The armory’s floor space had been kept completely clear. For sparring? I kind of thought I was about to find out. Raoul strode across the battered wooden floor to one corner of the room, lifted from its moorings a sheath holding a curved blade similar to the one I’d been clutching in my dream. Prophetic, huh?
“This shamshir was forged by an Amanha Szeya,” he told me as he pulled it free and handed me a shining silver blade that felt like it had been made for my hand. As I marveled at the balance he said, “That means it can kill a
nefralim
.”
He moved to the drawers next, taking from them a suit of black body armor. It weighed almost nothing. But Raoul assured me it could stop a bullet, though the force of the impact would still throw me to the ground. “Not that you have to worry about that from the Magistrate. It’s the cut of his whip from which the suit will protect you. I fear, however, you may still feel its sting.”
I could’ve said something cocky at that moment like, “I’m no stranger to pain.” While true, it just seemed stupid to throw fastballs at karma, knowing how much she enjoyed shooting them right back at you. So I just nodded my thanks.
“How good are you at swordplay?” Raoul asked as he took a blade similar to mine off the wall.
“Better than I used to be.” Having nearly lost major body parts to Desmond Yale, I’d spent the time I could spare between missions honing my skills. That meant two hours a day with the best coach I could find.
Vayl was a patient teacher, but a strict one. By the end of week one I was sick of hearing “Watch your form.”
“Vayl,” I said once, wiping sweat out of my eyes in exasperation. “What the hell? I’m not training for the Olympics here!” Here was the gym a retired agent owned and allowed us to rent during his off-hours.
When I saw red spark in his eyes, I realized I’d pissed him off. But I didn’t much care at that point. I was hot, sweaty, and, yeah, frustrated that it wasn’t for any of the fun reasons. Never mind that it had been my choice. And that I should respect Vayl for giving me the space I thought I needed.
Having no idea as to the real source of my unspoken frustrations, Vayl addressed my vocalized ones. “Correct form allows you to find the balance you need to fight. It keeps you from tiring too quickly. And it prevents you from telegraphing your moves long before you make them.”
“Oh.”
Vayl and I had never fought with curved blades, but I figured the basics he’d taught me would still serve me well. I stood en garde and moments later Raoul and I were hard at it. Every minute or so he’d stop. Say something like, “Look, if you’d turned the blade this way you could have disarmed me on that swing.” He showed me some moves unique to the blade, and within half an hour I felt like I’d been born with it in my hand.
“You’re a fast learner,” Raoul said when he finally called for a stop.
“It’s more of a defense mechanism than anything else,” I replied as I sheathed the blade. “Since my parents were my first teachers, and things always escalated to yelling if we didn’t catch on fast, we figured out quick how to listen and learn.”
I saw the thought on Raoul’s face, though he was kind enough not to say it out loud.
No wonder your mother’s in hell
. Yeah. And he didn’t even know the half of it.
“Get your armor,” he said. “I have one more item to give you before you go.” I grabbed my goodies and followed him to the Charm room.
It resembled a jewelry store, with multiple racks of necklaces, bracelets, and enough other sparklies to keep a serious accessorizer busy for days. He took me straight to the back, where a locked glass display case backed in red velvet held some fine old pieces. As he unlocked it he said, “You must remember never to let the Magistrate touch you. We’re not sure how he managed to pull you out of your body the first time, but we know it was at great expense, both in terms of power and time. That’s why he’ll want you to do most of the work yourself the second time around. Since you haven’t willingly left your body, he’ll find a way to trigger that exodus if he can. But he won’t be able to if he can’t physically touch you.”
“Or kill me.”
Raoul gave me a you-could-have-gone-all-day-without-saying-that look. “Obviously.” He pulled a delicate, octagonal bluish white stone out of the case and handed it to me.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said.
“It’s best worn near the center of your body,” he replied. “In ages past, men and women wore it on a long chain beneath their clothing. But since you have a rather convenient piercing, I took the liberty of mounting it for you.”
“Cool!” As I replaced the gold stud I currently wore in my navel, I said, “What’s it do?”
“It protects the soul during flight. It will shield you from any sort of attack the Magistrate may launch should the worst happen.”
“Thanks. Really.”
Raoul nodded. “I wish I could do more.” He stopped. Shook his head. Looked at me through hooded eyes that said,
If I were the man I should be, I would do more
.
“Rules are rules,” I said simply. “I don’t understand them all yet. I don’t agree with half of them when they’re explained to me. But I know sometimes they’re all that separate me from the guys Pete sends me after.” I gave him the straight stare he’d earned. “I appreciate your help. But I don’t expect you to do my work for me. Or to stick your neck out so far it snaps.” Okay, considering the way I’d died the first time, maybe that was the wrong metaphor. We looked at each other for another three seconds. And then we both smiled.
“You’re amazing,” Raoul said.
His words warmed me, deprived as I was of genuine compliments. I let them carry me back to the house. Played them over and over in my mind as I prepared to face the Magistrate, strapping the sword to my back with a special belt Raoul had given me that was completely hidden under my bland brown tunic and black hijab.
“I’m amazing,” I told my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It didn’t seem convinced. Maybe it was too busy trying to remember that first visit to hell. Not the part about Mom. That was just too disturbing. The before, when Uldin Beit had presented her case to the Magistrate and his court. Something about that scene, I thought, had inspired me to give up my card-shuffling acumen, which I was desperately wishing I had back at this very moment. Something I’d missed had required that sacrifice.
Now I thought maybe I’d witnessed the secret to the Magistrate’s downfall. Not that I wasn’t pretty confident in my sword-fighting abilities. Especially after Raoul’s high praise. But it never hurt to have an edge. (Ha! Jaz made a sword pun! What a gas.) So I played the scene over and over again in my head. Trying to remember details I’d registered only with the back of my mind. For some reason instead of lingering on the Magistrate it kept jumping to Samos and those strange glowing eyes I’d seen behind his office door.
That’s not going to help. What’s the Magistrate’s weakness? What did you see?
I headed to the kitchen, still racking my brain, which was starting to ache from the unaccustomed just-woke-up-dammit strain. “They were sitting in a circle,” I murmured. “There were twelve ugly-ass demons plus supermodel Magistrate. They talked. Then the whipping. But the whole event was about Marking me.”
I gave up. Let my subconscious chew on it for a while. Maybe it would regurgitate something useful while I choked down some toast and juice. And wondered why nobody else was stirring. I finally decided the card game had gone on well into the morning. Figuring they might not make it through the next night, Dave’s crew had probably stretched their time together as far as it would go before they began nodding off into their poker chips.
Cassandra and Bergman had used their distraction to retire to the guys’ room, where they’d worked till God knows when on what they now called their save-Dave device. I hoped they’d made ample progress. Because I planned on needing it soon.