Torment - Lauren Kate [74]
When Daniel kissed her, Luce knew in her bones that he was her past. Folded into his embrace, she was desperate for him to remain her present. But the second their lips parted, she couldn’t really be sure he was her future. She needed the freedom to make that decision one way or the other. She didn’t even know what else was out there.
“Miles,” Steven called. He was fully back in teacher mode, sheathing his sword in a narrow black leather case and nodding to the northwest corner of the deck. “You’ll match with Roland over here.”
On her left, Miles leaned in to whisper, “You and Roland go back a ways—what’s his Achilles heel? I am not going to lose to the new kid.”
“Um … I don’t really …” Luce’s mind went blank. Looking over at Roland, whose mask already covered his face, she realized how very little she really knew about him. Other than his catalog of black-market goods. And his harmonica playing. And the way he’d made Daniel laugh so hard that first day at Sword & Cross. She’d still never found out what they’d been talking about … or what Roland was really doing at Shoreline anyway. When it came to Mr. Sparks, Luce was definitely in the dark.
Miles patted her knee. “Luce, I was kidding. There’s no way that guy’s not going to kick my ass.” He stood up, laughing. “Wish me luck.”
Francesca had moved to the other side of the deck, near the entrance to the lodge, and was sipping a bottle of water. “Kristy and Millicent, take this corner,” she told two Nephilim girls with pigtails and matching black sneakers. “Shelby and Dawn, come match right here.” She gestured to the corner of the deck directly in front of Luce. “The rest of you will watch.”
Luce was relieved her own name hadn’t been called. The more she saw of Francesca and Steven’s teaching method, the less she understood it. One intimidating demonstration took the place of any real instruction. Not watch and learn, but straight to watch and excel. As the first six students took their places on the deck, Luce felt huge pressure to pick up the entire art of fencing right away.
“En garde!” Shelby bellowed, lunging backward into a squat with the tip of her sword just inches from Dawn, whose sword was still sheathed.
Dawn’s fingers were zigzagging through her short black hair, pinning sections of it back with a brimming handful of butterfly clips. “You can’t en-garde me while I’m prepping for battle, Shelby!” Her high voice got even higher when she was frustrated. “What were you, raised by wolves?” she huffed through the last plastic barrette between her teeth. “Okay,” she said, drawing her sword. “Now I’m ready.”
Shelby, who had been holding her deep lunge throughout Dawn’s primp session, now straightened up and looked down at her rough nail beds. “Wait, do I have time for a manicure?” she said, psyching Dawn out just long enough to allow her to drop into an offensive stance and swing her sword around.
“How uncouth!” Dawn barked, but to Luce’s surprise, she instantly ratcheted up her swordsmanship, swishing her blade skillfully through the air and knocking Shelby’s aside. Dawn was a fencing badass.
Next to Luce, Jasmine was doubled over laughing. “A match made in Hell.”
A smile had crept onto Luce’s face, too, because she’d never met anyone as unshakably upbeat as Dawn. At first, Luce had suspected phoniness, a façade—where Luce came from, the South, that always-happy bit wouldn’t have been real. But Luce had been impressed by how quickly Dawn rebounded after that day on the yacht. Dawn’s optimism seemed to know no limits. By now, it was hard for Luce to be around the girl without chuckling. And it was especially