hands there, one of his hands just flying for the pen. Fingers of shadow would grab the pen. He imagined it, one step at a time, exactly how it should happen.
“What are you doing?” Cordinox asked. “How are you approaching this problem?”
“I’m trying to reach it, to make the shadow stuff take your pen.”
“Let your soul do the work.” The demon made it sound easy.
“My soul?”
“A human learns to fight by training the body, by learning conscious strategies. They learn to duck, riposte, slash, aim. We’re different. We fight by instinct, because our souls know what to do without training or education. For you it’s just a matter of learning to listen to that part of yourself.”
“Great.”
“Now try again. And don’t think about it too much. If your brain’s too loud, your muscles won’t hear your instincts.”
Timothy tried it again. He tried not to think. For a moment he had his hands at his sides; then he swung out with one hand, his palm aimed at Cordinox. He didn’t think about it, yet he didn’t need to. A rope of shadow erupted from the base of his palm and soared for the pen. Already across the room, Timothy’s spike jabbed down through Cordinox’s hand, and the pen jerked back to Timothy’s chest, a little sting before it fell to the floor. Timothy threw out his other hand, trying not to think, just to act. His demon soul knew what to do, translated the unspoken desires, and a tendril snatched up the pen before Cordinox could reach down for it.
“That’s the joy of instinct. You already know how to do it.”
“Now what?”
“Nothing,” Cordinox said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re ready to work with us.”
“That’s it?” Timothy had expected a lot more than a fifteen-minute lesson.
“That’s it. Give it some time and you’ll learn how to use your abilities more effectively, but for the moment we have someone we need to find, so now you know how to defend yourself. Everyone tends to work pretty independently. Stay out of the way and you should be okay. Just remember, Morgon probably wouldn’t stop if you got in the way of his fist.”
“Thanks.”
“C’mon,” Cordinox said with half a wave back to the door. Timothy followed him again and back into the public parts of the mall. Moments later they were surrounded by teenagers shopping, guys and girls bored because they lived in Sacramento.
“See Isis?”
“No,” Timothy said. “Where?”
“At the other end of the promenade.” Cordinox pointed past hundreds of people. Squinting, Timothy couldn’t even see the department store marquis so far away. Everything blurred and disappeared together, stores and people and lights and sound mixed together in the chaos of Arden Fair Mall.
“See her the same way you saw me.”
Timothy tried to let go to just stare into nothing, the same way he first saw the red spark of Cordinox’s eyes. Everything melted together, so he didn’t see anything in particular. His vision focused on a cone where motion danced and spiraled at the edges. Then he saw light, a spark that grew until he saw a feminine silhouette, a young woman made of light.
“I see someone, someone made of light.”
“Isis,” Cordinox said. “That’s why she can shape shift so easily. She’s just light.”
Isis leaned against the railing of the second level, something far away he could barely see. “She’s got the angel,” Cordinox said. “I don’t wish to walk, do you?” But before Timothy could answer, Cordinox reached out, grabbed Timothy’s shoulder, and a wave of nausea punched his stomach.
Groaning, his eyes locked shut to block out the feeling of empty swish beneath his ribs. Then he forced his eyes open and saw they weren’t in the same spot, “What did you do?”
“Translation,” he said. “Instant movement from one spot to another. I jumped us here.” That came out like bragging.
Timothy let go of his stomach, trying to stand straight as Isis spun around and
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