Iron Inheritance (18 page)

I gritted my teeth. Bone and tissue strengthening? Guess I knew what that meant now—we’d hit each other until our bodies were used to it…or they broke.

I put up my fists and advanced, faked a jab, and kicked Cheryl in the stomach with everything I had. Her whole body doubled over and skidded back five feet.

She didn’t stay down for long, though.

She lunged at me with fists raised again. I blocked her first punch with my forearm, and my bone fizzled like rice cereal in milk.

I bit my tongue to keep from calling out in pain. Then, I circled around quickly, going through every move Grandpa had drilled into me since I could walk.

Cheryl waited in a defensive stance with a sly sneer. I jabbed, and she parried with her forearm. I kicked out twice in quick succession, and she backed away at the last second every time. I sped up every movement. Fire lit within me and filtered beneath my muscles until my bones burned. The floodgates were opening, and I didn’t want to stop them. Hot and cold coursed through my veins, every strike like a wrecking ball. I could see her pink essence pumping out through her chest, almost telling me where she would move before her limbs did.

I landed punch after punch, my fists flying wide without technique. She put up her arms to protect her face and dropped to a knee, but I didn’t stop. It felt too good to hit something.

A whistle sounded, and she fell to the ground. I breathed heavily, the sting of others’ eyes on my back. The whole room had stopped their own activities to watch ours. Even Josh had ceased running.

I inhaled until my lungs threatened to burst—the essence fading from my vision like a soft mist. The fire from just moments ago turned to sludge in my arms, and I dropped to my knees next to her, afraid to touch her. I’d let my anger get the best of me. If emotions were tied to talents, then I was a nuke waiting to go off.

Cheryl was motionless, her head buried behind red and purple arms that were already starting to swell.

“Cheryl, I—” My voice choked up. Why had I done that? I should have stopped. “I’m sorry.” I shook my head, willing each motion to tick back time.

Laughter echoed off the floor. I looked down and saw Cheryl with her mouth stuck open in something between joy and pain. She rolled over twice to the edge of the sparing circle and guffawed loudly, rotating her arms around awkwardly, stretching them. My jaw dropped. I thought they’d be broken.

“Now that’s what I’ve been waiting for.” She smiled, staring bright-eyed at me as she got to her feet. No one stepped forward to help her up. “What are you all looking at?” she turned around to the rest of the pairs.

Denisov smiled to herself and marked something on the chart in her hand. Duke’s eyes were saucers of surprise.

“I’ve still got the next round with her,” Cheryl added and turned back to me in a fighting stance again.

The rest of the room took the hint with a collective murmur of grumbling.

I couldn’t stop staring at Cheryl’s arms. How were they not broken? How would I live with myself if they had been?

Cheryl motioned me forward. “Come on, Brooks. Round two.”

“What’s going on?” I threw up my hands. I could handle the idea of being Wonder Woman strong; I couldn’t handle some stupid game that made me nearly kill someone, or seem to, at least.

Duke cut in. “Talents are best when controlled through steady emotions, but sometimes explosions of emotion are needed to jumpstart the process. It’s obvious that was the case with you.” He glanced at Cheryl.

“And I thank you for that, really,” she interjected. “Nobody here has been able to give me a good sharpening like that since Duke graduated.”

Duke translated. “Warriors are able to strengthen each other when they fight.”

“Iron sharpens iron,” said Damian from the sparring circle next to us, his arm as big as my waist. It was the first time I’d heard him speak. His voice was deep and slow with that intangible quality that made you want to listen to every word.

“It’s like those fighters who do
muay thai
,” said Cheryl. “They kick skinny trees so their bones fracture and heal and fracture and heal until they’re calcified as hard as rocks. Then, they go and kick down a banana tree in one smack.”

I looked at her arms, imagining her bones slowly becoming rock. I rubbed my own forearm. It felt fine—not even a bruise. In a way it made sense. If our muscles could put out so much force, our bones and skin and everything else would have to be tougher too. And yet, if we could fracture, I’d bet we could break. We were still human, and all the emotions that came with that title made this talent more dangerous than I’d thought.

