by Trisha Telep
Jarett bounded up the steps and dropped a token into the fare collector. “Thanks,” he said, not even out of breath. He didn’t acknowledge Ava, but she recognized his hard expression—the sword point. The same cold fury had burned in his eyes when he had thrown the water on her. But this time, he focused it on the grinning skull punk.
As the bus accelerated, Jarett knelt on the seat next to her, facing backward. “I thought I should make sure the bus was safe,” he said. He kept his right hand inside his jacket pocket and his gaze never left Grinning Skull.
Ava suspected he knew the kid. When the bus reached the trendy downtown area, it emptied of students, leaving her, Jarett and the punk. They rode for a while in silence. Tension radiated, filling the air. Ava startled when the kid dinged the signal for the next stop. Jarett jumped to his feet. Grinning Skull stood in the aisle, facing him.
Tammy opened the exit door in the middle of the bus.
“Next time,” Grinning Skull said, waggling boney fingers at Jarett. In a blink, he was gone.
“I told you that guy was on drugs,” Tammy said. “Did you see how fast he moved?”
Jarett relaxed into his seat as the bus drove away.
“A friend of yours?” Ava asked.
“No. He’s a troublemaker in my neighborhood. When I saw him on your bus, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t bother you.”
Conflicting emotions fought in her chest. She was pleased at his concern but annoyed he thought she couldn’t defend herself. “Don’t you have other things to do? It’s Friday night. Won’t your girlfriend be mad?” So lame!
By his sly smile, Ava knew he saw right through her.
“No worries, my harem will wait for me,” he teased. Then he sobered. “I wish. Between training, classes and work, there’s no time for fun. I’m guessing it’s the same with you. Although I’m sure the guys at your school must be lined up three-deep trying to get your attention.”
“Of course.” She flicked her long ponytail dramatically. “There’s a daily fight over me in the hallways.”
He laughed. The rich sound buzzed through her. She decided it didn’t matter why he was here, she would just enjoy his company. For Ava, the ride home flew by.
Ava used the access code Mr. Clipboard had given her to enter the now-empty Academy. Her mother followed, exclaiming over the equipment. Ava had two hours until her lesson with Salvatori, but a ride downtown from her mother was worth the wait. Plus her mother wanted a tour of the school.
“I’ll pick you up after my economics class.” Her mom left.
The silent studio gave Ava the creeps. She should warm up and practice before the others arrived, but she hesitated outside the dark locker rooms. Instead of changing, she explored the Academy. A few of the coaches’ offices lined the far left wall. Bulletin boards with flyers decorated the space between them.
Ava discovered a hallway in the far left corner of the building. Here the modern renovations ended and the original wood floor and arched windows remained. Half-moon-shaped stained glass transoms sat atop thick ornate doors. Curious to see what lurked behind this double wide entrance, Ava found Sandro Bossemi’s private studio and office.
She entered. The office held the typical furniture and clutter. Foils, épées and sabers rested in the corners. A large, almost life-sized crucifix hung on the far wall with a realistic Jesus nailed to it. The poor guy was frozen with his face creased in agony and wounds bleeding. Yikes.
None of Bossemi’s gold medals were on display. Disappointed, she returned to the corridor. Two other doors remained. One connected to Jarrett’s office, which explained how he’d magically appeared in the studio. The room led to his dojo.
Through the open office door, she watched him teach a few adults. They failed to look as impressive in their white uniforms as Jarett did. His flexibility and speed was striking compared to their awkward attempts. How could she have thought he was a perverted jerk?
She returned to the Academy. The last door had Vietato L’ingresso written on it. More Italian words I don’t know. Probably an equipment room. Ava turned the knob. Despite the strong smell of garlic, her guess seemed right, but the row of swords didn’t glint in the weak light. She picked one up. The heavy weapon was made of wood and the tip had been sharpened to a nasty point. I could stab someone with this.
