Ricochet Through Time (Echo Trilogy Book 3) (21 page)

I did
not
notice how visibly defined his shoulders and back muscles were through his stupid black T-shirt. Who voluntarily wears shirts that thin, anyway?

“Oh my goodness, Kat!” Aset exclaimed. “Your hair! What did you—why—”

Neffe glanced up from her article, raised an eyebrow, then resumed her reading. “It’s not awful.”

Aset was practically sputtering. “But—but—all your beautiful hair. It’s
gone.
”

I didn’t get why she was making such a big deal; it wasn’t like I shaved my head or anything. I had what Jenny called an ‘inverted bob’—something I’d never heard of before an hour ago. Basically, my hair was chin-length, maybe a touch longer than that in the very front and a whole lot shorter in the back. It was layered, choppy, and pretty damn sassy. Good enough for now.

Aset pushed her chair back and stood, heading my way. “Don’t get me wrong, dear, it looks adorable. It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting—you never mentioned wanting to change your hair so drastically.”

I stared at the countertop, where I was digging the nail of my index finger into a small crevice in the granite. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

Nik laughed. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

I raised my eyes to meet his. “What? Lunatic?”

Nik used to scare me, but ever since he witnessed the scene in the entryway during my full-on, shit-lost moment with Carson’s body, well . . . I felt compelled to pick fights with him. He’d seen me at my worst. He’d witnessed the full extent of my crazy, and he’d held me when I’d wanted to die. He could’ve just left me alone, kicking and screaming and beating on Carson’s body, but he’d chosen to step in. He’d chosen to bear witness to my shame. The bastard.

“Play nice, children,” Aset said, touching my hair as she passed me on her way out of the kitchen. “I’m heading up to shower.” She winked at me over her shoulder. “And I love the new hair. I’ll meet you downstairs for dialysis in an hour, Neffe.”

Nik leaned his backside against the edge of the counter, crossed his arms, and smirked. “Re likes your hair.”

“
Re likes your hair
,” I parroted in that bratty voice used almost exclusively by kids. And by me.

“Mature, Kitty Kat. Real mature.”

“Your face is mature,” I snapped. Genius comeback, I know, but I couldn’t help it. My tolerance for a lot of things was nonexistent these days—Nik’s stupid perfect face and creepy eyes and endless tattoos included—but nothing bothered me as much as that damn nickname.

Neffe huffed out a breath, stood, and stalked out of the kitchen.

I watched her leave, then turned back to Nik, glaring. I always felt better after our little tiffs, like fighting with him was an outlet. I could only beat up on myself so much, and I never fought back. But Nik always did.

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a lot of anger in you, don’t you?”

I lifted one shoulder.

“You should find an outlet.” I didn’t bother telling him this
was
my outlet. His pale blue eyes bored into me, that mocking smirk absent for once. “Trust me, kid. Anger is always starving, always ready to consume you. And all you have to do is let it.”

I was tempted to roll my eyes and tell him to shove it. But I didn’t. Maybe it was because he was right—I could already feel the anger eating away at me, eroding parts of my soul. I looked at him, maintaining the tense stare connecting us despite the intense desire to look away. “So what do you suggest?”

“Pain helps some people.” It was an effort not to let my eyes stray down to the tattoos covering his neck and arms. “And I’ve always found beating the shit out of someone therapeutic . . . in a controlled setting, of course.”

I frowned, considering what he was saying. “Would you teach me? To fight, I mean?” The words were out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted asking.

Nik shrugged and leaned his back against the wall. I didn’t think he could’ve looked any less interested. An unplugged toaster would have looked more interested than him. “Honestly,” he said, “I’m a terrible teacher, and technique’s not really my thing. Not that I need perfect technique . . .” He flicked his wrist, a vine of At whipping into existence and snapping so close to my ear that a few short strands of hair fluttered down to the counter. “I’ve got a bit of an unfair advantage.”

My heart thudded in my chest—not frightened, but thrilled.

“But . . .” Nik closed his fist, and the crystalline vine evaporated into wisps of multicolored smoke. “If you really want to learn, I know who to ask.”

“Oh?”

His lips curled into a self-satisfied smile as he nodded to himself. He was still looking at me, but it was clear that he no longer saw me. “Meet me in the training room in an hour.” His pale eyes scanned me from the shoulders down. “And wear something else.”

