Iron (The Warding Book 1) (13 page)

Boy, was I right.

Even home, sprawled on my couch, the anger flared up inside me again. My fists clenched and my face flushed with embarrassment. The first few minutes hadn’t been so bad. He had corrected my stance with clipped directions and a firm hand here and there. I tried not to stiffen every time we made contact but it was hard. I trusted him about as much I would have trusted a starved back-alley mongrel. Probably less, honestly. Still; that had been tolerable. I saw the wisdom in his guidance and though the stance made the muscles in my shoulders and calves burn with new use in no-time, I was grateful that Lesson 1.1 was something I didn’t fail at immediately.

The same cannot be said for Lesson 1.2 through 1.5.

I couldn’t block a blow to save my life. The “gentle” first taps he gave my staff to help me get the rhythm of the blocking maneuvers sent shockwaves of vibration up my arms. My initial fears were correct: after only a few minutes of slow mock fighting my arms started to shake. I gritted my teeth and kept at it, following the tempo as he counted in a droning monotone. After another few minutes he stopped mid-count and stepped back. I fell back to the starting stance as quickly as I could, just as he had instructed. It was sloppy as hell, but I got there.

“Have you had enough for one day?”

There was no need for him to tell me he thought I was pathetic. It was clear from his blasé disdain. I strengthened my grip on the staff, ignoring the sweat dripping down my neck. My muscles were burning but adrenaline surged through me. I thought I had a pretty good handle on the different positions. “Hardly.” I tossed my head to get the damp hair out of my eyes. “Is that all you’ve got?”

I
really
needed to do something about that smart-ass gene.

When Gannon pulled off the gloves and started to come at me for real, I realized that I had never stood a chance. Even my best block was far too slow. I lost count of the raps I took from his lightning quick strikes. I gave up on watching his feet to anticipate his next move. He was just too damn fast. Trying to keep up with his unnatural speed made me dizzy. Maybe I got lucky and fended off a strike here and there, but they were followed up by counter-strikes so blindingly fast I couldn’t fathom how he was changing his trajectory so quick. Every time my staff went spinning from my hands and clattered to the ground, I saw disappointment in his eyes. It was humiliating.

Each bout ended with me the loser. Every time he stepped back and fell into the starting stance without the slightest hitch to his breath, I felt a piece of me die. He just stood there, looking composed without the faintest sign of strain, and let me stop to catch my breath—sometimes hunched over holding my knees, other times laid flat out on the sweat-slick floor. While I wheezed he would ask me again if I was ready to quit. He stopped saying “for one day” when one bout ended in a split lip. It was clear that he expected me to walk away, never to return—but that just made me angrier. I was slower to rise each time, and my staff was held lower and lower, but I refused to give up. I scraped myself back up, posturing as best I could, and let him shame me.

Again, and again, and again.

The last time, I could barely feel my fingers and every part of me ached worse than I had ever felt before. His final blow hit me square in the stomach. It knocked me flat. I fell face-first against the floor, all the breath driven from my burning lungs. My staff skittered away as I lay there, blood smeared across my chin from my reopened lip. I gagged and gasped for air around the pain. The world spun. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his sneakers come within an inch of my head. He stopped. I couldn’t muster the strength to look up at his face, let alone stand.

“We’re done here.”

I was too exhausted to search for the scorn in his deadpan voice. I was revolted by my poor performance; I had no doubt he was as well. He walked away, his even footsteps stopping once by the door; probably to put away the practice weapons. A few more echoing steps brought him to the top of the stairs and then he was gone. I laid there for a long while. I might have even passed out for a bit. When Mairi finally roused me from my stupor, the room was nearly engulfed in shadows. My face was wet with tears when she helped me to my feet, but she was kind enough to pretend not to notice.

