by Kimbra Swain
“Hello Cassidy,” I beamed at her.
Her pert lips and upturned nose featured in the sweetest face I’d ever seen. “Hey Nessa, how are you dear?” Her red curls cascaded around her face, and her green eyes glittered with life and youth. She looked so innocent and ripe.
“I’m well. I had hoped you might be done for the day,” as I leaned over the desk giving her full view of my cleavage. Her green eyes turned excessively alluring, but she blushed and looked away.
“Why do you ask?” she asked knowing all too well what I wanted. You see, my lover Mwenye adored Miss Cassidy MacSeain, and he had tried to seduce her multiple times. I asked him for permission to allow me to do it for him. He had gladly obliged. I got what I wanted, and if I wanted a happy man, then I would have to get him Miss MacSeain. This wasn’t the first time I’d thrown myself at her, but she had always backed out on any plans we had made.
“Well, I thought I’d go get some drinks tonight down at one of the local pubs. Mr. Mwenye has so much going on with this new business venture that he has very little time for me. Perhaps we could have a girl’s night out,” I suggested as I traced my finger down the side of her face.
“Back off, witch,” Donovan’s voice interrupted me from behind. I turned to look at him, and moved quickly to meet him toe to toe. I was not afraid of him. I slid beside him and swayed my hips against his thigh. He reached up and grabbed my throat. He squeezed, and I choked.
“Oh baby, you know how I like it,” I purred. He threw me backwards, and I stumbled. I laughed at him. “You do beat all, Donovan. Why don’t you come around one day, and show me a good time?”
He lowered his eyes to me and growled, “I would no more touch a whore like you than touch a dog in heat.”
“Tell me more, you dirty boy,” I cooed at him. Usually by this time my overt sexuality made a man cringe, but not Donovan.
“Stay away from her,” he said pointing his finger at my face. For an old guy, he still had plenty of power. I could feel it humming around him like low bass from a subwoofer.
“Oh, I see. Daddy loves his baby girl. You know, Donovan, even in our circles incest is frowned upon,” I said as I looked over to Cassidy. She had turned her face and body away from both of us. I looked back to Donovan and rage consumed him. I felt him pulling in power. And a dark shadow coalesced in front of me, I smiled because Donovan would lose this fight.
“Enough Edgar, you know she is only trying to provoke you,” the tall Native American man said and turned to me, “And you, I suggest you go use your vast talents somewhere else.”
“As you wish, Nalusa Chito. Sorry you missed the meeting. It was excessively diverting,” I said as I walked toward the door. I looked back at Cassidy, winked at her and held up my fingers like phone. I mouthed the words, “Call me.” She frowned and shook her head no. I slipped out the door to see Mwenye waiting on me. I listened to the conversation beyond the door.
“Are you alright, Cassidy?” Donovan asked his daughter.
“Yes, father, I’m fine.”
“Filthy whore. I don’t know why we have to put up with her,” he said.
“Each one of us serves our purpose,” Chito replied.
I heard Donovan growl as I approached Mr. Mwenye.
“You struck out again,” he commented.
“Well, I managed to provoke Donovan which is always delightful, but as for Cassidy, I don’t think she will be joining us tonight,” I said disappointedly.
“That’s unfortunate. Perhaps next time.”
“Perhaps,” I leaned into him and ground my hips against him. His lips locked with mine. We were alone in the hallway for just that moment. I pulled away from him and said, “Just means there’s more for me.”
He smiled and took my hand. We left the building to return to our condo here in Philly. Plan our next move, and build our powers feeding on each other. Yes, it would be a good night despite Miss MacSeain not joining us. I would have her soul. I wanted hers to be the first I ever consumed. It was pure and wholesome. Qualities I did not possess. I was ready. It was just a matter of time now.
It was dark when I opened my eyes and Sam sat on the edge of my bed lightly shaking me. “Hey you, sorry to wake you, but I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered and rolled over to putting my back to her. I wasn’t happy about being awakened, because it took me forever just to drift off. I had trouble calming my mind after Mr. Duarte confronted me.
