attention was pulled from him and the Drew fledgling back to the book. She's killed because of him was playing round and round inside his mind. Drew's meaning was clear. He hadn't been speaking of a character in a book. He'd meant Stevie Rae-

that she was going to be killed because of him.

Never. Not as long as he drew breath would he allow anything or anyone to harm his Stevie Rae.

When the bell rang to release them from class, Drew met Rephaim's gaze with unflinching hatred.