“I should’ve puked on his fucking shoes,” I spat as I forced myself up off the couch. Each movement made me wince. I was sore and tired but also so angry that sitting still was impossible. Maybe it was the rage or maybe it was the day’s exertion catching up with me, but I realized I was also powerfully hungry. I shuffled down the hall to the kitchen and rummaged around until I found bread and peanut butter. I kicked the fridge door shut—with a muffled curse at myself—after I put the grape jelly away. Taking my anger out on inanimate objects was the best I was going to get. I didn’t want to go through the fun of maneuvering myself into a chair again, so I ate standing with my back against the kitchen counter.

Sandwich finished, I lingered in the same spot, transfixed by the playback in my head. I was furious with Gannon for his casual dismissal of me. For his mocking smirk. For his contempt. He hadn’t taught me a damn thing. All he had done was use me like a personal punching bag! That downright enraged me. But even more, I was furious with myself. I had goaded him on, like an idiot teasing a tiger with a big, raw steak. Maybe I would have stood a better chance if I had been nice or, god forbid, respectful but; no. Instead I had run my mouth, like always. I could resent how hard he had pressed me, how hard he had beaten me, but the truth was that I had asked for it. I had hurt his ego from the word go, and now that was damage I would constantly be struggling to undo.

That was bad enough. But the ease with which he had taken me down again and again? That stung ten times worse than any blow I had taken, even the one that had split open my face. I sucked at fighting. If there was a word beyond sucked, something even worse, I’d be that. I felt like a fool for having signed on for this; for having demanded it be part of the pact.

Whatever delusions of grandeur I had entertained about playing avenging angel on the darkened city streets seemed stupid in hindsight. Now I was at the mercy of a man who I had not only offended but one that was amazingly good at what he did, while I could barely get out of the way of my own feet. Fantastic. I was only beginning to realize how deep over my head I was—and I had the feeling the bottom was still a long way off.

I don’t know how long I stood there in my kitchen, replaying the awful day over and over in my head. When I finally mustered the energy to drag myself away from the counter, shuffling toward a much needed shower with stiffness that made me limp, my face was wet again. I was thankful there was no one around to hide it from this time.

Chapter Ten

By mid-week I started to feel human again. The first couple of days were a rather unpleasant adventure though. I was so stiff from Lesson One that I moved like an arthritic grandmother. On top of that, each day required spackling on a ridiculous amount of foundation to keep from being asked just what I had done over my little vacation. Luckily my co-workers had accepted my tale of boring relaxation: shopping trips and Mad Men marathons on Netflix were a perfectly acceptable use for PTO as far as they were concerned. I had thrown in an anecdote about having signed up for a self-defense class at the gym, just in case anyone noticed the shoddy job I had done of covering up my fading shiner.

No one had.

Marc avoided me. Our paths crossed once, on Monday morning as I went to grab some paperwork from the copier by his department. He had looked away just as quickly as I had, hiding his snout in a pile of paperwork. I didn’t think he had any clue that I could see him for what he really was, but there was no mistaking the tension between us. Maybe he felt guilty for having gossiped about my mental meltdown around the office.

Little did he know that he was doing me a favor. I much preferred the awkward silences over his previous flirtations. The last thing I needed was a daily dose of his furry face, while I was trying so hard to act normal. Then again “normal” was pretty hard to achieve, given that I was touching up my makeup every hour to keep the whole world from asking questions I didn’t have very believable answers for. So, maybe I was screwed either way.

Trying to fit back in to the workplace had made me doubly appreciative that Seana had taken the time to stop by my apartment to check on me on Sunday evening. My lip had swollen up three times its usual size, oozing whenever I tried to eat, and my nose had been looking a bit off kilter as well. It had seemed silly, at the time, to go through the trouble of getting all doped up for something so little. After all, Seana couldn’t just wiggle her fingers and work her mojo on me, like she would on anyone else. Oh no; thanks to the Warding I had to knock back a truly foul tasting concoction that I was damn near certain contained all sorts of icky twigs and berries. I had to give it to her though; whatever that putrid smoothie contained, it worked quicker than a double dose of NyQuil. I had barely had time to curse its tongue curdling flavor before I slipped off to la-la land. It also hadn’t left me feeling the least bit groggy when she roused me a little while later, my nose straight and lip whole once more. Bonus.