“I like that analogy,” said Ashley. “Back over here, banana tree.” She smiled at Damian.

I watched the two of them fight and land punches that sounded like they could obliterate brick walls. Had I really been punching that hard? I closed my eyes and tried to remember the feeling, the cold and hot blood pumping through my veins, a dam in my chest releasing built-up pressure through my fists.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders with Cheryl’s again. We started to circle each other.

“Please don’t take offense, but I’m surprised no one found you sooner,” Cheryl said, a bit of attitude burning through her sugary voice.

“What do you mean?” I reversed directions, stepping lightly near the perimeter of the circle.

“I mean, look at you. Your essence is flowing so freely you’d think there was a leaky valve somewhere inside.”

I looked down at my arms and tried to focus my breathing, to pump some of the power that had been there before so I could see my essence. Either extreme calm or unbridled adrenaline seemed to do the trick.

I pictured Kovac where Cheryl stood, and it suddenly became quite easy to see what she meant. Bright blue light enveloped me in a frenzied fire that licked lighter fluid off my skin.

“Whatever anger you used during our first round, just tap into a bit of that again, but remember to try to focus it instead of letting it run wild. Our bodies can’t handle that kind of power for too long. I’d hate for you to burn out; it would make it too easy to beat you.”

“How’d you know it was anger? Not some other emotion?” Talking your enemy into obliviousness seemed an old and practiced tactic of hers.

“I’ve been training my whole life, just like you. I think I can tell an angry fighting style from something with a warm, calm center. Besides, I know there would be no controlling my rage if I were in your shoes. It’d be all that I could think about.”

I waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. She was being sincere, but maybe just a little too much.

I thought about Grandpa, about Kovac, about the demon’s grating voice.

We rotated three more times until I couldn’t take it anymore. I lunged forward with a punch, blue essence exploding out of my hand ahead of me. Cheryl jumped out of the way at the last second, her essence an equally bright pink-rose.

She spun around and landed a series of jabs to my side, alternating between my kidneys and my jaw like a rodeo bull trampling me.

I twisted out of it and countered with a kick that nearly flipped her to the ground. I sprang forward again and tried to strike out with the same fervor from before.

But it wasn’t there.

She flipped up and elbowed me in the head, knocking me off balance. My vision instantly doubled.

I stumbled, but she didn’t stop. She came at me again and again. Sharp pain cut through my arms and chest as I struggled to take in air.

I heard the demon’s voice louder than ever.
My master will return
…
He will find her. He cannot be stopped.

The dam opened before Cheryl came at me again, and I caught her wrist as her knuckles bludgeoned my cheek. Her eyes widened, and I twisted her arm back as my fist slammed into her nose, wound back, and struck again.

Again.

Again.

Until her head flopped to the side and I kicked her in the ribs. She flew back like a broken bird and thudded to the ground.

I stalked toward her, my heartbeat overpowering cogent thought with something baser, instinctual.

She was still doubled over when I swung back to kick her again

“Eve!” Duke’s golden hand clasped my arm and pulled me back. His hand seemed to sap energy from me until I could hear the silence in the room, until I could hear Cheryl’s shallow breaths shutter through her bloodied mouth.

“Eve.” Duke’s whisper commanded a weight off my chest.

I drew in a deep breath and opened my eyes wider. Almost the whole school had gathered on the orange track next to the Warrior’s training area. Everyone was silent except for Cheryl, who was laughing as Freddy kneeled down next to her and snapped his fingers in front of her face. If I could have seen the essence, I imagine it would have been amazing to see Freddy’s talent at work—light healing light.

But with each breath and moment that passed, the light evaporated from my vision, and my memory returned in full force.

Is this why Grandpa always told me to maintain control? Why Nate had stopped Cheryl from getting to me on the obstacle course? He knew I wouldn’t be able to control my talent, that I’d do this to her if she attacked me. He wasn’t trying to protect me; he was trying to protect everyone around me. My Guardian had to protect the world from me instead of the other way around.

If I didn’t feel like a monster before, I sure did now.

