Some Girls Bite (17 page)

I didn’t, but I was a little sick of being bossed around by supernatural boys with ego problems, so I satisfied myself by muttering a few choice curses on my way back.

The locker room was bright, empty, and clean, but like all locker rooms, it carried the ubiquitous scent of sweat and cleaning products. There were two pieces of black fabric on a bench. I picked them up.

Catcher had been serious about watching my muscles work. The “clothes” were barely scraps—an eight-inch band of spandex to cover my breasts and a pair of spandex shorts that would just reach the tops of my thighs. It looked like a beach volleyball uniform, although I think even Gabrielle Reese got more clothing than this.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered, but stripped and pulled on the workout gear. They fit well, at least the little skin they covered. I folded and piled my clothes, placed my shoes on top, then pulled my hair into a ponytail. A quick survey in the mirror above a slate of sinks revealed a lot of pale vampy skin, but the effect wasn’t bad, actually. I’d always been lean, but my muscles seemed more defined now, vampire genetics doing more for my body than miles on the treadmill. I blew the bangs out of my face, wished myself luck, and walked back into the training room.

For my trouble, I got catcalls from Mallory and Jeff, who grinned at each other in delight. I rolled my eyes, but curtsied to both of them, then walked to where Catcher stood, arms folded across his chest, a glower on his face, in the middle of the mats.

“Push-ups,” he said, pointing at the floor. “Start now.”

As commanded, I went to the floor, extended my arms and legs, and started lifting my body. The move was nearly effortless; while I certainly couldn’t do push-ups indefinitely, I had noticeably more upper body strength. I felt muscles clench and flex as I moved, and reveled in the sensation of blood flowing faster than before. I saw feet come into view, then circle me.

Catcher called Jeff’s name, and the music changed—it became harder, louder, more rhythmic.

“The first step,” Catcher said above me, “is evaluation. The vampire’s powers are based in the physical—strength, speed, agility. The ability to jump higher, to move faster, than prey. Enhanced smell, sight, hearing—although those might require a little maturing before they kick in. And most important, the ability to heal wounds, to repair damage, which ensures that the body stays in top form.” Thus, the unmarred skin on my neck.

As I steadily lifted and lowered my body, Catcher crouched before me, a finger under my chin pausing me, arms extended, in the middle of a push-up. He searched my eyes, but called Jeff’s name. “Jeff?”

“She just finished push-up one hundred thirty-two.”

Catcher nodded. “You’re stronger than most.” Hands on his knees, he rose again. “Sit-ups. Begin.”

I swiveled my body into position, started a course of sit-ups. Those were followed by lunges, squats, and a set of yoga positions Catcher said were intended to test my flexibility and agility. They were all relatively easy, my body fitting into positions that—even years removed from serious dance-level fitness—should have been impossible. But I did King Dancer and Warrior poses, Wheel poses and Forearm Stands as effortlessly as if I’d been simply standing there. My muscles worked to maintain the positions, but the sensation was wonderful—like a full-body stretch after a long nap.

“So far, you’re easily a Very Strong Phys,” he commented.

I was in a headstand when he said it, and I lowered my feet to the floor and stood. “Meaning what?” I asked, straightening my ponytail.

“Meaning, just in terms of your patent physical strength, you’re in the highest echelon. Vamps are rated on a three-prong basis. Phys—physical strength, stamina, skills. Psych—psychic and mental abilities. Strat—strategic and ally considerations. Who your friends are,” he explained. “And within those categories, there are levels. Very strong at the top, very weak at the bottom, a range in between.”

I frowned at him. “Give me a comparator. What are humans?”

“In strat and psych, ‘very weak’ by vampire standards. In physical strength, they might vary from a weak to a very weak. Many vamps aren’t much stronger than humans. They need blood, and they have that nasty sunlight allergy problem, but their musculature remains essentially unchanged. Some will get powers, but even then it’s later on. It’s only been, what, four days since your change? Of course, even the vamps who don’t get appreciably stronger get a boost metaphysically—the ability to glamour humans, mental communication, once your Master initiates the link.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Mental communication? You mean like telepathy?”

“I mean telepathy,” he confirmed. “Ethan will call you, initiate the link. You’ll only be able to communicate with him—as your Master—but it’s a handy skill to have.”

