A Cross to Bear (15 page)

Gabby woke lazily, wrapping herself in silk sheets and enjoying the feeling of peace. Then slowly, the realization of what she had agreed to set in. She had agreed to let Victor teach her and mold her into some kind of supernatural badass.

“What was I thinking?” she asked the room.

When she rolled out of bed, she found workout clothes set out for her on one of the plush chairs. She had no idea what exercise might have to do with her ability to nullify magic. Reluctantly, she put on the gear and laced up a pair of Nikes.

Downstairs, she found Victor waiting for her at the large table.

“I see that you are ready to begin,” he said, standing and tucking a newspaper under one arm.

“I’ll be ready as soon as I have a few cups of coffee,” said Gabby.

Victor gave her an amused grin, the kind reserved for children who said that they would grow up to be Superman. “There will be no more coffee for you for a very long time. But breakfast is on the way. First, however, is your morning run.”

“Morning run?” Gabby asked, yawning.

Into the room strode a tall, muscular woman who looked to be at least fifty, with a buzz cut and similar workout clothes. She stopped beside the table and stood like a soldier, not saying a word.

“This is Ingrid. She will be one of your trainers for the next few months—”

“Trainers? Few months?”

“Yes, now, please listen and do not speak. Ingrid does not like to talk. If you annoy her, she is likely to make things harder on you.”

Gabby looked to Ingrid, whose icy eyes remained on the distant wall. She looked like an MMA fighter about to enter the ring.

“Now please, follow Ingrid outside, and she will instruct you on what is next.”

Gabby stood where she was, staring at Victor. But he got up from the table, turned on his heel, and walked, whistling, out of the dining room.

“Come,” said Ingrid.

Gabby scoffed indignantly and followed. She really, really wanted coffee.

“Look,” said Gabby as she followed Ingrid to the front door. “I like to have coffee before I get out for the day.”

Ingrid nodded at the two standing guards at the door and pushed out into the morning air. The sun had just risen. Dew still clung to the grass in the island of the spacious driveway cul-de-sac.

“Now you run,” said Ingrid.

Gabby raised an eyebrow.

Ingrid stared.

“Fine. Now I run . . .” said Gabby.

She set out at a moderate pace around the cul-de-sac and down the small hill. The driveway seemed to go on forever along the winding coastline. Overhead, seagulls rode on the easy currents blowing in from the ocean. Gabby could smell the salt and seaweed on the breeze.

Two days ago, Gabby was in Chicago and under house arrest; now she was jogging along the California coast with a vampire’s personal trainer. Life couldn’t get much weirder.

Gabby ran for what she thought must have been a few miles and stopped. She stood in the middle of the pavement with her hands on her knees, panting. Ingrid had slowed with her and now stood, staring.

“Is no time to stop,” she said.

“I just need a little rest. How far did you want to go anyway?”

Ingrid took a small object from her spandex. It looked like a metal antenna, like one would find on a portable radio. Ingrid extended it, and Gabby laughed.

“That
is
a radio antenna.”

Ingrid grinned and suddenly whipped Gabby on the side of the leg.

“Ow, son of a bitch!” Gabby cried out.

Another strike hit the back of her legs as she danced from the pain.

“Stop that!” she yelled.

“Rest over. Now you run.”

“Listen, you fucking—”

Another smack on the legs, then another. Soon the attack had Gabby turning and running away. The pain of the whipping overwhelmed her. Ingrid stayed close behind.

Gabby ran until her lungs burned and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She dared not stop but rather slowed to nearly a walk. The driveway eventually led to the road, and it was there that Ingrid told her to turn around.

“Do you mind . . . if I walk . . . a little bit?” Gabby asked, panting.

Ingrid answered with a hard whack to Gabby’s backside.

“Ouch! Stop doing that!” Gabby screamed. She stopped running and began to cry with frustration and anger.

“You are weak. You live lazy life. You are soft piece of shit. Now you run.”

“Just leave me alone,” Gabby pleaded, panting.

“Run!”

The rod came again across the back of Gabby’s legs. She cried out in pain and tried to grab ahold of the antenna. Ingrid was too fast and smacked her on the hand.

“Run.”

