Chapter Four

As if it wasn't hard enough for us as it is, they expect us to join a club. Clarice leaned against Joseph's tree, massaging her temples. She didn't get headaches, not the way Joseph did—and he currently had one, which was why he was draped in the tree like a cat, with an ice pack on top of his head—but she got something similar. The living tree had become their preferred refuge, even on a wet, drizzly, mist-hung day like this.

By now it was six days since they had transferred. They were still the new kids, not quite fitting in perfectly. Clarice likened them to shoes being broken in; they were becoming more comfortable, but still had a tendency to squeak at the corners. And the loudest squeak came when she and Joseph had discovered that it was mandatory they belong to a school club.

Not all the clubs they had checked were open to new members. And not all the ones that were were prudent to join. She had the impression that the newspaper club would take on pretty much anyone...but that would mean being in close proximity to that succubus for far too long—not to mention that headbanded rake who had, by now, earned not only a black eye from her, but also a blistering kick to the hind end after Joseph caught him spying on the girls in the pool.

Joseph had checked out the kendo club and returned disgusted. And to make matters worse, that was one of the few—if not the only—clubs that had even earned a flicker of interest from him. He had barely given any of the others a cursory glance. "It would be easier if there was a ballroom dancing club," he muttered from overhead.

Clarice looked up at him. "You dance?"

"Not as well as Mom and Dad, but yeah. I dance." He stirred, shifting his position slightly. "It's one of the few social skills any Elf can master—even a Sceath. They're a bunch of filthy hellspawn, but Sceath are really agile, and graceful, too."

"Kuchito mentioned a sewing club she belongs to. I like sewing, needlework; that sort of thing. I'll probably check it out." Clarice sighed, resting back against the tree. "That creep in the photography club! Ugh. I'm going to have nightmares of him touching my hand."

"He's lucky I didn't see that." Joseph scowled. "He's probably even luckier I couldn't see most of the pictures he'd taken. Tsukune says he sees him trying to stake out the girls' locker room with his camera."

"Bleah." Clarice rested a hand above her head, enjoying the feel of the bark under her skin. "You know, Kuchito wasn't kidding when she said that most of the guys here are perverts. I don't think I've ever run into as many creeps in my life as I did today."

"I heard something about an archery club." Joseph shifted until he was draped over one branch, which made him look a little like a melted panther. "It's not swordfighting, but it might at least be a little more martial than those drips in the kendo club. And I've got good eye-hand coordination."

"Not to mention, it's not like you won't have time to master both archery and swordfighting. That's one of the really good things about being half-Elven. Years may pass quickly, but we can ignore them." Clarice noticed motion and sighed. "Unlike them."

Joseph had already recognized the forms coming toward them through the mist and trees. "Sheesh. Not the Reptoids again."

"It probably doesn't help that you call them Reptoids." Clarice eyed him sardonically. "You want me to hold them off?"

"I'm almost ready to name one of my bokkens." Joseph sat up, removing the ice pack. "This is getting really old."

By now, there hadn't been a day that passed without at least one of the Lizard-men challenging Joseph, or just attacking him outright. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that he never actually hit any of them, or the fact that they were never able to hit him, but something about him rubbed them wrong, and they showed no plans of ever letting up.

Clarice stood as he slipped down from the branches. "What are you going to do? This is the first time they've all come after you at once."

"I'm not sure." Joseph scowled. "If I had a bokken, I'd be able to wipe the mat with them without breaking a sweat. I may even be able to dodge all of them for a while—but if they get hold of me, that's it. And Tellemaera is not an option. These guys are just bullies, not flat-out evil."

Clarice suddenly grinned. "Oh, I have it. Hold still a second." She pulled her lip gloss out of her jacket pocket and traced a ward on his forehead, then tapped it to activate it. "There. A Corsican Vest."

{A Corsican Vest is a more elaborate version of the common Return ward. The name comes from an artifact-a vest from Corsica-which sent damage aimed at the wearer back at the one trying to cause the damage.}

"Ooh, that's mean." Joseph grinned. "Thanks, though. That'll help." He glanced up to the three coming toward them and scowled. "Better get yourself out of range, though. These guys get wild when they're swinging."

Clarice crouched, then sprang into the tree. "I'll be all right. Your tree is most helpful."

Joseph braced himself a little as the three thugs emerged from the mist. "You guys again. What would I do without the workout you provide?"

"You're quite the cocky little nuisance, aren't you, Elf?" sneered their leader. He grinned down at him. "I think it's high time you were taken down a peg."

"What, by coming at me three at a time? Oh, very intimidating. You can't beat me single, so you have to gang up." Joseph curled his lip. "If I remember my vocabulary lessons, that counts as cowardice."

"Really?" The leader cracked his knuckles, his two subordinates fanning out around Joseph. "So what does your fancy little dancing mean?"

"Prudence." Joseph twisted just enough to put the other two in peripheral vision. "I have no desire to fight you. I also have no desire to get beat up. And I'm good at reading an enemy's moves." He dropped under a swing aimed at the back of his head, then rolled to avoid a kick. "Even when the enemy in question is behind me."

The Reptoid behind him called him a number of names, most of which only involved four letters. Joseph ignored him, instead avoiding another swipe-and-kick combination. Clarice, on the other hand, pulled a handful of seeds loose and let fly.

"Watch your mouth! There's at least one woman in the area!"