“You wanna go practice a little.”
“You heard?” Word traveled fast. I’m sure Duarte confronting me was the story of the night.
“Yea, everyone knows.”
“Fucking secondary school.”
“It’s not high school, Rach. It’s real and your ass is going to be out on the pavement if you don’t do something. I could teach you a couple of quick moves that might score you a point or two tomorrow in matches. Maybe he will let you stay.”
I rolled half over to look at her. She was just trying to help. I wanted to scream that I didn’t need any instruction from her, but instead I simply replied, “I’m not going to learn anything overnight that would keep him from putting me out.” And I rolled back over. She placed her hand on my shoulder like she intended to say something else. But instead she climbed up in her bunk and settled in.
Through my meditation and repeating forms, I had come to the conclusion that Duarte was done with me completely. I don’t know how I got to that finality, but it seemed right in every way. I hadn’t come into this whole process being truthful with him. I deserved whatever he had to dish out. I would start my process over, and try to do it the right way. I hate the fact that I had botched the prospect of a partnership with him. He was perfect for the task. I had entered this whole endeavor to find a new partner. I haven’t had one in 25 years. My last partner died in the field with me, and the loss devastated me to the point that I couldn’t bring myself to connect to another person. Tadeas Duarte was a perfect fit. Someone very important told me about Duarte and his abilities, but I dismissed it because I never expected Lincoln to die. I needed someone who could fight and hold their own. My last partner was a very deadly hunter, a hunter of the dark monsters of the earth. Duarte was a shifter of a different flavor, and I wasn’t sure exactly what his capabilities were in his shifted form. I couldn’t wait to see what he could do. But I’d been out of the game for a while. Sitting on the sidelines, I’d lost my touch. This whole thing was a bad fucking idea. I groaned, and tried to sleep. It evaded me. My mind raced again going through all the scenarios. I even thought about giving up and just walking out now. I could do it. I knew the codes to take me to the upper levels of the compound. But there was always that part of me that had hope. Hope is what kept me going after Lincoln died. We were more than just business partners. He had slowly won me over, and I fell in love with him. We were a dynamic pair. Nothing could stop us. Except for a dark master wizard who may or may not have been my father. My heart started to ache again thinking of him. I wasn’t the same since he died. The fire and drive I had lasted past his death, but it didn’t pass the ordeal with Lukas Castille, which was another story I didn’t want to think about right now. My brain delved into dark territory, and I couldn’t seem to stop it. I needed to focus. I needed focus and a stiff drink.
Eventually the rest of the room began to bustle with activity. I just laid in bed staring at absolutely nothing. It got quiet again, and I considered just laying here and letting him physically drag me out of here and kick me out. But I rolled out. I took out several pieces of paper and scribbled out a couple of notes in desperation. Perhaps I could start a possible path to redemption for myself to Mr. Duarte. Then I got dressed for class and ran down the hallway. After a quick stop, I slipped in the doorway and to my spot on the mat. The class was overly full. Meredith Spence’s class was here too. She stood on the mat next to Duarte with a smug smile on her face. I got an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Her gaze was damning. My last sl
iver of hope evaporated under her fiery stare.
“Let’s get started,” Duarte began, “Instructor Spence has brought her class to ours today for a bit of an object lesson. Several of you are looking more and more like washouts. Therefore, we are bringing the reality of the situation to your full attention. Today is the last chance for one of my own.” His eyes locked on me. I cringed, and I swear something broke inside me. I was broken and beaten up enough, but apparently there was more in there that could break. I involuntarily started to shake. Good grief, get a grip, I told myself. “The world that you all will enter is relentless. We have to know before we release you out into that world that you can hold your own. It’s our responsibility. And the alternative isn’t any better. You can get put out now with no support system. With nothing. With no hope. In a desperate attempt to save more than one of you, we are here to see what it’s like when someone gets their last chance. Rachel Bennett, please step into the ring.”
