Mentored in Fire (Demon Days & Vampire Nights)

“Right. Old grudges, picked scabs, a small bit of jealousy—I got you. Mum’s the word.”

He jerked back just a little, his face going blank except for a small crease between his brows. Something moved behind his eyes, something feral and wild. Something vicious and violent. I’d hit his weak spot. I prepared for a violent response.

He erupted in laughter.

It was my turn to jerk back, this reaction wholly unexpected.

His guffaws filled the huge room, big and full and delighted. “My gracious.” He wiped his eyes and then laughed again, shaking with it. “Very good.” This time it was pride that filled his gaze. “Very good. Very few people push my buttons, Reagan. Very few. You did it in such a way that it was every bit as infuriating as it was distracting. Tell me…” He put out his elbow, and I took his arm without thinking. Darius had trained me, it seemed. “Where did you learn a trait so valuable? Or, more accurately, how did you hone it? Because that trait cannot be taught.”

“I’ve done a lot of surviving. It’s a tool unlike any other.”

“Hmm…” He pushed out a hand, and the grand double doors opened before us. The sun shone down, utterly fake, I was certain, but warm and soft all the same. “You asked about the light…”

He turned us to the right, along a little path flanked with flowers. Service critters shuffled out of our way, dashing into the underbrush or dive-bombing into what looked like rosebushes, some with twisting black flowers and some with white lilies instead of roses. They clearly thought being in the Great Master’s way was worse than any injuries they might sustain from getting out of the way.

“It is a very complex illusion, no different than the elves have in the Realm. Their sun isn’t real.”

“Yes, I realized that when I tore down one of their illusions.”

“Very good, yes.”

“But they use fairy lights more often.”

“That is because they have a lot of fairies who have no choice but to work for nothing. We do not have fairies, and so I must expend the effort to light the dark places. Of course, most of my subjects see in the dark, so I don’t have to light all of them…”

“Right, of course.”

“That will be one of the last things you learn, I think. First, let’s start simple.” He put out his hand, palm up, and a little flower curled into existence very slowly, so that I could see each fiber as it stitched together, almost like sewing a design into fabric.

The resulting daisy was a little off color, dirty cream instead of white, and not totally detailed. It didn’t look natural.

I mimicked him and copied it anyway. I knew from Cahal not to get ahead of myself. The battles I’d thought I was going to win always hurt the worst to lose.

The petals of my daisy showed up crisp white, the vibrant center dotted with various shades of yellows and oranges, to show the pollen. His pale green stem was more shamrock on mine, and I tried to color in some slight shadows on the petals that would work with the positioning of the sun. The added detail took a little longer, but he didn’t urge me to move faster, or call me out for doing more than he had. Instead, he waited patiently, slowing his pace as I worked on the shadowing and then picking it up to a leisurely stroll once I was finished.

“Fantastic.” He beamed, and his flower drifted toward mine. He lowered his palm, and I did mine, letting the two flowers hover beside us as we walked. “You improved upon my design, and you did a remarkable job. You put in touches that would fool the wandering eye. Now…” He held up a finger, and in a moment his design perfectly matched mine, except his shadows were relative to the faux-sun. His leaves were veined and his stem shimmered a little. “You do not need to paint on the environmental effects. If you do, it’ll only be correct when the plant and sun are in that exact position.”

“Right…” I lowered my brow, concentrating, and he halted his steps.

“Did you have a comment or question?” he asked.

“No. Just…learning.”

His smile was soft and his nod slight. “Here, let’s sit, and I’ll show you how to create that effect.”

I paid close attention to what he did so I didn’t miss anything, but I needn’t have tried so hard. He slowed down when I faltered, and explained more thoroughly when I had trouble grasping something. He was as patient of a teacher as anyone I’d ever met. Although my training in the past had usually involved some sort of violence, from my mother working with me on up, and I would have thought I’d be bored without it, I was too focused to notice. I was too enraptured with what I could create to want any other sort of training.