Page 15 of A Memory in the Flame

Noah’s expression flickers at my admission. “Charlotte… I’ve never thought you were helpless.Unhelpfulat times, sure.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you capable of having a nice moment, like, ever?”

“Guess you’ll have to hang around and find out.”

“Look, I really don’t think you want me tossing around a weapon I’ve used once with zero training.”By the blood, it’s the sewers all over again, I think.

Noah swings away, and his chuckle floats back to me. “I’m going to teach you.”

I uncross my arms, letting them fall to my sides, then move to catch up. “You don’t seem like the teaching type,” is all I say as he leads me into a trash-filled alley. I falter when I see that someone has taken the time to tape a paper target to a rusting trash can.

The vampire turns, his gaze sparkling with amusement. “Have you no faith in me at all?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.” I let out a breath and hold out my hand for the gun. “All right. Let’s get this over with. Are you sure we won’t get arrested for firing a gun next to a busy bar?”

“No one will say a word once they see me.” Noah places the pistol in my hand delicately, as if it’s a bomb that could go off at the slightest touch. I can hear my pulse, loud and erratic, like a herd of wild horses thundering past. “The safety is on, but be careful.”

I shoot him a look. “Just tell me what to do.”

“With pleasure, baby vampire.”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” I ask with a halfhearted scowl.

Noah seems to ponder this for a moment. “Not until I come up with a nickname I like better.”

“Great,” I deadpan. Shifting so my feet are shoulder-width apart, I lift the gun and point it at the target. “Okay. Now what?”

“First of all, take your finger off the trigger.” He waits until I do before continuing. “The pistol you’re holding is semi-automatic, which means the mechanism inside the gun advances each cartridge into the chamber from the magazine.”

“Right. You just said a lot of words I don’t know.”

“Basically, the gun does most of the work.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Cool,” Noah echoes. “Okay, once you’ve squared your stance, go ahead and grip the gun. Just rest your finger on the trigger guard. Use both hands—your thumbs should be pointing toward your target. Good, now, lock your wrists to prevent recoil. When you’re ready, take the shot.”

For once, I follow his instructions to the letter. My pulse is ticking fast and my heart is in my throat.I can’t believe I’m so nervous to shoot a damn gun. I’ve killed people, well, weepers, with a sword. This should be easy, right?

“Anytime you’re ready.” Noah’s voice cuts through the anxious haze occupying my head. His back brushes against my chest. Oddly enough, having him so close lends me the confidence to put my finger on the trigger and squeeze. A shot rings out, filling the space around us, and the bullet lands slightly off target.Damn it.

“That wasn’t bad,” Noah comments in my ear.

“I missed,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at the target.

“Not by much. You’ll get better with practice. Try again.”

We go through it a few more times. I hit the target twice, but barely. The other bullets zip right past the can and lodge into the Dumpster. Noah stands behind me the entire time, offering words of advice. He doesn’t criticize. It’s a refreshing change—maybe he’s notthatbad.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he says. “You aren’t the worst student in the world, halfling.”

I point the gun at the ground and move my finger to the trigger guard so I don’taccidentallyshoot him. “Wow, thanks.”

“And?” he asks with a shit-eating grin.

I exhale. “And what, Noah?”

“I’m not the worst teacher in the world.”

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