Thursday September 18th 2014
One good thing about an empty table was that you never had to worry if someone would take your spot. Absently eating, he watched the crowd before his eyes were drawn to Anastasia. Holding court at her table, she was a modern queen blessing with one hand and condemning with the other.
Her harem claimed the choicest seats at her side. Outside that inner circle was a wasteland of desperation, peopled by flesh hollowed out by hunger. Boys and girls with empty souls looked for a way to feed from her's. They crowded around her black sun, hungering to carve their dream from her life. Cruel in their need, they were unashamed of their wanton desires. Sex, power, prestige … Anastasia held the golden keys to their dreams.
It was the student sitting opposite her that raised Cesare's hackles. Blaez smiled across the table at the crimson-haired girl. The glares of the harem were nothing to an apex predator that killed for fun. The harem was favored by their goddess but Blaez was a lord of the hunt, he'd killed rabbits his whole life, a herd of them wouldn't keep him up at night. He'd claimed the seat as his due for being the meanest son of a bitch at the table.
Picking up his bag, Cesare was the first to leave the cafeteria. The classroom was empty when he entered, even Elizabeth hadn't gotten there yet. Taking his seat, he went over his assignments in the still space. He didn't think he'd find anything new, but left to his own thoughts, he'd tear himself apart.
The kids trickled into the room in ones and twos, slowly filling the emptiness. An expectant, almost electric silence held them when Anastasia stepped in. Her harem crowded possessively close to her, glaring at the other students that watched with wondering eyes. Anastasia's new fame meant an endless line of jackals jockeying for their flesh, each eager to take their place by any means.
Cesare spoke quietly as she walked past. "I'll need your boy's help after school. We can start tonight if they work hard." Anastasia's attention snapped to him at the words, an eager smile spreading across her face. "I'll make sure they're properly motivated. Where should I meet you?"
"The stadium," Cesare said. Her sycophants shared offended looks. Dogs didn't eat at tables like they were people, they begged for scraps and counted themselves lucky. That Anastasia hadn't lashed out at him for daring to talk to her didn't matter. Their worship of her demanded they defend any insult, even if she didn't see it
Curiosity got the best of one as Anastasia made her way to her seat. "Why would you hang with shit stain?" It was a question they all wanted to ask but hadn't had the courage.
"We're working on a school project." The easy dismissal was calculated to distance herself from Cesare. It shifted perception, making it seem as if she was forced to.
"Gods, I'd rather fail than deal with that ... thing." A watching girl said with a sneer.
Anastasia hadn't insulted him, but she wouldn't defend him either. She'd side-stepped the issue without lying. What hurt was that he would have defended her, not because it was the right thing to do, but because she was his friend.
After their talk, he'd thought … well, it didn't matter what he'd thought. Her star was on the rise, the school knew she was more than a fancy name trading on her mothers glory. She'd placed herself into the rarified air of legends. Being his friend had no upside, it could only taint the myth she was crafting. He wasn't a person to her, just a tool to use until it broke or a better one came along.
He didn't have to wait long for the harem to show up after school. Dressed in designer sweats and jeans, they were ready for a fashion show or lunch at the country club. It was going to be a hard day for the harem, and Cesare would enjoy every minute of it.
Cesare stopped when the entrance to the clearing came into sight. Elizabeth had crafted a tunnel through the interlocking trees as the only way in. He'd expected that, but not what she'd added. Vines wound among the branches, bristling with sharp gray spines. Threading the entire stretch of trees, the steel grey tendrils formed a punishing wall of wickedly barbed needles. A narrow game trail cut through the tunnel, greedy needles inching toward weak flesh. Wavering on the edge of sight, the twilight tendrils seemed to rustle with cruel purpose, agony tipped barbs stretching for the meat who dared their crucible. Penned in by thorns, the boy's steps fell into his as they eyed the shadowed tunnel with white faces.Cesare put them to work as soon as they cleared the tunnel.
The gear he'd stashed for them divided out as he grinned into their glaring eyes. Working hard, the pretties cleared the place of rocks, filled in holes, smoothed mounds of dirt flat while hate burned their hearts. They'd see him dead for this, for dragging them from their gilded thrones and into the dirt where fuck ups like him lived.
He didn't want to fetch Anastasia. Being alone with her was dangerous in every way a man loved. Luckily, he had a group of stupids who'd kill for the honor. Sending one of the harem to collect their mistress earned him a grateful look from one and spiteful eyes from the others.
He was having second thoughts, not just about this, but about helping her at all. It felt almost like she was doing him a favor by letting him help her. This was feeling too much like begging for a friend. A part of him wanted to walk away, and that part was getting harder to ignore as he played back the times she'd fucked him over.
Stopping at the entrance, Anastasia stared at the space. "How'd you get her to do this for you?" Cesare grinned at the honest awe in her voice. "I thought you'd have something, but nothing like this ..." She turned around in circles, her face glowing with happiness. It was almost enough for him to forget the day's events … almost.
"I think we can do my training here as well. We can meet on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday," Cesare said.
"Of course, anything you need," Anastasia said with a negligent wave. "Where do we start?"
He pulled out a spiral notebook and pen, notes bullet pointed and ready. "Let's start with how you learned to use the Ebon Flame."