Unfortunately, there had been nothing she could do for bruising. She said that there were some things the body just had to take care of in its own time but I had the feeling that was a load of crap. The disapproval in her eyes as she treated me had been fairly obvious. Maybe she thought I deserved the ass whooping I had taken as much as I did. The memory made me groan. I was tired of replaying the embarrassing spectacle in my mind, but my brain seemed to have it on permanent repeat.

Ugh. Whatever. I still hated Gannon with gonorrhea-like passion and daydreamed of the day when I could knock him flat on his back, but I had awoken that morning with the resolution to put him and my crushing embarrassment from my mind. I didn’t know how I would handle our next meeting, in or out of that cursed practice ring, but that was another bridge I’d burn when I came to it. It was Wednesday, which meant that the work-week was half over and I was on the mend. All in all, it was too nice a day for me to waste on dark thoughts.

I met up with Jenni for lunch at a cute little café down the street from my office. The day was crisp but not yet unbearable and the sun was shining. All morning long I had thought of little other than some fresh air, shared gossip, and a hot fresh mozzarella and roasted red pepper panini. As soon as I rounded the corner into the little nook of outdoor tables, I spotted her and waved. I threaded my way through to where she was sitting, the smile wiped from my face as I was greeted with a wide-eyed stare and an exclamation of, “Jesus Christ, Cat! What the hell happened to your face?”

Leave it to your bestie to see through five layers of makeup.

I hung my purse on the back of the chair and sat down. “Gee, nice to see you too.”

Jenni reached across and took my hand, squeezing it hard in the lazy friend’s version of a sit-down hug. She was still searching my face with concern. “I’m sorry. Seriously though, what’s with the black eye?”

Before she could start to make guesses—which would inevitably lead to another round of guilt over what had happened at Gilroy’s on The Night of the Troll—I thought it best to throw her off the trail. I stuck to the same glib half-lie I had used around the office. “It’s no big deal. I started taking a self-defense class.” I threw in a self-deprecating laugh. “Obviously I’m not very good yet.”

Her look softened to something like pity, mixed with smothered amusement. “Awww, Cat…”

I picked up my menu and busied myself reading it to hide my guilt. “Don’t you ‘
awww’
me! Go ahead, laugh. I know you want to.”

“I’m not going to laugh, I swear. It’s not a bad idea, you know. Remember when I took that one at the Y a few years ago? Parts of this city have gone to hell. A girl should know a couple moves.” She paused. I was sure she was giving me a knowing look, but I studiously avoided it. She hated the neighborhood I lived in. Part of me knew it was because she was jealous of my solitude, but there was an equal amount of concern for the safety that solitude cost me. Especially given what had happened recently. There was just no avoiding it, was there? It was like I had that damn pink elephant on a leash and it followed me everywhere. All I wanted was to forget about faeries and special destinies and trolls.

When I continued to act like the wrap list was the most interesting thing in the world, she sighed and continued, “You should have told me. I would have signed up with you.”

“I’d rather flail around like a spider-monkey on Ritalin by myself, thanks.” That came out a lot more snarky than I’d intended. I forced another laugh I wasn’t feeling. I knew she would see right through it, so I quickly added, “Sorry. You know how much I love looking like an idiot Maybe once I learn to stop running
into
people’s elbows instead of
away
from them you can take the advanced level course with me.”

I tried not to let the troubled smile that earned get to me. Three minutes into lunch and I was already failing miserably at trying to be normal. Thankfully the waitress came and rescued me from the awkward silence I had caused. I ordered my panini and an iced tea, gathering my thoughts while Jenni hemmed and hawed over the menu at the last minute, just like she always did. She finally settled on a diet soda and tuna on white toast. Just like she always did. She didn’t notice my dewy-eyed smile as she checked the email that had just come through on her phone. I don’t know why her predictable behavior made me want to bear-hug her and start bawling—but damn, did it ever. Maybe Gannon had knocked a few screws loose after all.