“That’s because your muscles are weak. When you grow stronger, your ability to use it will grow too,” Snow said. “Trust me, when I started learning martial arts I had the upper-body strength of a tadpole, but now . . .”
Snow spun the staff at an incredible speed, twirling it around her head like the blades on a helicopter. She passed it from hand to hand, still spinning, then swung it around her back, along her arms as she ducked into a crouch. She stopped her last swing with the staff only inches from Sabrina’s nose. “I think that’s what your sister would call very punk rock.”
“My catchphrases are trademarked, Ms. White,” Daphne said with a giggle.
“You’re going to teach us to do that?” Sabrina asked.
“I am.”
“How is this going to help me stop a madman who is made out of magic?” Sabrina said. “Listen, Ms. White, I appreciate the help, but you’ve already taught my sister and me plenty of self-defense stuff. I don’t need to know how to scare someone off with a big stick.”
“I’m not here to teach you to scare someone with a big stick,” Snow said, stepping forward. “I’m going to teach you how to hit someone with it. Welcome to the Bad Apples.”
That afternoon was the most painful in Sabrina’s memory. Though Snow took it easy on her, the staff still slapped against her shoulders, knees, shins, and fingers. It was also heavy and hard to hold, so after a few hours her shoulders were burning like hamburgers on a grill. But what hurt most was how each strike her pole blocked sent a jarring vibration into her hands and up her arms, stopping at her neck. When one attack came, it hurt so much the staff fell out of her hands and bounced on the ground.
As she bent down to retrieve her weapon, she saw that she had an audience. Nearly everyone within the walls of the castle had slipped into the courtyard to watch. Some were smiling at her, almost beaming with pride. Others were merely curious and watched without expression. Pinocchio was smirking at her, but this didn’t bother her as much as her mother’s and father’s anxious expressions. She tried to push their worry out of her mind and focus on her training. If she learned anything that day, it was that Snow knew when you weren’t paying attention, and she made you pay for it.
“Well, that was a good first day,” Snow said, taking the bo-staffs. “I’ll see you back here at five.”
Sabrina groaned. “Five!”
But Snow walked away.
“We still need to find the book,” Daphne said.
“I need to be taken to a hospital,” Sabrina said, wincing at her bruises and strained muscles.
Suddenly, Puck stepped forward with three wooden swords in hand.
“What’s this about?” Daphne asked.
“I’m your next teacher. You can call me Mr. Puck,” he said, handing the sisters each a sword. “I’m going to teach you the art of swordsmanship—or in other words, how to totally kill someone with a sharp, pointy thing.”
Sabrina’s arms were so sore she could barely lift the weapon. Daphne was struggling as well.
“We’re too tired,” Sabrina said.
“And too beat up,” Daphne added.
Puck didn’t listen. He launched into an attack and the girls were forced to defend themselves. For ten minutes Sabrina managed to fight him off, but not before he used his wooden sword to smack her in her head, poke her in the belly, and crack her across the shins. It didn’t help that the sword, though wooden, felt as if it were cast from iron and attached to barbells. Snow’s workout had taken nearly all of her strength. She fell to her knees and surrendered.
“Get up,” Puck said as he stood over her.
“Puck, we’re tired,” Daphne cried.
“Get on your feet,” he demanded.
“What are you doing?” Sabrina said as she tried to fill her exhausted lungs. She was surprised by his attitude. She had never seen him so serious—so—so mean. Where was the dancing boy from the night before? Where was the Puck who she wanted to kiss?
“I’m teaching you to fight,” he said. “Pick up your sword!”
She stared up into his eyes, hoping he could see her hurt, but they were cold.
Sabrina looked to the crowd. They looked back at her like she was a turtle who had flipped over on its back and could not right itself. She could hardly blame them. She wouldn’t want her own life put in the hands of children, especially ones as abysmally normal as Daphne and her. She wanted to stomp over to them and shout that she had not chosen this path for herself. She wanted them to know that she wasn’t any happier about it than they were. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair.
“You have this camp’s attention,” Puck said. “They need to see that you can be pushed and fight back. They want to see that when things get hard you aren’t going to lie on the ground and whine. You failed them today.” Puck stormed off. “The party and the dancing are over, Grimms. It’s time to get serious.”
“Who is he to talk about getting serious?” Daphne grumbled as the girls watched him walk away.
Henry and Veronica approached. They helped Sabrina to her feet.