Training with Talbot was intense, to say the least. He didn’t pull punches, never had to take a breather or nurse a tender knee. Which meant I had to work like hell to keep up with him. And I don’t know what it was that made it possible, but I gained more skills in less than a week while working with Talbot than I had in the months of training with Daniel.
Maybe it was the fact that Talbot didn’t demand that I hold back at the same time he encouraged me to push forward. He wanted me to grab on to my raw emotions, use them to make me stronger. And I couldn’t believe how quickly it worked—how much more powerful I’d become.
Our training sessions were like a drug—fully tapping into my abilities was overwhelming, engulfing, leaving me buzzed with power and wanting more. April always gave me funny looks when I got back to the bus, and she’d ask questions about what Talbot and I did for training, but she never quite understood why I was so excited about sparring.
I’d even contemplated getting together with Talbot on Saturday for an extra training session. But Mom had been in manic overdrive ever since Gabriel had come to dinner and she’d learned about the Halloween fund-raising festival—the same fund-raising festival for which she’d commandeered control of the concessions booths and poured every waking moment into preparing for. And there was no escaping her desire to bake and freeze a zillion pecan tarts all Saturday long for refreshments. We were T-minus six days until Halloween, and I knew that if it weren’t for my mandatory service project each afternoon in the coming week, I’d probably never get out of the house to train with Talbot again.
By Sunday afternoon, I felt so positively shaky from having gone so long without training that I could barely think. Which definitely wasn’t a good thing, since I was supposed to meet Daniel for a picnic on the parish lawn after services. At Dad’s insistence, Mom had granted me a two-hour reprieve to work on my Trenton application with Daniel. Only I still worried he might notice something different about me.
It seemed like the better my training went with Talbot, the harder things got with Daniel. The harder it was to pretend to be normal around him.
I hated keeping things from Daniel. I hated that I couldn’t tell him anything about Talbot, or my lessons, or my plans to find Jude, for that matter. But that was just the way it needed to be, because I knew he’d try to stop me.
Daniel wanted me to be normal, but I couldn’t be. That wasn’t who I was anymore. I had these talents, these abilities. I knew what evil existed in the world, and I couldn’t just sit by anymore. I guess that’s why in all those comic books, the superheroes have to create an alter ego—the person who pretends to be ordinary so they can still be with the ones they love.
I knew Daniel wanted me to be normal because he wanted to keep me safe. But that was only because he didn’t know what I was really capable of. He’d lost his faith in me somewhere, somehow. Lost his faith in the whole concept of my being a Hound of Heaven—but I’d show him; I’d prove to him that I could do this. When the time was right—probably not until after I finished my training with Talbot … and maybe not until after I brought Jude home—I’d tell Daniel everything … eventually.
So that made what I was doing a surprise. I wasn’t technically keeping secrets from the person I loved the most.