Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  “I’ll keep it safe for you till then.”

  Valerie nodded and averted her eyes. She quickly donned her sweatshirt and moved to the door. When she looked back, he was already busy tidying up the training space. It was his same routine as always, but was it? She couldn’t help but feel that something about the gift had changed things. The walk back to the Twisted Tentacle was over before she knew it, but as she readied herself for sleep in the tavern’s back room, her mind was still on Damon and the beautiful mask. Getting a chance to wear it was one more reason she’d hold nothing back.

  “All warmed up?” Damon asked.

  Valerie walked into the warehouse, after what seemed like the hundredth run this week, and sighed, then stripped down to her tank top and picked up a sword. She was mentally tired and sweaty, but despite a morning swim, a long day at the tavern, and her post work run, she was pleased to find that she still had energy.

  Over the course of the last few weeks, she had worked up to running for almost a minute and a half underwater without taking a breath and could now do it carrying a stone that weighed thirty-five pounds. Her runs on land had not only gotten longer but also faster, and she could do several miles in under twenty minutes.

  Leaving the mask and padded jacket off, she stepped onto the mat and worked through her sword forms.

  It was a matter of routine now. She didn’t even have to think about it.

  Weeping Angel came first, then Soaring Eagle. She transitioned smoothly into Fire of the Dragon. Damon flipped on the radio, tuning the dial to a station playing something fast-paced and Spanish. He then picked up a sword and joined in with the forms, his body moving fluidly beside hers. They worked their way across the floor, each form flowing into the next. After weeks of practice, it was no longer the struggle it had once been.

  The sight of Damon’s flawless execution had infuriated her in the past, highlighting her own deficiencies, but tonight they moved like extensions of the same body. Inside strike, parry, lunge, outside strike, step back, clearing cut. Nodding along with Valerie’s movements, Damon slipped into an opponent’s position and mirrored her, his intense eyes finding hers as their blades connected.

  As the music moved through her, they timed their strikes to the beat.

  His body moved with hers, and the forms became a dance, at once deadly and beautiful. Valerie’s heartbeat quickened with her breathing. The blows came faster as the tempo of the music and their footwork sped up. Form matched form, and she felt her lips parting into a smile as her body moved from memory. Each stroke of the sword sent vibrations through her arms.

  Yes. This was how it was supposed to feel.

  Before she knew it, they were dueling in earnest.

  The forms flowed with attacks and counterattacks. Lunge. Riposte. Sighing Dove, Roaring River. Damon responded with Whistling Grass as she anticipated, and she felt the heat rising in her as the adrenaline pumped through her veins. She thwarted his attack almost before he started it, moving like water, her sword an extension of her body.

  Ripping Tide.

  Sweeping Hurricane.

  Her blade advanced faster and faster until Damon suddenly disengaged, wheeling off the mat, a hand held to his shoulder.

  When he pulled his palm away, she saw the tear in his T-shirt and the blood on his fingers.

  “Oh my God. I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t expect to—”

  “It’s all right. Stupid of me. I should’ve been wearing a jacket.” He set the sword against the wall and flexed his arm.

  “Are you okay?” Valerie said. There was something shocking about the sight of blood coming from Damon as though she had forgotten it was possible.

  “It’s just a scratch.” He kept pressure on the wound. “It’ll mend. And I’ll be more careful next time.” He looked up at Valerie and smiled. “Someone found their rhythm.”

  Valerie grinned. “I have a good teacher.”

  Damon moved to the bathroom and pulled a medical kit from the cabinet. He lifted his hand from the wound to pry the kit open, but Valerie stepped in.

  “I can do that.” She took the box of bandages from him and pointed to the bench just outside the bathroom. “You’ll need to get that shirt off.”

  He attempted to pull the shirt over his head while still keeping pressure on his shoulder with one hand.

  “Let me help.” Valerie reached for his waist and tugged upward, peeling the sweat-dampened T-shirt up his chest and helping him get it over his head. He sank to the bench in front of her and leaned his head against the wall, letting his eyes close. She stood clutching his shirt and tried not to lose focus.

  Valerie had been training hard for the tournament, but the effects had not been negligible on Damon either. His muscular body was even leaner and tougher than before. Only the fresh cut on his arm gave any hint of vulnerability.

  Bandages.

  Focus.

  Valerie peeled Damon’s hand away from the wound and placed a cotton pad there instead. He hissed through his teeth when she applied the disinfectant but didn’t flinch. Fortunately, the wound wasn’t deep. Valerie applied a pair of adhesive sutures and layered two bandages overtop just to be sure it would stay clean.

  “You’ve done this before,” Damon said, looking on with what she took as approval.

  “I did a season as the men’s dueling team medic when Henry first got to prep school. Thought it would be a good opportunity to meet older guys.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Not really. I was always Henry Terravecchia’s little sister. No one wanted to annoy the best swordsman on the team by hitting on me. It wasn’t safe.”

  “He was good,” Damon said.

  “He was a natural. You would’ve liked him.”

  “I’m sure he’s proud of you.” Damon lifted a hand and brushed her waist with his fingertips.

