Abominations (53 page)

      They stretched, Gwen noting that Katherine's body actually had a decent level of flexibility, even compared to Winslow, who obviously did this regularly. He twisted and turned with her, showing her how to do the warm-ups for about twenty minutes.

      “Strictly speaking, you don't need twenty minutes of stretching each day, I just wanted to let the painkillers kick in.” Then he led her on a run, which he kindly kept to a slow jog, barely over a shuffle.

      Her breathing became strained after only a few hundred meters, though it didn't hurt yet, because of the painkillers, she realized. The older man kept watching her, reminding her to keep her pace up, but not screaming at her like a drill instructor from television would have. They ran for about half an hour, when she started to stumble, her legs giving out a bit, even though she didn't feel any real weakness.

      Instead of resting, he started her on sit-ups, crunches, back raises, and push-ups, just lying on the short grass of the back lawn, her breath making clouds in the air. The grass kind of crunched under her, but she didn't really feel it.

      “Keep your speed up or you'll freeze. I don't want to have to explain to Mr. Vernor why his only child is in the hospital again.” Then he laughed, had her jump to her feet and start doing a halfway complicated series of exercises that left her gasping again.

      Then they ran some more.

      They kept this pattern up for over two hours, leaving Gwen covered in a cool, but not freezing sweat and very glad she'd had the painkillers first. When they finished that, the man took her into the large drawing room and produced a small silver square. Looking up Gwen realized the floating chandelier was gone.

      “Do you know what this is?” He asked quietly.

      “A... power conduit? I've seen some of the Westmorlands with them.” She didn't add more than that, since he nodded and handed it to her.

      “Exactly. Now, as you probably realize, any piece of metal can act as a conduit, the only difference between what the special services use and what any regular military man would have is only in the power source. The metal itself has a directional radiative field placed on it, so that when energy comes in, it produces a given effect. You can't hold it the wrong way around or anything, the field always takes the energy away from the source. This one is a training weapon, which produces harmless light when activated properly. Like this.”

      He held the rectangle of metal in front of him, pointing toward the far wall, arm bent, right foot forward, left hand held behind the right, out of the way. Suddenly a bright flash of green light filled the room, making a nimbus of energy in front of him, reaching to about seven feet away.

      “This is a close range weapon, obviously. Its strength is that it never runs out of energy, as long as the person wielding it is strong enough, and that you can have almost any kind of field on it. Heat, sound, light, kinetic, or a mentally active force. Most use kinetic force... Except, I've heard, the elite guard. They use an extreme form of mentally disruptive energy that kills anyone in front of the weapon instantly. Go ahead and try it.” The silver piece of metal felt warm from his hand as she took it and tried to copy the body posture he'd taken.

      Not having any other skills, magically speaking, she tried to focus on it like she would when charging a crystal or making the stove work. Nothing happened at first, then, after about two seconds the nimbus of light came back.

      “Good! I wasn't sure if you'd be able to do it or not. You have to be at least a class B to make these work. Now, if you'd be so kind, go ahead and activate it and keep it activated for as long as you can. I need to shower and make sure sir's breakfast is in order now, but I'll check back on you regularly. When it turns off, kindly start again as quickly as possible.”

      He left her standing there producing that same green light, trying to hold it as well as she could. It wavered and flickered when her concentration did, she noticed. After a few minutes she managed to keep it fairly stable, since it acted as an immediate feedback device. If the glow started to dim, it meant her focus had as well. She tried to keep going, even as time passed and her mind wanted to do something else pretty desperately.

      After about half an hour, maybe a little less, the light suddenly died. She snorted out loud and started again, realizing she'd been daydreaming about how amazing she could be with the weapon in her hand, taking on masses of attackers at once. That her daydreaming about using it had caused it to turn off wasn't lost on her. She refocused and made sure to keep her attention on what she was doing.

      After an hour of this, Winslow came back in and suggested that she shower before breakfast, as her Mother expected her in an hour. Before she left the room, he took back the power conduit and handed her another pill to take.

      “More painkiller, you'll need it.”

      At breakfast she discussed the plans for the soup kitchen with Ethyl, since they only had two days left. They decided to take in some bakeries and meat suppliers later in the afternoon, to see what they could arrange.

      The next week went in that vein for Gwen, the only change coming when she and Ethyl went to the soup kitchen itself and started providing food. Unlike the last time, when Mr. Vernor had to hire people to work the place, they had several volunteers and almost daily a news item was being run by someone or another in the press. A friend of Mrs. Vernor invited everyone to come get part of the attention, which worked beautifully as far as Gwen could tell.

