Page 22 of Icarus

Icarus shrugged. “Yeah, it’s only been a few days. I’m sure I’ll get used to it and it won’t be a problem in class anymore.”

Mrs. Drake turned to her computer to figure him out. “Well, I haven’t gotten anything from the other teachers about you, so you can feel free to use the cot. But while you’re here, is there anything else you might need to talk about?”

There absolutely was, but Icarus instantly regretted his hesitation. He knew he had to say something, and something truthful or she would start digging.

“I’m . . . uh . . . anxious about what I’m going to be doing after graduation.” That sounded safe. “I’m not sure what kind of jobs I’d be good at and it’s . . . stressing me out.”

“Oh! That’s not a problem. I can set you up with a meeting with the post-secondary coach and he can advise you on college programs and trade schools. We can talk about it if you want. But discussion needs action like a cake needs salt,” she said chipperly. “Want me to set an alarm for you?”

“Yes, please.” Icarus got up and slung his backpack next to the cot. He took off his sweater and rolled it up into a pillow, then pulled the curtain shut around him.

He could hear Mrs. Drake take her sandwich back out, and let the crinkling and the hum of the boiler put him to sleep.

When the alarm rang, Icarus had a new hall pass and a meeting with the college coach that he had no intention of attending.

He didn’t need it. He already had his occupation.

Rise

When Icarus got home, he threw together a lasagna and went to pick out his outfit.

Normally, Icarus wore Chelsea boots to school, but he did have tennis shoes. His gray corduroys had the most stretch for climbing, but they were too bright. He settled on navy blue chinos and just decided to be thankful they weren’t jeans.

Icarus had a wool beanie that he had cut eye holes into years ago when he had to do a job and his balaclava was in the wash. He could probably roll it down in an emergency to shield his face, though it wouldn’t be much use if Mr. Black grabbed him.

Icarus wore climbing gloves when he had to scale exteriors, but they just looked too professional, so instead he decided to tape his fingers with foam flex tape.

It wasn’t the most . . . fashionable . . . outfit. Helios had only ever seen him in his insulated tights, tactical jacket, mask, and socks. So, he’d probably assume that however Icarus was dressed tonight was how he dressed all the time. This bothered Icarus more than he’d like to admit.

Angus scanned him from head to toe when Icarus settled down at the dinner table.

“You’re going out tonight?”

Icarus nodded, but kept quiet.

Angus made a gruff noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t ask any more questions.

Light

Icarus rubbed his hands together and looked at the side of the Black mansion. This was going to hurt.

Helios’s room was on the third floor, which meant three stories without gloves, rope, or protective padding. Icarus clenched his hands into fists and let them go, spreading his fingers out wide, then took a deep breath and jumped. His fingertips caught the familiar jut of the first-floor window and he swung the bottom of his body up to brace himself on the wall.

There were large trees on this side of the building, so he always entered from here and made his way wherever he needed in the house. The second floor had the easiest entrance, and the first was the hardest. The third was somewhere in the middle.

The wind rustled the leaves around him, loud enough to cover the scrape of his shoes against the brick. His fingers were already smarting from the uneven pressure of holding himself up. Icarus turned and reached out for the thick tree branch that you could only reach from fifteen feet up and with a sigh of relief, slithered onto it. He glanced down at the freefall beneath him, and then back up to the dark closed window.

Climbing the tree was much easier. Bark was worse on his hands than brick or siding, but at least if he fell, he would probably hit a branch and have a chance to catch himself, as opposed to just clean sailing right to the ground.

He slid up a weaker branch and edged toward the end of it, just managing to grip the bottom of Helios’s windowsill. With a strength he was sure Luca would be jealous of, Icarus dug his elbows into the brick to brace his feet on the vertical surface once more. Then he hoisted himself up until the tips of his toes were on the sill. The curtain was half drawn and the room was completely dark.

Normally, with his gloves, rope, and gear, he’d be able to hook himself to the outside so that he could use both hands to pry the window lock open and let himself in. But now if he leaned back at all, he would go hurtling twenty-five feet down. He pulled his pointer finger away from the window frame and tapped quietly on the glass.

The wind blew hard and he closed his eyes, hair whipping around his face, as he tightened his grip and tried not to fall.

Rush

The window creaked quietly as Helios opened it with a dour expression. It shifted quickly to alarm as Icarus reached out and grabbed his forearm tight.