by Everly Frost
“Well, last week she told us how to defang a vampire.”
“What the hell? Is that even possible?”
“Apparently. Funnily enough, she never tells us how to kill a witch.”
By the end of the week, I’ve settled into a cautious daily routine that always ends with me leaning over the ice chest, scooping the soothing cubes into as many cloths as I can get my hands on. I constantly soak Striker’s blanket with melting ice packs jammed against my knuckles. I have no idea how the other students pummel the wooden practicing posts every day. I have blisters on top of blisters now. Lucinda promises I’ll develop callouses soon but I’m not so sure.
At the beginning of my second week, Striker prowls up to the post I share with Ashley, leaning against the free patch of wood between us and staring at me, his arms folded across his chest. I ignore him for all of five seconds before I stop my aimless exercise.
I arch my eyebrow at him.
“Feet,” he says, scowling.
I glance down. “What about my feet?”
He rolls his eyes. “Take a look at Ashley’s.”
With that, he turns and walks away, taking a random swipe at Lachlan, who deftly dodges Striker’s blow and swings back with a punch that clips Striker’s shoulder. The two of them muscle up at each other and Ms. Hawk screams at them to get on the mat.
Ashley leans around the post with a surprised expression lighting up her emerald eyes, mouthing: What was that about?
I shrug but eye the position of her feet when she resumes her exercise, mimicking her stance before I lay into my post again. I’m surprised to find it gives me better balance.
As soon as I ease up to give my hands a break, Ms. Hawk appears at my shoulder, tapping me with her wand. The electrical shock makes me yelp.
“You will not rest in my class, Price.”
I respond by whacking the post, imagining it’s her face.
“Better,” she snarls before she walks away, shouting orders at Lucinda, who is visibly avoiding hitting her post.
The next day, Striker approaches my position again. Lucinda is opposite me this time. He catches her hand mid-motion, gripping tight even though she jolts and struggles to free herself. “Hey! Striker, what the hell?”
I lurch to the side to see her, ready to throw myself at him if he hurts her. He takes a firm hold of her waist with his free hand and pulls her arm back in an arc. She resists until he growls at her, “Relax.”
He guides her hand toward the post in a perfect swing. I consider the motion and the way Striker’s gaze meets mine. Without another word, he releases Lucinda and stalks away, this time shoving Joseph along the way.
Lucinda gapes after him, but then eases her arm back and forth at the angle he demonstrated. When she taps the wood, she gives an intrigued, “Hmm.”
I study the angle of her arm and torso, mimic it, and follow through with a much stronger hit to my side of the post. It hurts my hand like hell, but the motion is a lot smoother.
On the following day, Striker grabs Bree’s leg, giving her the same treatment he gave Lucinda. She attempts to balance mid-kick while he supports her back. Again, he waits until I’m watching before he guides her body in the direction he wants it to go—a perfect kick. He lets her go and walks away.
Bree glares at his back before she swings to me, planting her hands on her hips. “Spill it, Price. Yesterday it was Lucinda. The day before it was Ashley. Whoever takes a post with you gets groped by Draven. What’s going on?”
I chew my lip thoughtfully. Speaking aloud my quiet truce with Striker feels dangerous. He said he wouldn’t touch me, but he also agreed to teach me how to fight. It looks like he’s found a way to do both. “How did that kick feel?” I ask.
She continues to glare at me as she tests it out. A curious crease settles on her forehead. “Better. Easier.”
“Well, then, what’s the problem?”
She purses her lips, scowling, but lets it go.
At the end of my second week at Bloodwing, Lucinda takes up position opposite me again, but she’s quiet and still. I can see her leg and arm from where I stand, but not her face—the post is too wide and too high. She doesn’t move and worry settles in the pit of my stomach. If we don’t start working out, Ms. Hawk will storm over and zap us.
I start in on the post with my open palms, trying to develop callouses on them and give my knuckles a break. I use the movement to peek around the post at the same time.
