“Fights have broken out at Prometheus Academy before,” Strategos said. He sat behind an imposing desk in the headmaster’s office, located in the castle’s highest tower. Max thought the entire office smelled of old wood and old books. Gene, Damian, Carlos, Ollie, and he stood at attention before Strategos. “But never before classes have even begun.”

“You’ve set a new record,” Stiletto chirped. “Awesome! Well done, students. Way to make your mark. Mama’s so proud.”

Strategos twisted in his chair to look at Stiletto. She stood on the other side of the headmaster’s old-fashioned office, idly playing with a huge globe on a pedestal.

“You abated the imp threat and delivered the instigators of the incident here,” the headmaster told Stiletto. “For which you have the thanks of a grateful school. With that said, none of these students are in the Stealth Division, so any disciplinary action is not within your purview. Your presence is no longer required.”

“Nah,” Stiletto said. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away. Watching you be a disciplinarian is part of my continuing administrative education. If these students’ punishment were up to me, I’d pick the one I like the least and expel him to set an example. Fortunately, you’re more level-headed than silly little ol’ me. I have much to learn from you, sensei. Plus, I wanna stick around so I can report to the Board of Governors how fair and even-handed you are. That way, they’ll be assured this great institution is in the right hands. You know how trigger-happy they are when it comes to firing people. Those bastards.”

Max got the feeling there was a subtext to this exchange between Stiletto and Strategos that he wasn’t privy to. The narrowed eyes of Strategos’ otherwise impassive dark face reinforced Max’s feeling.

“Very well,” Strategos said. “If you insist on staying, you will at least be quiet.”

Stiletto mimed locking her lips together and throwing away the key. She spun the globe, twisting her head around and around, matching the globe’s rotations. Apparently, Max thought, she always acted nutty, even in the presence of her boss.

Or maybe it’s not an act. Maybe she’s actually crazy.

Strategos turned his attention back to the students.

“What is the unofficial motto of this institution?” he asked them.

“Keep your friends close,” Ollie drawled, “and your enemies under surveillance.”

Strategos’ black eyes swiveled to Ollie. The intimidatingly large man again reminded Max of a turkey vulture, fully capable of flapping over his desk and ripping the entrails out of the English student. The headmaster’s dead-eyed stare wiped the self-satisfied smirk off Ollie’s face.

“Was that an attempt at a joke, Mr. Sterling?”

Ollie swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Am I laughing?”

“No, sir.”

“One demerit to the Anarchy Division for your stupidity. And for attempting a joke that failed to make me laugh. At this school, we accomplish what we set out to do. Perhaps the infirmary was wrong about there being no permanent damage from your head injury.”

Strategos’ eyes swept over the rest of them.

“I’ll ask again: What is the unofficial motto of this school?”

“Don’t get caught,” Max found himself saying, nerves loosening his tongue. He had resolved to keep his mouth shut, but standing here was giving him flashbacks from the times he had been sent to the principal’s office in middle and high schools for fighting. Déjà vu all over again.

“Don’t get caught,” Strategos repeated. “The whole point of the expression is to impress upon you that society as it’s currently structured considers us criminals for daring to use our powers as we see fit. If one of us is caught using them in the real world, we go to prison, with our god-given powers suppressed.”

Strategos sighed.

“But with that said, to expect a group of superpowered young people handpicked for their antisocial tendencies to slavishly follow school rules would be like expecting an unattended group of ravenous six-year-olds to not eat a box of Girl Scout cookies. But if you must eat the cookies, you should have the good sense to wipe the crumbs off your face.”

Strategos shook his head in disgust.

“Instead of doing that, you five shined a spotlight on your crumb-filled faces. You started a fight that spun so wildly out of control, it put your entire class in danger. Arguably the entire school, as the imps might have overwhelmed us all if not for the quick action of Professor Arcane and Stiletto. You’re lucky no one was killed or irreparably injured. Mr. Washington is in the infirmary undergoing tests to ensure his body and powers are back under his control, or else he would be here as well.

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“It might interest you to know that your fellow students did not turn you in when questioned about who started the altercation. I would have been disappointed if they had. This is a school for supervillains, not superpowered informants. It was only after Professor Arcane doused a few with a truth potion that the facts about your involvement came to light.

“So, it’s clear that you five and Mr. Washington started the fight. Eyewitness testimony being inherently unreliable, what’s not clear is exactly which one of you started it. That person should bear the brunt of the blame.”

Max saw an opportunity. Maybe the headmaster planned to expel the instigator.

“It’s me. I started the fight,” Max hastened to say.

“I appreciate Max trying to shoulder the blame,” Damian interjected, “but it was me, sir. I started the fight.”

“What?! No you didn’t,” Max protested. “You were the one who tried to stop me.”

“They’re being chivalrous, headmaster,” Gene chimed in. “Trying to protect me. I did it. I hit first. Actually, it was two hits—I hit Ollie, then he hit the ground. The Limey has a glass jaw.”

“No, I don’t!” Ollie protested.

“Then how come you were out cold during the entire imp infestation, snoring to wake the dead?” Gene demanded.