I started to step, but it was like I couldn’t make myself move. I froze in place. “Now, please,” he insisted. I slowly walked to the fighting area. It was an octagon. A few years back we switched from the old circles to the octagon shape to mimic the style of the rising popularity of mixed martial arts. Most of these kids think of martial arts in that context, not Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee. I took the spot waiting to see who he would chose as my opponent. He grimaced at me as I stood there before him. I wasn’t acting anymore. I was scared. I felt this elaborate ruse falling apart around me, and was helpless to stop it. I was out of ideas. I was out of hope. Even if he picked Travis again to go against me, I’m not sure with all my years of training I could accidently score a point on him. I waited to see who Duarte had chosen to go against me. I got the crazy feeling he expected me to fight Meredith, because she continued to stare at me. I had done my research on her as well. She possessed a light magical talent. Mostly easy cantrip spells and wards. She was best classified with the magically derogatory term, a sensitive. She was highly sensitive, but not wizard material. It’s how she ended up working for the Agency. We had a large number of talents who worked for us that specialized in one area or the other, and we hauled them out into the field as needed or used them here in the training facilities. She was pretty, and well-liked by her students. Her turnout rate wasn’t as good as Duarte’s, but it was good enough to consider her one of the best. I researched her past and came up with dead ends for her parentage, but she clearly had some Native American blood. We pulled her out of a children’s home in 1987 in rural Alabama where she was already a teenager. Our masters trained her in various forms of martial arts, and she went through the full orientation of the Agency. She was a star student, and the administration chose her to train students. I talked to her instructors and those who dealt with her in the administrative wing, and they all said she had a heavy crush on Duarte from the moment she met him. I only came across rumors that at one point they had a relationship. I had observed myself that they were both still close and outwardly appeared to be friends. Duarte from what I could tell kept everyone at arm’s length, except Meredith. It was part of my reasoning to join his class as a student. I wanted to know him better, and from a different perspective. I needed a partner, and I couldn’t trust someone who kept me at a distance. Our lives would depend on each other’s skills and abilities and a strong bond. It didn’t have to be romantic. In fact, it was much better if it wasn’t. Romance tended to refocus attentions in personal ways and not the mission or objective. My heart needed mending from the past at any rate.
She continued to stare at me when I realized Duarte took off his utility belt and boots. He handed them to her, and she lightly touched his shoulder. A light touch of reassurance that this was the right thing. She obviously cared about him, and knew this whole thing bothered him. He turned to face me. “Since I can trust none of you to give Miss Bennett a fair fight, I’m going to fight her myself,” he glanced toward Travis, and Travis averted his gaze from the fight area. I wanted to fall to my knees and surrender. I could not fight him. I would not.
He took the traditional cross stance from me and bowed. Mechanically I bowed toward him, and as I reached a full stance, he crossed the distance between us in an instant. Before I could make any blocking motion, he struck me across the jaw, and I hit the floor with a thud. I was still conscious, but the pain erupted through my face and jaw compounded by the knockout punch Travis had graced upon me the day before. I started to push myself up, and he went to a knee next to me. He leaned down to my ear and whispered, “I know what you are. The question is, are you binding your own magic or is someone binding you? Why don’t you enlighten me?” He grabbed my shirt and hauled me to my feet. “Again!” he demanded. He took a basic Aikido Hanmi stance, and I instinctively matched his stance. Something clicked inside me, and my training kicked in. This was why the best fighters train the same techniques repeatedly. You can’t just master the moves, it has to become an involuntary instinct especially when you’ve had a major trauma or distraction. My brain blurred. He knew about my magical binding. How in the world did he figure that out? Just last night I was confident that he didn’t have a clue about that part of all of this. He again made his first move to get into my blind spot. His hands bladed outward has he took a sweeping step to my back, using the te-gatana or the hand sword technique. The strike came in hard, and I did not resist his attack. I just gracefully moved out of his range. Aikido, even in its very basic techniques is about avoiding the attack, not blocking or defending against it. I shifted my stance once again to match his as he turned to me. Everything moved in slow motion. Aikido isn’t about speed. Somehow, he knew I trained in Aikido extensively. He started performing basic attack techniques, and quickly picked up the pace. I countered him by continually avoided his attacks with my footwork. I was on autopilot. For a moment, I stole a look to Samantha, and she stood in shock. I had really done nothing impressive, but I guess after months of defending and taking hits, just the mere avoidance of an attack shocked her. I lost my attention on my attacker and with a simple wrist hold technique, he had me on my knees with my hand caught in his and my right arm folded back. The tension and pain shot through my arm, and I was at his mercy. His posture put him to my side and he grunted, “Pay attention, Rachel, and answer my fucking question.” I relaxed. Straining against his hold only made the pain worse.