“Class dismissed,” Denisov barked so suddenly that several people jumped.

The crowd dispersed before I could see Denisov’s face as she, too, turned and walked out the doors.

“Cheryl, I’m—”

“A worthy opponent.” She leaned against Freddy to stand.

Duke let go of my arm, and I stepped forward, my eyes soft and my jaw hanging open, unsure what apology could make up for this.

The answer was none. No apology could take this guilt away.

Cheryl patted my shoulder as she walked past. “One day, I’ll repay the favor.”

I tried to smile as the words, said so lightly, settled onto my shoulder and stayed there—a weight I’d have to carry from now on.

I didn’t look for Josh, Miranda, or Ria after that, but swept through the cafeteria as fast as I could and tried to find a place where glares wouldn’t pierce my back and whispers wouldn’t follow my every move.

I licked my plate clean before stashing it behind a trashcan at the library’s entrance. The moment my feet clapped onto the cobblestone floor, a familiar relief washed over me. No one would get hurt in here.

Stone cathedral arches craned over my head three stories above, each end towering down into massive marble columns that repeated as frequently as the bookshelves for as far as I could see. It was all dimly lit with the same gas lamps as the hallways. Each of the walnut bookshelves climbed above the narrow aisles so high that I had almost gotten claustrophobic the first time I’d walked between them. The warm smell of aging paper wafted through the air, always oddly pleasing to me.

I smiled half-heartedly as I walked several rows in and found Ria’s makeshift bed tucked away in one of the shelves on the first level of the bookcase. It was complete with blanket, pillow, and water bottles. When she brought her phone, she could be there for hours while I tried to cram six millennia worth of knowledge into my head.

A sigh escaped my chest as I rubbed my thumb over the blue stone of my necklace. It was no use. Nothing in these books could fix whatever was wrong with me, whatever made me lose control and almost beat people to death.

I turned down an aisle, and the light grew dimmer. Ria wouldn’t follow me here. This place was like a maze—the farther you went, the more the books were stacked older, thicker, and without titles. The end of every row was still meticulously labeled, but it didn’t matter. If you ever wanted to get out, you had to go the way you came, and Ria had never been very good with directions. I didn’t want her to find me for a while. I needed to be alone.

A small gold plaque at the end of a row gleamed at eye-level directly under a gas lamp.

Demonology, Doctrine, Dentures. Even dentures had a shelf in this place. Apparently Patrons had invented them.

You’re welcome, old people.

I took another left then a right before I came to a break in the rows of books. An oval study area with several chairs, a couch, and a few tables squatted below the towering shelves around it.

A tingle ran up my arms as I saw several books open on one of the chairs like someone had placed them there for safe keeping until they returned.

That wasn’t the only thing though. When I squinted, I could almost make out a purple haze that seemed to float through the air.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Scribe, Ms. Brooks.” Morales’ clear, stern voice cut out of a bookshelf behind me.

My whole body tensed, and my pulse echoed in my ears, my sight instantly doubling between the physical and the spiritual. Lavender light swirled around her knitted sweater. Her glasses swung like a pendulum from the gold chain around her neck. But by the next breath, dullness settled over the ethereal light she gave off, and all I was left with were her brown eyes waiting for me to say something.

I stayed quiet, my mind trying to move two steps ahead of hers even though it was almost impossible. I understood now why Grandpa knew what people would do before they did it. He wasn’t psychic, and he wasn’t just smart. Being a Scribe made him God-damn smart. Morales was the same.

“How are you this evening, Evelyn? Feeling ok?” She stepped closer, her shoulders slouching a calculated two inches to seem less imposing.

“Fine.” I nodded, my spine rigid. “Do you have news about Kovac?”

Her head tilted. “Kovac is dead, Evelyn. We have video of him over a month ago at a board meeting for one of his films. He’s not been seen since. Several of his senior executives have taken over control of the production company.”

My mouth dried up. “But—” What about the demon’s master?
My master will return. He cannot be stopped.
That had to be Kovac.

Morales cleared her throat. “I hear that one of Denisov’s unsanctioned missions has finally proven successful.”