“What?” I glanced down at my tight jeans and faded T-shirt. It had been black at some point in its life but was now the dull gray color that black dye fades to after too many trips through the washer, but it was also insanely soft. “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?”

“You need to be able to bend your legs.” He turned and headed up the hallway toward the front of the house, stride carefree and hands in the pockets of his
black jeans.

“I can bend my legs in these,” I called after him.

He let out a derisive snort. “Whatever you say, Kitty Kat.”

I huffed out a breath. “Well what am I supposed to wear, then? Spandex?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He reached for the doorknob to the front door and twisted, pulling the door open. “Just don’t wear that.”

I pressed my lips together and let out a long, frustrated growl. “Dickwad,” I grumbled, following his path toward the front of the house and heading up the stairs. To change.

***

“Katarina.”

“Dominic,” I said, enunciating each syllable of my half-brother’s name clearly.

I was sitting against the wall on the side of the training room opposite the one and only door to the outside world. The “training room” was actually its own detached building tucked away in the woods behind the main house. I’d never been inside before, and it was pretty damn opposite what I’d been expecting. I’d thought I would be walking into a glorified school gym—the tiny version—with those nasty padded mats that smell like an insipid combination of plastic and other people’s sweat. But the training room was nothing like that.

The walls were covered in horizontal strips of wood, some pale, aromatic variety that gave the room a pleasant, earthy smell. It kind of reminded me of a sauna. But the walls weren’t empty, like in a sauna—plus it wasn’t super hot. Weapons hung on the walls—knives and swords of every conceivable size and shape, staffs and sticks, some as short as my arm and some way longer than I was tall, and other weapons I wouldn’t even begin to know how to identify. There was even a column of whips hanging, neatly coiled, on the wall behind me, just a few feet to my right.

The floor was padded, but it didn’t emanate that oh-so-lovely gym mat odor, and it was patterned with a series of concentric circles, light gray on dark, the outermost of which was a snake eating its own tale. An ouroboros, I knew from my rudimentary study of ancient Egypt—the snake eating its own tail was a symbol of the cyclical nature of time.

Dom toed off his shoes, bent over to remove his socks, laid them neatly over his shoes, and strode into the center of the room, planting his feet in the heart of the innermost circle and placing his hands on his hips. He was wearing lightweight, loose-fitting black pants and a white V-neck T-shirt. “Nik tells me you wish to train.”

I fingered the hem of my capri yoga pants. “Sure.” I shrugged. “Whatever.”

“If you wish me to train you, little sister, I will do so gladly. But I would have your full commitment. Your implicit obedience.”

I balked. “You want me to
obey
you?”

“I see.” Dom’s chest rose as he inhaled deeply, exhaling through his nose. “It would seem you are not ready.” Without another word, he turned and headed back toward the door. He lifted his right foot and pulled on his discarded sock, then lifted his left foot to do the same.

“Wait, Dom. Please, just . . . I’m sorry.” I climbed to my feet using the wooden wall behind me for leverage. Unsure what to do with my hands once I was standing, I folded my arms behind my back, gripping my elbows. “I’ll do it. Whatever you want. I just—” I stared hard at the head of the snake on the mat. “I need this.” My eyes felt glassy, and I wanted to punch myself for my body’s go-to reaction of tearing up whenever I was frustrated or angry. “I need help. I—” I swallowed, choking on the words. “I need
your
help. Please . . .”

In my periphery, I saw him set his sock back down on his shoe, remove his other, then straighten. “Very well. Let us begin.”

24

Fault & Blame

I sat in the center of the training room, my elbow on my knee and my chin resting on my palm. My hair was crusty with dried sweat, and only a small damp spot chilled my lower back where my T-shirt had yet to dry. I blew a chunk of hair away from my eye.

My stomach yawned audibly, begging for food. I had water aplenty, thanks to the bathroom tucked behind an inconspicuous door in the back corner of the room, but food was nowhere to be found. Trust me, I looked everywhere. There were only two other doors in the training room besides the one to the bathroom, each leading to a storage closet. Neither stored food.

I wondered if I would reach the hungry-enough-to-pass-out point by the time Dom returned in the morning. Because I sure as hell wasn’t leaving until then, not even to keep my stomach from eating itself. I would pass his stupid test, damn it, even if I starved to death in the process.

