My collarbone blazed with heat, and a warm orange light filled the room, almost blinding me. I looked down and almost peed myself. A fountain of light was spilling out of my birthmark—the same one I carried since birth, and I had never seen it do anything like this.
I clapped a hand over it, and the light in the room immediately faded back into the sickly wisps from the overhead light-bulb—only now, my eyes weren’t adapted to it anymore, and I couldn’t see. Oh my God . . . you’ve got to be kidding. I removed my hand again—light on, and put it back—light off. I was, for all intents and purposes, a human flashlight.
I wish I had known this sooner. Like when that creature was prowling around in the dark. Yeah, that would have been a really good time to know this.
Of course, I didn’t know how I was doing this. So the knowledge that I could do it was probably not actually useful. But at least I could have tried.
I shuddered and glanced up at the dark stairs, but I was feeling a little braver. After all, if I was having doubts I was supposed to be here, in this Order, having a super-power went a long way in dispelling them.
But where did it come from? Was it a result of that creepy apprenticeship ceremony with the Cronus? Or was this just part of my blood?
Could my dad do something like this?
The thought was sobering.
Should I talk to Buckner about this? I shook my head. It felt like a good idea, but how much could I trust the man, really?
Rather uneventfully, I followed the tunnel to its end. There stood a sad red door, the paint peeling. Its antiquity sent a chill down my spine.
Staring at the door, my heart started to race. The bravado of a moment earlier evaporated, and to be honest, I might have turned back—except my light chose that moment to extinguish itself.
Faced with sudden darkness, I turned the handle so fast I thought I might break it.
Chapter Fourteen
I didn’t know who or what I expected to see on the other side. Given the condition of the door, I was thinking more—hopefully well-lit—closet and less a gigantic, auditorium-sized room, lined with spotlights and with a padded floor—but the second was what I got.
Poised in the middle was a single, hard-bodied man who twirled a sword like a baton. He faced away, offering me an incredible rear view. His black shirt clung to back muscles so sharp I could make them out through the dark fabric. He lunged toward the nearest wall, the sword whipping forward, his whole body forming a lean, perfect line. Behind him were racks and racks of weapons—some bladed, some with spiky balls at the end. There were sticks and lances and what looked like whips and chains.
I had to stifle a cough.
Okay. So I’m, like, single, now, right? I shouldn’t feel guilty about this. I swallowed the sudden rush of saliva inside of my mouth—and hey, was it hot in here, or was that just me?
No seriously, though—watching the graceful and yet masculine way he moved—I could totally get used to the idea of self-defense and weapons training. Especially if there was, you know, some wrestling involved.
And then the man pirouetted around like a barrel-horse in a lean, and my stomach dropped. Oh God, no.
Shawn smirked at me, an expression both dangerously sexy and infuriating—and the fact I found it sexy wasn’t going very far toward putting out that fury.
You tricked me!
It was a completely irrational thought, and although I recognized it, I didn’t care. He had tricked me, even if he hadn’t meant to.
“You’re late.” He twirled the sword again. It flashed like a child’s pinwheel.
“I didn’t know how to get here.”
“He didn’t leave you a map on the back of the letter?”
I blushed. Why hadn’t I turned the paper over? “Uh, no.”
“Jeff always leaves a map.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. It was clear he wasn’t buying it. I couldn’t remember the last time I so desperately wanted to punch somebody—punch him and jump him at the same time.
“You know—” He let the tip of the sword fall, and it swung in a gentle arc toward the ground, “when I first heard that I was to be training you, I was sorely tempted to refuse—or agree, but then just let you die on the battlefield. I mean, that would take care of the problem, don’t you think?”
I gulped, stunned. I know he wasn’t a huge fan of mine, but damn, that was cold.
“But then I realized that if that happened, you wouldn’t just die. Nope, you’re so incompetent, I’ll bet you’d take someone out with you.” He smirked again and gently trained the sword into a leather contraption on his side.
