She starts tugging that much harder. “Running? Like as in jogging? A fast walk? Where you sweat and cramp and hurt your knees … that kind of running?”
“Yes! Now pull.” With a hefty tug, we finally get the leather up my over hips. After all of that, tying the lace and snapping the buttons is easy.
Once I’m cinched and secure, Emmy abandons me and heads downstairs. I can’t believe that she gets a black uniform that is oddly similar to scrubs while I have to wear this. I spare a moment to glance in the mirror and am utterly shocked. I give myself a quick motivational speech and head downstairs.
“What did you want me to do exactly?” I hear Damon ask. “I tried to wake her up. I even sent one of my doubles up there and she bit him.” Doubles?
Heavy footsteps pace the floor in the living room. “You were told to ensure she was there on time and you failed to do that,” Lincoln replies.
I jump the last few steps, scurrying across the space to where I find black boots sitting on the coffee table. Both men just stare at me in silence, theirs heads slightly cocked.
“What?” I demand as I throw on the heavy boots. Damon releases a long drawn out whistle. I barely contain my smile. This outfit may take two people to get on, but it does look really good.
“Umm guys … don’t we have something we should be doing right now instead of ogling?” Emmy says as she taps her foot to the beat of her words, her head shaking back and forth.
“Let’s go,” Lincoln says as he makes an about-face and starts walking towards the front door.
I don’t argue because I have a feeling that if I push my luck I will truly regret what happens next. I follow him quietly, leaving Emmy and Damon sitting on the couch.
I can only assume the area in front of us is the training field, and there is no doubt in my mind that it was built for one thing…torture. Acres upon acres of torture. Hardened paths from heavy use weave throughout the space. Large targets are set off to one side and are aligned at varying distances from a red line marked in the dirt. Multiple sand pits are enclosed in wooden fences. Straw dummies are strung up in various locations with red painted on their chests and faces. Small stone huts probably used for weapons storage or something litter the area. Random posts are scattered about, covered in slash marks and punctures. Of course, no training area would be complete without an obstacle course, which is tucked right in the center all of the sand pits.
Before I get a chance to ask what we’re going to be doing, specifically, Lincoln assigns me laps. The more I argue, the more laps I get. The longer I drag my feet, the more laps I get. I start sensing a pattern and decide to just shut up.
My lungs are on fire. My thighs burn. I’m confident that no amount of air I take in will be enough. The stitch in my side throbs with every step I take. Damn him! Damn that man! I’m drenched in sweat, sweating in places I didn’t know people could sweat from. I want to go back to bed. This is stupid. However, I have to applaud Lincoln on his torture methods. This girl has learned her lesson and will not only be on time tomorrow … but early. Early for the first time in my adult life. He should consider himself special.
As I round the corner, I can see Lincoln standing at the finish line watching. I put on a very small burst of speed, my body screaming in protest. The faster I go, the sooner it’s over. And then my arms flail to the side as my ankle twists, causing me to land flat on my face. Shit!
“You’re probably the slowest runner I’ve ever seen,” Lincoln says as I limp through the finish line. “Half an hour to eat, then we begin training.” Then we begin training? What the hell was that run supposed to have just been if not training?? He walks off, leaving me there alone heaving to catch my breath and grunt through the pain of the stitch in myside.
After a few minutes I head toward the dingy tent where Lincoln has already loaded up a plate and found a seat at one of the two tables inside.
My plate clanks down on the table in front of my trainer. He watches me as I try to maneuver my legs over the bench and under the table. Stupid leather pants. “What?” I say, challenging him to say some something.
He shakes his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. I snarl as his fingers rummage through my knotted curls, pulling painfully at my scalp. “I wasn’t wrong about what I said last night. You’re not from here, so you’re unfamiliar with our rules. Here, we give our opponents a fair fight. We don’t bash them in the face with our shoes. You can’t expect to win a battle by luck. You can’t expect to stay alive that way either.”
“Living is the whole point,” I counter. “If you didn’t want to stay alive, you wouldn’t defend yourself. It’s human nature to want to live. Whether physical or emotional, we’ve all fought against something and made it to the other side. Does it really matter how we did it?” I refuse to look at him as I speak, instead pretending to pick at the food on my plate.
“It’s not about life or death. It’s about knowing you have the strength to be there when it counts. That starts with proven defense techniques, not hurling everything and the kitchen sink at your opponent, hoping something sticks. Your improvised fighting methods are unbecoming of Strega and the Pensatore clan and won’t save you when your opponent is not an idiot,” Lincoln responds firmly.
“What happens,” I hiss back at him, “when they don’t play by your rules? When you’re pinned on your back with a psychopath slicing a blade across your skin, telling you all the ways he will enjoy making you scream. Would you not want me to fight back in any way possible? Because I doubt his brand of crazy is going to take a time out when I tell him he has to play by the proper rules of combat.”
