That would have been what I’d expected. What actually happened wasn’t.
Stellan broke the eye contact I wasn’t able to break and took a sip of his coffee. “I was surprised to see Bishop all alone in his bed. I expected a glad you’re not dead make-out session keeping me awake all night.”
The spell holding me in place broke.
“Good morning to you, too,” I said, my voice still scratchy and throat aching. I leaned on the end of the bar. Obviously any awkwardness was coming from me, and he thought nothing of it. That was a relief.
I gazed out over the bay. It looked so unthreatening this morning, the pinks and yellows of the sunrise glinting off the water.
“The training thing,” I said, but stopped myself. I didn’t realize I was going to say that. It made sense, though. Two days. If we couldn’t solve the clues, maybe I really would have to confront the Order directly. Despite any doubts I might have had yesterday, I wasn’t wrong. No matter how much Jack disapproved, I knew I’d do whatever it took to save my mom, even if it was dangerous. We were getting into last-resort territory.
Stellan’s face shifted into an infuriatingly triumphant smile. “What happened to the thanks but no thanks of twenty-four hours ago?”
I felt my face blaze with annoyance, and maybe a little embarrassment. I turned to go. “Never mind. I’ll practice by myself.”
“Hey.” Stellan reached out, his hand on my upper arm. “I didn’t say no.”
I looked down at his hand, and he removed it. “It’s not that Jack is a bad teacher.” I looked over my shoulder toward the bedrooms, trying not to feel guilty.
Stellan shrugged and looked down at his own bare feet. “Give me a second.”
I barely had time to put on shoes and retrieve my knife before he reappeared. I tucked the knife into the front pocket of my sweatshirt, and Stellan rooted through the fridge.
“Bringing breakfast?” I asked.
He pulled out a paper-wrapped package. “No,” he said simply, cocking his head toward the end of the docks. “There’s a hidden cove down on the beach. Come on.”
At this time of morning, the only people we saw were a couple swimmers far out at sea, bright yellow and white swim caps bobbing along in the turquoise water, and a few early risers having breakfast on their boats’ sundecks. I pulled a baseball cap low over my eyes, anyway.
The cove was tucked away on the far end of the beach, white sand stretching to the foot of a rocky, brush-covered cliff. We had to take our shoes off and wade through the shallow water to slip past a fall of dark boulders, and when we got there, Stellan was right—we were completely hidden from the walkway and the rest of the shoreline. The gentle lapping of the waves echoed off the rocks all around, completing the illusion that we were shut off from the world.
Stellan put his shoes back on, but I squished my toes in the sand. “This place is beautiful.”
Stellan looked down at my bare feet and then up over my leggings and sweatshirt. The knife tucked into my pocket burned into the skin of my stomach, and I shifted self-consciously.
“Well?” he said. “I need to know what I’m working with. What have you learned?”
I took a deep breath and took my knife out, tossing its sheath on a rock.
Stellan laughed. “Oh, definitely not. I didn’t come down here to die.” He picked up the sheath and slipped it over the knife, taking the whole thing carefully out of my hand.
“This is better to practice with.” He picked up a piece of driftwood as big around as my wrist and snapped it in half. He handed me a piece about six inches long and kept the other half for himself. “Well?”
I wondered if he was being more careful with me because of last night. He was probably thinking I couldn’t handle this.
I cleared my throat. The piece of wood felt different in my hand than my knife. “Jack taught me how to stand. And hold the knife. Mostly self-defense stuff. He thinks I shouldn’t count on fighting with the knife, so he hasn’t taught me much about it, but I looked up some tutorials online . . .”
“You’ve been watching YouTube videos about knife fighting?” he said incredulously. “No wonder you’ve been having a hard time.”
I frowned. “What do you want me to do?”
He shrugged. “Stab me.”
I adjusted the stick in my hand, planted my feet, and—
Stellan threw his elbow into my “knife” and knocked it six feet away. He lifted his chin in the direction it had gone. “Try again.”
This time, I made a point not to prepare much so he wouldn’t know which way I was going. I stabbed at his side, but he sidestepped effortlessly. “Again.”
I lashed out at his shoulder. Sidestepped again. At his side. Straight on, like I was trying to stab him in the heart. He grabbed my wrist with one hand. He was so much stronger than me, he pushed my hand back until it was against my own chest. I jerked away.
“So the baseline’s nothing,” he said.