Miserable and tired, Gabby began to run back to the mansion. She gave it everything she had, focusing on the road ahead and trying to forget the terrible pain in her legs, side, feet, and ass. Every fiber of her being cried out for her to stop and take a break.

Gabby pushed on, knowing that to stop meant another beating from that wicked little rod. The mansion came into view, and Gabby focused on it, fighting herself with every step, telling herself just one more, one more. She began to slow as she pushed up the hill. Her legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. Her heart beat so fast that it echoed in her ears. She expected the whipping to begin at any minute.

To her surprise, Ingrid ran beside her and glanced over with a grim look of determination. “Run.”

“I am!” Gabby cried, pumping her legs harder. She burst forth with what was left of her energy. She would show the bitch. She would make it all the way back without stopping. Ingrid could shove that rod right up her own ass and twirl on it!

Gabby reached the cul-de-sac and staggered toward the mansion. She nearly fell over but forced herself to reach the door. When her hand finally touched the smooth surface, she collapsed against it.

Ingrid stood over her, blocking out the sunlight. “Today was easy for you. Tomorrow will be hard.”

Then she was gone.

The door opened up, and Gabby fell through it. She fought to catch her breath, thinking surely she would have a heart attack right there in the entryway.

“When you are ready, breakfast awaits you in dining room,” said one of the Chinese servants.

A lifetime later, Gabby peeled herself off the floor and stumbled into the dining room. She found no Victor, but a place had been set and food awaited her. The same woman pulled out a chair and offered her a seat. Gabby sat and inspected her “breakfast.”

On the plate was a grapefruit and a hard-boiled egg. There was also a bright green veggie shake of some sort in a tall glass.

“This is breakfast?” she asked the woman behind her.

Gabby was offered a kind smile. “You should eat quickly. Master Mushito expects you in the dojo in ten minutes.”

“The dojo?” Gabby asked with a raised brow. “You’re kidding, right?”

The woman looked to her like she didn’t know what she was saying. She then exited the room with the grace of a concubine.

Gabby let out a huff and ate while she had a chance. There was a large pitcher on the table filled with sparkling water. She drank half of it and the entire shake, and then she ate the grapefruit and egg. There was tea as well, and while it wasn’t coffee, it was something.

When she finished, another Chinese woman came into the room, bowed, and bade Gabby to follow her.

***

Gabby was led to the dojo where an old Chinese man stood waiting for her. The left side of the room was stone, while the other three walls appeared to be made of paper and bamboo. Hung on the stone wall were various swords and spears, throwing stars, nunchucks, staffs, and a variety of other weapons that Gabby didn’t know the names for. Her guide bowed to the old man, and Gabby nervously mimicked the gesture. Mushito bowed slightly, and the woman left the room.

The old man stared at Gabby, not saying a word.

“H-hi, I’m Gabby,” she said, extending a hand in greeting.

“You will call me Master Mushito,” he said, shaking her outstretched hand.

“Okay . . . Master Mushito.”

“First, we see what strengths you have. Defend yourself!”

Master Mushito suddenly lunged at her and punched her in the stomach. The punch wasn’t hard, but it was so unexpected that Gabby cried out and staggered back. Mushito attacked with a flurry of punches that connected with but a tap. Gabby threw up her arms wildly and fell on her ass.

Mushito hummed as he shook his head. He spun on his heel and returned to his original position. There he waited.

Gabby picked herself off the floor, feeling quite foolish.

“Have you ever been in a fight?” Mushito asked.

“A few, mostly when I was in school. But everyone was so afraid of my sister that—”

“You have been beaten, yes?”

“What do you mean?” asked Gabby, embarrassed. She wasn’t about to talk about Derek’s drunken abuse with a stranger.

“Do you like being beaten by him?”

“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No games!”

Gabby jumped at Mushito’s sudden outburst. She felt like a child being chastised.

“
No!
I don’t like being hit!”

“Good, there is some fight in you.”

For two hours, Mushito showed Gabby the basics of hand-to-hand combat. She learned proper stance, how to move to the side rather than backward, and how to use her opponent’s weight and momentum to her advantage.

