“A troll,” Oliver croaked before coughing again. “He must be some sort of guard. We can’t leave until we beat him.”
He raised a hand to his head and flinched. He spread his fingers wide. Water surrounded his hand, dripping onto my shoes as he held it to his injury.
“Ah,” he said, his eyes closing with relief.
“What do we do now?” I asked, biting my lip.
Oliver dropped his hand. “We train.”
I raised an eyebrow. “‘We’?”
Oliver laughed, but it sounded more like a hoarse wheeze. “If either one of us beats the troll, we can leave. That includes you.”
I squinted at him and cocked my head. “Even though I’m a woman?”
Oliver glanced at me, then did a double-take. “I—what?”
“You said yourself women can’t handle responsibility. Maybe I can’t handle this.”
Oliver gaped at me. “Desi, that’s not what I meant.”
“Women are people, too. Just as much as men are.”
“I know that.”
“Then let me clue you in on something,” I said, my voice rising as I jabbed a finger at him. “In my time, women are more than just property. They can become soldiers and surgeons and government officials. So let go of this backwards idea that women aren’t capable of the same things men are.”
Oliver blinked, his eyes wide.
Silence fell between us. I dropped my gaze from his, rubbing my arms. Chagrin washed over me, and I realized I’d lost my temper with him. This was 1898. Of course he’d be thinking this way. “I—sorry. You’re right, we should be focusing on—”
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I...I had no idea...” He broke off and exhaled. “I’m sorry, Desi. That was a cruel thing for me to say. And I do respect you. I didn’t mean to make you think otherwise.”
I swallowed and nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”
Oliver grunted as he climbed to his feet. “You’re welcome. Now let’s train.”
I shook my head. “You’re injured.”
Oliver stretched until his back cracked. “I’m fine,” he said, waving a hand.
I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows.
Oliver’s eyes bore into mine. “Unless you’re afraid I’ll beat you?”
My head reared back. “What? Of course not!”
Oliver leaned closer to me, his grassy gunpowder smell making me dizzy. “Prove it.”
I counted several small freckles on his nose. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I cleared my throat and looked away from his gaze. “All right. You want to train? Let’s train.”
Oliver’s lips twitched, and he nodded toward the pile of weapons. “Choose one. Let’s see how you do.”
We approached the weapons and sifted through them. I tossed aside a few horrifying weapons with spikes and chains until I gasped.
“The athame!” I raised the small blade Manuel had given me and stared at the runes. They were identical to the ones I remembered. Grinning, I held the athame up for Oliver to see.
His eyes widened in surprise, and he laughed. “Excellent. Let’s work with that.” He jerked his head toward the middle of the cave.
“Where’s your weapon?”
“I don’t need one.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Oliver fixed a flat look at me, his eyebrows lowering. He raised a hand, and a strong gust of wind sucked the athame from my grip and whisked it into Oliver’s palm.
I scowled. “I wasn’t ready.”
“Demons won’t care if you’re ready.”
I thrust my palms out and Pushed Oliver so that he fell over, the athame falling from his grip and clattering to the ground.
Oliver yelped and rolled until he landed on his feet. He popped back up, a wicked grin on his face. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized me like a hunter eyeing his prey.
I swiped the athame from the floor and wiggled it suggestively. “Come and get it.”
Determination flooded his eyes, and he spun a finger in the air, creating a small cyclone of wind that blew against my face, tousling my hair and blowing my curls in my face. The wind intensified, stinging my eyes until I had to shut them.
Oliver’s familiar grass-and-gunpowder scent tickled my nose, and I shot my arm out and Pushed blindly.
He shouted in surprise—or pain? I couldn’t tell. A loud thump rang through the cavern, and the wind died.
I blinked rapidly and glanced around for Oliver. I had Pushed him into the cave wall. His limp form laid next to the pile of clothes.
“Frack,” I whispered and hurried to his side.
He groaned as I rolled him off his stomach.
“Oliver, can you hear me?”
A low, throaty chuckle resonated from his throat. “Well done.”
I winced. “I’m sorry.” I pulled on his massive arm until he rose to a sitting position.
“You know,” Oliver said after a short cough, “you would benefit more if you spread your momentum through your body instead of funneling it through your hands. Sure, it’s a powerful burst of magic, but you’ll have more control if you feel the magic through your whole body.”
He reminded me of Kismet. I nodded. “I know. I’m not well-trained.”
“Because you don’t want any part of it?” Oliver raised an eyebrow and looked at me shrewdly.
I swallowed as I remembered our conversation earlier. When I’d shown a part of myself I didn’t want him to see. “Maybe,” I mumbled.
“Well, you don’t have that choice here. We’re outnumbered, and we need you. So let’s try it again.” He grunted as he stumbled to his feet.
I held his shoulders steady and grimaced. “Are you sure?” I touched a spot of blood on his forehead.
Frowning, he lifted a hand to his injury, and our fingers touched. Electricity buzzed through me, and I yanked my hand away as if I’d been burned.
“It’s not that bad,” Oliver said with a half-shrug. “If I’m still conscious, then I’m still fit to train.” He grinned again and beckoned me forward with the wave of his hand. “Let’s go.”
Oliver and I trained for a few hours until my arms and legs ached and sweat coated my forehead and neck. I’d practiced what Kismet had taught me about using all of my body to channel magic, but it exhausted me quicker. I’d managed to Push Oliver in circles around the
