Vlad ran a pale finger up the length of his blade and I watched in horror as the sword sliced his skin neatly. What blood he did have—he had just sucked down two pints evidenced by the bags he was apparently incapable of throwing away—bubbled along the cut line. He licked it away and watched the wound close in on itself, the new skin regenerating immediately.
“I’m out,” I said, dropping my sword. “I can’t do that.” I pointed at his now-perfect skin.
Vlad rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to stab you, Sophie. Or even gut you. I’m going to spar with you. How do you expect to ever learn if you won’t wield a sword?”
“Accidents happen,” I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Accidents happen and limbs are lost and not regenerated.”
“It takes a lot of blood for us to regenerate a limb.” He jumped into fighting stance, sword standing royally in his grip. “I’ll go super easy on you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I promise not to cut anything off of you.”
He swished the blade across our filled-with-crap coffee table and a single leaf—cleanly sliced from my plant—fluttered gently to the fake veneer. “Come on,” he taunted.
“Promise not to cut anything off, or almost off, or slightly through? ’Cuz I’m a bleeder.” Vlad’s eyes flashed and I pointed at him. “And if you eat from my sliced-up bloody body, I will haunt the shit out of you until you stake yourself.”
“Are we going to spar or what?”
I sucked in a breath and picked up my sword. “Okay. But I do the swishy stuff and you just stand there.”
“No assailant with a sword is just going to stand there, Sophie.”
“Okay.” I mimicked his wide-legged, bent-knee stance and raised my blade. “Maybe just try blocking me.”
“Okay. But no limbs.”
“’Kay,” I said, doing a twinkle-toes-style boxing dance. I waggled the blade in front of me, liking the weight of it in my hands. I thrust the sword toward Vlad. He did a Matrix-style back bend and avoided my blade. I lunged for his exposed left side. He sidestepped around me.
“You’re pretty decent at this,” he said, impressed.
I shifted my weight. “Maybe I’ve found my niche.”
I tried a few more jabs and Vlad explained how he avoided them. “Okay,” he said, “I want you to aim for my blade. Since swords tend to be the same length, your best bet is knocking your opponent’s weapon from his hand, and then going in for the kill.”
Usually talk of killing made my stomach roil, but now, with the sword in my hand, the idea of beating an opponent exhilarated me. I thrust and Vlad blocked me, our blades clanking together. I was starting to sweat, but Vlad’s only indication of exertion was the flop of dark hair that had loosened from his usually manicured and shellacked hair helmet.
“Try it again,” he said.
I did, and he did.
“See what I did there?” he said, indicating the way he angled his sword to block mine from nearing his body.
“Yeah,” I said, my breath coming in short bursts. “Show me how you did that?”
Vlad grinned and raked a hand through his hair, pushing it back over his forehead. His grin was sweet and boyish, his black eyes reflecting a spark of life I hadn’t seen before. It was heartwarming, even with the sharp angle of his fangs pressed over his bottom lip. He repositioned himself and swung his blade in a graceful arc.
“See? If I come at you like this”—he jabbed—“you block like this.”
I mimicked his smooth arc, feeling my own smile press up my cheeks. “Like this?”
“Perfect.”
“What are you two doing?” Nina stood in the doorway, her label gun at the ready.
“Vlad’s teaching me to sword fight.”
Nina pursed her lips together and nodded. “That’s good. I always say when someone is horrible with a non-lethal weapon like you are with the Taser, you should give them a lethal one.”
“Actually,” Vlad said, “she’s really got the hang of it. She’s quite good.”
As we continued sparring, Nina crossed the room and tore open another box, pulling out a mammoth wheel of glossy label stickers. “I’m halfway through 1910,” she said by way of explanation. Then she put her hands on her hips and stared at us, her sour expression lightening to a small smile. “Wow, you are pretty good.”
“Okay, now let’s practice that blocking. I’ll go after you, you block me.”
My palms suddenly seemed sweaty on the grip. “Um, shouldn’t I be wearing some sort of protective gear? Like a sword-proof vest or something?”
Vlad shrugged. “You didn’t think I should when it was the other way around.”
“Yeah, but you’re way more immortal than I am.”
Vlad grinned. “Then let’s hope you were paying attention.”
He jabbed, and I jumped. He thrust, and I blocked. On a lunge, our swords struck each other with so much fury that ChaCha barked at the loud clang and yelped when a tiny spark crowned the clash. I was grinning, dancing wildly, growing confident in my ability.
I was Sophie Lawson: Sword Fighter. I finally really did have a chance to strut my stuff in those leather pants and tight bustiers, and people would no long throw a fit when they saw me toting a sword that never got mentioned again!