Strains

Matthew and I have been training underground for a few days now. We don’t even go to his house anymore and instead invest all of our class time here. But with the rogue Spark still prowling the campus at night, I’m grateful for the intensive study. There hasn’t been any progress made in finding out who the guy is, and that’s even after Matthew has spent every night working alongside the enforcers.

I can see his exhaustion weighing him down and getting worse with every day that goes by. Still, even though he’s been tired, I haven’t laid a mark on him, but I’ve gotten better at telling where he is. I get a lot less dirty this way.

Matthew stops outside the entrance into the catacombs and looks over to me. “I’ll be meeting with the council a lot next week due to midterms. So, I’ll be too busy to give you one for this class.”

Sweet.

“I am totally fine with that.”

“That is to say, today is your midterm,” he says with a dark grin.

My heart stops. Why did he wait to tell me this now? I thought this was a remedial class, I didn’t know I would be getting a test. Matthew signals me to follow him.

“Don’t panic. You’re a fast learner, I thought it’d take a lot longer for you to get to this point. Just make sure to come at me with everything you got today, alright?” Matthew says as we walk into the darkness.

“Of course, Teacher.”

When he shuts the heavy door and extinguishes the candlelight, I’m not nervous. I remove the cap from my marker. Today, I’ll hit him for sure.

I hear him run forward and I step to the side. I can feel the disturbed air brush against my face. My senses are much more acute now, to a point where I’d like to consider myself superhuman. I know it’s not true. I slash backward. Nothing. I know other students are much more capable than I am.

He strikes from my left, and it barely misses me. He’s more aggressive today. This is the toughest he’s been. He comes forward, and I sense him extending his arm towards my right side. There’s nothing cutting the air though. Crap, he must’ve switched hands. And it’s too late, I can’t avoid it. He hits my left hand, and pain briefly rushes up my arm.

“Wait, that isn’t a marker!” I yell at him.

“No, it’s not. But it doesn’t change anything.” He comes forward again, pushes me back with his elbow, and slaps the marker from my hand. The sound of it hitting stone echoes in the chamber.

“Don’t let fear paralyze you. My ability doesn’t affect your own. Now pay attention or you’ll end up dead!”

He’s not giving me time to breathe, or even to find my marker. I’m not going to resort to slapping him like I did last week. No. This time I’m going to beat him. But where did it land? It could have rolled a good distance on these floors. I might never find it. Matthew comes forward again and I feel his blade slice into my cheek. I hop backward and rush to my left. I hit the wall, duck to escape Matthew’s cuts, and feel around with my feet.

Please be nearby.

Matthew is moving too fast for me to form cohesive thoughts anymore. My body is reacting off instinct. I don’t want to get hit. I don’t want him to kill me.

“Defend yourself!” His yell echoes off the walls surrounding us. I sidestep as he lunges forward and strikes the wall. The blade clinks against what must be the door to the exit. Wait. I throw myself at his side, using my body weight to throw him off balance. There. I slide forward, and brush past him, pulling his marker from his pocket. I knew he’d have it with him.

He slides his foot under mine, and I swing my arm upwards as I fall. Damn him. How is he so quick? He holds his knife to my neck.

“We’re done today,” he says.

We greet the sunlight and I drop to the floor, panting.

“I’m sorry, Teacher,” I mumble, and cover my face.

“Come on. We’re going back to my place to talk about your grade.”

***

Just like the walk it took to get here, I sit silently as Matthew hands me a first aid kit and a small mirror.

I busy myself tending to my wounds as Matthew labors over some paper at his desk. I shut the lid on the kit and set it on the table beside me.

“Elizabeth.” Matthew holds up a folded sheet of paper and waves it at me. “Your grade.”

I shuffle over to grab it and stuff it in my backpack.

“No,” Matthew interrupts as I open my bag. “Look it over.”

I wince. “Do I have to?” It’s bad enough that I failed. I don’t want to confirm it in front of him. I had hoped to finally win this time, to make him feel like I didn’t need his protection. He’s been out on patrol every night trying to find my stalker because I’m too weak to take care of myself. Even his relationship with April is because of my own failure to stand up to a bunch of teenagers.

“Open it.”

I bite my lip as I unfold the page. Matthew has transferred his criticisms that had once been on the whiteboard to this sheet of paper. The faults he’s outlined are far fewer than they were just over a week ago, with only one concern remaining: my confidence.

Lower on the page is my midterm grade.

