Refuge

by Karen Lynch

  A thump followed by the sounds of scurrying on the other side of the room made me whirl around, fearful of an attack from that direction. My head knocked against the bottom of a seat, and I stumbled before I tripped over my own feet and fell forward. I landed on my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs and sending the knife skidding across the floor. Letting out a moan, I looked up into the furry face of the bazerat standing less than a foot away. Before I could move, its mouth opened impossibly wide, like it was on hinges, and I got a close-up look at the rows of sharp teeth inside.

  “Oh shit!” I squealed as it leapt at my face.

  My arms came up to protect my head, and one of the long incisors scraped my palm, leaving a shallow cut that burned like the devil. There was no time to worry what kind of venom the bazerat might have because I was too preoccupied with wrapping my hands around its neck to hold it away from my face.

  As soon as I touched it, the bazerat began to twist and screech, trying to get away from me. The only time a creature had reacted to my power like this was when I had encountered a rat possessed by a Hale witch. But I could sense no foreign presence in this creature. The bazerat was truly afraid of me, and I didn’t know what to do.

  I felt it then, the strange prickly static sliding over my skin. The bazerat went nuts, clawing at my arms, which were protected for the most part by my sleeves, and struggling so violently to break free of my grasp that I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer. I began to pull my power back inside me, hoping that would calm the bazerat. I thought it was working until a small surge of electricity shot from my hands and right into the creature. The bazerat went stiff for a few seconds then collapsed limply in my hands.

  “What the hell?” I sat up, holding the unconscious creature. I knew it was still alive because I could feel a pulse, slow and steady beneath my fingers. How long it would remain knocked out was another matter. I freed one hand to fumble around for the knife, and once I found it, I staggered to my feet. There was no telling where the other bazerat was, and I’d rather get this one locked safely in his crate before his brother decided to come looking for him.

  I released a sigh of relief when I slid the lock into place on the crate holding the unconscious bazerat. “One down, one to go.” I felt a lot more confident now that I only had one left to contend with.

  The second bazerat proved to be a lot more slippery than the first one, and he led me on a crazy chase before I finally managed to corner him. He wasn’t nearly as brave without his brother, but he still hissed and bared his teeth menacingly at me whenever I got close. He freaked when I dived, got my hands around him, and gave him a taste of my power. Once again the weird static electricity surged through me, and I had to fight to keep it from zapping the life right out of the creature. I wanted to capture him, not kill him. Still, it knocked him out cold and I was able to tuck him safely in his crate. I stood back and surveyed the two sleeping bazerats that looked so harmless now. But I knew better. I shuddered as I headed for the door. I hoped I never ran into a whole pack of those things.

  “Well, I’m happy to see you are still in one piece,” grated Celine when I emerged from the building, and I couldn’t help but notice that her expression did not match her words.

  Except for a few scratches, I was unharmed, and I felt pretty proud of myself for finishing the task. “Piece of cake,” I said, moving past her.

  “Wait,” she barked, and I stopped walking as she opened the door and went into the building. In less than a minute she was back with a scowl on her face. “You’re not done. Get back in there and finish them off.”

  “They are back in their cages where they can’t hurt anyone. There is no need to kill them.”

  Celine took a step toward me, towering over me by at least six inches. “The task was to kill them. So kill them or you fail.”

  “The task was to neutralize them, and they are neutralized. If I have to kill senselessly to pass your test, then you can go ahead and fail me.” I tossed the knife on the ground between us and walked over to stand by Michael, who was gawking at me like I’d just sprouted another head. I half expected Celine to come after me, but she had apparently decided to let it drop and was already looking for another trainee to enter the building. First, they had to get another pair of bazerats since mine were out cold. I hid my smile of satisfaction.

  “Well, well, the kitten has claws after all,” drawled Jordan, who walked over with Olivia to join us.

  “What the heck did you do in there, Sara?” Michael wanted to know, forgetting his shyness for once.