Lucinda’s right palm presses against it for a moment. Then she lets go. Her arm moves like normal after that and the smacking sound I expected to hear resumes opposite me.
I close my fist and revert to a punch. My knuckles hit the wood… but this time the impact doesn’t hurt.
My eyes widen. I inhale a surprised breath.
Trying not to draw attention, I press gently against the wood. It’s softer. Not like a cushion, but like a squishy punching bag. It has the give it needs to provide a proper surface for a workout.
When I hit it again, my fist is cushioned, the wood bending and fitting to the contours of my hand before it springs back.
Lucinda did it. She’s manipulating the wood.
Relief and happiness flow through me. Controlling living trees is one thing—the fact that she can now control dead wood tells me how powerful she’s becoming. I’m happy for her and, admittedly, for myself. These posts are a nightmare.
I find an excuse to bend, rub my foot, and lean around the post to take a glance at her.
She casts me a secret, self-satisfied smile, but neither of us says anything.
That night at dinner, she nudges me while Bree and Ashley are deep in conversation opposite us. “I’ll do it to the others tomorrow.”
I assume she means the other practicing posts. I cast a casual glance around the room to make sure the compliance officers aren’t listening. “Thank you. It makes a big difference.”
She nods, the light in her brown eyes glowing brighter. For a second, a ripple flows through the tiny rings within her eyes. Her power is subtle but unmistakable now that I know what I’m looking at.
“I finally found a way to make peace with what we’re forced to do,” she says. “The earth and wood are willing when the motivation is right.”
For the next two months, Lucinda keeps up her magic on the posts and Striker maintains his arm’s-length method of teaching me how to fight. Any time he doesn’t like my technique, he targets whoever stands opposite me, waiting until I’m watching before he manipulates their bodies in the way he wants me to move.
Ms. Hawk doesn’t seem to mind since he’s rough with the girls and he always sprinkles his attention between menacing me and picking fights with the other guys.
After that initial brief conversation with Bree, nobody questions why he does it, and to my surprise, the other girls relax into it. Some of them even race to choose the other side of my post so they’re on the receiving end of Striker’s instructions. At first, I’m cynical. I mean, seriously, are they that desperate to be groped?
Then I realize… they’re learning too. Combined with Lucinda’s effect on the practicing posts, all of the girls are becoming stronger and faster. So much so that the guys are starting to take notice. Lucinda softened their practicing posts, too, and every time Striker picks a fight with one of them, they hit back hard. But I notice that they watch the way he moves. It’s as subtle as the rings in Lucinda’s eyes, but a few days later, I’ll see them try out Striker’s moves on each other, practicing over and over until they get it right.
They’re not fighting anymore. They’re training.
I nearly wish Striker would pick a fight with me. I’m stronger and faster than I believed possible after only three months at the Academy, my hits on the post making so much impact that it sometimes wobbles and I have to ease up before Ms. Hawk notices. The speed with which I’m becoming stronger tells me I’m built for something more.
I’m approaching a place in my development where I
need to practice on someone I’m not afraid of hurting, but asking Striker to fight me will only break our careful truce.
Ashley is the only one who isn’t improving. She tries hard at the post, but her movements are clunky and graceless. She’s quiet at every meal, the dark rings under her eyes growing darker, and her blonde hair is loose and becoming matted. Lucinda starts sitting close beside her at mealtime, trying to encourage her to eat. She also takes up position on the other side of Ashley’s practicing post every day, but Ashley barely communicates anymore. Most alarming, her green eyes lose their luminosity, becoming dull. Even the guys start to notice. Lachlan most of all hovers over her, walking beside her, picking up things she drops because her hands are shaking, giving her his snack food because she can’t hold out her hands to catch her own anymore. The fact that she barely notices tells me how bad her situation is getting.
By the end of my fourth month, my focus shifts from my own survival to Ashley’s. It’s hard to find places to talk, but I drag Lucinda aside after dinner one night. “We need to help her or she’s not going to make it.”