  It was such a small gesture. He had barely grazed the fabric of her tank top, but Valerie’s breath caught. Sitting down, his head was at the level of her chest. His eyes lingered on her hips. She had the sudden urge to put her fingers in his hair and lean into him—pull his body to hers. They were so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

  Where had that thought come from?

  His fingers trailed down her hip, just the softest caress through the fabric, but it was somehow electric.

  Something was different. Ever since the night he had given her the mask, she had been waiting and watching for something to confirm it. Now she was sure.

  He looked up and met her gaze. Those intense, dark eyes. Had he always looked so hungry? In this moment, he resembled the wolf of his family house, beautiful and dangerous. What force held him back?

  Did she want it to?

  With the bandage finished, she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She clenched her fingers into fists at her sides, just to keep them to herself. If she didn’t . . .

  “I think you’re ready,” Damon said.

  “Yes,” Valerie whispered.

  “For the tournament,” Damon added.

  “The tournament. Yes.” Valerie pulled her eyes from his face and spun around, facing the garage. She exhaled. How long had it been since she had taken a breath?

  Damon stood. She could feel him looming behind her. There was an electricity still lingering in the molecules of air pressed between their bodies, a magnetism drawing her backward.

  But she wouldn’t turn around. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to resist the pull.

  She waited, anticipating the touch of his hand on her skin.

  But it didn’t come.

  Damon moved away.

  He walked to the training area and picked up Valerie’s tournament sword. He examined the tip of the blade as if wondering how such an inconsequential thing could have harmed him, then he moved to the cabinet.

  Valerie tried to compose herself. What on earth was she doing?

  Damon pulled on a soft, gray T-shirt and fixed her with a long stare. Was he
seeing her in a new light too? Did he feel the electricity?

  He broke eye contact, walking to the training area and donning an armored jacket. “We’d best get back to practicing. It’s getting late.”

  Valerie moved into position as well, donning her own jacket and picking up a training mask. She focused on staying casual. “As long as you think you can handle it,” she said. “Don’t want to hurt you again.”

  Damon’s lips cracked the briefest of smiles before his mask covered his face.

  They took their positions, and Valerie put on her mask. Her breath was hot and rapid inside it, but she tried to calm herself. This was training. That’s all.

  They saluted.

  Armored and masked, there would be no holding back this time.

  Warrior’s Way. She moved into action. Damon countered with Raven’s Cry. They swept back and forth across the mat, striking and countering with vigorous enthusiasm. She transitioned into Moon Under Water, hoping to press Damon out of the fighting zone and force him to yield, but something was different. He countered with a form she hadn’t seen before.

  He suddenly switched his sword from left to right, and in one forceful motion, his blade spun around hers, lifting it. He caught her wrist with his other hand and spun into her, wrapping her arm around his neck and pulling her toward him. Her mask went flying as if it had never been on, clattering off the mat to the concrete. His mask followed. She found herself pressed up against his chest, her arm still wrapped behind his neck and her front leg caught between his. Trapped against him, she couldn’t tell if the pulsing in her chest was his heartbeat or her own.

  His face was a fraction of an inch from hers.

  What little breath she had came in with a gasp and caught in her throat.

  “I added a new form,” Damon panted. “It doesn’t have a name yet.”

  “It’s my favorite so far,” Valerie whispered back.

  Then his lips were on hers.

  Valerie’s sword fell from her hand, and her fingers found their way to his hair.

  So much for practice.

  19

  Afterglow

  “Are you even listening?” Rico asked.

  “What?” Valerie snapped back to attention, finding Rico staring at her. They were on the corner of Fifteenth Street and Westbrook, handing out flyers for his show.

  “It’s like your head has been up in a cloud today. You want to come back down to earth with the rest of us?” Rico snatched a handful of the flyers from her. He had clearly been far more successful at getting rid of his.

  “I’m here,” Valerie said, adjusting the brim of the big, floppy hat she was using in an attempt to disguise her face and hair. There had been no more visits from the City Watch of late, but she still chose to keep a low profile. “I was just thinking.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rico said. “Thinking about who’ll be sitting in the seat you reserved next to yours for my show tonight?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course I know,” Rico scoffed. “Just like I know who it’s for too. You don’t think everyone saw your giddy little schoolgirl face when he walked into the tavern this morning? Or that you spent twice as long bringing him a drink or meal than anyone else? Please. I know a lovesick puppy when I see one.”

  “What? I am not a lovesick puppy.”

  “Uh-huh. Cool as ice, you are.”

  “Damn. Was it that obvious?”

  “Why do you care?” Rico said. “He’s a good-looking dude. I mean, if I was you . . .”

  “What? What would you do if you were me?”

  “I wouldn’t just be making puppy dog eyes at him, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “It’s nothing,” Valerie lied. “I just had a big breakthrough in training. I beat him in a duel last night.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rico said. “And I’m supposed to believe that’s it? I don’t get you competitive types. For weeks you don’t give him a second glance, then you get to poke him with your sword, and suddenly he’s got your panties all in a state?”

  She smacked him with a handful of flyers.