I tried to stop it. I really did—I mean, he was my trainer, and while I didn’t know exactly what that meant or what authority he might have over me, I didn’t want to get into trouble. I didn’t want Buckner to get into trouble. I’m a good girl, okay? But my mind filled with Chris’s lifeless body, and before I knew it, my mouth was spouting bile. “Wow—you seem to have a real hard-on for me. Did someone chubby break your heart? It’s not you, it’s her.”
He gaped, astonishment plastered across his face. His mouth open and shut like a fish’s, his eyes glittering with what could either be murderous rage or amusement.
Honestly, I would have taken either. “Ah—did I take your tongue away? So sorry about that. It happens sometimes, especially when I run into cocky assholes who think they’re God’s gift to everybody.”
Stop! Why can’t I stop? But I couldn’t, really—each nasty word was like a victory, raising me up above all of the crap I had gone through for the last few days. I felt myself ascending, invincible, a conqueror—
“Big words from a brave girl. Then again, I seem to remember somebody crying and dropping her clothes all over the Glass Hitch on the way out of the shower.”
Just like that, I toppled down, Icarus burned out from the sky. I fumbled for words to retaliate, but my mouth and brain had both melted to mush. Finally I managed, “You don’t understand. . ."
“Then again, given the way you look, I’d say that I’d be crying too, if I were you. I mean, how ever will you get a man to replace whatever schlub actually gave you the time of day? Must be hard being a bastard-child.”
Pow! Body blow! Shawn’s arrow burrowed its way into my heart, and I collapsed like uneasy tower of bricks. For a moment, visions flashed through my head of Celie May’s eleventh birthday—party balloons, a leaning tower of gift-wrapped presents. Not understanding the physical prowess of my local neighbor-girl, I had insulted her for something, I can’t remember. My next memory was of a horrible, rib-crushing sensation as all hundred pounds of her sat on my chest and she bellowed, “ . . . at least I don’t have a boy’s name! At least I have a dad!” Match, set. Point, Shawn. Level of humiliation: Adolescent.
It was as if the visions of cake and streamers and the laughs of my young, pig-tailed friends had taken possession of my body. My fist clenched, and in it, I poured everything—Luke, Jeff, my parents, a young girl’s pain and mortification. I was a roaring fire, a maelstrom that concentrated into a point and exploded out through my arm. I swung.
In a single, sweeping motion, Shawn circled his forearm around. There was no sensation of contact, of flesh that was both yielding and firm. Instead, I felt myself being drawn forward, pulled past the point of my natural center of balance. My wrist, which he somehow twisted until it ended up behind me, exploded in a hot flash of angry, crippling pain. He wrenched it brutally, and I fell face-first to the ground, my whole body collapsing as if made of creased accordion paper.
“Stop it!” It was meant to be a scream, but the lack of air made it impossible. I hadn’t sounded that much like a little girl in at least ten years.
“Lesson one.” I could feel him release the wrist a fraction of a hair, the difference between splitting pain and teeth-grinding discomfort. “It doesn’t matter how angry you are. This isn’t a goddamned movie. You don’t get super-strength just because you feel like you’re in the right. The better
fighter wins.”
I knew it was coming, and I tried to brace myself, but there was no amount of mental fortitude that could block it out. He increased the pressure slightly. A lance of pain roared through my wrist into my whole body. It was so hot and angry, my vision fuzzed, and I thought I might wet myself. I contorted, desperate to avoid further torture, and a whining cry ripped itself from my throat. I should have been ashamed, maybe—but I didn’t care. I just wanted it to stop.
“Lesson two.” He pulled back again slightly, and the pain-fog in my brain rolled back. Have some goddamned pride, some part of me whispered—but I couldn’t find any.
“The better fighter is the one who’s best prepared. That’s it. The more you practice and train, the better your reflexes, your strength, your technique. Some Markers have abilities that make you wonder what the hell kind of stock they came from. But the rules of the physical fight don’t change.”