"The Ebon Flame isn't just an ability, it's part of our souls. Anyone can tell you what fire is, but they can't tell you how it feels. We commune with the flame, listen for its whispers of hunger. Paper, wood, plastic, and flesh … we know why the fire burns." Turning her palm up, a small tongue of black flame rose from her skin. "We are the flame. Its desire is ours, we are the claws that butcher, the eyes that hunt, the priestess gutting meat for its feeding. Its ravening need is our sacrament, the tortured screams of flesh the song our lives are lived to." It was a mantra burned into the bones of a race, a way to the deepest mysteries of a people born to sin.
"I heard you could do other things with it." Cesare pressed.
"It was the last part of my training and the hardest. The flame wants to be a flame but we can coerce it to become other than its nature … electricity, ice, even acid. It's not real. It only mimics the effects." The black flame winked out.
"We have a natural starting place. It's a long-range weapon and all long-range weapons, no matter what they are, gain lethality by being both fast and accurate. How long can you cast a flame?" Cesare asked.
"I don't know ..." Anastasia said nervously.
"We'll look into that another day. For now, we're going to work on speed and accuracy trials. The targets are staggered around at random distances. Start your way from left to right." Cesare pulled out his watch. It had started its life at a cheap dollar store, thrown into the garbage when the band broke. "Can you reduce the power of your fire?"
"Yes." Her face paled as she took in the number and distance of the targets.
"Good, I want your lowest setting. Now we'll be working on accuracy and speed …"
Anastasia interrupted him. "But at home they only had me work on accuracy."
"First off, we're not at home. Second, how you train is how you fight. If you train like you have time, then you'll be too slow when it counts. What if you'd been one second slower in getting that fire off with the Drekavac?" Cesare said.
"I'd be dead," Anastasia said softly.
"Exactly. We train under a clock because speed matters. So does accuracy. By not training for speed your instructors left you open to being gutted on that field. I won't make that mistake." The words were tempered steel, the ultimatum clear in their razor edge.
"I'm sorry about earlier, with the others. It's just that ..." Anastasia began.
"Don't." Cesare cut her off sharply. "You're not sorry. You didn't want them thinking you were my friend, and you succeeded. You chose your goal, and you did what you needed to get it. Don't think you can have it both ways." They had to work this out now before they went any further. Anastasia owned the skills and looks to hurt him over and over. He wouldn't let her think by saying she was sorry, they were good.
He wouldn't be used and abused. Not by anyone, no matter how pretty she was. If she thought she could hurt him and be forgiven when she batted her eyes, then she could get fuck off. "Okay, I get that. I'll watch what I say." It was said uneasily, as if the ground had shifted under her feet. How many men had refused to cater to her? How many men had called her on her shitty behavior?
"Good. Now, let's start working," Cesare said.
"Work your way through the targets left to right, fast as you can, but don't sacrifice accuracy. I want you to hit each target in center mass. Start." Hands jerking up in startled surprise, she sent pencil thin streams of black fire down range, striking targets with solid thumps. Moving through the targets, her speed plummeted as each blast ripped energy from her, leaving a hallowed out husk behind.
"Is the thickness a gauge of how powerful the blast is?" Cesare asked.
Breathing heavily, her body jerked with each gulping gasp for air as a sheen of sweat slicked her face. "Yeah. The more fire, the stronger the blast." She set her hands on her knees in a slump. "Why?"
Cesare waved the question away. "Turn around." Anastasia groaned as she turned her back to the targets. "On my word, you're going to spin around and hit a target as quickly as you can. Once you hit one, I want you to reset to this position. Each time chose a different target."
Working through the drills, his note book filled quickly. This was a baseline for what she could do. The left-to-right drill exposed how accurate she was with that orientation and how fast. The right to left attack pattern was compared to see if she favored a hand. Front to back allowed him to see how she prioritized attacks. The speed trial told him the most. A predator always attacks first, knowing the first shot ends most fights.
Over an hour later, Anastasia's hands trembled with only sparks spitting from them. "Let's call it a day," Cesare said.
Anastasia hit the ground in a boneless heap, legs folding under her. Sweat streaked her face, dripping steadily from her chin, soaking her dress shirt. The blazing hair that burned like fire was a pale thing, exhaustion dripping from every crimson strand.
"Here." Raising her head, Anastasia perked up at the sight of the water bottle and towel.
Tipping her head back, she downed the water with quick swallows. Arched back, her sweat-coated shirt molded to her bra and breasts. Firm and heavy, her breasts were cradled in a lacy bra that left the tops exposed, carelessly opened buttons displaying a valley of white.
"Like the view?" His eyes darted away from her breasts, need twisting in his gut. "Do I need to ask why you have a towel on you?"
"Never read 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'?" With his face turned away, he couldn't see her head shake, but he continued anyway. "Never leave home without a towel. Shelter when it rains, a weapon if needed, a way to flag down passing star ships, or a pillow at night, towel is a multipurpose tool."
"Well ... I'm glad you have one," Anastasia said.
Cesare faced her knowing smirk. "I have some ideas on how to start now. I should be able to get something together for tomorrow. I have studying to do but feel free to hang around." The smirk slipped off her face as understanding filled it.
Already putting her out of his mind, he began taking out his books and getting ready to start his homework. The time he gave her was time he'd have to make up somewhere. He couldn't afford the time to train her, not when he was barely making it in his classes.
Anastasia wasn't stupid. She knew what she was doing, had known since she approached him. He was an asset, a resource to be stripped bare until it was a wasteland of the worthless. He wasn't a friend, would never be someone she could be seen with. How pathetic was it that even knowing he was nothing to her, he was still willing to help? He might be her friend, but she'd never be his.