Bottles of water lined the shelves, matching the one Jarett had used when he threw water on her. Crossbows with wooden bolts hung on the wall. Even the points of the arrows were made of wood. Her queasiness turned into apprehension when she found crosses and wooden stakes. This is beyond weird. It’s bordering on serious mental illness. Did Bossemi believe in—
“What are you doing in here?” Jarrett demanded.
Ava jumped. Her heart lunged in her chest.
Before she could reply, he gestured to the door, “Can’t you read?”
“Not Italian.”
He tapped the words with his index finger. “Vietato L’ingresso. No admittance.”
Ignoring her heart’s antics, she shrugged. “If you really wanted to keep people out, you should lock the door.”
He motioned her from the room, then shut the door when she joined him in the hallway. “We need to be able to get in there quickly.”
“Why? What’re all those weapons for?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Sandro decides who is ready or not.”
She wanted to protest, but he changed the subject.
“I’m done with my class and you still have time before training. How about that self-defense lesson?”
Ava considered the incident last night. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so protective if she agreed. Odd. The thought of walking to the bus alone didn’t produce the relief she expected.
“Okay, but you have to answer one question.”
Wariness touched his eyes. “What’s the question?”
She had a million to ask, but knew he’d probably dodge most of them. Ava pointed to the left side of his neck. “What do your tattoos mean?”
He relaxed. “It’s Okinawan for hawk. Isshinryu is an Okinawan marital art.” Jarett guided her through the door and into his office. Framed pictures decorated the walls. He pointed to a photo of a red-tailed hawk. “Hawks are a symbol of victory. My sensei tattooed the characters onto his neck when he earned his black belt, starting a tradition.”
“Your sensei?”
“Okinawan for teacher.” He huffed in amusement. “Hang around here long enough and you’ll learn Okinawan and Italian.” He stopped before the mats and gestured to her feet. “No shoes.”
She kicked off her street shoes and stepped onto the thin black foam. The mats interlocked like a jigsaw puzzle. Next to the main entrance, the window spanned the whole front of the dojo.
Jarett faced Ava and grabbed her wrist. His thumb overlapped his fingers. “Holy chicken wings, Batman. Don’t you eat?”
She tried to jerk her arm free, but he held on.
“When we work on self-defense techniques, I’m not going to let you go unless you force me. Now, to break my grip, pull through my thumb. It’s the weakest part of the hold.” Jarett demonstrated.
Ava tried again and managed to free herself. They practiced a variety of wrist and arm holds for a while.
“You’re stronger than you look,” he said. “And quick to learn. Some of my students just don’t get it.”
He taught her how to break a bear hold and other body locks. Ava liked being held by him. He smelled of Polo Sport. When she managed to roll him off of her, she paused as a brief surge of pride followed an “ah ha” moment.
Jarett met her gaze and beamed. “If you know what to do, you can escape from anyone, no matter how big.”
“What if they have a knife or a gun?”
“That’s a whole other lesson. I’ll show you next week.”
The prospect thrilled her. When it was time for her fencing lesson, she cut through Jarett’s office and noticed a framed photo propped on his desk. In the pictur
e, Jarett stood next to an older Asian man. Both wore karate uniforms with black belts. Both had matching tattoos and the same shaped face.
“Is that your sensei or your father?” she asked.
Jarett plopped into his chair. “He was both.” Sadness tainted his voice.
She frowned and tried to think of something appropriate to say.
“Looking for the perfect Hallmark words of comfort?” He gave her a wry grin. “They don’t exist in this case. My father was murdered.”
She thought she felt bad before. “That’s horrible. Did the police arrest anyone?”
Jarett’s expression hardened. “The killer was taken care of. We made sure of that.”
A thousand questions lodged in her throat. Afraid of the answers, she swallowed them and retreated to the Academy.
The Saturday afternoon practice included a welcome change in routine. During the last hour, the coaches staged a mock tournament. Ava endured being embarrassed, but not because of her fencing skills. With just a week of training, her attacks and parries had vastly improved, surprising her. Signore Salvatori even gave her a “buono.” High praise indeed.
No. The embarrassment came from her mother. She arrived in time to watch the bouts. Bad enough to have her mother there, but then the woman compounds Ava’s mortification by cheering and hooting for her. Good thing the fencing mask hid her red face.
