Chapter 10
Dervla
Rinsing off the blade in the ladies’ room, I watch pink water swirl down the drain.
The cut wasn’t deep. I know that much. He made sure of it. Controlled the angle. Controlled me. Controlled the whole fucking exchange until I was standing there with my back to the stone and my body betraying me in the worst possible way.
I shake off the excess water, then carefully dry Henrietta with a paper towel and slide her back where she belongs. My pulse is still too fast. My face is hot.
There is no sign in my reflection that ten minutes ago I had a knife at Aidan O’Connell’s throat and still came away feeling like he won.
It’s not happening again.
I leave the ladies’ room and head to Room 12.
Cautiously, I approach, waiting to see Aidan skulking, but the corridor is seemingly empty.
I don’t trust it, but I push the door to Room 12 open anyway and take in Gallagher and Roisin, waiting for me.
Gallagher is seated at a narrow seminar table with a file open in front of him, glasses low on his nose.
Roisin is perched on the edge of a desk by the window, one boot hooked around a chair leg.
No robes. No candlelight. Just fluorescent bulbs and old wood and the stale smell of chalk.
“Ms Callaghan,” Gallagher says. “Do come in.”
“As my attendance is apparently never optional, here I am.”
Roisin’s mouth twitches. Gallagher closes the file and folds his hands over it. “Take a seat.”
I don’t. “I got a text. It said Apex. Since it’s not self-explanatory, maybe start there.”
Gallagher studies me for a second. “You were placed first.”
“That means what, exactly?”
“It means,” Roisin says, hopping down from the desk, “that every student in the hierarchy now answers to you in theory, and will test you in practice.”
“Lovely. Sounds healthy.”
“It is efficient,” Gallagher says.
“Right. Like handcuffing me to a chair and asking if I murdered my father was efficient?”
A flicker moves across his face. Annoyance, maybe. “That portion of the evening exceeded its remit.”
“Is that your academic way of saying someone overstepped?”
“Yes.”
I laugh once, sharply. “Good to know there are standards.”
Roisin folds her arms. “There are. They’re just fucked.”
That nearly gets a smile out of me, which is irritating. “So, what else? Do I get a badge and get to tell people off for walking on the grass?”
“No. There are no special privileges that come with this. It is a social hierarchy, Ms Callaghan. What you do with it, is entirely up to you.”
That gives me pause. “So I could do nothing with it and just carry on?”
“If you so choose. However, I would advise against it. There are people here who love to challenge the strongest of the herd.”
“What makes me the strongest, exactly?” I leap on this because surely it’s not just who can do the obstacle course the fastest.
Gallagher sits back in his chair. “Not one thing. A composite. Speed under pressure. Decision-making. Adaptability. Pain tolerance. Restraint.”
“Restraint?” I bark out a laugh. “That’s generous.”
“You were armed before you entered. You surrendered the blade when instructed. You were baited repeatedly and did not escalate beyond language. You completed the gauntlet despite injury and fear. You endured questioning without giving away anything you did not intend to give away. That is restraint.”
Roisin tilts her head. “Also, you didn’t cry in front of them, which, depressingly, counts for a lot around here.”
I snort. I’m starting to like her, and it annoys me. “I’ll add it to my CV.”
Gallagher ignores that. “Apex is not ceremonial. It establishes perception. Perception becomes influence. Influence becomes power if the person holding it is capable.”
“And if they’re not?”
“Then they are devoured.”
“Charming place you run.”
“It predates me.”
“Convenient excuse.”
His mouth goes flat. “You are free to reject the ranking.”
That catches me. “Am I?”
“Yes. Publicly, if you wish. It would be unusual, but not impossible.”
“And what happens if I do?”
Roisin answers this time. “You’d look weak, the challengers would come harder, especially Aidan O’Connell, the student whom you knocked off the top spot.”
“Especially?” I repeat. “You say that like he’s got a formal complaint lodged.”
“Especially Aidan O’Connell,” Roisin repeats. “He won’t sulk about it. He’ll use it.”
“I’m thrilled for him.” I finally pull out a chair and sit, mostly because my knee is screaming at me like a bitch, and I don’t want either of them noticing. “So, this little hierarchy. Who enforces it?”
Gallagher steeples his fingers. “It is self-enforcing.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning people believe in it, so it becomes real.”
“Jesus. That’s bleak.”
“That’s institutions,” he says.
I look between them. “And what, exactly, am I expected to do now that I’m apparently queen of the feral little social order?”
Roisin grins. “Try not to get bitten.”
