Tori directed us through another set of doors and down a flight of dim stairs into a basement. “I know what you meant,” she said, “but all that is about to change.” Tori brushed a switch, and a row of fluorescent lights flickered to life. In contrast to the bright, warm room above, the basement was stark and cold. “New world, new rules. You need to learn them if you’re going to survive.”
My insides went cold at her words. “Can’t you set up a perimeter of bodyguards or something? Is it really necessary for me to fight?”
Tori’s face scrunched as if she had tasted something bitter. “You’re beyond that, now, don’t you think? You have a weapon. You need to learn to use it effectively.”
She had a point, and I really didn’t want to be helpless. “What am I going to have to do?”
Tori turned and put her hands on my shoulders. We met each other eye to eye. “We’re going to tear down what used to be and build something stronger in its place.”
“Like the bionic woman?” I asked. Tori shook her head, apparently not understanding my reference. “Never mind. Tell me one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Is this going to hurt?”
Tori’s stern face shifted into a smile, an evil, masochistic smile. “Oh, most definitely.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
The first morning of my reconditioning, after an embarrassingly wheezy and cramp-inducing three-mile run, Tori took me to the Valkyries’ work-out barn and deposited me into the calloused but graceful hands of Inyoni, a sturdy girl who wore her dark hair trimmed close to her head in a soft poof. Big brown eyes set off the smooth, unlined face of a teenager. Part of me wanted to dismiss her for her youth and innocent looks, but her impressive stature and obvious athletic strength made me reconsider.
Inyoni paced the padded floor mats between us like a caged and irritated cat. In the wall of mirrors at her back, a second, dimmer Inyoni mimicked her every move. “You’re here for self-defense training,” Inyoni said, her tone harsh and sarcastic. “You are a grown woman, raised out there”—she motioned in a non-specific direction—“among the Normies, the soft, innocent, mundane population. It’s going to take a miracle to fix you.”
“Normies?” I said, ignoring Inyoni’s insult. Maybe she wanted to pick a fight, lure me into exposing my weaknesses. I might have been soft, but I wasn’t stupid. Well, not that stupid.
“The normal people,” Inyoni said and rolled her eyes.
“Normal served me well for twenty-five years.”
Inyoni paused in mid-stride. “Oh yeah? Then what are you doing here?”
I huffed. “Tori kidnapped me, duh.”
“Duh.” She snorted. “You just proved my point. That never would have happened to me.” Inyoni motioned to the front door. “But I won’t stop you if you want to leave.”
“What about the fate of the world if the wolf gets me?”
“It’s a load of crap, if you ask me.”
“Then what are you doing here?” I asked, impersonating her insolent tone. I motioned to the exit. “I won’t stop you.”
Inyoni rolled her eyes again. “As if. I’m here because the helpless-woman routine makes me sick. It’s like… like…” She pinched her bottom lip between two fingers as she devised an appropriate analogy. “It’s like those suffragettes in the women’s liberation movement—yeah, I take online history classes, what of it? I’m doing all of womankind a favor by training you.”
I smothered a snicker. “How’s that?”
“One less pansy-bitch in the world equals one giant leap for womankind.”
Unable to hold it in anymore, I burst out laughing. Inyoni reminded me so much of Skyla. Inyoni scowled at first, but then she relaxed and let a grin spread across her face. “So, are you in or are you a wuss?”
“I’m definitely a wuss,” I said, still giggling. “But I’m in. I make no guarantees, though. You’re right. I’ve had a lifetime of taking things for granted. We probably won’t fix that in one day.”
Inyoni shrugged. “Whatever. It’s either train you or spend my mornings cleaning our weapons stock.”
“Weapons stock?”
Inyoni threw herself into a dramatic, martial arts pose. “I know, right? Like a woman needs anything other than her bare hands.”
I swallowed my less-than-agreeable reply.