When Ava finally slinked from the locker room, she stopped in horror. Jarett was talking to her mother. Just kill me now.
She rushed over, intent on hustling her mother out the door.
“… Did you see her feint-disengage attack? It was perfect,” her mother exclaimed.
Ava jumped into the conversation. “It wasn’t perfect, Mom. I didn’t win any bouts.”
Her mother swept her hand as if waving away a fly. “It’s just a matter of persistence, practice and experience.”
Ava rolled her eyes. Mom’s such a dork.
“I like that. Can I tell it to my students?” Jarett asked. He even managed to appear sincere.
Bonus points.
Her mother blinked at him for a few seconds. “Ah … sure.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I thought you trained here.”
“I do, but I teach karate, too.”
“Oh.”
“Did you have trouble parking?” Ava asked her mother, hoping the change in topic would get her moving away from him.
“Not at all, but, Ava … Do you think you can get a ride home with Tammy?”
“Why?”
“A few of my classmates invited me to dinner nearby.” Her mother practically bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement.
Ava was tired, hungry and had been looking forward to a quick ride home. She opened her mouth to complain, but stopped. Her mother had already read Ava’s disappointed expression. She no longer bounced.
If Ava said she couldn’t get a ride, her mother would skip dinner to take her home. She couldn’t even recall the last time her mother did something for herself. She had given up her social life for Ava, and her daughter had been too focused on fencing to notice.
So why did I realize this now? Jarett. Perhaps the water thrown in her face had woken her up. A good thing. Now the only other things she had to worry about were punks on the bus, and strange wooden stakes in Bossemi’s closet.
“Sure, Mom. I’ll get a ride.”
Delight flashed in her eyes. “Thanks, sweetie. See you at home!” She kissed Ava’s forehead and swept out the door.
“Sweetie?” Jarett smirked.
“Don’t start.”
“That was pretty clever. You told her you’d get a ride home, but didn’t say how, so technically you didn’t lie to her. Does Tammy work Saturdays?”
“No.” She dug in her bag for the bus schedule. She’d missed the five fifteen bus by ten minutes, and the next one wasn’t due until six thirty. Her stomach grumbled. She hunted for money, finding only a few bucks. “Is there a hot dog cart around here?”
He winced. “Hot dogs? No wonder you’re so thin. You should be eating healthy foods.”
She clamped down on a laugh. He’d probably have a fit over her daily diet of junk food.
Despite his protest over her food choices, he led her to a local food stand. The shoppers had gone home, and it was too early for the theater crowd, so the area was empty. Jarett set a quick pace, and Ava hustled to keep up.
On the way back to the bus stop, Jarett entertained her with stories about his karate students.
“… Little guy was so proud of his new move, he ran over to his father and kicked him right in the … Damn.” Jarett grabbed her upper arm. “Listen,” he said in a tight voice. “If I tell you to run, you run to the Academy. Understand?” He talked to her, but he watched three figures walking toward them.
“Yes, but—”
“Not now.” He squeezed once and let go. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a mini crossbow, loaded a small bolt and aimed it at them. “Don’t come any closer,” he said.
They stopped. A street light illuminated their pale and gaunt faces. Resembling half-starved street punks, they wore ripped baggy jeans that sagged around thin waists, exposing colorful boxers. A ton of bling hung from their necks on thick gold chains. Hoods had been pulled up.
Ava recognized Grinning Skull from the bus. His friend’s shirt had skeletons playing in a band on it, and a cobra design wrapped around the punk on the right’s sleeve.
“You can only shoot one of us before we move,” Grinning Skull said. “That leaves two and I doubt your girlfriend is armed.”
Ava’s stomach twisted as the small bit of confidence she had gained by learning a few self-defense moves fled.
“She knows nothing about this,” Jarett said. “Her bus will be here soon. Once she goes, we can … talk.”
Skeleton Band cackled. The sound scraped like glass against stone. “You didn’t tell her about us? What a naughty boy you’ve been, Jarett White Hawk. Tisk, tisk.”
