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I count five of the other students in total, and it takes no time at all for the gremlins to hunt them down, dragging them back from the staircase and slamming them into the adjacent wall. Each gremlin has his own student to deal with, and soon the rest of the gremlins are joining in until every fight becomes two-on-one.
Punches are thrown, legs are kicked. The gremlins attack until each student plummets to the floor like a heavy bag of cement. I can’t tear my eyes away from the carnage in the corridor — at least, not until a body goes flying from the classroom, landing a foot away from Luke, and Finlay bangs through the door, thudding his shinty stick into the stone floor with a broad, sinister smile.
Danny guides Luke away from the danger zone as Callum scrambles backward, scuttling on his hands and feet like a crab desperate to get away from Finlay. Finlay bends low, windmilling the shinty stick behind him until it arcs through the air with the intent of colliding hard and fast with Callum. I brace myself for impact, unable to look any longer. But when I open my eyes, Callum’s hands tremble against the stick bearing down on him, his face a pained grimace as he struggles to upright himself and shift the stick away from his body.
Finlay laughs down at him. “Aye, that’s right. Start sweatin’, ya hairy wee bawsack.” He presses down on the stick a little, acting against the pressure from Callum, and Callum’s arms almost collapse to the floor.
He’s toying with him, I realize. Finlay could end this fight in seconds, but he wants the agony prolonged. He wants someone to play with, to make an example of, to torture…
And Rory stands behind him, ever cool, his arms folded across his chest and leaning casually against the wall, his gray eyes almost black with approval.
“Ye’re weaker than I gave ye credit for,” Finlay snipes. “Christ, Wells, is this a’ ye’vegot? Puny wee arms like that? I’d be black-affronted.” He bends down and grabs the front of Callum’s white school shirt, hauling him up with seemingly little effort. “Get up, ye sack o’ shit. This is whit ye wanted, is it no’, when ye provoked us? So sort yerself oot andfight.”
Callum struggles to his knees, and it looks as though it takes all of Finlay’s resolve to stop himself from swinging the shinty stick and blowing Callum’s head clean off.
“This is what you do,” Callum mutters, stumbling to his feet, and his words aren’t for Finlay but Rory lounging against the wall. “Get your slaves to bully me for standing up for myself and everyone else in this school who’s too afraid to go against you.” He spits harshly on the floor, which Rory eyes with distaste.
“Wells, you can’t even fight one of us,” Rory points out in a measured voice, then rolls up his shirt sleeves. “But if youinsiston using up what little mercy I’ve been holding out for you, then by all means, let’s make it two-on-one.”
“Wouldn’t be your first time,” Callum sneers, and it’s like the world around us grows muffled from a blanket of silence.
Rory lifts himself off the wall and slowly approaches Callum. “What was that?” Rory asks, his tone low.
For some reason, Callum isn’t quite as brave when Rory’s standing right in front of him. His eyes dart to the side like a scolded child, unable to look at Rory, and he mutters, “You heard me.”
“And what did itmean?”
Callum shrugs, quiet now like he’s lost his voice. Finlay’s eyes flick across to Rory. He swings the shinty stick so suddenly that Callum flinches, but Finlay only places it over his shoulder like a flag-bearer.
“You have no courage in your beliefs,” Rory remarks casually. “I can’t believe how weak you’ve become without me.”
“Your girlfriend,” Callum bites out, and I narrow my eyes at him, wondering why the hell I’m being dragged into this. He pitches his voice lower still, continuing to sneer at Rory, and mutters with a triumphant curl of his lip, “Yourboyfriend.”
Rory’s expression doesn’t even flicker. “And?”
Callum’s eyes widen. “So you admit it? You’re a fucking queer.”
My heart misses a beat. There’s a vicious gleam on Callum’s face.
“Let’s make one thing clear,” Rory says quietly, as his gremlins continue to beat the shit out of Callum’s associates, the air filled with weak shaky groans and swift booted kicks. He places a firm hand on Callum’s shoulder, and Callum jerks away as though burned. “I neveradmitanything.”
“We have a complete gaylord ruling the school.” Callum’s mouth twists. “Your father’s going to gonuts.”
“If you see him, please tell him all you think you know about me.” Rory’s eyes flash at the very idea. “I’dloveto hear his response.”
Over Callum’s head, Rory gives Finlay a silent nod.
And Finlay goes to town.
One blow and then the other, with his fists rather than the stick. An upswing, a cruel cut, of knuckles against cheekbones. Rory watches the scene impassively through those dark gray eyes of his, eyes that glitter like he wants more carnage, more destruction — he wants Callum Wells to pay.
Standing off to the side, Luke observes the punishment meted out to his attacker with a small frown. Danny sticks by his side like glue, a knight ready to leap into battle whenever his name is called. And down the hallway, the shouts and cries of the gremlins’ victims intensify.
I’m in the middle of all this, and it feels like a trainwreck I can’t peel myself away from. It’s all so typically, brutishly male, how the threat of fear is cast as their magic — a spell, an enchantment, to make others repent, to make someone do their bidding, to bewitch them into acting out of character. The process of negotiations and civilized talk is nothing but a falsehood, a glamor, a delaying tactic before the truth pools out. Because deep down, every male knows this is how you settle a score. In the very end, this is how men and boys get even. With bare fists and bright blood and the raw, elevated violence that spikes their veins. And as ugly as it is, as brutal as it always will be, the power of it is in its simplicity, its purity. Not everyone comprehends or wishes to indulge in the pretense of a battle of wits, but everyone understands the threat of a blow to the head.
“Fancy gettin’ stuck in, D-boy?” Finlay asks Danny with a bright, beaming grin as Callum’s lip bursts open, blood arcing through the air. “Auld time’s sake?”
Luke puts a stop to this idea in an instant. “He stands by me.”
“Istand by you. It’s why I’m daein’ this — foryou.”
And as if to prove the depth of his loyalty to Luke, Finlay picks Callum up bodily, wrapping fingers around his throat. Callum’s face is a twitching mess, reddened by Finlay’s knuckles, and his right eye seems unable to open. He’s hauled over to the stairway, his lower back pressed against the wooden handrail, forcing Callum to lean back at a severe angle, the ground floor one sick drop away and ready to swallow him whole. For a swift, horrible moment I wonder if Finlay’s lost his mind in indulging his bloodlust and thirst to prove himself. The battles around us quieten as the gremlins observe their elder, because this was never on the cards. Murder had never been mentioned as an option.
“You wanted tae hit Luke wi’ a wee bit o’ metal?” Finlay asks in a mocking tone, his words a soft croon in Callum’s ear. Callum struggles helplessly, wriggling against the wooden railing as his body curves and hinges over it. It takes every effort not to watch from between my fingers. “Let’s see how ye look when a giant bunch o’ metal hitsyou.”
We’re on the fourth floor. From their angle, I realize the metallic sculpture of the lion and the unicorn must be right beneath Callum, expensively solid and filled with sharp, lethal angles. Callum squirms in Finlay’s grasp, tilting his face away from the drop, but Finlay merely slams on his chest, pushing backward so that Callum arches further across the banister. He turns to look at the descent, his dark hair sticking to his pale, clammy forehead, and I swear I see angry tears glitter at the base of his swollen eye.
Finlay just smiles.