I glanced at Mallory, thinking of her similar words before I took the floor with Ethan at Cadogan House. She nodded at me.

“You’ll have Phys,” Catcher continued. “Psychic, maybe. Those probably haven’t come online yet. They may not until you and Ethan connect.” Catcher moved a step closer and gazed into my eyes, his brow furrowed, like he was peering through my pupils. “You’ll have something,” he quietly said. Then his eyes focused again, and he stepped backward. “And those powers will move you up. You’ll be a Master vampire, Merit. You’ll have your own House one day.”

“You’re serious?”

He shrugged casually, like the possibility that I was going to be one of the most powerful vampires in the world was no big deal. “It’s up to you, of course. You could stay a Novitiate, stay under Ethan’s wing.”

“You do know how to motivate a girl.”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you take five, and then we’ll start you on the moves? There’s a water fountain in the hallway.”

I walked toward Mallory, who jumped up, grabbed me by the elbow, and pulled me out into the empty hall. I found the water fountain and latched on, my body suddenly aching for water. That was when she started yelling.

“You said ‘sorcerer’! Sorcerer!” She pointed back into the training room. “
That
was not a sorcerer.”

I guessed meeting Catcher did have an effect on her. I lifted my head and wiped water from my chin, then peered back into the room, where Catcher was sparring with a surprisingly sprightly Jeff.

“Uh, yeah,
that
was. Is. And believe me—I know. I was almost a victim of these little fingertip blast things he can do.”

“But he’s young! What is he, twenty-eight?”

“He’s twenty-nine. And what did you think he was going to look like?”

She shrugged. “You know—old. Grizzled. Long white beard. Scruffy robes. Lovable. Smart, but a little absentminded professorish.”

I bit back a grin. “I said ‘sorcerer,’ not ‘Dumbledore.’ So he’s hot.” I shrugged. “It could be worse. He could be a pretentious centuries-old vampire who’s decided you’re his latest project.”

Mallory paused, then patted me on the arm. “You win. That’s worse.”

“Uh,
yeah
,” I agreed, and led her back into the training room.

 

We worked for two more hours. He positioned me in front of a bank of mirrors along one wall and began teaching me how to move, how to defend myself. We spent the first hour—well, I spent the first hour—learning how to fall down.

Seriously.

Anticipating that I might be the object of an overhead toss or a clumsily executed jump, Catcher taught me how not to injure myself when I hit the ground—how to roll, to balance my weight, to use the momentum to push into a different move. The second hour we worked on the basics—kicks, punches, blocks, hand attacks. The building blocks that he’d eventually combine into katas, the combination sets that defined vampire fighting. The patterns had their origins in various Asian martial arts forms— Judo, Iaido, Kendo, and Kenjutsu, European vampires having learned the systems from a nomadic swordsman. But Catcher explained the moves had evolved into a unique form of fighting because, as he put it, “Vampires and gravity have a special relationship.” Vamps could jump higher and keep their bodies in the air for longer than humans, so vampire moves were more complicated than the original human katas. Showiness, Catcher said, was encouraged.

It wasn’t until the end of the second hour, after he’d begun to teach me defensive sword-fighting poses, that Catcher even let me see a sword. The sheathed blade had been wrapped in slinky indigo silk, and he unfolded it with careful concentration. It was a katana, much like the belt-bound blades worn by the guards outside Cadogan. It was sheathed in a black lacquer scabbard and had a long handle wrapped in black cord. He unsheathed it with a whistle of steel, the long, gently curved blade catching the glow of the overhead fluorescent lights.

As I admired the sword, tracing a finger in the air an inch above the blade—loath to sully the surface—Mallory asked, “Why swords? I mean, if vamps can be killed, why not just use guns? It’s faster, certainly easier than carrying around a three-foot-long sword. Those things aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”

“Honor,” Catcher said, gripping the sword just below the hilt and rotating it in his hand in a figure-eight pattern. He glanced over at me. “You’re immortal, meaning you’ll live forever if you aren’t killed. But if someone decides it’s your time to go, they have three options. Sunlight is, of course, the easy way.” He gripped the sword in both hands, the blade pointing to the ground, and thrust it down. “Two—pierce the heart with a stake. Destroy the heart and you destroy the vampire. Aspen is the traditional wood.”

