Chad points to a wall rack crammed with blades. “Good, then grab those long daggers. We'll start you off with those.”
“I need a sec,” I say, my palm already sliced open.
“Come on, I didn't hit you that hard.”
I clap my bloody hands together, and his face goes from cockyto oh-shit in two seconds flat. His forehead smooths out like someone ironed it.
“Brynn, what the actual hell?” he asks, voice tight. Gods, I'm loving this.
There it is again. That deep, red flash in his eyes. I notice it more easily now. Definitely some kind of protection spell. Makes sense. With his personality, half of Darkbirch probably wants to hex him into next Tuesday.
“See, this is why I kept saying combat training's a waste of time,” I tell him as the air between us ripples. The temperature plummets, and I feel Uncle Angus slipping through—like trying to pull a semi-truck through a keyhole, but he's coming.
Chad's mouth hangs open, eyes locked on the shimmering outline taking shape.
“Brynn, how did?—”
“Meet Uncle Angus. Dad's side. Kicked the bucket fifty years ago.” I grin as the ghost solidifies. “Not as badass as Grandma Esther, but he'll knock your teeth in just fine.”
“You can summon spirits. You communed with an ancestor, like Esme,” Chad says, looking like I just grew a second head.
I cock my head, enjoying this way too much. “Try three ancestors.”
“What?!”
“Look, Esther's the GOAT when she's fully charged, no argument. But my trio's got skills.”And they weren’t part of Esther’s harebrained rescue plan.“And FYI: Uncle Angus here? Total beast on the battlefield.”
Uncle Angus materializes like someone cranked the ghost-dial to eleven: six-foot-four of pale rage in suspenders and rolled sleeves, fists like sledgehammers, jaw set beneath a wild beard. His eyes burn silver in his weathered face, and though he's see-through, the whole hall vibrates. I step right into him, letting his arctic energy flood my system. My muscles seize up like I just drank a gallon of espresso mixed with lightning.
“Screw weapons,” I tell Chad, stalking toward him. The look on his face? Priceless.
“Brynn...”
“Surprise, Valgrave. I'm the weapon now.”
My fist connects with his perfect jaw, and he goes flying—actual flying—before crashing down with the most satisfying thud I've ever heard. Before he can even process what hit him, I'm already winding up to kick his smug face in.
But Mr. Top-of-the-Class recovers fast. He growls—actually growls—and throws his arms up. The spiritual energy blast knocks us both backward. If I'd landed that kick? Hello, broken ribs.
“This is dangerous territory, you're not ready to?—”
“Ready to what? Stop letting you push me around? Hard pass!”
Every punch feels like it's coming from somewhere else, like Uncle Angus is puppeteering my limbs, feeding me decades of bar fight experience. He can't talk like Grandma Esther can, but damn if he isn't making his point through my knuckles.
Chad's done playing defense, though. He's not top dog for nothing. His hand snaps out like a viper.
“Brynn!” He locks onto my wrist, grip tight enough to bruise.
I can feel his blood—still wet from his palm—activating something. A counter-spell? Not today. I ram my knee into his gut, but he's already whispering something under his breath.
Uncle Angus is practically screaming warnings in my head now.
Our energies collide, twist together, spark like I've jammed a fork in an outlet. I can't tell where my power stops and Chad's begins. Light bursts between us, blinding-bright.
Then the bastard sweeps my legs out from under me.
We crash to the floor, a tangle of limbs and curses. I lose my grip on Uncle Angus just as Chad flips me, and suddenly I'm straddling him, wheezing like I've run a marathon while he's got my wrists locked in a death grip.