“I didn’t know ’A’s could even exist at this school,” I say, stunned. “But I don’t understand. I can’t…this can’t be right.”

“Judging my methods again?” he says, pulling his hand through his hair. And then I see it. A narrow orange line cutting straight through his armpit.

“If you had been armed with the dagger I had given you, I might have ended up at an arrival point. Of course, it would’ve been after I would’ve killed you, but…still. It’s more than I had imagined you’d be capable of.”

I look back down at the paper and stare at the grade until my vision goes blurry.

“Thank you so much.”

Matthew raises an eyebrow at me.

“You earned it. But don’t get too cozy. I’ll make the final twice as hard.”

“Yes, Teacher,” and I can’t help but smile at him.

“What’s with the goofy grin?”

“Nothing. I’m just looking forward to training with you.”

“Hmm.” He throws a red marker at me. “Add ‘masochist’ to the board on your way out.”

***

I’m still riding the high of my success at dinner. Korma is her usual awful self, but nothing is bringing me down today, not even missing out on the apple pie a la mode.

I begin stacking the lower staff dishes as I usually do when the table clears out. When I turn around, Keiji is there, brimming with a happiness I don’t usually see from him.

“Hey, one of our top guys ended up at an arrival point, so I’ll need to help my house clean the dishes today. Sorry, I-,”

I put up a hand to interrupt him. “Say no more. What you’ve done for the past week has been more than generous. And besides, I’m happy for you. Your house sees you as more than a towel boy, it’s about time they realized your talent.”

He smiles at me. “Yeah.”

Piper calls from the kitchen entrance and he speeds off.

Well, I couldn’t expect him to help me forever.

As expected, the Aquas are long gone before I can finish the dishes of both staff tables. This is the first time I’ve been out this close to curfew in a week.

Matthew is probably already suited up and getting ready to leave his home for patrol. Would he come this way? There’s no way for him to know that I didn’t get help from Keiji and am here late.

No, he’ll definitely be here. The Spark he’s looking for has only ever attacked me after dinner when I’m alone and it’s close to curfew. I stack the final plate on the counter.

Like I am now.

I spin around and stare intently at the pitch-black corners of the kitchen. I still myself, and quiet my head until the only thing I can hear is the steady drip of water from one of the sinks. If he’s here, he can see me. The lightbulb hanging above my station is the only one on in the whole kitchen.

And then I hear something. A faint slow creak of a door hinge, likely the one leading into the kitchen. Without thinking, I rush to the wall furthest from the back door exit and flip off the light to my station.

If it were Chef coming in here, he would turn on the lights. But the lights don’t come on. My heart beats faster as my suspicion becomes reality. It’s him. My hand drifts to the hem of my dress.

It’s going to be okay, I tell myself. I’ve trained in darkness more severe than this. Matthew trained me for this, specifically. My report card flashes in my memory.

Matthew thinks I can do this. My fingers wrap around the hilt of the blade on my thigh. It isn’t much different than the marker from my training.

I can do this.

I can trust myself.

I wait for the telltale signs of movement in the air, but they don’t come. Did I imagine the door opening? Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I glance down at my watch but can’t make out the time in this light. I step over to the moonlight streaming inside the kitchen from a window.

Five minutes to curfew.

Maybe I should just get back to my room.

An electrified crack snaps me back to attention in just enough time to dodge my assailant’s right hand. I retreat into the darkness, my blade still in its holster.

He isn’t nearly as used to the darkness as I am, he had waited until I stepped into the light to make his move. Why hadn’t he just turned the lights on? No, now is not the time to question these things. I’ll take my advantages where I can get them.

He lunges for me again and again gets nothing but air. I send my foot into the side of his knee, and he buckles slightly.

“Who the hell are you?” I demand.

The person doesn’t make a sound. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve assumed that they were just an impatient enforcer. The fabric of his cloak is the same shade of black that fades seamlessly into the night that all of the enforcers wear. But enforcers obey strict codes when issuing punishment. Use of a special dagger, only ever attacking from behind, and executing with a single strike to the spine.

He may wear the uniform, but he’s no enforcer.

Instead of answering my question, they lurch forward and grab me by the ankle. Damn. I was thinking too much again. A forceful shock shoots up my right leg, instantly numbing my whole body and sending me to the ground.

Oh no.

“Learning to fight, are you?” he snickers, already thinking he’s won. My body convulses, his power short-circuiting my nerves. Every time the numbness wears off enough for me to move, he stuns me again.