The muscles in his jaw throb with each beat of his heart, his teeth grinding together. “I didn’t see that part.”
“You wouldn’t have. You saw the first attack with Stanley. You were present for some of the third. But I’m referring to the second. You seem to forget, Lincoln, that you know nothing about me. Nothing about what I’ve been through. Yet you judge anyway.”
It takes me a few minutes to maneuver my legs out from under the cafeteria-style table, which completely ruins my perfectly timed exit. He doesn’t follow me, though – doesn’t ask where I’m storming off to. Which is good, seeing as I have no idea. I walk until I find some bleacher type seating next to one of the sand pits.
I don’t understand Lincoln’s deal with learning to “properly fight.” I mean I get wanting to teach me how to fight and improve my skills, but it’s like he takes it personally that I only made it out due to sheer luck. I remember coming home that night, looking into the mirror for the first time. The way my stomach sank when Emmy asked if I had killed him. I joked about it, saying it was Violent Violet’s finest moment.
“We have things to do, Violet. Stop brooding and let’s go.” Lincoln’s voice interrupts my memories. With a huff, I climb down and follow after him.
He navigates his way through the training fields until we travel the entire length of it. Once clear, we reach a dense forest that branches out as far as I can see. Towering trees surround us and a large crystal blue lake is directly ahead when Lincoln finally stops.
“Children of Strega are born with their powers,” he explains. “As they grow, so do their abilities. This allows them the time to learn how to gain control of their gifts. You were in the human realm, your lightning stifled. Because of this your element manifested late in life. You have the power of an adult and the control of a five year old. The most important aspect for you to learn is that magic isn’t free, there’s a price we all must pay. To break it down for you: all witches and warlocks are born with what we call a well of energy. When you reach the bottom of that well, your powers will no longer work. This situation is not temporary; if you deplete yourself you’ll become a witch with no power. Therefore, you need to be very diligent when using your ability and pay attention to the warning signs. You’re the only one who can sense this energy and the only one who can stop before draining yourself completely. Make sense?”
> When Tessa mentioned most of this last night before dinner, I didn’t think twice about it. Now Lincoln’s acting like reaching the bottom is a bad thing. But all I see is a light at the end of the tunnel, a way to make myself normal again. “Yeah,” I say to Lincoln.
“When you use your ability, you’re drawing the power from that well. The signs will start out small as you begin to run low, such as effecting your accuracy or range. Soon you’ll be unable to do anything significant. You’ll struggle to produce even the smallest of sparks. Eventually, even that will be impossible. It’ll take a toll on you physically as well. You’ll become winded, weak, faint; it differs with each witch or warlock. But the result is always the same; you’ll lose the ability to wield your power indefinitely.”
Once again, I’m really not seeing a negative here. If I had no powers and Emmy has no powers, then can we go back home, right? Would those people stop chasing us?
“The most important thing you should take from this, Violet,” Lincoln continues, “is that once you sense any of these things, stop. You’re not only risking your power, but your physical energy will be depleted as well. It will leave you open and vulnerable. That’s why it is so important to increase your endurance. Later we will work on hand to hand combat. Having other options of defense available to you will only increase your odds of survival. Since – according to you – wanting to live is basic human nature, now is the time to learn how to make it possible.”
The only time my magic has offered me any aid was against Mr. Slice and Dice. Even then, it’s debatable if I won due to my lightning or my scrappy ways. Is there a point in learning how to harness and wield the magic within me? Maybe they are chasing me because of this lightning. Perhaps ridding myself of it will end this. Then Emmy and I can go back to Florida. Makes total sense. I think. I’ll play along in their game, learn how to use it on command and then purge. Purge until I’m human again. “How long can I use it before I run out? How deep is my well?” I ask.
“Once you are able to summon the magic at will, I will test you … find out how long you can last before you are empty,” Lincoln explains. “Some people can last only minutes, others manage for hours depending on the wielders energy level.” Well that sounds like a fun time … good thing I have no intention of being tested.
I’ve wanted to ask Lincoln about his powers since I was told about how the clans are divided and, for whatever reason, I choose now to do it. Thus far I know that he has two abilities, I’m not sure if this is the uniqueness Riley was talking about last night, but I assume it is. “Why is a water elemental living in Pensatore? Or better yet, why does a Rovente member have a Pensatore power?”
He stares at me for the longest time. It seems as though he’s trying to decide on just how much he should explain to me. “I’m a hybrid. My brothers and I are all hybrids. It means that I possess powers from both clans. Our mother was Pensatore, father from Rovente … making the three of us hybrids.”
“Is that common here?”
