by Emery Skye
“So, what's in Anchorage?”
“Training.” There was no smile. No laughter. Just Legite Deror.
I looked at my lap.
A few breakfast sandwiches later, we arrived at the caked-in-white, incredibly massive Sullivan Arena. The doors were embedded in a big “o”
I was practically jumping up and down. I loved hockey. It was the best sport. Blood, hitting people, it was all a part of the game, while in the same horror movie, guys danced on skates. It was poetic and artsy. I imagined Amalie would be happy with the creative connection.
I smiled, but then it dropped as I thought about Amalie. What a little brat. How could she still hide things from me?
Deror nudged me.
“No long faces today. These guys,” he gestured toward the arena, “can smell fear.”
I sighed through my nose.
“Screw that,” I said, serious.
This earned me a bright smile.
He pulled some bags out of the SUV, and we walked toward the arena. Only a few people milled around the mostly empty stands. The chairs were twenty thousand pencil dots on paper surrounding a black and white oval face.
The players on the ice wore red gear but not enough for two teams. There weren’t enough people in the stands for a game.
“What’s going on?” I looked at the Legite, who smiled and removed his shades, revealing a mischievous gleam in his eyes. My heart soared. I was sick to my stomach. "What are we doing here?”
“Training,” he said again.
My jaw dropped.
His smile widened.
“On the ice? Are you insane? I can’t skate!” I knew how to fight, shoot a bow, wield a dagger or sword, ride a horse, but skating did not kill demons.
This had to be a joke.
Just then, somebody yelled.
“Nathan? Is that you? Holy shit! It is! Come down here!” He wore a facemask. Guy must’ve been a goalie.
I looked from him, to Nathan, and back, absolutely confused. We made our way down to him. Nathan knew this guy. They looked about the same age.
And, they were… friends?
Legite Deror was friends with a human. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder.
We walked down the steps to the bench area through a door. They embraced.
I stood back, feeling like a total idiot, trying to wrap my mind around this. They joked and caught up in friendly conversation.
“Hey, kid,” Nathan’s friend tossed his head at me with a broad smile lighting his angular features.
I glared at him. Who was he calling kid? I was almost seventeen, thank you. I crossed my arms.
“Noviate?” the Iceman asked, chuckling heartily.
My mind was blown. A human knew about us. Oh man. I just got of jail. I so had no desire to go back.
“Her name is Anna,” Deror told him, ignoring the use of the title.
The Iceman skated over to me, resting a hand on the railing. He extended his hand.
“I’m Mikey.”
I shook his hand, hard.
“I like her, Nathan. Hope Academy kids are spirited. Well, as spirited as a robot can be,” he smiled.
I wished I still held his hand. I’d break it. Who did he think he was? How did he know about Hope Academy? Or noviates?
“Legite Deror,” I said with emphasis on the title.
Iceman Mikey answered.
“No titles here, kid. We go by first names.”
I cocked a brow at him. He returned the look. I had issues with the Academy, but an outsider being so flippant about my home unsettled me.
“You guys gonna play or what?” Mikey asked.
“Let's do it,” Nathan grinned like a schoolgirl.
I wanted to ask what “it” was.
Nathan pulled out a pair of bulky black skates and tossed them to me. I caught them easily but held them like they would explode. I’d never skated. I didn’t even know how to put them on.
I stared at the strange laces and plastic clips apprehensively.
Nathan chuckled and sat on the bench. I followed suit. The wood was cool against my butt. He pulled out similar, much larger skates, and put them on slowly, showing me how to do it.
Mikey skated in circles.
“How does he know about us? Who is he?” I whispered.
“A friend. Finish up, and get out there,” he commanded.
I snorted.
“I can’t skate,” slowly enunciating each word.
“Could you always fight?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.” At least for as long as I could remember.
“You were born kicking and hitting perfectly for combat situations?” He half smiled.
“Okay, so maybe not always,” I rolled my eyes.
“Just try.”
I was a damned noviate. An athlete. How hard could it be? It was just running on blades, right? I could do this.
Try, I did, and fell, several times over. It sucked. Each time, Iceman laughed crazily. I wanted to clobber him with a bat.
This time, I sat on ice that no longer felt cold because my legs were on fire. Skating beat every workout out there, or maybe, it was getting up dozens of times. I had yet to touch the puck, and my muscles throbbed and burned unnaturally.
Nathan skated to me, grinning stupidly.
“This sucks,” I said. He extended a hand. “I’m good.”
Normally, I’d fight to the death, but, in this case, surrender felt like winning. I wasn’t flying the white flag, but sometimes, you had to retreat to fight another day. Made sense to me.
“You’re just going to sit here? On the ice? Pouting again?” He kept his hand out.
“If I get up, then I’ll only be sitting there,” I gestured to the spot next to me, “in half a second.”
He laughed.
“I don’t get it. I don’t want to sound cocky, but I’m good… at everything I do.”
“I can’t understand why you think that's cocky,” he smiled.
The butterflies in my stomach changed direction.
"I’ll be a better coach this time around,” he offered me a hand up.