The door behind me opened, and I sighed. “There’s no way it’s morning already . . .”

“No, it’s not.”

“Marcus.” I spun around on my butt and climbed first to one knee, then up onto shaky legs. I started smoothing down my hair but, realizing it was pointless, tucked what I could behind my ears. “I thought you were Dom.”

The ghost of a smile touched Marcus’s mouth. “Mind if I join you?”

I took a step backwards, arms extended as much as my fatigued muscles could manage. “You own the place . . .”

That ghostly smile made another appearance. Marcus turned away from me, toed off his sneakers, pulled off his socks, and stepped onto the mat barefoot. He wore silver and white basketball shorts and a plain white T-shirt, the lump from the tiny At vial containing Lex’s bonding pheromones visible over his heart, as always. “I hear that Dom is training you?” He crossed the serpent and made his way to the centermost ring of the mat.

I withdrew back to the wall and slid down to the floor. “I guess.”

Marcus nodded to himself. “That’s good. He’s an excellent teacher.”

I shrugged. It was only my first day training with Dom, so I had no clue how this whole thing would go. “I can’t leave,” I told Marcus. “Just so you know. Sorry.”

He stood in the center of the mat, feet shoulder-width apart. “What has he tasked you with?”

“Something impossible.” At Marcus’s quirked eyebrow, I explained, “Dom wants me to count all of the individual objects in the room. I can’t leave until I have the right answer, and he made it more than clear that there’s only
one
right answer, and that if I get it wrong, we’re done—no more training.” I huffed a breath. “It’s a test, obviously.”

“It is. And there
is
only one right answer.”

That earned an eye roll. “Yeah, I figured that out about five minutes after he left me in here, oh”—I held my arm up in front of me and squinted at my bare wrist—“about two hours ago. And I know the answer has nothing to do with how many ‘things’ are in this room. Because, like, what counts? Do the nails in the wall count? Does each board under the mat count? Does everything in the bathroom count? There are a gazillion possible answers, but only one way for me to
not
fail.” I crossed my arms over my chest and extended my legs straight out in front of me, crossing my ankles as well. “I have to stay in here until Dom returns in about twelve hours. It’s a riddle, and
that’s
the damn answer.”

“How cruel,” Marcus said, chuckling. “And what is the point of such a test?”

“Besides torturing me?” I frowned. “I don’t know . . . I guess it tests how committed I am?” I bit my bottom lip, my brow scrunched. “Or determined?” I snorted, laughing under my breath. “Or stupid.”

“I have watched Dom train many young Nejerets, and more often than not, his would-be pupils fail this first test.”

I stared at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Really?”

Marcus nodded. “Not with a wrong answer, but by arguing that the test itself is unfair. In doing so, they prove that their pride outweighs their willingness to learn.”

“Oh.”

“It is the first sign of a poor pupil.”

I stared at my toes. “But it doesn’t say anything about how good they’ll be at actually fighting . . .”
Or how
bad
they’ll be . . .

“Ah, but for those who pass, well—determination can turn even the slowest learner or clumsiest pupil into the most adept martial artist.”

“You think so?” Maybe there was hope for me, then.

“I know so. Now, if you don’t mind, I need quiet so I can focus while I run through the kata.”

“Oh, right.” My cheeks heated. “Sorry.”

Marcus turned so he was facing the door to the outside—to
literally
all the food in the world—and held his fists extended before him, just a few inches from his body. I watched as he started to move, filled with both awe and trepidation. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to make my body do what his could. Some of his motions were jerky, like an intended strike with his hands or feet, while others resembled the smooth, flowing motions of a ballet dancer. And his breathing seemed as much a part of the routine as the placement of his arms and legs. He moved around the mat for what felt like an eternity but what I figured must have been an hour and a half or so, never stopping for more than a few seconds and seeming to never tire.

Finally, he stood exactly as he’d begun and bowed to the door, then turned around and bowed to me.

I clapped halfheartedly. “Good job?”

Marcus’s lips twitched. Relaxing, he crossed the mat and sat beside me, his breathing impossibly even. This close, though, I could see that he’d worked up a pretty solid sweat. “So what did you think?” He rested his elbows on his upraised knees and clasped his hands together lazily. “Ready to give the kata a try?”

