Archon(9)

And jumping off a building?

It never hurt to try. She’d just never been keen on surviving as a lump of shattered bones.

Angela turned from the grate, strolling over to the enormous bay window overlooking the highest street. Two of the windows had upper panes made of stained glass, their intricate designs adding a splash of brightness in the otherwise drab den. But they were also made solid from top to bottom, lacking a latch. Only the middle window was completely clear and tall as the ceiling, its lower half already cocked open half an inch.

She climbed over a large couch, its upholstery a disgusting mélange of flowers and crushed red velvet. The bay seat was behind it, but most of the wood had blackened from the moisture. Below, though, the porch roof stretched out into the night, slippery with rain and old shingles.

It must have been a fifty-foot drop to the cobblestones beneath. Maybe more.

Angela leaned on the opened pane, forcing the space to widen with her elbows.

The rain was dying off into a drizzle, but the farther parts of Luz remained wrapped beneath a thick blanket of fog and low clouds. Brief flickers of lightning crossed the sky like a strobe light. Angela reached out to test the roofing, finding it even more slippery than it looked. She took a second to kick off her boots before climbing out of the window and onto the shingles. A sharp breeze whipped some of her hair into her mouth, and then plastered it, wet and slick, to the side of her neck. Water soaked into her socks.

The sound of voices filtered up from the street. Angela rose to her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the window frame, half blind until she caught her hair with the other.

Two women stood in front of the dormitory, talking in voices too low to hear their conversation, but animatedly enough that it would be hard not to take any interest. One of the women was definitely a student, though her skirt and blouse lacked the Tree symbol. She was tall, with an elegant way of clasping her hands, her hair a flowing mass of chestnut that had frizzed to a mat in the rain. Her skin had the creamy look of porcelain, and instead of boots she wore pretty slippers that were an expensive-looking silver.

But the other woman, though she had a perfect face and a figure to envy, had an unnerving hardness in her eyes—very large, very dark eyes, now that Angela looked closer—and a nasty twist to her mouth when she talked. She’d protected herself from the rain in a lengthy hooded cloak, but the hood was down right now, exposing her hair.

Long, thin, blond braids, maybe hundreds of them, had been gathered up into a ponytail that must have been heavier than coiled rope. Their color was a surprising contrast against the woman’s copper skin. Maybe she was from overseas somewhere. That would probably explain the strange tattoo curling upward along her neck.

She spat more words at the polite young woman and vanished into the rain.

Angela waited for the other woman to leave before sliding down the roof any farther.

Then she was at the edge, peering down into the street and a great puddle of water. The cobblestones shone back at her beneath the light of a hanging streetlamp—its sconce surprisingly fitted with a bulb instead of a candle. And the stones continued to shine tantalizingly back at her, smooth and beckoning. Offering death, possible oblivion, or most disappointingly, broken bones.

This really would be the last time. If she failed, then it was either murder, or the real reason she’d come to the Academy in the first place—fulfillment.

Angela tensed the muscles in her legs, preparing to jump.

What if you just survive in a bunch of little pieces? You didn’t think about that.

“Are you looking for something?”

The voice of the student with the silver slippers. Apparently, she hadn’t left. Instead she was suddenly standing in the middle of the street, a little to the left, gazing up at the porch roof and Angela, who teetered on its edge.

“You’re not going to jump?” the young woman said, her voice soft, but also carrying itself across the gap between them. “Are you?”

Damn it. Now what do I do?

Yes, Angela could still jump, but it wouldn’t be very nice to splatter herself all over the student’s shoes. Or for her to see it happen. So she backed away, edging for the window again, trying not to twist her ankle or slide off the roof and bang into the gutter. “I—um—I was leaning out the window and I dropped a ring. I think it fell into the gutter.”

The student stared back at her. Her expression was at once sympathetic and too smart for the lie. But she smiled, her tone still gentle. “I’m sorry about that. Perhaps you’ll come across it again. Are you the new student in this dormitory?”

“This dormitory?” Angela pointed back at the building.