Panic Attack

 

Tenma had really only applied to the integration program because his father insisted. For the sake of the company. For the sake of the future. New Saga was supposed to be a good place for his lesser son to meet a whole new breed of influential families. Except Tenma didn’t think Amaranthine priorities ran to market shares and mergers.

His father had been pleased when Tenma’s letter of acceptance arrived, but the man barely looked beyond a few key words—elite, exclusive, unrivaled, unprecedented. Enrollment in the inaugural class would add gloss to Tenma Subaru’s vitae. But it was left to Tenma to navigate the halls of a school teeming with strangeness.

There were plenty of normal things—uniforms, shoe lockers, stairwells, club posters, and homeroom assignments. He could tell that some effort had been made to put average humans on familiar footing.

This should be thrilling. Hadn’t he been looking forward to meeting a wolf? Then why was his heart pounding, his skin prickling? Why were his palms slick and his nerves a quivering wreck?

Inhuman races. Tenma had been as thrilled as the next kid when the Emergence hit the news three years ago … almost four, now. He’d been in his last year of middle school. Impressionable. Idealistic. And clearly an idiot.

He’d never been bothered by the photos, the broadcasts, the documentaries. But seeing a Rivven on a screen was very different than sharing space with them. They were beautiful people, but wasn’t that how it worked in all the stories? Danger lurking behind a pleasing veneer. And he knew that while they might look human, they were actually animals. Somehow.

Was it too late to transfer out?

All through school, Tenma had been that slouching, awkwardly tall boy with glasses. He’d shied away from the attention his height commanded, so it was almost a relief when he realized that the majority of Amaranthine students outstripped him. But it was unnerving to look directly into inhuman eyes; their wildness fed his uneasiness.

The Rivven greeted him with polite nods and peaceful expressions.

So graceful. Even gracious.

Still, his anxiety mounted as he climbed stairs.

Nerves made him hyper-sensitive to signs of danger. Many of the Rivven had fangs or claws, and some retained animalistic features. Like the wolves and their tails. And Tenma was sure he’d spotted a pair of antlers disappearing around a corner.

Maybe he should latch onto a reaver. They were supposed to be able to contain a Rivven, keep humanity safe, things like that. Once he started looking for them, he realized that there were just as many of these so-called guardians of humanity walking through the halls.

And reason finally asserted itself.

Equal parts. Evenly divided. Evenly matched?

Humans outnumbered the Rivven two-to-one.

Tenma calmed enough to scan room numbers, but he refrained from looking into any more sets of the strange eyes. Which worked all right, up until 3-C’s homeroom teacher announced that they’d be dividing into three-person teams.

Suddenly, the whole mood in the room changed, and the Rivven began to prowl. Tenma was quite sure there was sniffing, and he felt a sudden, frantic need to run. Panic was building and boiling in his gut, and it looked to be even odds whether he would kick off the school year by passing out or vomiting.

And then someone stopped at his table. Tenma froze—head down, fists on knees, staring at the tabletop—as a clawed hand lifted the chair opposite and came around to set it beside his. Too close!

The person sat and said, “Now that I’m here, the others will stay away.”

Male. Tenma stole a look and swallowed hard. He was shoulder-to-shoulder with a Rivven who was easily as tall as he was. Tanned skin and reddish-brown hair mostly gathered in a braid. His face was averted, and a thicket of framing waves hid his expression. But Tenma could see his hands just fine. They rested quietly on the table, tipped by claws that were probably as sharp as they looked.

Tenma may have been hyperventilating.

“You seem to be sensitive to our presence,” the Rivven said softly. “In much the same way we are aware of reavers. That’s what’s triggering your flight instinct.”

He couldn’t get his voice to work right. Had he whimpered?

“You’re safe,” soothed his companion. “No one here would ever harm you.”

It made sense. Of course it made sense. But Tenma felt trapped.

“I can help you. Do you know anything about sigils?”

Tenma shook his head.

“If you’re willing, I can create a simple ward.”