“Irresponsible,” Cobra agreed. “Jarett will pay with his life. Like father like son.”
“And the girl?” Skeleton Band asked.
“Ours.” Grinning Skull looked at Ava with hunger.
Ice pumped through her veins yet she felt hot and sweaty.
The three advanced.
“Run,” Jarett ordered. He shot the crossbow, hitting Cobra in the stomach.
Before she even moved, the punks flickered. One second they stood fifteen feet away, the next they surrounded Jarett and Ava. Like a cartoon. Except this is like a badly-drawn horror cartoon.
Jarett dropped the crossbow, pulled a bottle from his pocket, and tossed water into Skeleton Band’s face. The punk shrieked as his skin melted and steamed.
Another flicker and Grinning Skull grabbed Ava in a steel grip. She couldn’t move. Panicked, she yelled for Jarett, but he was caught tight by Cobra. Grinning Skull opened his mouth. The putrid stench of decay gagged her. He bent close to her face. She cringed as his ice-cold cheek brushed hers.
When he bit her neck, she screamed. She never thought she’d be the kind of girl to scream, but terror and pure revulsion had built inside her to such a degree that screaming was the only way to release it.
Grinning Skull pushed against her as if slammed from behind. He grunted and went slack, knocking Ava to the ground. He landed on top of her. A dead weight. She stared at his face and nausea boiled up in her throat. The skin disintegrated before her eyes, peeling off the bone, which crumbled into powder.
Ava kicked the dusty clothes off of her. She wanted to puke, to scream and to faint, but she held it together and focused on Jarett and Bossemi. The master fencer held a wood sword. Two piles of clothes lay at his feet—the remains of Cobra and Skeleton Band.
Bossemi gestured to the clothes and shoes. Jarett swept them up.
“All’interno. Rapidamente!” he barked before running to the Academy.
Ava scrambled upright and followed him with Jarett fast on he
r heels. When the door shut behind them, they sagged with relief.
“Sandro, I’m—” Jarett started.
“Idiota.” Bossemi turned to Ava. “Prossimo … Come. We must clean your wound.”
In all the excitement, she had forgotten about the bite. Pain throbbed when she touched her neck. Blood coated her fingers. Her vision blurred, but a sharp order from Bossemi snapped her out of it. She didn’t even realize Jarett supported her until they reached his office.
She met Jarett’s gaze. He looked miserable. But she didn’t have time to question him. Bossemi instructed her to lie down flat on his couch. He put a towel under her neck.
“This will hurt,” he said.
When he brandished a spray bottle and metal hook-shaped tool, she closed her eyes. He might not have much of a couch-side manner, but he was honest. It hurt. By the time he had cleaned the bite and bandaged it, tears had puddled in her ears.
Jarett sat on the edge of the couch, holding her hand. Bossemi dumped the blood-soaked towel into a hamper.
“Tell her what she needs to know,” Bossemi said. “I’ll organize a watch.” He handed Jarett his wooden sword, then left.
Jarett stared at the weapon with resignation.
Ava pulled her hand away from his and struggled to a sitting position. She wanted answers. “Talk. Now.”
He sighed. “At least I don’t have to convince you they’re real.”
“The punks?”
His gaze focused on the life-sized crucifix. “Not punks. Vampiros.”
Vampiros. Italian for “vampire.” Instinctively, she wanted to protest—vampires populated horror novels, not real life. But she couldn’t explain how the punks disintegrated into powder. “Go on,” she said.
“They’ve been around since biblical times.” Jarett said.
Ava thought back to the attack. “They flickered and were so strong.” She shuddered.
“That’s why we use swords and crossbows. If they grab you, you’re almost as good as dead.”
“What about the stakes I saw in the closet?”
“We use those during the day. We hunt them while they sleep. Safer that way.”
“We?”
“The Hawks. Sandro taught us how to find and fight the vampiros. He recruits candidates from the fencers he invites to his school. Some join us. Others leave. And some won’t get recruited at all.”