  “I caught them and put them back in their cages.” I conveniently omitted the part where electricity had shot from my fingertips.

  Terrence laughed. “Why go through all the trouble when it’s easier to kill them?”

  I met his mocking gaze and shrugged. “Anyone can kill. Taking them alive is a lot more of a challenge, don’t you think?”

  He scoffed, but I could see it in his eyes; the gauntlet had been thrown. “I’ll go next,” he called to Celine before he stalked off.

  I watched Celine talking to Terrence. Of course, she looked quite pleasant now that she was talking to someone besides me. If Celine had been human, I might have blamed her attitude toward me on a natural female aversion to undines. But she was Mohiri, so she was supposed to be immune to that. “What is her problem anyway?” I muttered to no one in particular.

  “You.”

  I frowned at Jordan. “Me? I just met her twenty minutes ago.”

  “She’s jealous of you,” Olivia said in a voice that wouldn’t carry to the trainer. “Supposedly, she and Nikolas Danshov go way back and she’s still got it bad for him.”

  I pictured Nikolas with cold, beautiful Celine and something hardened in my gut. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Let me see.” Jordan tapped a finger against her lips. “Could it have something to do with how much time Nikolas spent in Maine protecting a certain pretty little orphan?”

  “What? No, it wasn’t . . . You don’t understand.” I felt a blush creeping up my neck. “It wasn’t like that. We don’t even get along.”

  Jordan smiled. “Uh-huh.”

  “No, really. He was just doing his job. I didn’t want him around any more than he wanted to be there.”

  Jordan and Olivia laughed, and it was Olivia who spoke first. “Nikolas is one of the best warriors on the planet, and his job does not include babysitting orphans.”

  I looked from one to the other. “I don’t understand. He found me, killed the bad guys, and brought me here. Isn’t that what warriors do?”

  It was Michael who answered. “Some warriors do, but you’re the first orphan Nikolas has ever brought in.”

  Jordan and Olivia watched me closely while I digested that piece if information. Nikolas had never brought in anyone before me? Well, that certainly explained his lack of patience; he obviously had no experience with orphans. Whatever his reason for doing it, I knew for certain it was not because of any romantic feelings he might have for me as the girls implied. It was more likely his male ego; I’d challenged him and he couldn’t handle it. “I know what you’re insinuating but trust me, there is nothing going on between me and Nikolas.”

  Jordan let out a short laugh. “You are probably the only female in existence who would go out of her way to deny having a thing with him.”

  “God what I wouldn’t give . . . ” Olivia fanned herself. “Hot doesn’t begin to describe that man.” She sighed. “Can you imagine what it feels like to have those arms around you?”

  There was no way I was going to tell them that I knew what it felt like to be in Nikolas’s arms. But his embrace had been comforting instead of romantic. I could not understand how he had treated me with such kindness one day and then taken off without a good-bye two days later. I admit I’m not the best at reading people, but how could I have been so wrong about him?

  “Booyah! Take that!”

  The four of us turned to
stare at Terrence, who was emerging from the arena looking like he had just gone a few rounds with an angry badger. His hair was sticking out all over the place, his shirt and jeans were shredded in places, and he had a bloody scratch on one cheek. But he was grinning like he had won the lottery. He walked past Celine and Sahir and came up to me, his hazel eyes shining. “Now that was fun.”

  I glowered at him. “Yes, I’m sure killing is a real blast.”

  “Who said anything about killing? And if you look at the time, I believe I finished faster than you.” He touched his cheek and winced. “Mean little bastards, though.”

  “You didn’t kill them?” Josh asked in disbelief.

  Terrence chuckled. “Sara is right; anyone can kill them, but it takes a real warrior to take them alive.” It wasn’t exactly what I had said, but I decided not to correct him.

  Celine strode over to us, and her gaze raked across mine. “What the hell has gotten into you people?”

  Terrence shot me a grin. “Just mixing it up a bit, making it a little more fun.”