Abilities? Like my light—
He flexed the wrist a final time and bent forward from the waist. I saw my world swirl, sky-to-ground-to-sky, and I slammed hard into the mat.
Who knew something so soft could be so damned hard? I curled into a ball on my side and cradled my injured wrist to my chest.
“Lesson three.” He walked around to my front. I debated rolling over, so he wouldn’t be able to see my face, and then I saw his foot come back. He’s going to kick me. I curled up as hard as I could, but there wasn’t enough fight in me to stand up or even try to defend myself. I shut my eyes and waited for it to come.
“Lesson, three—you will never be the better fighter. Give it up now. Run from this place and from the Order, or at least try to die honorably.”
I felt like I had been plunged into a bathtub of ice-water. All at once, the clouds filled my brain dissipated. “Are you fucking serious?”
I threw myself sideways, trying to roll, but I didn’t have enough inertia, and I wound up wiggling back and forth, like a turtle on its back, trying hard to keep my injured wrist from hitting the mat. Still, I wasn’t going to give up. I could taste my own bile, salty from the tears that had run into my mouth.
I wiggled and wiggled, and finally, it was enough force to throw myself in a roll onto my good side. Bracing myself like a sprinter about to take off from the starting line, I managed to get my legs under me and stumble to my feet.
“I’m not going to run. You forced me into this, you and your trigger happy jackassedry, but I’m going to finish it. I belong here as much as you do, and it isn’t my fault that I wasn’t trained as well as you have been.”
From the second the words left my lips, my brain was spinning. Was that how I felt? Do I belong here?
My nose was full of snot. I was dying for air, but I didn’t want to let him see me pant. Still, it took everything in me to close my mouth and take slow, sniffly breaths.
He squinted and looked me over. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped considerably. “Yeah, I forced you here. But I’m giving you the chance to leave. I’ll help you even. I’m sure I can get you a getaway car, and I can show you how to get out of here without anybody noticing.”
My head buzzed, and the hair tingled on the back of my neck. The light in his eyes was too eager. Why did he care? I could sense something wrong, something I couldn’t put my finger on, but it was definitely there. “Think about it!” He leaned toward me, violating my space, and I lurched backward. “Do you really think you belong here?” He pulled the sword from his side. Unlike the movies, it was unnervingly silent, but its blade glinted in the light. “Do you think you could kill someone? Do you even know what we do?”
The sword danced in the air, tracing tiny patterns with each flick of his hand. My eyes focused on the sparkling tip, and somewhere, in the back of my head, a memory glistened, one I could not place.
“Think about this. This organization represents, in its way, one of the most powerful groups to ever walk the face of this planet. The night I found you, we overturned a chemical truck on the highway and shut down the traffic while an elite team hunted down a bubbler. You’ve seen the security, the trucks, and you need to believe me when I tell you that that represents less than one tenth of one percent of the resources of the Markers.”
I swallowed. “I don’t care.”
“You’re talking about an organization that can temporarily open doors into another world and shove creatures through it—”
“Is that what that purple thing was? The hoop in the trailer, for the glitch? Is that where that thing went?”
His mouth fell open. “Hasn’t Jeff told you anything?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
He froze, his face twitching, and I was reminded of a cat staring at a bird through glass. “You don’t even know who you are, do you?”
“Who I—”
He exploded. “That’s it. Get out of here, now!” He flailed his arms at the door. “And tell Jeff I want to talk to him!”
“But—” My head was spinning. How had the mood shifted so abruptly?
“Now!”
“But—”
He flailed again and jabbed at me once with the sword. Seeing the point headed right for me, I scurried out, almost tripping on the blue mat.
At the end of the tunnel, my shame caught up with me. I turned back around, intent on barging my way back in, but then I heard a distinctive, heavy click, and I knew—he’d locked the door. I wasn’t getting in.
You don’t even know who you are?
