“Yes, I’ve been practicing. Every day even.”
“Good.” The witch pushed to her feet and motioned for the other women to join her. “Because the girls and I are going to have to teach you a few tricks. The nocturnis fight dirty, and they like to fight with magic. We’re going to give you a crash course in self-defense and show you what you need to know to help us either stop those portals from opening, or take them out fast, if they do manage to form. Got it?”
All at once, the reality of everything they had been talking about for the past month came crashing down on Kylie’s head. She felt a whole lot like her cartoon namesake right after the Acme contraption blew up in his face. She wondered vaguely if her ears were smoking.
But Kylie also knew that defeating her adversary meant a lot more than roast Road Runner for dinner. If she and her new friends failed to counter the Order’s planned attack, people would die. Hundreds of people, if not thousands. How could a person live with herself if she didn’t do every single thing in her power to prevent such a tragedy from happening?
She didn’t know, but she knew that she could not. She hadn’t been raised that way, she wasn’t built that way, and she wasn’t going down that way. Not without a fight.
Taking a deep breath, Kylie pushed to her feet and squared her shoulders. “Well, then, let’s get started.”
*
Oy vey iz mir!
“Now I know the real reason why they call Wynn a witch.” Kylie groaned and collapsed back onto her mattress way, way, way after she would have preferred to appear there. “She’s like the Genghis Khan of teachers. I swear by all that’s holy, I wasn’t this tired and sore after the one time I let Bran talk me into that fitness boot camp class. In fact, I think if that instructor met Wynn, he would have run away screaming.”
More than six hours had passed since the kaffeeklatsch in the living room, and Kylie was really regretting those kichlach. Her stomach had been roiling since twenty minutes into Wynn’s magical workout and showed no imminent signs of stopping. Everyone was waiting downstairs for dinner, and just the thought of food made Kylie close her eyes and swallow hard.
She felt the bed dip as Dag settled on the edge beside her and fought not to groan. Maybe she should have collapsed on the bathroom floor. Sure it was hard, but it didn’t move, and if worse came to worst, she would be a whole lot closer to the toilet. Much less chance of a mess.
“Poor baby,” he murmured. She felt a huge, rough hand settle gently on her forehead, and she had to admit the sensation was soothing. The initial coolness of his skin quickly faded into a comforting heat that made her relax almost against her will. “Did you learn anything useful?”
“You mean aside from the fact that Felicity really hates being called Filly-Willy, Wynn is a secret agent for the Spanish Inquisition, and Ella packs a hell of a magical punch for such a sweet-looking person?” She sighed. “Yeah, I learned that I really might not be cut out for this woman-of-power stuff. If those three chicks downstairs are like the high-powered rifle of magical offense, I’m like a squirt gun. Not a Super Soaker or anything cool, but one of those old-fashioned water pistols that barely get your target wet and yet manage to leak all over your hand every time you pull the trigger.”
She heard—and felt, oy!—Dag chuckle beside her, but she just didn’t have the energy to hit him. All she could manage was to flip him a very small bird. Like the hummingbird of middle fingers, only a lot less energetic. A dead hummingbird.
“Do not worry, little one. I have every confidence that you will prove most adept as a Warden with a bit more training and a little practice. You forget, this is your first real attempt at using magic. Every new skill takes time to learn.”
Forcing her eyelids open, she looked up to eye Dag suspiciously. “That’s a very mature and rational statement from a hunk of rock who came within a flea’s whisker of calling me ‘the little woman’ and ordered me into the kitchen a few hours ago.”
Dag heaved a great sigh and shifted to stretch out on the bed beside her. She noted how carefully he moved to keep the disturbance to her to a minimum. Not that it got him off her shitlist, but she noticed it.
“Yes, I have thought over what I said to you earlier,” he admitted, “and I have come to regret my words.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“I owe you an apology. By attempting to forbid you from attending the conference dinner, I insulted you deeply. I belittled your abilities not only to take care of yourself and defend your own safety, but even your ability to assess a situation and to decide for yourself the inherent risks, the possible rewards, and the weight of one in relation to the value of the other. For this, I am sorry.”