I scoffed. “Sure. And then I’ll cure cancer.”

“You never know. You might surprise yourself.” He threw me a sidelong glance. “I’ve been teaching Lex—I was,
before
—and she’s no fighter, but she’s been picking up the forms fairly quickly.”

“Yeah, but Lex was a dancer for most of her life. It’s practically the same thing.”

“Perhaps it has helped, but as I said, she is no fighter—not in practice, and not in spirit. She doesn’t have the heart for it. She is, at her core, almost stubbornly passive. Live and let live.” His words weren’t filled with judgment but rather hummed with reverie. “It pains me to watch her be drawn deeper and deeper into this war.”

I turned my head to look at his strong profile full on. His fingers pinched the lump under his shirt and his eyes stared ahead, no doubt seeing things not of this place or time.

“She’s strong, Marcus. She’ll survive this.” I hesitated before adding, “She’ll make it back to us.”

He grunted faintly and placed his hands on the floor, leaning forward to get up.

“Can I, um . . . ask you something?”

He paused and looked at me. “I believe you just did.”

I let the words tumble out of my mouth before I could chicken out. “Have you guys had any luck in tracking down the Kin?” I itched for knowledge of those responsible for dragging my mom down the path that had led to her eventual death. I wanted nothing more than for Marcus to tell me we’d found them all. To tell me we’d wiped them out.

“I know it’s hard with the At being pretty much inaccessible,” I said, “but hasn’t anything my mom told you helped?” Dom had been interrogating her for hours each morning and afternoon during the days leading up to her death. He’d spent the most time with her while she was here, and it was Dom who’d relayed her messages to me every day—her pleas to see me. Pleas I’d ignored. Why hadn’t I just sucked it up and visited her? They say time heals all wounds, but this one—this regret and guilt—it festered, worsening every day.

“In a sense,” Marcus said, “yes, your mother’s information has helped. We know the names of the Kin she interacted with, as well as some of what they can do using their sheuts. We know much about their structure and motives and have even managed to track down where they were when Gen and Carson—Apep—fled, but the Kin have long since moved on.”

“Oh.” I stared down at my hands.

Marcus was quiet for a moment, frozen in that half-tensed position. “I assure you, Kat, they will pay for what happened to Gen. Unfortunately, progress has been slow because the Council is divided about—”

“When aren’t they,” I said under my breath.

Much to my surprise, I earned a bark of laughter from Marcus. “Quite true. But this time, half of us believe the Kin have gone ‘underground’ to re-amass their efforts against the Council of Seven, while the other half believe they’ve scattered to the wind, leaderless and without purpose.”

“So does that half want to give up?” Even asking the question left a bitter taste in my mouth. I blamed myself for what happened to my mom, but I also blamed the Kin. As I sat there, I felt some of that blame shift away from me and toward them. There was no doubt in my mind that if it weren’t for the Kin, she’d still be alive. I suddenly wanted nothing more than the strength, skill, and ability to find them. To hurt them. To make them pay for stealing my mom’s life. I didn’t
want
the Council to avenge my mom. I
wanted to avenge her myself.

“Not a chance,” Marcus said, his voice hard. “But it changes the way we would hunt them—and hunt them we will. Make no mistake of that.” He pushed up off the floor and stood over me. “Is there anything else?”

I ventured a glance up at him, then returned to staring at my hands, picking at imaginary hangnails. “I just—” I coughed to conceal a convulsive pre-sob. “I was so mad at my mom. I wish I’d visited her while she was here. I wish I’d had a chance to tell her I forgave her, but I was so mad at her . . .” I’d never said it aloud before. It felt good to admit, like a confession that would bring me one step closer to absolution. I laugh-cried and shook my head angrily. “If I’d known . . .”

Marcus placed his hand on my shoulder. “I know, Kat. And I understand. Gen would forgive you, I have no doubt in my heart.”

My chin trembled, and I turned my face away from him. I didn’t want him to see me cry.

“Perhaps, in time, you’ll be able to forgive yourself.”

As the tears broke free and my shoulders shook, Marcus removed his hand and made his way across the mat. Moments later, he was gone, and I was alone with only my anger and despair for company.

And a whole damn lot of determination. I would pass Dom’s test. I would learn to fight. And I would avenge my mom. The Kin would pay.