Realization that it was over hit me, and I was done. I probably should have considered a humble exit to this whole farce, but I didn’t. I turned to look him in the eye and smiled, “I don’t need magic to whip your ass.” It was enough of a flirtation, challenge and surprise to distract him. I switched techniques to Ju-jitsu and moved to sweep his kneeling leg out from under him. I rolled behind him and hooked my legs into and around his thighs in a sitting position. While he staggered, off-guard, and tried to regain stability, I slipped my left arm under his left arm pit and my right arm over his right shoulder like a seatbelt. I grabbed my left wrist with my right hand and wrenched him back across the chest. The pressure caused him to gasp for a moment, and I slipped my right arm up to his neck and started to cut off his air. I shot a look at Meredith, and could feel the wrath flowing off of her in waves. And it felt good. I leaned up to his ear and whispered, “You want me to let go before or after you pass out?” He grunted and tried to get position on me. He had missed his opportunity to avoid the hold, and now had the more difficult task of getting out of it as I cut off his air. He lurched back from the sitting position to knock me back onto my back, and began driving me forcefully into the mat with his back pressing his heels deep in the mat. Perhaps I had gotten a little cocky, if that’s possible for a girl. It was enough for him to tuck his chin, and get under my locked hold. He forced his right arm up between my lock breaking it and twisted out of my hold and rolled away from me on the mat grasping his neck. I was a little jarred from the smash on the mat, but I quickly rolled over to my feet and took a defensive stance. It took him longer to get to his feet. “Again!”
I spouted back at him. Pure anger erupted across his face, and he came at me with a series of closed fist punches, I blocked each one in rhythm. He started peppering in kicks, and I started countering. This was fun. I even laughed a couple of times. We were both were getting tired. We had been sparring for a good 10 minutes. The entire class stood mesmerized. Meredith’s face had murder written all over it. I was making a fool of Duarte. That was not my intention. I had decided to shut up after the last comment and just fight. I had no desire to harm him physically, and I realized as we fought, he didn’t either. He never pulled a kill or subdue move on me. Finally, I calculated his punches in order to take one that would hurt the least. And after a short parry, I straightened and stood still, and before he could draw back, I took a right cross on my jaw. I’m surprised it wasn’t broken by this point. I hit the mat again and tasted copper. I laughed again, “Okay, okay, I tap. You win.” He reached his hand out to me. His knuckles were split and bleeding. I took it, and he hoisted me up. He stood looking at me in awe. I bowed to him. “I’m sorry for everything.” I turned on my heel, and walked to the door.
“Stop!” he demanded.
“I should go. I’ve disrupted your process too much. I really am sorry,” I explained.
“Who are you?” he asked.
I turned and smiled at him. Regret and sadness hit me like a truck. He had not enjoyed the fight like I had. I had failed. I nodded slightly and said dropping the Americanized speech for my native British, “I am Abigail Davenport. I truly am sorry, Mr. Duarte.” He would recognize my name. I was sure of it. And I slipped out the door. I quickly walked down the hall to the elevator before my emotions caught up with me. I pressed the button calling the elevator. It usually responded in quick time. The elevator doors opened. I heard the training room doors swing open, and he rounded the corner.