I have to do something else, but what? He must think I’ve given up because his grip on my wrist eases. Loose or not, with his hand still there he can easily disable me if I resist. He turns me, so my back is flat against the ceramic tile of the kitchen. I go completely still and let my hand go limp. My one free hand is against my thigh, with only the fabric of my dress keeping me from reaching my knife.

I bite my lip.

My choices now are limited. I could try to scream and maybe succeed in getting the attention of the enforcers prowling around outside. But that would guarantee that he would use one of his hands to silence me. I can handle a jolt to a limb, but a shock to my face would either knock me unconscious or hit me too hard to fight back.

So I stay silent. It’s no easy feat, with every bone in my body screaming at me to run away and my eyes stinging with tears. What would Matthew think of me when he saw his training was for nothing? He’d probably change my grade.

The thought of every red written word he’d add to the whiteboard keeps me distracted as the Spark above me runs his hands over my still body. I’ve never wanted to jump out of my skin so badly. He leans back, my wrist still limp in his hand, and reaches for my hair. I had tied it back earlier to do dishes, making it easy for him to wrap it all around his hand. The other drops my wrist and goes for the hem of my dress.

This is it.

Once the fabric is above the tips of my fingers, I grasp my knife, unsheathe it, and slice upwards. Making him back off and cutting my once long hair in the process. I roll to my feet and extend the distance between us. He tosses the fistful of hair aside.

“Where did you get that?” he snarls.

“Same place you got those clothes,” I shoot back.

He charges forward but I slide out of his reach. The dim light of the kitchen gives me an advantage but at the expense of what I need. My next move is to a wall, where I quickly feel around and flip every light switch on the panel. Three lightbulbs flash overhead, filling the space with light.

My eyes reflexively squint in the new light, and when they’re adjusted, the Spark is gone. Figures. All this and I couldn’t even identify him. I look around helplessly for a clue. Nothing.

Now I’ll have to find some way to get back to my room without getting stabbed. I flick the lights back off. Hopefully, the enforcers wouldn’t have noticed the light.

As if in response to my thoughts, I hear the back door open with a fast squeak.

“Elizabeth!” I hear Matthew whisper yell.

It’s like his voice was a cannonball, hitting me square in the chest and making me fall to my knees.

He turns on a single lightbulb, the one hanging directly above me. He squats in front of me and pulls down his mask.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah but,” I stutter. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t figure out who it was.”

Matthew’s gaze lowers to the knife still in my hand. My eyes go there too, and I notice that it’s covered in blood.

Holy shit, I got him.

“Looks like we’ll be finding out tomorrow. Come on, I’ll take you back to your room.”

Matthew pulls off his cloak and covers me with it. It’s warm and smells strongly of vanilla and sandalwood. It’s more comforting than I’d ever admit to his face. Matthew gives me a weird look and then pulls the hood over my head.

***

We walk to my room, and when we step inside Matthew holds out his hand. I roll my eyes and give him the cloak.

“I understand you might be tired, but I have some questions.”

I walk over to my closet and pull out my pajamas.

“That’s fine. I’m still waiting for the adrenaline to wear off.”

He walks over to my desk and pulls out a small notepad.

“Let me know if I have any details incorrect.”

When I nod, he continues.

“The person we’re looking for is a male Spark, with an electric-type strain. Also seems to strike exclusively in the dining hall and kitchen after dinner.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up. But more specifically, he always shows up a few minutes before curfew and these last few times he’s been in an enforcer uniform.”

Matthew writes my words down. He begins tapping his pencil on the top of the notepad.

“Are there any Sparks on the enforcement team?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not one with a strain like you described.”

I didn’t think so. Matthew would never employ someone like that.

I run my fingers through my hair, but it isn’t as anxiety-relieving now that it’s so short.

“Do you have any idea of where you might have cut him?”

“No, sorry, I should have tried to get a better look at him.” He looks so upset, I hope I didn’t disappoint him too badly.

“I’m just upset that I couldn’t do anything. I thought I might be able to eavesdrop on their thoughts, but whoever this bastard is, they either think very quietly or don’t think at all.”

He stands and slides back into his cloak.

“There’s no guarantee that the wound you gave them will be visible enough for us to identify. I’ll go see Doc tomorrow and go through the strain assessment records.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” I say.

He moves towards the door. “It’ll be worth it to find out who did that to your beautiful hair.”

Well technically, I did this to my hair. Wait, did he just give me a compliment?

“Lock up and get to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”