“Could be a love potion or a mind-control spell.” How was he talking so normally in between push-ups? He wasn’t even winded. I refused to stare, but he was at twenty in less than thirty seconds.
“We got mind control, kidnapped people, and a coven on the loose in town.” Constantine was talking out loud.
“And very powerful. The last spell they threw left a hole the size of a basketball on a truck,” Bartholomew said, finally joining the conversation.
“OK, I know nothing about witches and spells, but doesn’t it take time to become so powerful? These witches looked like they were in their teens or maybe early twenties.”
Constantine and Sexy-Butt Eric stopped and looked at each other.
“OK, what am I missing?”
“Is it possible?” Eric asked Constantine, uncertain.
“Is what possible? What’s going on?” Oh thank you, Bartholomew. At least I wasn’t the only lost one.
“They’re stealing the years out of people.” Constantine looked devious when he said it.
“Yeah, still lost. What does that mean?” It was way too early for all this cryptic madness.
“Oh, wow. That explains why the bodies we found did not match their ages when they died.” Even Bartholomew had figured this out. But it didn’t make sense. That wasn’t possible.
“Please tell me you’re kidding. They’re not making themselves younger by stealing people’s souls. Are they?” My stomach was turning in knots. I wanted to throw up.
“Not just younger. They’re making themselves immortal. Humankind’s greatest fear is death. They found a way to cheat Death and not age.” We all stood in silence, staring at Constantine. “Death is going to be mad when she finds out.”
“Oh, great. Now what do we do?” My job really sucked.
“We still need to find them before the equinox. Their powers will be greater on that day. With all the witches celebrating around the world, the energy will be easy to tap.” Thank you, Constantine, for stating the obvious. “Right now you need to train. You suck at hand-to-hand combat.”
He was so evil. I groaned in protest. “Thank you for reminding me. I’m sorry about Bumblebee.” Before I could finish my sentence, I looked over my shoulder. Bumblebee was parked in its usual spot. “How did you get it back?”
“I got people,” Constantine said very smoothly.
“Do your people ever sleep?” When did they get it there?
“Isis, dear, I can’t reveal all my secrets.” Of course not. There was no way Constantine was ever going to spill the beans.
“Can we start now? I need to check some things out at work.” I had totally forgotten Sexy-Butt was always on duty. I wondered why he wasn’t a detective. Maybe that was against some witch code.
“Yes, we’re wasting time. Bartholomew, start going through your drills with Eric. Isis, warm up on the rower and then the punching bags.” Constantine was back in drill-sergeant mode, so there was no way to argue.
I was fully awake and decided to jump on the treadmill first. Five minutes of brisk walking had my blood pumping. My warm-up went fairly quickly. By the time Bartholomew was done with his drills, I had completed a full circuit of push-ups, pull-ups, and squats. I had been told it took the body less than two weeks to start toning. After years of conditioning, exercises were another form of muscle memory. I was slowly finding my rhythm again. It probably helped that I was drinking those weird shakes as well.
Bartholomew and I switched places. He went to work on the bike, and I walked to the mat. Hand-to-hand combat was the one thing I had avoided in the military. Sexy Eric was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked strong but flexible. I was going to die.
“We’re going to start with some self-defense, OK?” Eric sounded just like Constantine, with that teacher’s tone. “I’m going to throw a few punches; you need to block them.” He looked at me, and I nodded.
Eric threw a couple of fast punches and a jab. I managed to get hit each time and didn’t block a single one.
“Oh, wow. You are really bad at this.” He actually sounded sorry for me. “Weren’t you in the army?”
“Yes, but I was in the band. Why does everyone keep forgetting that I’m a musician?”
Eric stopped and actually looked at me. It was as if he had never noticed me before. “I though all of Death’s interns were notorious killing machines.”
Great. I was making the interns look bad.
“Sorry to disappoint you. But this is day four for me, and no, I’m not some crazy assassin. God, I still haven’t read the manual.” I sounded so pitiful.
Eric gave me the strangest look. “You are not what I expected.” That was a common phrase lately for me. “How about we start from the basics and work our way up?”
I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded better than getting beaten up. “Please, let’s do that.” I was too lost to care. I needed help, and it seemed Sexy Eric was our new kung fu master.
Two hours later, I was sore in places I didn’t knew I had muscles in. Eric showed me the correct way to throw a punch, the proper stances for kicks, and how to block. I spent most of my time on the defensive, dodging and backing up. We went through drills of kicking and punching over and over. I had underestimated the amount of energy and concentration it took to fight. At one point, he had me in a headlock with the intent of teaching me how to get away. I managed to knock us both on the floor, but I was still trapped. Constantine was very proud of my progress. I wasn’t sure what he was