  “Listen, I don’t know how to explain it either. I guess, before he was just teaching me, and I was always on the losing end of everything. He was untouchable.”

  “And now you want to do all the touching.”

  “Shut up.”

  Valerie thrust a flyer into the hand of a passing merchant. “Big show tonight at the Twisted Tentacle. Doors open at sundown. Best act in town.”

  The man nodded and glanced at the flyer briefly before shoving it into a jacket pocket.

  “Besides,” Valerie said. “I don’t just make puppy dog eyes at him.”

  “Oh, really?” Rico’s eyebrows stretched for his hairline. “Do tell. Maybe he’s doing a little poking with his sword too?”

  Valerie glared at him. “No. It’s not like that. Not yet anyway.”

  “Slow playing it, huh? Good. I can be into that as long as it’s worth the wait.” He pressed a flyer into the hand of a woman pushing a pram. “Get out tonight, darling. Hire a sitter. It’s worth it.”

  “He might be waiting till my birthday to get any more serious. I told him I turn eighteen tomorrow.”

  “That’s sweet,” Rico said. “Or maybe he doesn’t want to hook up with a girl who has a death wish and plans to commit public suicide.”

  “I’m not committing suicide,” Valerie said. “I’m good at this.”

  “I’m just glad you get to come to my show prior to your tragic ending.”

  Valerie sighed. “You’re probably right. I shouldn’t be getting involved with anyone. I should be focusing on getting justice for Henry.”

  Rico dropped his hands to his sides and turned to focus on her. “Listen to me, chica. Your brother loved you, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then don’t beat yourself up about it. He might be dead, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want you to be happy. God knows there’s little enough love floating around in Tidewater. Take what you can get.” He handed her the rest of the flyers. “I’ve got to go prep. I’ll see you at the show tonight.”

  Valerie attempted to disperse the remainder of the flyers on her way back to the tavern but ultimately stuffed the last couple into her sweatshirt pocket. The cliffside villages were buzzing with activity on her way home. There were fresh coats of paint on once-dingy shop fronts. Colorful banners and flags hung from lines strung across the roads. Food vendors had arrived towing carts. Musicians sang on street corners. And everywhere she looked, there were playbills and flyers for shows and entertainment. Everyone was eager to attract visitors and capitalize on the influx of money coming in from the countryside.

  Janet and Ann were prepping the tavern for the arrival of the Guild judges. Ann’s sword would be on display in a place of prominence, and they were hoping Rico’s act would draw a crowd. The Twisted Tentacle would be bustling.

  Janet had decided that displaying the tavern in the best possible light—busy and profitable—would increase Ann’s chances of being accepted by the Guild.

  All the servers had been given strict instructions: Guild judges were to be treated like royalty.

  Janet had paid top dollar for the freshest seafood catches that morning, and Carlyn was already working her magic in the kitchen.

  “How are we doing?” Valerie asked as she walked in the back door of the tavern.

  “So far so good,” Carlyn replied. “But stay out of here. I’ve told this crew no distractions. Not even you.”

  Valerie slipped out to the bar and edged her way around the crew of workers setting up chairs and lights.

  Janet was supervising from beside the bar, counting chairs with a hovering finger. She turned to Valerie as she walked in. “There you are. Anyone left in this town we haven’t invited?”

  “Doubt it,” Valerie replied. “How’s setup going?”

  “We’ve sold about a third of the seats for Rico’s show so far. If we can fill the res
t before showtime, we’ll be in good shape.” She noted something on her clipboard. “The Guild judges are supposed to be here at eight. We’ll have a private area roped off for them over there. Let’s hope they’re in a good mood.”

  “Ann’s sword is a masterpiece,” Valerie said. “It’s a shoe-in.”

  “Let’s hope the masters agree,” Janet said. “We’ll find out tonight. I’ll need you here before sundown. All hands on deck tonight.”

  “You’ve got it,” Valerie replied. “I’ll be here.”

  It was clear that her presence at the tavern now, while well-intentioned, was just getting in people’s way, so she made the walk to Lexington Avenue instead, eager to find Damon.

  The roaring of engines echoed from the city walls. She looked up to note the slick luxury cars and intimidating machines of war cruising the bridges. The city was pulsing with anticipation. The weeks of preparation and planning had created an enthusiasm that was now streaming from every open door and window. Shop owners and merchants, locals and tourists alike were conversing in excited tones. If the city had a heartbeat, it was pounding.

  When Valerie reached Damon’s warehouse loft, the garage door was still closed. She rapped on the pedestrian door at the side of the building. After several rounds of knocking, the door finally opened.

  Damon was wearing a tank top and athletic shorts and appeared to have just woken up, a state Valerie currently envied.

  She paused briefly to study him. He was more than just tired. He looked exhausted.

  “Did you go out last night?” she asked, trying to sound uncaring.

  Damon moved to the water cooler and poured two cups. He brought one over to her. “Work.”

  “Who was the client?”

  Damon downed the water, then crunched the paper cup in his palm. “You know I’m not allowed to talk about my clients.” The cup arced into the trash can.

  When he turned around, they found themselves face to face. She grasped him by the front of his shirt, rose up on her toes, and kissed him.