“It’s phase two,” she says, frustration showing in her tense shoulders and the way she rubs her eyes. “They’ve painted her room with runes. She can’t sleep. She’s nauseous all the time. Her mind is breaking.”
“Can’t you do something about that? The walls are wooden, aren’t they?”
Lucinda’s eyes fill with frustrated tears. “I’ve tried already, but the magic they use… It’s… I don’t know how to describe it… It’s sticky. I can’t peel it back or remove it. I’m trying really hard.” Her voice rises and she gulps, taking a deep breath before anyone hears us. “I’m trying, but I’m scared. Another week like this and she’s not going to make it.”
I clench my teeth as Ashley stumbles past us, her head down, her hair falling across her eyes. She barely ate two mouthfuls at dinner.
“We won’t let that happen.”
Lucinda peers at me. “It sounds an awful lot like you care, Peyton.”
I ignore the truth in her statement. “What if you stop focusing on the runes and start focusing on the ceiling and walls? Can you turn the panels around?”
She blinks at me. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Turn the wood panels around and mix them up so the runes are broken.”
“You’re talking about changing the structure of her bedroom without everything collapsing around her.” Lucinda stares are me, incredulous. “I’m not that powerful.”
“Really?” I cast her a challenging glare. “Do I have to pull a Striker on you and smack some belief into you?”
She gives a little laugh, but it sounds like a shriek. I suddenly realize that I’m menacing over her the way that Striker does, fists clenched, too close for comfort. Damn, he’s rubbing off on me.
She gasps. “Not necessary. I’ll try.”
“Do more than try, Lucinda,” I threaten. “I’ll give you one night. If it doesn’t work, I’ll break into Ashley’s room and get us both committed to the pit for the night. She’ll sleep better there anyway.”
Lucinda nods with wide eyes. “I’ll do it.”
I stride away from her, heading to the attic to shower, passing Striker on the way. His eyes are narrowed at me, but I push past, running up the stairs two at a time. I’m not even out of breath when I reach the top.
The next morning marks the beginning of my fifth month at Bloodwing. For the first time, Striker doesn’t lap me on my morning run. He can’t. Every time I hear his footsteps behind me, I respond by increasing my own speed, keeping him at a distance. He’s eating my dust for the first time and I can’t help enjoying it.
After half an hour, he finally heads inside before I do, casting an unreadable look back at me while I continue around the perimeter. The compliance officers have become tired of my daily routine. They watch me for the first few laps before they get bored and disappear inside again.
I sprint the final lap and when I finish, I’m still not tired. My breathing is easy. If it weren’t for the whole levitating thing, I might consider whether I’m a panther shifter. They’re super fast and don’t tire easily.
Alone out here for the first time in a long time without Striker, I take a moment to study the tree line beyond the fence. Out at the back, there’s a brighter spot within the forest, what I imagine is a track. I stroll casually past it, taking glances between the thick trees, trying to see where the path leads, but it’s impossible to figure it out.
Trees for miles. That’s all there is. My surveillance of the Academy over the last months has, frustratingly, revealed no chinks in the security around this place. I thought I had the compliance officers’ routines figured out, but then they went and switched them up. Over time, I’ve come to recognize the way they operate. They’re all wizards, carrying wands, but definitely ex-military. The fence around the perimeter keeps us penned in and the strange glimmer across the sky tells me I’ll be dead if I ever try levitating over the top of it. I can see the shimmer in the day now, a fake sheen like a plastic bubble stretched out high above us. It descends into the forest, a wider perimeter than the Academy grounds.
Finally heading inside for breakfast, I find Lucinda sitting with Ashley, and I’m relieved to see color in Ashley’s cheeks. She’s inhaling her food like nobody’s business. I take two bites of my toast before I hand Ashley the rest of mine. “Knock yourself out.”
She sweeps her hair out of her face, her eyes a little lighter today, a hint of determination returned to them. “Thanks, Peyton.”
