Dana was starting to panic. Her head was still not right from her mind trip, and she was a little nauseated, as if this fight was happening on the deck of a ship out in choppy waters. She staggered backward a few times, tripped and fell on her butt once, and nearly walked into a back-fist punch. Instead of easing up on her, Saturo seemed to go faster, not trying to hurt her but definitely pushing her out onto the edge of her ability, trying to show her how vulnerable she was. He did not let her stop, never gave her a chance to catch her breath, cut her no breaks at all. She wanted to run, to hide, to cry.
And then something happened.
Suddenly the whole world seemed to shift, to skew around in the wrong direction. Instead of seeing Saturo rushing at her with a powerful roundhouse kick, she saw herself standing in the path of the kick. It was like she stepped into Saturo’s mind for a moment and saw what he saw, even thought what he thought.
Scare the red clean off that dumb girl’s hair.
That was the thought in Saturo’s mind as he launched the kick, but somehow the kick was wrong. It abruptly slowed down so that it moved through the air as sluggishly as if he were kicking while standing chin-deep in water. It still moved, and Dana knew that it was all some kind of bizarre perceptual shift, and yet she was inside the bubble of slowed time.
Then she was back in her own body and the kick was coming toward her. Still slowly, still moving as if time belonged to her and she had it to spare. Anger surged up in her chest and then flashed out through her arms and legs, burning like jet engines. She launched herself forward, stepping inside the arc of that kick, closing to a distance that nullified the power of the attack; and at the same time her hands moved, striking him in the thigh, in the stomach, in the face. She saw blood fly like small rubies, she saw his eyes go wide with shock and pain. Far away there was a sound, the distorted cry of command and warning as Sensei Miyu ordered her to stop.
And then, with the abruptness of an explosion, real time caught up with her. Bang. All at once.
Saturo fell backward, his hands clamped over his nose, a cry torn from his throat as he fell hard and fell badly. Sensei Miyu grabbed Dana’s shoulder and hauled her backward, spinning her, shoving her away from the fallen Saturo. Yelling at her. Furious. Scared, too.
Dana staggered a few feet away and barely caught herself at the edge of the mat. She turned to see Sensei kneeling over Saturo, speaking to him with forced calm, pulling his hands away so she could examine the damage.
Even from fifteen feet away it was clear to Dana, and to everyone else, that Saturo’s nose was badly broken. There was blood everywhere, and he had tears in his eyes.
Dana said, “Oh God, I’m sorry.”
She took a step forward, but Sensei hissed at her. “Sit down.”
Everyone was looking at her. Shocked eyes, open mouths. Doubt and worry and even some contempt.
“I’m sorry,” Dana said again. She bowed to Saturo, repeating her apology over and over again.
Finally, Saturo struggled to sit up. Blood streamed down his chin and onto his chest, staining his white gi with dark red. He looked at her with eyes that were filled with pain.
But he said, “Okay.”
Just that.
She bowed again.
He nodded. It was the best he could do.
She turned and ran into the changing room, changed as fast as she could, and then hurried out of the dojo before they could see her cry.
“Dana,” called Sensei, “wait.…”
She didn’t wait. She ran.
CHAPTER 53
Hale Residence
8:47 P.M.
“Jeez,” said Ethan when he opened the door, “you look awful.”
Dana pushed past him and went into the house.
“Your uncle’s not coming back, is he? He’s not going to leave early ’cause he’s sick?”
“No, we’re good,” said Ethan, closing the door.
Dana glanced at him. “Lock it.”
“What? Why? He has a key.”
“No. Just … just lock it, okay?”
Ethan did it, then paused and also turned the dead bolt.
“Thanks,” she said, greatly relieved.
She followed him into the kitchen, where he poured them each a glass of chocolate milk from a half-gallon jug. He handed her one. “My aunt Louise always said that chocolate was the first line of defense against any case of the heebie-jeebies, and you look like you’ve got them in spades.”
He smiled and then searched her eyes. His smile turned into a frown. “You’re high,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” snapped Dana. “I never do that stuff.” She saw the doubt on his face.
“Then what’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you sick? Your color sucks, and your eyes are weird. All red and bloodshot, and your pupils are huge.”
“How many times do I have to say it?” growled Dana. “I. Am. Not. High.”
“Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off. I’m a friend, remember?”
Dana turned away and looked out the kitchen window at the black night. “It’s been a really bad day, okay?”
“No,” he said, “it’s not okay. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
He led her to the small office and they sat down on the overstuffed chairs, balancing their glasses on their knees. Ethan closed the door to that room, too, and for the first time all day, Dana felt like she was safe. Or at least as safe as possible.