I almost collided with no less than three people by the time I made it back into my room. Visions of running out of the Glass Hitch’s shower danced in my head, and for a moment, I didn’t know what I was running from. I just wanted my truck back, my soft bed and my dark cab and my curtains and my pillow—but of course, all of that stuff had been torched after the accident.
My vision blurry, I ran through the door of a room that I thought might be mine. Relief flooded through me as I recognized Diesel’s fluffy countenance, but I was too angry to greet him.
He dashed up anyway, tail wagging furiously, and I pushed him away. Refusing to be thwarted, he lay down on the ground next to me and started to whine.
“No.”
Like a soldier crawling to a foxhole, he shuffled forward half an inch, still crouched in the meatloaf position, and whined again.
“No!”
He gained another inch on me, and when I started to turn away, he rolled over onto his back and wiggled back and forth.
“Oh, God! Fine!” I half-heartedly held out a hand, and he sprang up toward me and barreled into my chest, a soft weight of fur and dog-smell.
My fortitude cracking like an eggshell, I nuzzled my face into the back of his neck and inhaled. “You’re happy I’m here, right?” I half-chuckled, but when I took another breath, the words that came out of my mouth were not directed at my dog, but at my dad.
Why had I never talked to him before?
I guess I just figured he was never listening.
“I don’t understand, you know that? I don’t understand any of this.” I buried myself further in the dog. He huddled in as closely as I wanted, both of us needy and lonely. “I don’t understand why I’m here—or if I’m even supposed to be here. I’m tired of having to fight so hard.”
I took another comforting whiff, feeling Diesel’s rapid pulse. “I know who I am, don’t I? I don’t know why everybody has a problem with me. And now I’ve got a fucking light—”
The knock at the door was gentle, barely interrupting the flow of my words. For a second, I thought of just leaving it unanswered, but the slight noise sent Diesel into a frothing mess of baying and barking. I sighed and pushed him roughly off of the bed. “It’s open!”
The door wafted open to reveal my master. He gave me a tight smile. “So, kiddo . . . I heard your first day of training wasn’t the greatest.”
“Wasn’t the greatest?” I bolted upright on the bed. “Wasn’t the greatest? What you were you thinking? That man is an
absolute nightmare, and he hates me.”
“I had nothing to do with it. He volunteered himself for the position to the Cronus, and. . ."
He stared at his feet. It took me a few seconds before I realized where he was going with this. My stomach sank.
“And no one else wanted it?” I was positive that he had told me he was forced to train me. Why would he lie about that?
Buckner shrugged. “Even the Cronus can’t obligate somebody to train an apprentice. It’s too personal. And yeah, people are dicks.”
It was the first time I had heard him swear. I sniggered, and then the snort snowballed into an uncontrollable laughing fit. He just stood, clearly feeling out of place, while I laughed so hard that tears came back to my eyes.
“You know it’s only ten-fifteen? That practice lasted less than an hour. And that guy is a major dick.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Shawn, ah, contacted me. It seems he feels that I have left certain things out of your education, and, ah . . . he’s right. I was . . . trying to protect you.”
If my ears could have perked, they would have, trust me. Shawn, right? And protect me? “From what?”
“From the Cronus.”
“What’s with this creepy old guy, anyway?”
Buckner scowled. “He’s not a creepy old guy. He’s our leader, for Christ’s. . ." He swallowed and his shoulders fell. I got the feeling that whatever was coming next, it wasn’t easy for him to say. “Look, we’re an old Order. A really old one, and one that originally had its basis in some religious roots. So we have a lot of archaic aspects, pieces of lore, things like that. Most of them have died out over the ages, but a few of them are still here.”
“So?” I snorted.
“There is a prophecy.” He cleared his throat. “A rather stupid prophecy, and one most people ignore. A few Markers though—most of them weirdos if you ask me—have taken it to heart.” He sighed heavily and shook his head, aging before my eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal, before you got here, but now that you’re here. . ."
“And what is it? The prophecy, I mean?”
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