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Wrinkles stacked on Andras’ wide-set forehead like Jenga blocks. Short and wide, he didn’t have the perfect stats for a fencer.
And yet, the world considered him the best instructor to ever grace the sport.
The Fourth Mouseketeer.
A living legend.
People shouldered past us, rushing to sessions with their instructors. Potomac Hills Country Club offered Olympic-grade, professional fencing facilities.
If you could afford them.
Orif your coach wasTheAndras Horvath.
The supersized digital clock fixed on the far wall reminded me my student would arrive soon. I needed to prepare.
He didn’t appreciate tardiness.
I dropped my voice to a whisper, sweeping my eyes across the club. “I need the money.”
Not really.
I needed the client.
But God forbid some asshole overhear our conversation and pass it along to Vera. For someone as lazy and allergic to math as my stepmother, she sure kept a militant eye on my finances.
“My academy, my rules.” Andras charged forward until our noses almost touched. A whoosh of apprehension somersaulted in my belly. “I am not here to help you maintain your hobby. I am here for the gold medal, and you are my best shot. You are the most talented student under this roof. If we do not share the same goal, the same discipline, you know your way out.”
Oh, Fae.
So delusional of you to have called that straight-out-of-The-Shining Kubrick Stare affectionate.
Something so silly as human emotions couldn’t possibly penetrate the thick cloud of Andras’ one-track mind.
He lived and breathed fencing.
Nothing else mattered to him but an Olympic gold.
I swallowed down the bitter comeback lodged in my throat. There was a lot I wanted to say.
That I didn’t have time.
That sometimes I saw two of him when we dueled and the sleep deprivation played tricks onmy mind.
That the calluses from cleaning had overridden the fencing calluses, and now the sword handle felt strange in my hand.
And mostly, that I wasn’t even sure I could qualify for the Olympics with my record and the fine I was still paying off.
In the end, all I said was, “Duly noted. Now… may I please get changed before my student arrives?”
Without a word, he swiveled, storming in the opposite direction toward the reception area.
Andras always walked like that. Like an Axis general from the ’40s.
I chewed on my inner cheek, finally making it to the locker room. There, I pulled out my fencing gear and raked my fingers along my upper arm.
Andras had left a mild cut there, just like he’d promised he would. Only he had ever managed to pierce my fencing lamé and padded plastron.
They must’ve torn beforehand, and he knew it. A gross violation of the sport’s ethics. And exactly something Andras would do.