Lucinda gives me a nod and I return it with a haughty I-told-you-so glare that makes her roll her eyes.
Lachlan passes us, stops, and presses his hand to Ashley’s shoulder. “You okay, Ashley?”
Despite his attempts to help her over the past weeks, it’s the first time I’ve seen him speak with her—or touch her, for that matter.
She looks up at him between the strands of her hair. The faint smile she gives him seems to be enough of an answer. He nods and strides away.
Joseph is close behind him, giving Lucinda an equally careful nod. Striker is the last to leave as the other students file out to gym class.
I flick my braid over my shoulder, already dressed in gym clothes. I practically live in them now, at ease with my body and the muscles developing in my legs, arms, and stomach.
I catch the sudden flare of heat behind Striker’s eyes as his gaze travels the length of my body to my bare toes but he doesn’t make a move toward me before I head out to class.
20. Striker Draven
Peyton gives me a self-assured smile before she stalks out ahead of me. It’s hard to look at her without remembering the way her pajama shirt clung to her curves on the night she told me the sky was wrong. She was vulnerable that night. Since then, a confident air has grown around her, a defiance in her eyes and posture. Damn, she draws me like wildfire. Trying to catch up to her this morning was like trying to catch a flame speeding along a trail of dynamite.
Still, I’ve kept my word. I’ve stayed away from her. Every day, the distrust in her eyes lessens. Actually… the longer I stay away from her, the more like me she becomes. Watching her threaten Lucinda yesterday was like looking in a mirror. When did violence become a virtue?
It shouldn’t be like this, but this place skews everything. I can’t tell what’s normal anymore.
I follow her out, captivated by the way her long legs glide across the ground. Her grace and agility have increased with her strength. The other day, I was worried she was going to smash her practicing post but she eased off just in time. She was gorgeous when she first arrived. Now she’s mesmerizing.
Once outside, I prowl around the practicing posts, not sure what I’ll teach Peyton today. Short of getting on the mat with her, I’m reaching the limit of what I can show her. She needs to practice against someone. I consider whether I could wrangle a fight between her and one of the guys, maybe Joseph since he owes her for the night that she took
the fall for his flicker fit. He’d approach her more carefully than the others would. Although… Lachlan hasn’t ignored the fact that Peyton has been watching over Ashley. He’d be another good choice.
Lachlan has already taken up a spot past the far side of the combat mat—at the same post that Ashley is standing at. She’s hitting her post with an energy she hasn’t had for weeks. Peyton’s headed in their direction, her purposeful steps indicating she’ll choose the post next to theirs, still watching over Ashley like a hawk.
I decide to veer around the combat mat and approach from the other side. That way I’ll reach Lachlan without walking past Peyton. I can shove him directly into Peyton and get them on the mat together.
I’m five paces away from Lachlan’s post when a flash of light catches my eye. I tell myself it’s just the sunlight glinting off a compliance officer’s belt buckle, but my inner senses sizzle and my stomach sinks.
It’s a flicker fit.
But whose?
My beast wakes up, triggered by the surge of fear inside me, but I shove him down. I can’t allow him to show up right now. I need to act fast, but not draw attention. This whole area is surrounded by compliance officers. If I run or do anything sudden, they’ll know there’s a problem.
Whoever’s in trouble, the bright sunlight is camouflaging them for now, but it won’t be long before Ms. Hawk notices. I have precious seconds to figure out who it is before another flash of light will catch her, or the officers’, eye. Then whoever’s fitting is going to have a very bad day.
My gaze quickly rakes over the students directly ahead since that’s the direction it came from.
Peyton has reached her post. It could be her, but her steps are too smooth and steady. Flicker fits make people twitch. She would have frozen up by now.
Joseph is also directly in my eyeline. He’s standing at the post on my left, before Ashley and Lachlan’s post. Joseph was the last to have a flicker fit. It has to be him.
I take two steps toward him before the light flashes again, this time from the next post.
