part of him visible, rocked back and forth.
"Eh. This place used to be called the Island of Many Hills. Don't you know your own history?"
Anne stuck her tongue out at him.
"We only moved here a couple years ago, you big jerk. Chelle and I learned about North Carolina history in school." A place where it hadn't been safe to be as different as they were. As Ryan had been. She strangled the old familiar anxiety with the ease of long practice. People in the big city might care, but not enough to find out. And there were enough oddballs here that they didn't stick out.
"Big jerk, am I?" Avi's bushy eyebrows rose, his face taking on a - completely false - air of hurt innocence verging on indignation. "Big jerk?" His head disappeared, and then reappeared an instant later, bringing with it the rest of his bulk. It always surprised Anne just how short Avi actually was: no taller than Chelle. For all his lack of height, he would easily have made two of Anne's sister. "Just for that, you're going to have to show me you've learned from that fall earlier just why you don't go inside against someone male who out-masses you by half."
Anne groaned over the sound of Chelle's laughter. As Avi brought up his hands, Chelle danced away on quick feet. Anne brought up hands weary from earlier exertion and slowly circled away from her mentor. As Avi moved closer, Anne thought she saw a flash of light through the doorway into the foyer. Then Avi closed and threw a quick jab, and there was no more time for conscious thought or ominous visions, only reaction and training.
###
Anne rolled her right shoulder as she tried to keep up with her boisterous sister. Again. Hours - and ice packs, as well as a really hot shower - later, and it was still feeling stiff. She suspected it would be for at least a few days.
During their sparring match, Avi had somehow managed to get a grip on her arm. The only way out was a complex - and uncomfortable - twist that had put her arm behind her head, and used the shoulder as a fulcrum to put him off-balance.
He'd reamed her out for using it, and Anne knew she deserved it. It was the kind of trick you could pull in the studio, but would almost certainly get somebody - probably her - seriously injured in a street fight.
Her other hand rested in her jacket pocket, clenched tight around the gold coin she'd found there after practice. The thing was small - just smaller than a dime: she'd checked - but much, much heavier than any other coin she'd ever touched. Heavier than it had any right to be. Anne thought it might be solid gold.
Weird that Mike would just leave it in her pocket. Doubly weird that he'd left no real explanation why. There'd been a note wrapped around it. She'd instantly recognized one of the sticky notes that her friend used for references in his class textbooks. It said, "Just in case - M." And the big lug had only answered her questioning message with, "for luck."
If she didn't know him enough to trust him, Anne would have been pissed. She kind of was, anyway. Better to be angry than confused and fearful. When she'd unwrapped the coin, the light had caught it just right and sent a lance of golden reflection into her eyes. Instantly, all the fear and confusion from her vision had loomed large. Anne didn't know what to do about it, but keep an eye on Chelle. And see that her sister was happy.
A face full of scent jerked Anne's thoughts to a halt, and drove them from her head. Her pulse quickened, and her weight shifted forward over the balls of her feet. She just kept herself from bringing her hands up to cover her core. Smells that shouldn't be in the midst of a downtown lay heavy in her nostrils. On top of the constant sour smell of sumac lay damp moss, leafmold and - she sniffed - tarragon and sage mixed with loam. She smelled trees, as well. And - for some peculiar reason - underlying it all spread a sharp, coppery tang.
Anne looked up from her reverie and saw the door to Under Hill. Twining
"Eh. This place used to be called the Island of Many Hills. Don't you know your own history?"
Anne stuck her tongue out at him.
"We only moved here a couple years ago, you big jerk. Chelle and I learned about North Carolina history in school." A place where it hadn't been safe to be as different as they were. As Ryan had been. She strangled the old familiar anxiety with the ease of long practice. People in the big city might care, but not enough to find out. And there were enough oddballs here that they didn't stick out.
"Big jerk, am I?" Avi's bushy eyebrows rose, his face taking on a - completely false - air of hurt innocence verging on indignation. "Big jerk?" His head disappeared, and then reappeared an instant later, bringing with it the rest of his bulk. It always surprised Anne just how short Avi actually was: no taller than Chelle. For all his lack of height, he would easily have made two of Anne's sister. "Just for that, you're going to have to show me you've learned from that fall earlier just why you don't go inside against someone male who out-masses you by half."
Anne groaned over the sound of Chelle's laughter. As Avi brought up his hands, Chelle danced away on quick feet. Anne brought up hands weary from earlier exertion and slowly circled away from her mentor. As Avi moved closer, Anne thought she saw a flash of light through the doorway into the foyer. Then Avi closed and threw a quick jab, and there was no more time for conscious thought or ominous visions, only reaction and training.
###
Anne rolled her right shoulder as she tried to keep up with her boisterous sister. Again. Hours - and ice packs, as well as a really hot shower - later, and it was still feeling stiff. She suspected it would be for at least a few days.
During their sparring match, Avi had somehow managed to get a grip on her arm. The only way out was a complex - and uncomfortable - twist that had put her arm behind her head, and used the shoulder as a fulcrum to put him off-balance.
He'd reamed her out for using it, and Anne knew she deserved it. It was the kind of trick you could pull in the studio, but would almost certainly get somebody - probably her - seriously injured in a street fight.
Her other hand rested in her jacket pocket, clenched tight around the gold coin she'd found there after practice. The thing was small - just smaller than a dime: she'd checked - but much, much heavier than any other coin she'd ever touched. Heavier than it had any right to be. Anne thought it might be solid gold.
Weird that Mike would just leave it in her pocket. Doubly weird that he'd left no real explanation why. There'd been a note wrapped around it. She'd instantly recognized one of the sticky notes that her friend used for references in his class textbooks. It said, "Just in case - M." And the big lug had only answered her questioning message with, "for luck."
If she didn't know him enough to trust him, Anne would have been pissed. She kind of was, anyway. Better to be angry than confused and fearful. When she'd unwrapped the coin, the light had caught it just right and sent a lance of golden reflection into her eyes. Instantly, all the fear and confusion from her vision had loomed large. Anne didn't know what to do about it, but keep an eye on Chelle. And see that her sister was happy.
A face full of scent jerked Anne's thoughts to a halt, and drove them from her head. Her pulse quickened, and her weight shifted forward over the balls of her feet. She just kept herself from bringing her hands up to cover her core. Smells that shouldn't be in the midst of a downtown lay heavy in her nostrils. On top of the constant sour smell of sumac lay damp moss, leafmold and - she sniffed - tarragon and sage mixed with loam. She smelled trees, as well. And - for some peculiar reason - underlying it all spread a sharp, coppery tang.
Anne looked up from her reverie and saw the door to Under Hill. Twining
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