Page 53 of A City of Smoke and Demons
From the look on his face, Ezra wasn’t sure which hat the man was wearing right now.
Neither was Tobias, it seemed. He seemed to war with himself, the emotions playing across his face, before he made his way over to Jem, who introduced him to Analise while Ezra tried to calm his racing heart. Was Tobias armed? Ezra was fast, but he wasn’t bullet fast. If the bastard wanted to shoot him, he could—and Tobias never missed.
Jem said something to Tobias, too low for anyone else to hear. Ezra snuck a look at Analise, whose expression was carefully composed. She met his gaze, then looked away.
Two people in the same place who didn’t like him and who both wanted to kill him, for different reasons. Tobias scowled at him from beneath his moustache.
What Ezra would give for a hit of opium right now.
‘Maddog has given us the use of this space for as long as we need,’ Jem announced.
‘You call your uncle Maddog?’ Analise asked.
‘It was a nickname we gave him as kids; it kind of stuck,’ Lira answered.
‘We’re training.’ Jem removed his coat, tossing it to Tobias, who folded it neatly over his arm. Tobias gave Ezra the sort of look that told him if circumstances were different, Ezra would be on his way back to face the Gendarme, whether he liked it or not.
‘Ez,’ Jem called. ‘You’re up.’
Ezra could feel Analise watching him as he joined Jem on the platform.
Before he could even breathe, Jem had him in a headlock.
‘I thought you were good at this?’ A low chuckle, un-Jem like, and Ezra knew how this was going to go. He was about to be punished.
He jammed his elbow into Jem’s ribs, spinning to sweep his leg out when he was released. Jem stumbled, and Ezra took advantage of his friend's lack of balance, driving a fist towards Jem’s chest. Jem deflected, making a grab for Ezra’s wrist.
Dancing out of the way, Ezra pushed the hair from his eyes. He could feel the anticipation kicking up a notch, that desire to be hurt taking hold. But this wasn’t fight night—there was no roaring crowd, no Hernan, no money exchanging hands.
This was Ezra and Jem back in the Gendarme’s training yard, fresh-faced and eager young men.
Jem’s lips curled into a smile.
Ezra smiled back. ‘Like the good old days?’
Jem nodded. ‘First blood.’
In the background, Lira mumbled something that sounded like ‘idiots.’ Ezra snuck a glance. Lira was rolling a smoke, Tobias was wearing his most annoyed expression, and Analise was glaring at the floor.
Ezra removed his shirt and tossed it away. Jem did the same, then shifted his feet, found his centre and dropped his weight onto the front foot.
‘I don't recall you having that many muscles,’ Ezra commented. Jem had always been lean and lithe, but now there was extra bulk to his frame. ‘Been working out? I’m sure someone is pleased,’ he added, nodding in Tobias’ direction.
‘Are you stalling?’ Jem demanded, rolling his shoulders.
‘Letting you have a moment where your face is in one piece.’
Training with the Gendarme was different to being in the boxing ring. The most Ezra ever did to prepare for a fight in Maddog’s basement was to stretch his muscles. Practice wasn’t needed, he was better than anyone he’d fought. That behemoth of a man who’d flattened him wouldn’t have won if Ezra hadn’t been distracted by a woman wearing a skull as a face.
As he and Jem circled each other, assessing and planning how to attack, Ezra wondered what over a year away from Gendarme training might mean. Were his reflexes still sharp? Jem’s face was as cool and composed as always, no hint of what he was going to do there.
Ezra’s gaze flickered to Analise. He wondered what she was thinking, whether she was assessing him as much as Jem was. He’d gone with her the other night because she needed him to, even if she didn’t say it, and considering what happened, he was glad he’d been there, even if Familiars scared the life out of him. Waking with her body pressed against his was the sweetest torture. Maybe he should have let her slap him—it might have made them both feel better. The nasty words they’d shared in his room had been floating around his head. He’d meant them, but hadn’t meant to make it seem like it was her fault.
Jem’s fist moved towards Ezra’s face, snapping him out of his thoughts. He sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as Jem’s knuckles slid past his cheek. Ezra paused, took a steady breath, reminded himself this was more calculated than the ring, and then moved.
Quickly, he and Jem fell back into their old routine. Strike, deflect, counterstrike. Fists, feet, and elbows. It was like a dance, each move precisely executed, precisely blocked. Jem slipped beneath Ezra’s arms and sank a fist into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Ezra managed a punch to Jem’s stomach in retaliation, before Jem’s movements became slicker, faster, and Ezra found he couldn’t keep up.
Jem’s fist connected with his face, knuckles against his nose. Ezra stumbled, but remained on his feet. He shook the pain away and corrected his stance.
