“Nicely done,” I whispered, felt its acknowledgment, its pride. Then we were moving again.
A flip of the dagger, then forward slashes. Left, right, up would have done plenty of damage to an opponent. Then, much to my surprise, we were turning a side handspring, dagger tucked in, and landed in a classic fighting position. Body angled to prevent full frontal strikes, muscles warming, heart beating faster withthe movement—and the thrill of it. The monster’s origin was unknown, but I was decidedly vampire. And vampires loved to fight.
How had it learned these moves? I’d probably seen someone practice them—my four years at Maison Dumas had involved hand-to-hand and weapons training—but I couldn’t remember having executed them before. Not like this—like katas in a martial arts practice.
“What were you?” I asked it, half-afraid of its answer—and the revelations or obligations that would follow it. But it dismissed the question, flipped the dagger into its left hand, and struck out again. Dagger strike, high kick. Dagger strike, crescent kick. Dagger strike, side kick. All good moves. Moves I might need to try.
The shadow of emotion I sensed from it was mostly condescension. Because, I was slow to realize, that was exactly the point. It wasn’t just stretching or exercising, or working out anger. It was trying to remind me, like flipping back through those lessons I’d learned in Paris. Because I had foes to face tonight. We both had foes. And the monster knew that if I was gone, it was gone, too.
“Okay,” I whispered, pausing for a moment to open my eyes, to watch and listen for movement. And when I was sure the loft was still dark, still quiet, I closed my eyes again. And instead of trying towatchwhat the monster was doing, I tried to just feel it.
Sweep down with the dagger into a spin, bring the dagger up again. Block an invisible strike with the forearm, sweep left with the dagger. Pivot, crouch to avoid a high strike, back kick.
The movements began to blend, each strike flowing into the next. It was like flying, total freedom from gravity, from limitations. A dance of magic and strength and speed. And with the two of us together, a finesse I didn’t think I’d had before.
And then a side kick, and glass exploded, and the noise was tremendous. I rushed back to the surface of my mind like a swimmer who’d been down too long, gulping in air, and looked around.
I’d knocked over the damned recycling.
I’d gotten too close to the island and kicked over a small bin I’d filled the night before with empty bottles. Glass, still sticky with the dregs of beer, lay scattered on the floor like a mosaic.
There was running down the hall.Go,I urged it, and looked down at my bare feet. I was trapped in a circle of my own making.
Lulu ran into the room, still in her pajama bottoms and tank. “What the hell happened?”
Back,I ordered silently, because I could still feel it pacing. It had enjoyed the fight and didn’t want to go back now. But we had no choice.
Back,I demanded, putting every ounce of power and glamour I could manage into the command.Before you get us both kicked out.
Finally, it receded.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was practicing some katas for tonight, but I screwed up my aim on a kick and knocked over the damn bin.”
Lulu surveyed the room like a cop reviewing a crime scene, and I all but held my breath while she did it. But then she sighed and walked to the kitchen, righted the bin, and began putting glass chunks into it. “You’re barefoot,” she said. “Stay where you are. I’ll get this. Kicking is for the gym, not the loft.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Last thing you need is stitches before you go to the principal’s office.”
I snorted, because she was right. That was exactly how it felt. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“So I don’t freak out about it, yes.”
I looked back at her, saw the worry in her eyes. And felt immediately guilty that I’d missed that last night—and had been entertaining a monster of indeterminate supernatural origin in the meantime.
“It’s going to be fine,” I said.
“You can’t promise that,” she said. “And they aren’t here totake your word for it that you’ll be a good little vampire. Misogynist pricks. They’re going to pick a fight with you.”
“I know. I promise I won’t take any unnecessary risks, and I won’t be going out there alone. Arrogant as they may be, there’s only so much they can do.” Or so I hoped. I looked back at her. “Where are you going tonight?”
“To hang with Mateo at the furnace. Why?”
“Stay with him, stay away from the loft, until you hear from me. Just in case.”
“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’d thought about staying the night over there.”
I lifted my brows. “Staying at Mateo’s?”