Saturday, March 17, 2001
Arnbjörg was sweaty, frozen, exhausted, bruised, and happier than she’d been in weeks. Doug had taken his little cy’ree outside for sparring and they’d all gotten a chance to practice their innate powers and how they interacted with magic. “Next year,” he’d told the first-year students, “we can try a real hunt. Maybe this summer.”
A real hunt. A real hunt, with real monsters she was actually allowed to fight, with creatures she was allowed to kill. Arnbjörg had never killed anything bigger than a mouse, and that had been almost an accident. She wondered what it would be like to kill a monster, a real bad guy.
“Hey, bitch. You know what happens to bitches who don’t know their place?” Continue reading
Saturday, March 3, 2001
“Focus.” Doug glared at Arnbjörg from the other side of the heavy bag. “Don’t just be angry. Be violent in a direction.”
That was practically a speech for Doug. Arnbjörg glared at him anyway.
“I’m being violent in a direction.”
“Be violent with focus,” he countered. “Hit the target. Hit it every time. Hurt it.”
“Hurt it.” Arnbjörg closed her eyes for a moment and thought about that. “Hurt my target.” Continue reading
Friday, September 15, 2000
Arnbjörg wasn’t sure how she’d ended up walking back to her room with Jaya. She’d managed to evade four of the creeps and two too-friendly sorts, but then there was the cute horned girl walking along next to her, tail bobbing along under that schoolgirl skirt.
“I was bummed when you didn’t show up to the dance Saturday.” She grinned, a shy thing with a little head tilt. “I was gonna ask you for a dance or two.” Continue reading
Monday, September 11, 2000
“Creepy.” Cynara stared at the barn, at the lift slowly lowering the Jeep, at the warehouse they were coming down into. “This is not exactly inspiring any confidence in this Adder’s Who—”
“Addergoole.” Luke Hunting-Hawk was not the most talkative of travel companions, and he clearly didn’t want to be out here hauling her in. He’d been wearing the same pissed-off since he showed up at the motel room door to collect her. “It’s the Addergoole School.”
“—Addergoole School place.” If she went on talking, it might distract her from the mess of this whole situation. “Look,” she tried, just to say something, “running wasn’t my idea, you know. I didn’t even know we were running.” Continue reading