The Rivven spoke slowly, as if to a frightened child. But Tenma couldn’t bring himself to protest the patronization. The concepts were so foreign. He risked a longer look, hanging on every word.

“I’m pretty good with defensive barriers, and I think you could use one.” The Rivven turned his way, enough for Tenma to see his face, but he didn’t raise his eyes. “May I borrow a piece of paper?”

Tenma reached for his bag. His hands were shaking, but he managed to locate a notebook.

“Set it on the table. And … might I also borrow a writing implement?”

Not until Tenma had set a mechanical pencil beside his notebook did the Rivven move his hands. Slow and precise, he creased a page and tore out a wide strip. “So you don’t know anything about sigils?”

“N-no.”

“I’ve heard this sort of thing called magic by humans.” He swiftly drew a pattern on the paper—detailed and delicate. Then he placed one finger at its center. “Perhaps it is.”

The air seemed to shiver, and then it … cleared. Tenma hadn’t noticed the clamor until it was gone, like the sudden silencing of cicadas on a summer’s day. He peered dazedly around the room.

“Better?” The Rivven was quietly folding that miraculous slip of paper.

Tenma mumbled, “Thank you.”

He nodded, then slid the sigil his way. Returning his hands to their neutral position on the table, he said, “Keep it in your pocket. Or sew it into an omamori, if you’d rather carry a charm.”

“How did you know what to do?”

“My uncle has been teaching me about wards. I adapted one that some Amaranthine use when they find a reaver’s presence overwhelming.”

“Oh.” The pall of danger had vanished, to be replaced by deepening mortification. “I’m sorry.”

His classmate turned, and Tenma was staring into inhuman eyes. Only instead of unsettling him, recognition slammed him upside the head. Copper. This guy’s eyes really did shimmer like pools of liquid metal, a phrase that appeared so often in the newsfeeds, it was woefully hackneyed.

“You had everyone in here worried. The Amaranthine, anyhow.” He still spoke in that slow, soft undertone. “I don’t think Ms. Reeves noticed.”

“How did you know?”

“Scent.” He slouched a little in his seat, getting comfortable. “Fear is distinctive. And unwanted. The wolves all had their hackles up, but none of them knew how to help.”

Tenma took a longer look around the classroom. The nearest wolf’s tail was puffed out like a hissing cat’s. Concern and relief showed on several faces. Removing his glasses, Tenma rubbed at his eyes, mostly to cover his face. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Will you permit my touch?”

“Huh?” He fumbled his glasses back into place.

“For my clan, touch and trust are closely woven. It would put me at ease if you’ll allow contact.” With a faint smile, he reminded, “The meeting of palms is a traditional greeting.”

Muttering more apologies, Tenma held out his hands. Was it palm-up or palm-down? To his embarrassment, he saw that his hands were still shaking.

“Normally, the first to offer raises their palms.” He gently took Tenma’s hands, rotating them into position and covered them. “This is the simplest greeting, a basic courtesy that holds no great significance. Although the pressure and duration of the touch can lend certain nuances.”

The Rivven’s hands were larger than his. Although his touch was light, his hands lingered. And Tenma had a vague impression that this was a good thing. Like showing someone that you’re glad to see them.

“Less common is this.” He moved so his hands were cupped under Tenma’s. The Rivven’s thumbs curved around to brush lightly against Tenma’s palms. “This is an offer of support. An invitation to ask for help or for a favor. Like saying, ‘Whatever you need, it’s yours.’”

Tenma had wanted to learn things like this. He managed a shaky smile.

Those famous eyes flashed with approval, and the Rivven’s hands moved. Again their palms briefly touched, but then he shifted upward to wrap his fingers around Tenma’s wrists. “This goes beyond courtesy to commitment. Once matched, this clasp shows that two people wish to forge a close bond.”

“Like being part of a triad?”

“I offer my loyalty. And whatever else you need.”

So Tenma eased his fingers around the Rivven’s wrists and murmured, “Please.”