out a bunch of new moves—a whole repertoire that had me focused wholly on movement, movement, movement. He had me on the rails, had me reacting, responding to his attack—and that’s not how to win a fight.
I willed my breath to slow. I concentrated on it, forcing my movements to match it. From there, I could see the pattern of the fight—like a grand-master chess player seeing ten moves ahead. Movement with purpose , my old tutor Akaros would tell me. The purpose had to be mine, had to be defined by me—not my opponent.
I moved faster, thrust harder. I used all of my body, the staff an extension of it. The staff became me.
In less than a minute I had James on the mat, the butt of my staff pressed (lightly) against his windpipe. He slapped his open palm on the ground. I stepped back, swinging the staff to rest against my arm. James jumped up, a wicked grin on his face. I knew mine was as dark as a thundercloud without even looking in the mirror to my right.
“How’d you like that, princess?” He had a big grin on his face, the kind Lucy called a “shit-eating” grin. I felt powerless in the face of such a smile, and busted up laughing.
“Where the hell did all that come from? You been watching Deadliest Warrior or something?”
“Better,” James said, taking my staff and putting it in the jar along with his own. “Longinus has been teaching me.”
I jerked back as if I’d been struck, but the blow wasn’t physical. “Longinus.” That the ancient warrior would train my friend, would allow him to become mixed up in this life most of us had no choice in, felt like a betrayal.
Miri snickered behind me. “I’ve been dying to tell you—but they swore me to secrecy.”
I gave her a burning, E tu Brutus? glare, but she only shrugged.
“Yeah, and he’s teaching me, too.” She said the last in the barest of whispers, but of course I’d heard her.
“Huh.” What was left of my humor whisked out of me like a draft under a basement door. I didn’t know why, but my loneliness ratcheted up several degrees.
“Show me,” I said in an effort to cover up my weird feelings.
Miri laughed a short staccato—her self-conscious laugh. James took her hand and pulled her to the center of the room, while I took up Miri’s post by the wall. I folded my arms and watched them drop into a guarding stance.
“I just taught her a couple basic defensive moves,” James said. He spoke to me, but his eyes smiled at Miri. A tight knot of loss clenched inside my heart. No one would ever again smile at me like that.
James lunged forward with a punch aimed at Miri’s head and she laughed self-consciously while she caught his arm mid-swing, hooked a hand around his neck and pretended to knee him in the nose.
“Good,” James said so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
“Good,” I echoed.
“You mean it?” Miri dropped her hands to look at me, her expression so open and hopeful it startled me. Without intending too, I let my consciousness skim hers—she was more worried about my approval than James’. She wanted me to be proud.
“I’m proud of you,” I said. I added a smile and Miri grinned, turning back to James.
“Do the kick one,” she said, raising her hands into the guard position. James laughed and shook his head, but obliged.
They went through a few more techniques, all of them carefully advanced by James and slowly and clumsily defended by Miri. I watched them as if from a distance, my feelings a jumble of good and bad and indifferent. Pretty much everything was upside down—I should feel good where I felt bad, bad where I felt good. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
When James landed on his back from Miri’s low whip kick, I pushed off from the wall. “Hey, I’ve gotta get ready. Catch ya later, ’k?” I didn’t wait for their answer, just turned and headed down the hall to my room. They’d be okay without me. They already were.
chapter eleven
Three hours
I willed my breath to slow. I concentrated on it, forcing my movements to match it. From there, I could see the pattern of the fight—like a grand-master chess player seeing ten moves ahead. Movement with purpose , my old tutor Akaros would tell me. The purpose had to be mine, had to be defined by me—not my opponent.
I moved faster, thrust harder. I used all of my body, the staff an extension of it. The staff became me.
In less than a minute I had James on the mat, the butt of my staff pressed (lightly) against his windpipe. He slapped his open palm on the ground. I stepped back, swinging the staff to rest against my arm. James jumped up, a wicked grin on his face. I knew mine was as dark as a thundercloud without even looking in the mirror to my right.
“How’d you like that, princess?” He had a big grin on his face, the kind Lucy called a “shit-eating” grin. I felt powerless in the face of such a smile, and busted up laughing.
“Where the hell did all that come from? You been watching Deadliest Warrior or something?”
“Better,” James said, taking my staff and putting it in the jar along with his own. “Longinus has been teaching me.”
I jerked back as if I’d been struck, but the blow wasn’t physical. “Longinus.” That the ancient warrior would train my friend, would allow him to become mixed up in this life most of us had no choice in, felt like a betrayal.
Miri snickered behind me. “I’ve been dying to tell you—but they swore me to secrecy.”
I gave her a burning, E tu Brutus? glare, but she only shrugged.
“Yeah, and he’s teaching me, too.” She said the last in the barest of whispers, but of course I’d heard her.
“Huh.” What was left of my humor whisked out of me like a draft under a basement door. I didn’t know why, but my loneliness ratcheted up several degrees.
“Show me,” I said in an effort to cover up my weird feelings.
Miri laughed a short staccato—her self-conscious laugh. James took her hand and pulled her to the center of the room, while I took up Miri’s post by the wall. I folded my arms and watched them drop into a guarding stance.
“I just taught her a couple basic defensive moves,” James said. He spoke to me, but his eyes smiled at Miri. A tight knot of loss clenched inside my heart. No one would ever again smile at me like that.
James lunged forward with a punch aimed at Miri’s head and she laughed self-consciously while she caught his arm mid-swing, hooked a hand around his neck and pretended to knee him in the nose.
“Good,” James said so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
“Good,” I echoed.
“You mean it?” Miri dropped her hands to look at me, her expression so open and hopeful it startled me. Without intending too, I let my consciousness skim hers—she was more worried about my approval than James’. She wanted me to be proud.
“I’m proud of you,” I said. I added a smile and Miri grinned, turning back to James.
“Do the kick one,” she said, raising her hands into the guard position. James laughed and shook his head, but obliged.
They went through a few more techniques, all of them carefully advanced by James and slowly and clumsily defended by Miri. I watched them as if from a distance, my feelings a jumble of good and bad and indifferent. Pretty much everything was upside down—I should feel good where I felt bad, bad where I felt good. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
When James landed on his back from Miri’s low whip kick, I pushed off from the wall. “Hey, I’ve gotta get ready. Catch ya later, ’k?” I didn’t wait for their answer, just turned and headed down the hall to my room. They’d be okay without me. They already were.
chapter eleven
Three hours
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