  “This is not supposed to be fun,” Celine bit out. She pointed at me and Terrence. “You two, you’re done here. Go cause trouble somewhere else.” She spun away from us and yelled, “Is there anyone here who wants to do this thing correctly?”

  “Later,” I said to the others, glad to get away from Celine and her killing. I set off toward the main building, and Terrence ran to catch up with me.

  “Seriously, that was a blast,” he panted. “Who would ever have thought not killing demons would be fun?”

  I came up short. “The bazerats are demons?”

  “Of course. What did you think they were?”

  “I don’t know – mutant rats?”

  He snickered like I’d made a joke. “We covered them in class last year.”

  “I wasn’t here last year.” I had learned a lot about the world from Remy, but nothing like the formal education Mohiri kids received. I had years of learning to catch up on.

  I resumed walking. The bazerats were demons, and my power made them freak out instead of calming them. Demons fear Fae magic, and it must have hurt them when I touched them. It could also be why my power had reacted to them and zapped them. It still didn’t explain the little flare-ups that were happening every day now. Was my elemental side growing stronger as Aine had hoped it would?

  My stomach clenched as a scary thought came to me. I was surrounded by people with demons inside them, and I had no control over whatever was happening to me. What if I hurt someone without meaning to? I was half Fae, half demon, and even the Fae admitted they had no idea what powers I would develop. Nikolas had brought me here to keep me safe, but what if I was the dangerous one?

  * * *

  I quietly approached the library. It had been three days since my encounter with Desmund, and even though Tristan had encouraged me to come back, I felt a little apprehensive about seeing Desmund again. I didn’t want to upset him and cause some kind of setback, but I had to admit I was more than a little curious about him.

  The library door was open, and the room looked much as it had the first time I’d been here. I would have thought the room empty if the slightest rustling of paper behind one of the high backed chairs hadn’t alerted me to the presence of someone else. Instead of announcing myself, I moved silently to the bookcases to return the copy of Jane Eyre I had borrowed. I almost hated to give it up, but I was excited to see what other treasures were waiting on the shelves.

  No way! My eyes lit upon a perfectly preserved copy of Daniel Deronda. I slid the book off the shelf and opened the cover to see that it was indeed a first edition. How many people got the opportunity to appreciate classic literature like this? Oh, Dad, what I wouldn’t give for you to be able to see this.

  I debated sitting by the fire, but if it was Desmund in the chair – and I had a suspicion it was – he was keeping to himself and I didn’t want to give him a reason to be upset. He was used to having this room to himself, so it was probably best to ease him into the idea of sharing the space. I carried my book to the table near the window where there was a small reading lamp. The chair wasn’t as nice as the ones by the fire, but the book provided a happy diversion.

  “Oh, it’s you again.”

  I started at the voice a few feet away. He had moved so quietly that I never noticed him approach. He was wearing similar dated clothing to what he’d worn during our last encounter, but I saw that it was clean and pressed. His hair was neater, and I couldn’t help but think he cleaned up well. My eyes went to his face, and I was not surprised to find a scowl there. Remembering what Tristan had said about Desmund’s bad mood being due to his illness, I ignored his glower and gave him a polite smile. “Hello.”

  My friendly greeting seemed to throw him, and he stared at me for a moment before his dark gaze fell on the book in my hands. “You have odd taste in literature for one your age.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I read a lot of different books – whatever appeals to me.” He didn’t respond so I asked, “What do you like to read?”

  Desmund lifted his hand, and I saw he was holding Hamlet, which we’d covered in English lit last spring. It was too dark and violent for my taste, and I didn’t think it was good reading material for a man who already seemed slightly unhinged. I kept that observation to myself.

  “You don’t like Shakespeare?” His tone was chilly, and I wondered how I had offended him so easily.

  “I have trouble understanding the English,” I replied honestly. “I don’t like it when I have to stop and figure out what every word means.”