I accepted. It was just like the first time we met. I was back on my feet in less than a second.
It was different this time. I paid close attention to the actual mechanics of skating rather than trying to do it my way. I didn’t lean out with a ghetto booty and no longer felt myself falling forward.
Don’t lean too far forward. Don’t lean back.
Nathan stayed behind me, helping me maintain my form, like a good coach. I found it difficult to concentrate on skating. He was too close. I succeeded, but I don't know how.
It took a few tries, and losing my balance, (without falling) but I got the hang of skating forward. It wasn't second nature, like fighting, so I knew it would take a while. After a while, it was fun. I even skated backwards.
The boys pushed around the puck, so of course, I tried it. I managed a few awkward compliments from Iceman. I learned some of the other guys’ names; Nick, Steve, and Marcus. Nick was the tallest with an infectious laugh. Steve was shortest and broad-shouldered. Marcus was built a lot like Nathan and, by far, the most helpful. He’d give me pointers as he skated by. It was enough encouragement to keep me from giving up. Nick explained braking, but implementing it had me eating ice. Nathan scolded him for that.
I forgot about everything for a while and just enjoyed the day. I eventually got tired, and it was late, so I rested on the bench.
That was when it happened. Nathan landed on his behind and ripped his pants. We all laughed at him, deep belly laughs that hurt so good.
He blushed from his collar to his hairline. He looked his age instead of the perfect Legite he was. After a few laughs, I decided to help him. I checked his bag. Luckily, he had a pair of sweats. I walked onto the ice, smiling.
I extended my free hand.
He didn’t reach for it.
“Pouting?” I asked.
>
He half-sighed, half-grunted, and it was cuteness incarnate.
“No!” he frowned.
“Then, get up. Or are you just going to sit here, in the middle of the ass? Ice,” I corrected.
Shoot.
He smiled.
“I think you got it right the first time, kid,” Mikey bellowed from the other side of the ice.
Nathan took my hand. I waited for him to get up, but he pulled me off my feet. I fell on top of him with a loud grunt.
“Ow!” I smacked him on the shoulder. Smacked. Not punched, but smacked. Like a girl. Not a noviate.
Somebody cleared their throat pointedly. I looked. It was Marcus.
“Thanks,” Nathan said sarcastically as we got to our feet.
Marcus was really very sweet. It was too bad that Amalie… My thoughts trailed to a bad place. Marcus was a human; my sister was an angel. They could never be together.
The boys went to the locker rooms to shower. I didn’t have a change of clothes and wasn’t all that sweaty. My cardio was reduced by the constant falling. I waited in the stands in a very uncomfortable plastic chair, and Mikey came and sat next to me.
“Can I help you?” I sighed.
“I like you, kid,” he laughed.
The term of endearment annoyed me, but he seemed genuine, so I let it slide.
He looked different without the hockey uniform. He actually looked good in the wrinkly SpongeBob T-shirt he wore. It was a little small and silly, but he was in good shape. Warrior shape.
“Nathan’s a good guy... He’s been through a lot, but it's never kept him from helping people,” Mikey told me.
“Umm…okay,” Random. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Not sure,” Mikey shrugged.
“How do you know about us?” He cocked a brow, and I realized my sucky wording. “I mean Legites and Noviates?”
“I have my ways,” he said mysteriously.
I bristled.
“I heard you put on quite the show: defying the Patron, getting a blessing from Hutriel. Intense stuff, kid.”
He said it like he was impressed.
I was gratified, but he had no idea how much trouble I was in.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you. Did Nathan tell you that?”
“What happened to Legite Deror?” he asked with a knowing smile.
What the hell? Did he know everything?
“No, kid. It wasn’t him. Nathan doesn’t gossip. I’m a little surprised, though. What’s so special about you? I’ve never heard of anybody escaping the Rod.”
Mikey's brown eyes bored into my soul. I tensed up, feeling like a leper all over again, except he never moved away from me.
“Nothing,” I answered.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Fine. Don’t,” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance, even though this conversation bugged the crap out of me.
“What did I miss? You’re not telling her horror stories, are you, Mikey?” Nathan said from behind me. “She can teach you a few moves. I’d watch out.”
“Tell me she fights better than she skates?” Mikey laughed.
“One of the best,” Nathan said with an air of pride. I snapped my gaze to him. A heat rushed up my neck as a grin fanned my face. I tried hiding how affected his compliment made me, but it was like stopping a bulldozer from hitting its target.
They joked and kept talking as we walked out to the SUV. The other guys followed us out. After a few minutes, they said their good-byes, and we got in the SUV and drove off.
Half an hour later, we stopped at a dive diner with chipped paint and a neon sign shaped like a giant cup of coffee. The OPEN sign flashed orange.
My stomach grumbled so loud it embarrassed me.
The place was almost empty. We picked a booth, Nathan ordered the healthiest thing on the menu, and I ordered fried pickles and coffee along with a chicken sandwich. I loved fried pickles, but I never had the opportunity to eat them at the Academy and not really around my mom either. Diets had to be perfect to make the perfect Warrior.
“Pickles and coffee?” he asked looking mildly grossed out. “You’re not pregnant are you?”