“Why aspen?” I asked.

Mallory lifted a finger. “There’s a theory chemicals in the fibers prevent the heart from regenerating.”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

“Oh, please,” she said, waving me off with a hand. “You know I read a lot.”

Catcher swung the sword above his head, then sliced the blade through the air, the steel whistling as it fell. “Three—destroy the body. Remove the head, remove the limbs, the body dies. Slicing and dicing will weaken the body, as will guns. But guns are too easy. Bullets too easy. If you want to take out an immortal, you do it carefully, precisely, and after battle. You take out an immortal because you’ve fought them, used the old traditions, earned the right.” Pommel up, he gripped the sword and sliced it beside his body, a move that would have gutted an enemy behind him. Then he looked up at me. “Honor among thieves,” he concluded, brows lifted, and I wondered, not for the first time, how Catcher knew so much about vampires, and what put that intent gleam into his eyes.

He glanced back at Mallory. “That’s why they don’t use guns.”

“How do you know all this?” she asked.

Catcher shrugged matter-of-factly. “Weapons are what I do.”

“That’s how he works his mojo,” Jeff said.

“It’s the second Key,” I added, enjoying the surprised expression on Catcher’s face. “I am capable of learning.”

“Color me surprised,” he snarked, then moved to his knees, resheathed the blade, and placed the sword in front of him on the floor. Solemnly, he bowed to it, then rewrapped it in the silk. “Next time, I’ll let you hold her.”

“Next time? What about your job? My grandfather?”

“Chuck doesn’t mind that I’m ensuring your safety.” When the scabbard was covered again, he rose, cradling it in his arms, and surveyed us all. “Who wants eggs?”

 

 

 

“
E
ggs,” it turned out, meant a deliciously greasy breakfast. After I’d showered and changed back into my street clothes, Mallory and I followed Catcher and Jeff to a tiny aluminum diner situated in the shadow of the El in a commercial neighborhood that had seen better days. An electric blue neon sign blinked “Molly’s” in one of the round windows.

Once inside, we piled into a booth and surveyed the breakfast-only menu. After a gingham-clad waitress took our orders—eggs, sausage, and toast all around—we lapsed into a companionable silence, marred only by the intense stares that Mallory and Catcher couldn’t seem to help but exchange.

When the plates arrived minutes later, laden with greasy breakfast necessities, I tore into the sausage. I sucked down three links immediately and made doe eyes at Mallory, who handed me a fourth.

Catcher chuckled. “You’re craving protein.”

“Like a shifter,” Jeff put in, grinning wolfishly. And that made me wonder something.

I nibbled the edge of my toast. “Jeff, what kind of animal do you change into?”

He and Catcher exchanged a glance, wary enough that I guessed that I’d made another supernatural faux pas. I mentally reiterated my interest in getting a guidebook. Hell—writing one, if that was what it came down to.

“Did I ask the wrong question again?” I asked, taking another bite, social clumsiness clearly not affecting my appetite.

“Asking about someone’s animal is the shifter equivalent of pulling a ruler and asking a guy to whip it out,” Catcher said.

And down went toast into my trachea. I choked, had to swallow half my glass of OJ to get my breath back. “I’m okay,” I said, waving Mallory off. “I’m fine.” I gave Jeff a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

He beamed at me. “Oh, I’m not offended. I could show you. I think you’d be pretty pleased.”

I held up a hand. “No.”

Jeff shrugged and chewed a mouthful of eggs, apparently unruffled.

Catcher took a sip of his coffee, then dunked a corner of toast in the remnant of gooey egg yolk on his plate. “There’s an easy way for you to remedy your ignorance, you know.”

“What’s that?” I asked him, pushing back my plate. I’d finished off five links of sausage—three of my own, two pilfered—three eggs and four triangles of toast, and I’d just taken the edge off the hunger. But two thousand calories or so of grease, carbs, and protein was my limit at one sitting. I’d catch a snack later, and wondered how late Giordano’s was open. Or how late Superdawg stayed open. A hot dog and fries—how good did that sound?