Lincoln gives me a humorous smile that releases butterflies in my stomach. “Common? No. Rovente and Pensatore are on neutral terms, we are neither friends nor enemies, but we do not like each other. Rovente is head strong to put it nicely. They believe that their abilities are stronger than Pensatore abilities. They deem this clan as the weaker breed and they feel as though mating with one of us is nothing more than a taint to their flawless bloodline. They kill hybrids the moment they are born.”
Wow. How do I even respond to that? “Then how are the three of you alive?”
“Our mother kept us here. Pensatore isn’t like Rovente. We are not judged or killed for what we are, not here anyway.”
I clear my throat. “Are there other hybrids here then?”
“No. Like I said, hybrids are not common. Most Rovente members are disgusted with the idea of mating with one of us, let alone reproducing. We are the only three alive that I know of.”
“Does it make you some of the strongest people here?” Perhaps that is why all three of them are Commanders to this clan.
“Yes, it does.”
The large crystal blue lake before us empties and I know that the conversation is over. The water, fish included, floats more than a dozen feet over our heads. His hands circle above his head creating a hollow ring that swirls end over end. His act is so precise that not a single drop falls from the form. His finger snaps towards the empty lake, guiding the water back to its original resting place.
“Were you paying attention to how I did that?” Lincoln eyeballs me, his brow raised high, knowing full well I hadn’t been preparing for a test after the short show.
“Of course.” When in doubt … lie. His fingers run through his long bangs. I’ve realized over the long days I’ve known him that he does that when he’s getting irritated. “You did that thing with your hands.” I flail my arms around in an intentionally over the top impression of what I just watched him do.
“That’s user discretion. Some use hand motions while others don’t. As a beginner, I’ll teach you to use them. Once you become more precise, you can stop if you choose to. So, controlling your element is easy to learn but more difficult to do. We ‘will’ our desires to our elements. For example, if I wanted to spray you down with water, I would imagine just that. For a beginner it would be best to imagine it with full details, as many as you can think of. So in this situation, I would picture water propelling from my palm in a hearty and steady stream. Then if I wanted it to shoot you in the face and drench you, I would imagine water dripping from your face, your hair soaking wet … things like that.” A gush of frigid water hits me right between my eyes, drenching me from head to foot. I stare him down, spitting out a mouthful of water.
“See … simple,” he says with an uncontained chuckle.
“So this is like speaking to the power itself, right?” I ask, wiping water from my face.
“In a way, yes. Your element is your language, a language that only you can speak. The lightning needs to learn you as much as you need to learn it. It will start to grasp your quirks and summon itself before you can finish your thought. But that only happens with practice.”
I twirl a curl of my hair in my finger. “I’m not sure I understand. Can I summon this whenever I want or does there have to be electricity nearby for me to steal from?” I’m not sure why I want more clarification, seeing as I have no intention of keeping this magic, but it’s too late now.
“Yes and no. I am not familiar with the lightning element but take mine for example. Water. I can create my own but it takes more energy to do so. I also have to be very hydrated to do it too. Manipulating the water around me takes far less energy and is always my first choice. Until we figure out what kind of elemental you are, there is no reason to worry about that yet.”
“What kind of elemental I am? What does that mean? I have lightning, you already know this.”
He sighs, shoving his fingers through his hair. “There are different kinds, Violet. I just told you that we will cover it later.” He points towards one of the larger trees closest to us. “Now, your turn. The tree off to your left is your target. I want you to look at it and inspect all its details. Focus on the tree and the tree alone. Imagine a bolt of lightning plunging from the sky and striking its branches. Picture the electricity flowing down the bark and stripping it bare. Give it a try.”
The tree’s a pretty good distance away and I can’t make out many details like Lincoln told me to. It looks like a tree, just like every other damn tree! Is this some kind of joke? Is he trying to be funny? I try anyway, feeling like an idiot every time I squint to see exactly what shade of brown the bark is.
Sparks and flashes come from behind me, striking all around Lincoln. Oops.
Lincoln’s standing there stoically, his head shaking back and forth slightly. “Aim’s a little off. You didn’t picture the tree. You have to picture your target, Violet – if you don’t, you are very dangerous to those around you.”
&nb
sp; “I was picturing the tree, you idiot! It’s not my fault you picked something so far away! Not only that, but I’m new and I don’t know what to do!”
“It’s almost like you were trying to strike me,” Lincoln sighs. Loudly. “Talk.”
“Umm. I’m cold.” What the hell does he want me to say?
“You were thinking about me, not about what I told you to do. Why? Is it because of our disagreement earlier?”
“No! I’m over it, Lincoln. You bringing it up every other minute, however, is really starting to irritate me.”
“I’m not trying to do that. But I need to understand so I can help you focus. What else is on your mind that’s distracting you from your task?” His tone is gentle and supportive which only annoys me more.
My arm swings in the direction of the tree. “You assigned me a tree five miles away and told me to think of all the small details. I can’t even see the stupid thing!”
Enemy Of My Enemy (Price Of Power Book 1) Page 8