“That is so not funny! I like pickles and coffee. Besides, I can’t be pregnant,” I added the last part more as a side note to myself, but he heard it.
“Did you have your tubes tied?” he joked. This conversation made me only mildly uncomfortable.
“My tubes aren’t really proper table talk. Are they?” The truth being you had to have sex to be pregnant, and I hadn’t.
He must’ve sensed my prickly feelings, because he dropped the convo.
I waited for the server to bring our waters and leave again before I blurted out my next words.
“How do you know those guys? How long have you and Mikey known each other? He’s human!”
Nathan let out a long sigh.
“And how did he know about the Rod?” I moved in the seat.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
The server, whose nametag said, “Bridget,” topped off our glasses of water and my coffee.
It was bitter but still delicious. I was officially addicted.
“I don’t know how he knew about the Rod, but Mikey and I have known each other for years. It’s a long story. I thought you’d be grateful to get away. I didn’t think you’d ask a thousand questions,” he gulped his water.
“I’m curious.”
The clamor of pots and pans distracted me from the conversation for a second. A round man holding a frying pan and wearing a grease-stained apron barked orders at someone I couldn’t see.
When he disappeared into the kitchen, I continued.
“Mikey said Hutriel blessed me. What’d he mean by that?”
“Hutriel sanctified you—welcomed you. There's no record of it happening before.”
“I really am a leper,” I stared, dejected, at the table.
“What?”
“Never mind. So what now? The Patron already hates me. Speaking of, where does he think we are?” He wouldn't have allowed this.
“Recon on a possible clan of demons.”
Oh, great. So he really hoped a clan of demons would slaughter me. Nice.
The server brought our food. She’d undone a couple buttons of her blouse.
The sky darkened outside.
“He bought that?”
“Of course. I’m a high ranking officer in the Legion,” He gazed ravenously at his plate.
It almost made me laugh.
We ate. Nathan inhaled his food as one bite faded into the next.
I ate much more slowly, not really tasting my food. That was before the fried pickles. Delicious, crispy goodness, fried to perfection.
“You look like you’re in love,” Nathan said.
I almost choked on my pickle.
“Me?” I said with mock outrage. “You barely chewed!"
He smiled.
After a moment, I grinned back.
The moment lingered.
“Are those really good?” he asked, blatantly skeptical.
I put my hand over my heart, feigning hurt. After that, I spent a good couple of minutes convincing him to try fried pickles.
“They won’t kill you,” I said.
“I’m not convinced,” He cocked a brow.
I leaned toward the table and picked up a fried pickle, taking extra time, and went dramatic when I put it in my mouth, chewed and swallowed. I smiled when I finished.
“I’m still alive.”
“Poison,” he told me. “You’ve grown accustomed to poisoning yourself.” He tipped his chin. “That makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” I had a feeling we weren’t talking about pickles anymore.
“You do things that put you in bad positions. You act recklessly with no consideration for your own welfare.”
I almost snapped at him, but I didn’t. Wow. I had acted that way since he met me.
“I do what I have to,�
�� I told him.
“In our world, Anna, your duty to the Law must come first.” What he really was saying was I’d have to choose one day between my sister and the Law, and the Law would have to come first.
This conversation went downhill fast.
I sighed.
He picked up a pickle and stuck it in his mouth. His face was priceless. It was like a kid discovering candy. It made my heart swell.
He only ate one. True to Warrior form, he wouldn't indulge in the worldly pleasure of fried pickles. I felt a twinge of guilt. It faded quickly, leaving the familiar chemistry.
“You never told me how you know Mikey.” I hugged myself against the chill.
The door opened suddenly. Just a short drive away, the Academy waited, where nothing made sense.
He stopped sipping his water and drained the glass. The murmur of conversation sounded like electricity.
“We met when we were young. Mikey… always excelled at everything,” he said with a nostalgic smile. We got…correction, he got us into so much trouble,” he chuckled, and it sounded nice.
“How did you guys meet when you were young? He’s a human,” I addressed it again.
“He…changed. When Mikey witnesses an injustice or feels something is wrong, he fights back,” Nathan added.
“Sounds like a Warrior,” I mused.
He nodded.
“So, were your parents based around Mikey’s?”
He shook his head.
“So how?” I asked again.
“That’s Mikey’s story,” his eyes dared me to push the envelope. I didn’t. If I ever saw Mikey again, I’d get my answers.
“One more thing,” I asked. He sighed dramatically. “Have you really been to the Dark World?” his Adam’s apple stopped moving.
His face hardened.
“Where did you hear that?”
I shrunk down and hoped the seat would hide me. It didn’t.
“Just a rumor I heard.”
He glanced over to the bar where Bridget and a few other waitresses (all staring at our booth) were standing. I get it. He’s hot. Move along people. I mentally groaned.
They each took off toward different tables in the diner when they saw him looking.
“Yes,” he said with weariness.
I didn’t even blink. My heart stopped. Illegal. That was so freaking illegal and incredibly badass.
“What? When? How? Why?” the questions ran off my tongue in a mad sprint.