Inyoni lowered her hands, returning her martial arts poses to her inner arsenal. Instead of attack, she started me on basic defense techniques. “When you’re in a confrontation,” Inyoni began, “you only have a few seconds and a few moves to try before you’re screwed, especially if your opponent is bigger or more skilled. And face it, Solina, in your case, your attacker is pretty much guaranteed to be bigger and more skilled. So, before an enemy has got full control over you, you gotta do everything you can—conserving as much energy as possible—to inflict injury so you can get away.”
“The best defense is a good offense,” I said.
Inyoni shrugged. “It’s a cliché ’cause it’s true. So, put away all your Normie conventions. Your prom queen manners. Throw the rules of civilization out the window.”
“I was never prom queen.”
“I was there in the car with Tori when she kidnapped you in Vegas. You sure looked like a prom queen to me. Or a hooker. Not sure which.”
I sniffed. “Is trash talking part of this training? I thought that was just something they did in TV wrestling matches.”
Inyoni grinned and picked up from where she had left off. “In a physical confrontation that calls for self-defense, it’s hurt or be hurt. So aim for the parts of the body where you can do the most damage using the least amount of effort: the eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knee, and legs.”
“The position of the attacker and how close he is will determine where you’ll strike and what part of your body you’ll use to do it. Never step in closer to strike his nose with your hand when you can kick his knee instead.” Inyoni demonstrated her meaning with a swift and graceful movement. “But you’ve got to know more than just how to inflict pain. We’re going to teach you how to cause irrevocable damage—popping eyes, buckling a knee sideways.” I blanched and tried not to gag at the thought. Inyoni either didn’t notice or chose to ignore my distress and continued to talk. “Most people don’t know how to make sure their force hits their opponent in a way that will cause permanent damage, and they will instinctively avoid it. But not you. We’re going to rewire your instincts.”
We spent the first hour attacking invisible opponents using upper body techniques before applying my new skills to Chuck, the Valkyries’ all-purpose abuse dummy.
At the end of the lesson, I was sweating, sore, and drained, but I had shed some of my helplessness and embraced the beginnings of my own empowerment. Feminists of the world were undoubtedly rejoicing and singing praises in my name. Inyoni patted my back. “Well, you still suck pretty bad, but you’ve got a good work ethic. If you keep it up, you might be better than completely useless, someday.”
After lunch, Tori took me to the Valkyries’ gym again and introduced me to Kalani, a lanky woman who stood on stork-like legs. Kalani greeted me by handing me a long-bladed knife, serrated on both sides close to the hilt. My fire was my real weapon. The knife was purely backup. At some point, I might learn to shoot a gun, too, although I had seen a bullet have no effect on the wolf. But I was willing to try anything, if it might save my life. Tori assured me the Valkyries had several gun experts among them, but Kalani was their Mistress of the Blade.
“That, my friend, is a Gerber Mark II,” Kalani said without preamble or friendly chit-chat. The Valkyries seemed to take their fighting as seriously as the Pope took religion. “Double-edged, spear-point, wasp-waisted blade, and a Fairbain-Sykes styled grip.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t speak knife-ese.”
Kalani smiled. “The words are not so important. It’s the action you take with it that matters.”
I weighed the knife in my palm. It was a substantial thing, and its double-sided nature made it more intimidating than anything in my set of expensive German kitchen knives at home. “Where do we begin?”
Kalani furrowed her thick black brows. Before I comprehended her movement, she had struck out and knocked the blade from my grasp. So much for my progress toward self-empowerment. With her brow still creased, Kalani studied the knife lying on the floor in a mockery of my clumsiness. Her dark eyes turned to mine, and she frowned. “We start at the beginning.”
“And that means what?”
“I won’t show you knife techniques today. Probably not tomorrow either. Or the next day. We begin with balance, and balance starts with the feet. You’ll learn footwork until it is a dance your body knows from memory, then you’ll learn to fight empty handed, and then, maybe, I’ll give you a stick.”
I shook my head. “I think you all expect too much from me. I’m not a Valkyrie.”