Max, Damian, and Gene squabbled about who had started the fight. Strategos finally tapped his desk with a knuckle, rapping them to silence.

“The expression ‘victory has many fathers, but failure is an orphan’ doesn’t seem to apply to you three.” Strategos looked at Carlos and Ollie. “I suppose you two also want to claim credit for this debacle?”

“Not us. It’s all their fault,” Carlos said.

“Yeah, we didn’t do anything,” Ollie said. “We were just minding our own business when these troublemakers started in on us. They’re a menace.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Strategos said dryly. “Those of you in the Anarchy Division are renowned for merely being innocent bystanders whenever something goes awry at the school.”

Strategos’ lips tightened.

“Regardless of who started the fight, it did take place. And it did threaten the school. That I simply cannot abide.”

The headmaster looked at Carlos.

“Mr. Rivera, you used your powers to incapacitate the servitors. Your powers also rendered the fire suppression system inoperative. Though I hope the latter was due to your unstable Initiate-level control of your powers, not malice. Regardless, your recklessness endangered the school and its students. You and your classmates were explicitly instructed to not use your powers unsupervised until you are trained in their proper use. That edict is designed to avoid a situation precisely like the one you found yourselves in.

“As a result, I give twenty-five demerits to the Anarchy Division.”

He targeted Ollie next.

“Mr. Sterling, it seems you were unconscious for the bulk of the altercation. So I won’t give you any demerits other than the one for your earlier witticism. But remember, the school’s official slogan is ‘One is a warrior.’ Not ‘One was asleep.’ Hopefully you will not be so easily neutralized once you’re armed with the school’s combat training. I expect a better showing from you in the future.

“Mr. Blackwood, you also used your powers without authorization, but with less disastrous consequences. Five demerits to the Vigilante Division. However, you fought bravely to defeat the imps, helping to protect your fellows. Five credits to the Vigilante Division.

“Mr. Draconis, you also fought to defeat the imps, with your efforts even more impactful than Mr. Blackwood’s. Six credits to the Apex Division.”

Strategos turned to Gene.

“On the one hand, Ms. Fletcher, you also fought to protect the school from the imps. Three credits to the Henchman Division. On the other hand, it was your unauthorized use of your unmastered powers that made Mr. Washington’s body and abilities go haywire in the first place, exposing the school to the imp threat. Twenty demerits to the Henchman Division.”

Gene’s hands flew to her mouth. “Twenty demerits?! Oh no! That’s awful! What terrible, terrible news.”

She paused, frowning. Her hands dropped as she tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“Quick question,” she added. “What’s a demerit?”

Stiletto snorted. Strategos shot the Villain an acid look, then told Gene, “You will find out soon enough how the credit and demerit system works. You all are dismissed. Try not to destroy the school again. At least not until after classes start.”

Max lingered before Strategos’ desk while the other students trooped out of the office. He noticed that Stiletto lingered too. But he didn’t care. Whether she heard him or not, he was going to say what he had to say.

Strategos raised an eyebrow at him. “Something else, Mr. Blackwood?”

“I don’t know what lies Stiletto has told you about me,” the words tumbled out of Max’s mouth in his haste to say them, “but I don’t belong here. I was kidnapped. I don’t want—”

Strategos interrupted him. “Regardless of what anyone wants, here you are. And here you’ll stay. At least for now. You’re dismissed, Mr. Blackwood.”

“But—”

Stiletto grabbed Max’s arm. He hadn’t even seen her cross the room.

“Opie dear, when our fearless leader dismisses you, you’re dismissed. Those of us under his command always follow his orders. Without question, and on the bounce. Headmaster knows best. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a gazillion times. Isn’t that right, sir?” Stiletto asked Strategos in a syrupy tone.

“Indeed.” Strategos’ face was so impassive, it could’ve been carved out of wood. Max didn’t know what to make of the strange dynamic between him and Stiletto. There was thinly-veiled animosity between the two.

Stiletto frogmarched Max out of the office. He finally managed to shrug out of her grasp after they crossed the threshold. Max knew she had probably let him go, but he tried to convince himself he had overpowered her.

A bespectacled elderly woman with an angelic face sat behind a cluttered desk in the antechamber. Max had seen her on the way into Strategos’ office. How a sweet little old lady like her worked in a place like this was beyond him.

The woman smiled up beatifically at Max, offering him an open bag. “Would you like a pecan praline?”

A pecan praline was a patty-shaped candy with pecans in them, popular in the South. Max recognized the bag. This particular brand was Mississippi-based, and his Dad had often bought its candies for Max as a special treat. They were his favorite, partly because of the memories they inspired.

What were the odds of his favorite candy being on a tropical island in the middle of nowhere? Finally, a silver lining in this dark cloud of a school. Maybe the sugar would erase the taste of smoked herring from his mouth.

“Thanks!” Max said, plunging his hand into the bag.

Stiletto smacked the bag out of his hand. The candies scattered across the elderly woman’s desk.

“Don’t you know better than to take candy from a stranger?” Stiletto demanded. “Especially an old creepy one. Did you learn nothing in kindergarten?”

The Villain shot the elderly woman an inscrutable look. Grabbing his arm again, she marched Max down the hall after the others.