      On the fifth day, Gwen looked up to find a familiar face standing next to her as she ladled out soup to people that came through the line. Deborah Winslow the reporter and, if Bethany had been correct about what she'd read form the woman's mind, Katherine's ex-girlfriend.

      Now, this won't be awkward at all, Gwen thought to herself, trying to keep a smile on her face as the woman approached.

      “Deborah? What are you doing here?” She just hoped that they had parted on something close to amicable ground. If not she'd just have to apologize for everything and hope that would work, because if they still had issues, she wouldn't be able to discuss them very well at all, not knowing anything about them. She tried to keep her look interested, so that her question wouldn't sound accusing or something.

      Apparently she failed, since the woman frowned at her.

      “You don't really think you're fooling anyone do you?” the other woman asked, her voice dark and foreboding, but she whispered at least, so the whole room didn't hear her.

      Gwen kept ladling soup and scrambled to think of something to say. She kept drawing a blank, because that statement, that she wasn't fooling anyone, didn't mean anything to her. Finally she just decided to ask.

      “Fooling anyone about what?”

      “Oh, you know, all this...” The reporter waved a hand at the room. “Little heiress makes good, gets scared and changes her evil ways. Does charity work and stops sleeping with women...”

      The bitterness that touched the woman's last words made her intent clear. This wasn't about the whole body switching thing at least, just about relationship stuff.

      Oh, goody. She didn't have a clue how to handle this kind of thing. Everything she knew about relationships she'd learned from TV. Worse, since she'd mainly watched dramas and action shows, or comedies, she didn't even know what a good relationship should look like. For some reason, she thought, having a big fight in the middle of a soup kitchen about this didn't seem like a great idea right now. The vision she had of drowning Deborah in the vat of soup might make good television, but it would be off-putting to the hungry that had come for dinner. She laughed to herself, trying to keep her reaction off her face.

      Instead of saying anything clever or witty, she decided to try the simple truth.

      “I don't know... I don't know what you want me to say, Deborah. I don't know who I am half the time anymore. What I can tell you is that the soup kitchen, the charity work, trying to make my own way in the world, all that's real. I may make a huge mess of it, but I'm really trying... As for the other stuff... Well, if it makes you feel better, I haven't been seeing anyone, man, woman, or anything else since the attack.”

      She stopped talking then, seeing both hope and skepticism on the slightly older woman's face.

      “Oh? Not even your Westmorland?”

      “Not even her. Not for sex at least. We're friends, of course, but that's it. But... Deborah, I... I really do think I like men. I'm not saying this to be hurtful, I mean you're great and if I thought it would work... But...”

      This caused the woman to look sad, but then she flipped her palms up and wrinkled her nose at Gwen.

      “At least I'll know that it wasn't all me. You can't really help who you like. Though... men? I just don't see it. Anyway, Charles told me that you haven't been seeing anyone. Handy that, my brother working for your family. Not, of course, that he ever tells me anything important. It took me hours to work that out of him you know and he only told me that much because, you know, he knows we used to be friends...”

      Ethyl had moved over to listen, causing Deborah to hush her voice a little bit.

      Gwen kept ladling soup, the tureen about to run out. She called for the next pot. It was a beef stew, with a thick gravy, rather than a thin soup. Only about forty people had shown up for the free food, since unemployment didn't seem a big problem here. The sad thing of course was that those in line for soup were mainly either women that couldn't afford to feed their kids after the death of a husband or people with mental problems. So far no one violent had come through the lines, at least they weren't violent here.

      Gwen suggested that Deborah help serve the food, which got the other woman to leave quickly enough. A shame really, since the reporter could have made a lot of upper crust contacts today. The number of volunteers had gone up, mainly high society women hoping for some favorable press. About half of them were actually willing to work, while the other half puttered about, more than a bit lost.

      Gwen could understand that. She'd had to scramble to learn enough about cooking and baking to be of use here herself. As it was she still mainly cleaned between meals and served food during. A large pot of stew came out, so she pulled the one on the small burner in front of her, which had just enough heat to keep the stew warm, and dumped the remainder of the old one in. The maneuver made her think of her time on the Peregrine, which, of course, made her think of Beth again.

      In over a week she hadn't heard anything more from her, or from any of the Westmorlands. It made her wonder if they really had just forgotten about her. For now all she could do is try to train and stay ready, just in case.

Chapter twenty-nine

      Bethany didn't call or get in touch in any way over the next several weeks. Gwen had expected to be bored after Yule, since she didn't actually have anything to do except train during the day, and that still only took up the mornings. Winslow pointed out to her that doing more wouldn't help her at all, since she had to heal up from the damage the exercise did to her body if she wanted to get stronger.