  He turned and walked across the room to a tall cabinet built into the wall. Opening the door, he retrieved a remote control and fiddled with it for a minute before soft strains of classical violin music filled the room. It was not something I’d normally listen to, but it wasn’t unpleasant either.

  “You don’t like Vivaldi?”

  “I’m not familiar with him.” I assumed Vivaldi was the composer and not a type of music.

  He made a scoffing sound. “Not surprising. Young people today have horrid taste in music. What do you call it . . . pop?”

  “Just because I don’t know every piece of classical music doesn’t mean I don’t like any of it.” I waved at the bookshelves lining the walls. “I bet you haven’t read every book that’s been published.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, and pray tell me, which of the great composers do you prefer then?”

  A week ago, I couldn’t have answered that question. Before I came here, I listened mostly to classic rock, but that was before I discovered the vast selection of classical music in the common rooms. I’d sampled music from different composers and discovered a few I liked. I still couldn’t tell Bach from Brahms, but there was one that stood out for me. “Tchaikovsky.”

  “And what is your favorite Tchaikovsky piece?” he asked scornfully as if he didn’t believe me. His attitude annoyed the hell out of me. I obviously didn’t know as much about classical music as he did – hell, he and Mozart could have been buddies for all I knew – but he didn’t have to be such a snob about it.

  I reminded myself that he was ill and tempered my response. “I don’t know what it’s called; it’s some kind of waltz. I listened to it a bunch of times in the common room.”

  At first I thought he was going to insult me again, but instead he hit a few buttons on his remote and the waltz began to play.

  “That’s it!”

  The beautiful sweeping melody filled the room for almost a minute before he turned back to me with a bemused expression. “Serenade for Strings in C major. It is one of my favorites as well.”

  “Oh no, we actually have something in common? How dreadful.” My tone was teasing, but with him it was impossible to know how he’d take it.

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “Tragic indeed,” he retorted, but some of the edge had left his voice. “Well, since you are determined to make yourself at home here, I suppose I should know
your name.”

  “Sara Grey.”

  He gave a shaky but elegant bow. “Desmund Ashworth, seventh Earl of Dorsey.”

  “Aha! I knew you were some kind of English lord.” He arched an eyebrow, and I said, “You’ve got aristocrat written all over you.”

  He seemed inordinately pleased by my remark, and a smug smile tugged at his lips. For the first time since I’d met him, the wildness left his eyes. “You have good taste in books and music so there is some hope for you,” he stated as if he was appraising my worth. “What else do you like?”

  “I draw, but it’s nothing like the art on the walls here. You probably wouldn’t like it.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed, and I had the urge to stick out my tongue at him. He could at least pretend to be courteous. “Do you play chess by chance?”

  “No. I can play checkers, though.” Roland’s uncle Brendan had taught me to play checkers, and we used to have a game whenever I stayed over at the farm. I’d even beaten Brendan a few times, and that was no easy feat.

  He scoffed. “Anyone can play draughts. It requires a much more organized mind to master chess.”

  Something told me that Desmund’s mind was about as organized as my closet, but I wisely kept that thought to myself. “It’s been a while since I played, but I think I could give you a run for your money in checkers. Too bad we don’t have a set.”

  His eyes lit up, and he spun back to the cabinet where he leaned down and pulled out a dark mahogany box. He carried the box to my table and laid it in front of me, then opened it to reveal a polished checkerboard. Inside the box was another flat box that contained a set of ebony and boxwood checkers. Desmund took the chair across from me and spilled the checkers out onto the board. “Lady’s choice.”

  I hesitated for a moment before laying aside my book, even though his eagerness told me he was probably extremely good at either game. I reached for the boxwood pieces and started to line them up on my side of the board.

  We were not long into the game before it was evident that Desmund was in a totally different league from Brendan, and I had to concentrate hard to keep up with his moves. I earned a few scowls when I captured three of his pieces, small victories compared to his dominating play. He didn’t gloat as much as I thought he would when he won, but he wasn’t all graciousness either.