“People will come to you now who would not have looked at you twice yesterday.”
“Because they respect me?”
“No,” Gallagher says evenly. “Because they fear irrelevance.”
Fair. At least he’s honest when it suits him.
“Then let’s move straight to the part where you tell me why I was summoned in secret instead of just emailed.”
Gallagher opens the file again and slides a sheet across the table. “Because there are names you should know before they decide to introduce themselves.”
I take the page with my left hand. It’s a list. No headings. Just names I already recognise from whispers and one encounter I would like to erase with acid.
Aidan O’Connell.
Declan Finnegan.
Cormac Byrne.
Roisin Brennan.
Troy Kavanagh.
I look up slowly. “Okay.”
“That’s your immediate problem set,” Roisin says.
“You’ve put your own name on it.”
“I know. I’m very self-aware.”
My gaze drops back to the page. Five names. Four, if I ignore the fact that Roisin is standing right there looking far too comfortable about being classified as a problem.
“Troy Kavanagh doesn’t belong on the same page as the others,” I say.
Gallagher watches me over the rim of his glasses. “No. He belongs lower. Which makes him more dangerous in certain circumstances.”
“Because he bites at ankles?”
“Because he resents displacement,” Gallagher says. “You displaced him from your house. You displaced O’Connell from Apex. Men with entitlement and a grievance are tiresome. Men with both and no discipline are hazardous.”
Roisin gives a little shrug. “Troy is exactly the type to smile in public and do something feral in private. Don’t underestimate him because he isn’t as polished.”
“I don’t underestimate anyone,” I say. “It’s exhausting, but it keeps me alive.”
Gallagher taps the list once. “Good. Then listen carefully. O’Connell is strategic. Byrne is direct. Finnegan is unpredictable only to people who haven’t studied him long enough. Brennan is useful when she chooses to be and dangerous when she doesn’t. Kavanagh is opportunistic.”
“Useful summary. Did you bring me in here to hand out trading cards?”
Roisin laughs. Gallagher does not.
“I brought you in,” he says, “because Apex creates attention. Attention invites approach. Some approaches will be obvious. Others will be disguised as help. You need to distinguish between them quickly.”
I fold the page once. “You mean the three of them.”
Gallagher’s eyes sharpen. “I mean anyone.”
“But also them.”
He says nothing, which is an answer enough.
Roisin pushes off the desk and comes to stand beside the table. “Aidan will come at you straight if he thinks it benefits him. Declan will come at you when you’re bleeding and act like it’s practical. Cormac will just decide something and call it law. None of that means they’re your friends.”
The word lands oddly. Flat. Incomplete.
“No shit,” I mutter. I fold the page again, smaller this time, and hand it back to Gallagher. “You’re all talking around something. If I’m Apex, if this hierarchy matters, if these five are my immediate problem set, then say the rest.”
Gallagher studies me. “Very well. You are now a focal point. People will attempt to attach themselves to you, provoke you, discredit you, seduce you, test you, and use your name to strengthen their own position. There is also the other thing.”
“Which is?”
He and Roisin share a look that completely excludes me.
“The Board seat,” he says eventually.
“You mean my dad’s.” I clench my jaw too tightly.
He gives a brief nod. “There are four weeks until the challenge opens up. Two weeks after that, the position must be filled.”
“And?” I sit stiffly, waiting for the guillotine to drop.
“And Aidan is one of them,” Roisin says. “If you—and this is your business, not ours—decide to put your name forward for the seat, know you will come up against the very person you just displaced as Apex.”
If. No, that would be when, and when I get that seat, I’m going to burn you all to the ground and this antiquated institution with it. “Noted,” I say and stand up abruptly, wanting to get out of here before they suspect my true motives.
“Be wise, Ms Callaghan,” Gallagher says, also standing up.
“Always,” I say, my blood ice cold at the very words my dad used to say to me. I stalk out without another word and see Aidan loitering outside the classroom.
Okay, he’s not loitering. That implies skulking and creepiness. Two things he doesn’t do. He is standing opposite the door, not touching the wall, his hands in his pockets as he stares intently at me as I exit the room.
“Go away,” I say, trying not to look at the cut on his neck.
“No.” He falls into step beside me.
“You really have an issue with being told what to do, don’t you?”
“Don’t you? I think most people like us do.”
“People like us? And what are we like?”
He doesn’t reply. It was rhetorical anyway.
I keep walking, fast enough that my knee complains. He matches me without effort, which makes me want to kick him in the shin. Hard.