Page 10 of The Rising Dark
“Can I help you with anything?”Michelle asked.Giving her hands something to do sounded very appealing right about now.
“No.”Mrs.Frost continued her assault on a massive cabbage without looking up.
Michelle was not above begging.“Please?”Even the intimidating woman seemed less of a challenge than the abyss of her own thoughts.She could deal with difficult patients and even more difficult parents—she could deal with one old housekeeper with a temper.
“No, thank you.I have a system.”Although Mrs.Frost continued as she had been, Michelle thought she noticed a small, almost imperceptible softening in the woman.
“All right, I’ll leave you to it.Did you prepare my room upstairs?”
That earned her a short glance before Mrs.Frost turned back to her chopping.The cabbage was being decimated into tiny shreds at a terrifying speed.“I did.”
“It was perfect.Thank you.”
For a moment, Michelle thought she saw a smile tug at the corners of Mrs.Frost’s mouth.She must have imagined it: when she blinked, the woman’s features were as stoic as they had been before.
A woman dressed all in black strode into the kitchen.She had an olive skin tone and wore her hair shaved at the sides, the longer strands from the crown of her head grazing her angular face.This woman must be yet another Sister.She had the same quiet strength, the same edge of predator that the others had possessed as well.But where Lavinia exuded a calmness, this woman gave off an air of barely contained aggression.She was the kind of person Michelle would mentally label as a troublemaker.
The woman walked up to Mrs.Frost and snatched a piece of carrot.
“Those are for later, you heathen,” Mrs.Frost complained, and waved her large kitchen knife threateningly at the latest Sister.Michelle flinched at the blade flashing so close to the Sister’s bare arms.
“Just having a taste,” the woman answered, easily dodging the knife and pinching another two pieces of carrot.
“Both of you are bothering me.Go do something else, Quintia, and take Michelle with you.”
Quintia sighed, looking eerily like a castigated teenager for a second, before she turned to Michelle.
“Fine.Come on.”Quintia marched out of the kitchen without looking to see whether Michelle was following.Despite her misgivings, she found herself doing so, walking through a hallway that led to a narrow staircase.This house felt like a maze, every door hiding yet another revelation.
As they descended, she asked tentatively, “Where are we going?”The stairs were notably less fancy than the upstairs had been—no oil paintings or expensive wallpaper, instead presenting swathes of exposed concrete.Why were they going into the basement?
“I’m not sitting around babysitting you.Might as well do something useful.”
“I’d be happy to do something useful.”Anything was better than staying in her room, waiting for Lavinia to find whoever wanted to kill her.She chose not to be offended at the insinuation that she was a child.
Quintia ducked into a room, Michelle close behind, still unsure what a person like Quintia would consider “useful”.The hallway opened up into a modern and well-lit gym, with various gleaming black exercise machines dotted across the room.The middle of the room was kept free, however, and was covered with fall protection mats, the kind used in martial arts.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Quintia said, grabbing a wooden stick from a rack against the wall.
“Uh, I’m afraid I haven’t got anything at all.I don’t know how to fight.”Besides some very basic grips to ensure a child wouldn’t hurt themselves while she was giving an injection or to deal with a temper tantrum or two, Michelle didn’t even know any real self-defence.It had never before seemed particularly necessary.
“Doesn’t matter.Come on.”Quintia kicked off her black trainers and positioned herself on the middle of the mat.She gestured to the empty space before her.
It didn’t seem she had much of a choice.Quintia looked at her with an impatient scowl, her brown eyes hard in the bright overhead lights.
“Right.”Michelle took off her sneakers, setting them beside Quintia’s.She also removed her jumper, which would surely be too bulky and warm for any kind of exercise.Luckily, she’d worn an old tank top underneath.She walked onto the mat, testing its firmness underneath her feet.It was less squishy than she thought.When she reached Quintia, the woman tossed her the stick.It was smooth wood, with only some tape to improve the grip on one end.Both ends were blunted, fortunately.Michelle didn’t feel particularly confident in waving around large sharp objects.
“Hit me,” Quintia said, gesturing for Michelle to come forward.
“But you don’t have a stick.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Oh.”Michelle looked down at the weapon in her right hand, trying to get somewhat of a feel for it.She adjusted her grip, looked back at Quintia, and hit her.
Or at least, she tried to hit Quintia.With offensive ease, the other woman stepped aside and the stick swung into air, dragging Michelle off balance.
“Again.”