Gabby was dripping with sweat when Master Mushito finally dismissed her. She was frustratingly slow and weak, but she felt as though she had learned something. One of the servants was there to meet her at the door.

“This way,” she said with a smile.

“When is lunch?” Gabby asked, feeling famished.

Lunch, it turned out, never happened. Gabby was instructed to shower and was brought to a shooting range where a man in gray camo was waiting for her.

“Hello, Gabby. You can call me Serge.”

“Hello, Serge.” She shook his hand, liking him instantly. Compared to Ingrid and Mushito, he was a sweetheart.

His gray hair was cut military style, and his sharp jaw was clean-shaven. A relatively short man, Serge nonetheless carried an air of power and authority. He reminded Gabby somewhat of her father.

“Have you ever shot a gun before?”

“Yes,” said Gabby, beaming. “My father used to bring us to the range all the time.”

“Good. Then let’s see what we are working with.”

Serge led her to one of the bays and handed her a pair of headphones, followed by a pistol and ammo clip. She expertly loaded the .38 Special, took a shooting stance, and aimed at the distant target of an armed bad guy. She let off shots slowly, trying hard to aim well. To her dismay, the first shot missed the target altogether. Adjusting for the kick, she tried again, this time hitting the paper, but not the silhouetted target. She unloaded the rest of the clip and squinted to see how she had done.

Serge pressed a button, and the target zipped down the line to stop before them.

“Not bad,” he said, pointing at the three holes that had actually found their mark. “But tell me, are you afraid of guns?”

“Yeah, a little,” said Gabby.

Serge nodded. “We will have to remedy that.”

Two hours at the firing range was followed by an hour each of weight lifting and gymnastics. When she was finally given something to eat, she was pleased to see a heartier meal than she had received for breakfast. She ate alone in the dining room, wondering the entire time where Victor was. She had more than a few words for the man of the house.

After her meal, she was told that she should get some rest; training would begin at five in the morning the next day. Gabby needed no coaxing. She hit her pillow and was out in a matter of seconds.

The next day, Gabby awoke feeling as though she had actually landed at the bottom of the cliff that Victor had saved her from. Her legs throbbed, and her back ached. The welts from Ingrid’s rod were no longer swollen, but rather, black and blue.

Ingrid barged into her room a few moments after Gabby turned off the alarm. “Downstairs, five minutes,” she said, and slammed the door behind her.

“Fuck off,” Gabby mumbled to herself.

With many moans and groans, she dressed herself and gingerly laced her sneakers. She went downstairs, expecting a skimpy breakfast. Instead she found a tiny glass of water and nothing more.

“Drink. You will need it,” said Ingrid.

Gabby glared at Ingrid, completely not in the mood. She was sore, tired, and hungry. “Where is Victor? I want to speak to him.”

“Victor is gone. He will not be back for a week.”

“A week!”

“This is what I say.”

“This is bullshit,” said Gabby.

“Bullshit or no, now you must run.”

“Screw you,” said Gabby, plopping down on one of the chairs to drink her water. “I need a goddamned proper breakfast. And I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

Ingrid smiled at her in a way that gave Gabby the creeps. Ingrid took out her rod, extended it to its full length, and slowly walked toward her.

“Stop that!” said Gabby, trying to sound forceful.

Ingrid began to come around the table at a run.

“All right, all right, I’m going.” Gabby leaped out of the chair, knocking it over in a desperate attempt to escape. But it was too late. The rod found her backside with a heavy
whap
.

“Ah! Damn it, I’m going!”

Ingrid pushed Gabby harder than she had the day before. When Gabby finally collapsed after two and a half miles, she expected the rod. Instead, Ingrid walked a circle around Gabby, tsk-tsking with disappointment.

“You think you defeat Michael Steele?” she said and scoffed, kicking dirt at Gabby, who was panting with her mouth wide open.

Gabby choked and coughed. She wanted nothing more than water. She looked to the distant crashing ocean, thinking that its terrible salt would be better than the dirt.

“You want drink, you want food, you want precious coffee in morning? You should think about revenge. Your sister is dead, and we give you chance to avenge her death. And what? All you think of is yourself. Did you think this was some kind of romantic getaway? Or you come here to learn, to strive, to become something more . . . the real you.”