Friday Night Bites (Chicagoland Vampires 2)

"I prefer my bites in other places."

"Is that an invitation?"

"If only you were so lucky, cowboy."

"Lucky? Hooking up with me would be the luckiest day of your life, Blondie."

"Oh, please." The word was spoken with such sarcasm that she stretched it into a couple of syllables.

Luc rolled his eyes. "All right, you've had your fun, now get that ass on the mat, if you can spare us a few minutes." He walked away before she could respond, moving around to wrangle other guards into position.

At the edge of the mats, as we peeled off our shoes, I gave her a sideways glance.

"Torture isn't kind."

She gave an acknowledging nod, smiled back. "True. But it sure as hell is amusing."

When we were barefoot, we stepped onto the mats and did some perfunctory stretching, then moved back to the edge and stood in a line before Catcher. We descended to our knees and sat back in the seiza position, left hands on the handles of our swords, ready to listen.

When we were ready, Luc moved to stand beside Catcher, hands on his hips, and surveyed us.

"Ladies and... ladies," Luc said, "since the sexual harassment has already started, I assume you've recognized that we have a special guest. In two weeks, we'll be evaluating you on your katana skills, memory of the Katas, ability to execute the moves.

In lieu of kicking each other's asses, enjoyable as that would be for me, Catcher Bell" - he inclined his head in Catcher's direction - "a former Keeper of the Keys, is going to show you how it's done. As Cadogan guards, and under my auspicious leadership, you are, of course, the best of the best, but he'll make you better."

"Top Gun," I whispered to Lindsey. We'd started pointing out Luc's ubiquitous pop culture references, having decided that because he cut his fangs in the Wild West, he'd been entranced by movies and television. You know, because living in a society of magically enhanced vampires didn't require enough willing suspension of disbelief.

"He's no longer a member of the Order," Luc told us, "but a civilian, so no need to salute him." Luc chuckled to himself, apparently amused by the throw-in. A couple of the guards laughed for effect, but mostly we groaned.

Lindsey leaned over. "You called it. Nice ass," she whispered, "but original, he ain't."

I was proud that Luc at least rated a "nice ass."

Catcher stepped forward, and the gravity of his gaze - which landed consecutively on each of us - shut down the snark immediately.

"You can jump," he said, "but you cannot fly. You live at night, because you cannot stand the sun. You are immortal, but a splinter of wood, carefully placed, will reduce you to ashes." The room went noticeably silent. He walked to the end of the line, began slowly pacing back. "You have been hunted. You have been exterminated. You have lived, hidden, for thousands of years. Because, like humans, like the rest of us, you have weaknesses."

He raised his katana, and I blinked as the blade caught the light, gleamed. He stopped in front of Peter. "But you fight with honor. You fight with steel."

He took another step, stopped in front of Juliet. "You are stronger."

Another step, and he was before Lindsey. "You are faster."

He paused before me. "You are more than you were."

My skin pebbled with goose bumps.

"Lesson number one," he said. "This is not swordplay. Call it that around me and risk the consequences. Lesson number two. You've been lucky so far - you've had peace for nearly a century, at least amongst the Houses, but that's gonna change. Celina's out, Celina's narcissistic, and Celina, maybe now, maybe later, will do damage if she can." Catcher tapped a finger against the side of his head. "That's the way she operates."

He lifted his katana, held it horizontally before him. "This is your weapon, your safety net, your life. This is not a toy, capiche ?"

We nodded collectively.

Catcher turned, walked to another edge of the mat, and picked up the sheath for his katana. He sheathed the blade, then grabbed two bokken - wooden training swords that roughly echoed the shape and weight of the katanas - and came back again. He spun one bokken in his hand, as if adjusting to its weight. The second, he pointed at me. "Let's go, Sunshine."

Damn, I thought, not eager to be the focus of Catcher's lesson, especially in front of an audience, but I stood up and unbelted my own katana, then bowed respectfully before stepping into the middle of the mat. Catcher handed me the extra bokken.

"The next time we do this," he told the band of guards, who all looked a little too eager to watch me fight, "we do it blindfolded. Your senses are all good enough that you should be able to fend off an attack even without your visual acuity. But today" -

Catcher bladed his body, one foot before the other, knees bent, both hands around the handle of his sword - "you may use your eyes. Standing position," he ordered, indicating that I could defend his attack without having to rise and act out the unsheathing of my sword.

I mirrored his stance, two sword lengths between us, bokken raised over our heads.

"First Kata," he said, just before striking down in front of me. My muscles clenched beneath the breeze of the slicing wood, but he didn't touch me. I responded with my own downward slice, my movements smooth and fluid. I was no Master, but I was comfortable enough with the Katas, the building blocks of katana sparring. It was the same idea as basic ballet positions - you learn the fundamentals, and the fundamentals give you the working knowledge necessary for more-complicated moves.

When we'd completed the first Kata, we went back to our starting position, then worked through the remaining six. He seemed generally pleased with my work, at one point stepping back and making me repeat the final three Katas against an invisible opponent to check my form. He was an exacting teacher, with comments about the angle of my spine, the placement of my fingers around the handle, whether my weight was appropriately distributed. When we were done, and after he'd made comments to the group, he turned back to me.

"Now we spar," he said, eyebrows arched in challenge.

My stomach sank. It was easy enough to hide multiple vampire personalities when I was wearing fancy clothes or walking around the block. It was going to be a lot harder in the middle of a sparring round when a wooden sword was being aimed at my head. That was just the kind of thing that got her attention.

I blew out a breath and bladed my body again, my sword before me. I wiggled my fingers, adjusting their positions on the blade, trying to keep my heart from racing in anticipation of the coming battle.