Page 47 of The Shadowed Oracle
“Good. Because I’ve known Dean for a long time, and he’s always struggled to find balance. He is very careful with what and who he wants. But if he does want something, he tends to obsess.”
Ingrid didn’t know how to respond to that. Her eyes drifted to her shoes, then the wall of weapons, then back to the floor.
“There I go again,” Tyla said, her green eyes blinking fast. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that either.” She held her finger up, gesturing back to the weapons as if she was about to tell her a secret. “Here, let me make it up to you. Go on, grab whichever one is calling to you. I promise you won’t feel silly after carrying one of these around for a while.”
Ingrid didn’t need to be asked twice. She moved closer to the racks all lit by the flood of bright red light. In her extensive reading on the Thirty Years War, the Renaissance, the history of in-fighting in Medieval England, she had developed an odd fascination with swords and daggers. The biggest and most brutal-looking of the swords caught Ingrid’s eye first. It reminded her of the legendary long swords described by the historians, but it was thicker than her thigh and seemed to be as tall as her when standing on its pommel. If not feeling silly was the goal, this was definitely not the sword for her.
She moved on to the smaller blades, eventually locking onto a black-hilted, thin but long sword in the very center of the display. Her reflection gleamed in the shiny blade, and as she pulled it down with some effort, the tip nicked one of the lower shelves, almost knocking over the entire row. It was much heavier than it looked.
“Bad start,” Ingrid laughed self-consciously. “But I like the feel.” She raised the glinting steel in the air, waving it around slowly a few times. She removed one of her hands to reallytest out her strength, and to Ingrid’s amazement, it was feeling lighter already.
“Good choice,” Tyla said. “It was one of many that belonged to Karis. Won it in a duel, I think. Regardless, it suits you.”
Still testing the blade with a few small jabs and raises, Ingrid said, “Really? You think so?”
“Why so surprised?”
Ingrid cocked her head, holding the blade side down. “It’s not like I’ve had many opportunities to hold a sword. Besides, I’ve always been more of a gun-girl.”
“Oh.” Tyla winced, eyes glazing over. “Did no one tell you? Guns, they won’t?—”
“Won’t do much good,” Ingrid finished the sentence for her. “Dean mentioned that. During breaks in our torrid affair, I mean.”
“Suppose I deserved that. But I did mention I was sorry, right? We hardly?—”
“Have time for bickering?” Ingrid smiled widely, pleased with herself. “You three made that abundantly clear with your little display over who would get to train me.” She straightened up, puffing out her chest to give her best impression of Raidinn. “Time is of the essence!Unless, you know, we need a little ego boost.”
Tyla rolled her eyes. “I see that temper Dean mentioned now,” she said, shifting her weight to one foot as she examined Ingrid. “But this is far more entertaining than how he described it. Go on. What else is bugging you?”
Ingrid considered, shuffling through everything from the night before, glad to be given time to speak. “Besides your brother, I’d have to say the worst thing is the uncertainty. For all I know, this is the most cinematic hallucination of all time. And if it’s not, then that means the serial killer stalking me is only like number three on my list of concerns, so there’s that.”
“Yes,” Tyla said through a laugh. “There is that. And what else?”
Ingrid’s eyes flitted about the room. “I’m stuck in a cabin in the woods with people I barely know, sleeping right above a jailed monster. Oh, and tomorrow I might die.”
Tyla’s arms went slack at her sides. “Feel better?”
“No, actually. One more thing.” Ingrid paused, wanting to cycle back now that she’d had her fun. “Speaking of dying, you gotta tell me more about this bulletproof thing.” When Dean had first told her, almost throwing it away at the end of the night, she just assumed he meant Wranes. But if it went beyond that, if Viator were unaffected, then Dean had faked what little fear he showed last night regarding Ingrid’s threats.
“Wait,” Tyla protested. “You held a gun at Dean allnight?”
Ingrid nodded. “When you put it like that, I sound crazy,” she said, her hands up innocently. “But I promise, there were very good reasons for it. I thought he was stalking me! Then he flat out admitted that he was stalking me, okay?” She huffed, crossing her arms. “Besides, if you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me, then the gun hardly would’ve done anything to him.”
“Right. All viator flesh heals rapidly so?—”
“So Dean would’ve been fine?” She cursed under her breath, thinking of how tough she’d felt with the weapon in her hands.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Tyla jested. “The only weapon that can cause real damage to Ealis-born Viator has to be made from material mined and forged there.”
Ingrid looked down at the sword in her hand. “And that goes for all Viator? All ofus?” It had only just occurred to Ingrid that this discussion directly pertained to her. That her flesh was also Viator flesh. It would take a while for that to sink in. Among the mayhem, she’d forgotten to really consider what this immortality development meant.
She glanced down at herself as if not recognizing her skin. Her hands, her palms, her forearms, even her tattoos looked different.
It seemed a short leap, segued easily, but Tyla shook her head in confusion as Ingrid suddenly changed the topic to the ink embedded in her skin.
“How did it stay?” Ingrid repeated.” If my flesh can handle a bullet, then surely?—"
“Sorry,” Tyla said ruefully. Once she’d realized where Ingrid was going with this line of thought, she spoke so fast she nearly stumbled over her words. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Dean told me it’s likely you were born on Earth, so we don’t get the same privileges as he or any Viator that have been to Ealis. I would highly recommend you avoid any bullets for the foreseeable future.”