Startled, the Reptoid looked up at her—not a good idea on his part, because he didn't see the haymaker that Joseph swiveled away from. The impact of fist on jaw sounded like a sandbag hitting the side of a dumpster, and one of the thugs was down. Possibly for good. Joseph did not pause to savor his triumph, since the third of the group was still swinging. And he was learning to improvise his patterns. Not that he had stopped telegraphing his moves, but at least the moves were less predictable.

"You little bastard!" The Reptoid who had accidentally clocked his comrade lunged at Joseph—a bad idea, since the first one was aiming a brutal straight punch. Joseph ducked and whirled out of the way, leaving his two enemies in line with each other. Somehow, the punch missed. But they didn't miss each other, cracking heads with a thwack that made both Joseph and Clarice flinch in sympathy.

And just like that, the fight was over. Joseph looked down at his dazed and unconscious foes and raised an eyebrow. "Well. Looks like they lost."

"For a while, anyway." Clarice hopped out of the tree, bouncing off one of them—whether deliberately or not, Joseph wasn't sure. "Let's get out of here before they come to."

"No arguments there." Joseph shook his head. "I've got to do something to keep this from happening again. I can't always expect them to line up so perfectly and take each other out." He looked into the distance. Then his eyes lit up. "I've got an idea. I'm going to have to talk with some of the people who run the gym, and it might take me a day or two to get it set up, but I have an idea."

"Ooh! What is it?" Clarice cocked a bright eye at him.

He grinned back. "No you don't. You get to find out when it happens, just like everyone else."


"So you like sewing?" The leader of the sewing club had an odd, sinuous way of moving, but she seemed wholesome, and she didn't set off Clarice's Demon-Seeming radar, which was a blessing.

Clarice nodded. "I love sewing. And I'm pretty good at it."

"What kind of sewing?"

She shrugged. "I've put together a few bits of clothing; lots of mending, you would not believe how hard my dad is on his clothes; and a number of embroidery projects, cross-stitching and ordinary needlework."

"Sounds like you actually have more experience than a lot of the girls who join." The leader appraised her. "By the way...your skirt?"

"Huh?" Clarice looked down. "Oh. This is actually an illusion; called glamour. I was... uncomfortable in the provided skirt, and asked my cousin to do something about it."

"Looks good. I cheated and got them to let me wear what I made." She indicated her own long skirt. "I'm working on getting the perk extended to all the members of the sewing club, but it's kind of an uphill battle."

"I imagine." A school which makes micro-minis mandatory wear for the girls probably has some...issues higher up the line. She looked around the classroom, comfortably cluttered with fabric, sewing machines, and all manner of pincushions, ranging from the practical to the cute. "This place looks really nice. Are you taking new members?"

"You kidding? Of course. The sewing club doesn't have nearly the number of members that some of the others do. We manage to keep enough that the school lets us stay up, but that's usually about it." The leader brushed long forelocks, both wrapped with tiny blue beads, away from her face. "I'm Kitasa Zawahana. What's your name?"

"Clarice Thestan." Shortening the name both kept it secret, and kept what she said from being an outright lie.

"Nice to meet you." Kitasa gestured to the room around them. "We meet in here about three every weekday; though you're free to come on the weekends as well. We're a kind of...weird group, but friendly enough." She laughed. "But be prepared to sew things like pincushions and potholders until you're ready to scream. We tend to...lose patterns for bigger things."

"Why's that?" Clarice looked at her curiously.

Kitasa shook her head. "No idea. I think someone's stealing them, though why we have no idea. But they don't take the pincushion patterns and they don't take the embroidery patterns for the potholders, so we can always do those."

"I had an encounter with the school mugger a few days ago," mused Clarice, rubbing her hair, "but she was after shiny things. She's also really, really lucky that my cousin went after her and got my armband back, because if I'd gone after her in my true form, there wouldn't be anything left but a few stinky feathers."

"Your monster side is pretty dangerous, I take it. A little like Moka's?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I still have yet to actually meet Moka, aside from a few nods exchanged as we pass each other in the hall—though I did get the impression that she likes the way I scare Kurumu. But yes, my other side is incredibly dangerous. I've never really tested it out myself, but I know what my father's done."

Kitasa chuckled. "Spread the word. If you've got a really mean side...it could only help. Oh, and by the way..." She stuck out her hand. "Welcome to the club."


Joseph moved toward the cafeteria, a large grin on his face and a decided swagger to his step. Oh, they are in for a surprise now.

"What's up?"

He turned, startled, to see Tsukune keeping step with him. Joseph smiled at him, glad to see the one person—besides Clarice—he was completely at ease around. "Got something set up. I'm going to announce it once there's a good crowd in there."

"What kind of something?" Tsukune cocked his head to the side, curious.

"Bring your newspaper club to the gym at three and find out." Joseph's grin turned feral, and he cracked his knuckles. "All I'm going to say is that I'm finally going to settle with those jerks who keep trying to pick fights with me."

"The Lizard-men? They're still after you?" Tsukune shook his head. "Wow. One fight with Moka and they pretty well backed off from Yukari—not altogether, unfortunately, but they sure take off whenever they see us."

"Well, it might have something to do with the fact I won't actually fight them." Joseph grimaced. "And they don't realize that it's because I could easily kill them. Not really a temptation to use Tellemaera, but even so. The guys in the karate club could tell you what I do to the dummies I use for targets with a bokken."

"Tellemaera?" Tsukune stared. "What the heck is that?"

Joseph looked around to ensure no one was nearby, then reached back and deactivated the Unnoticable ward. Tsukune's mouth dropped open as the sword appeared.

"Holy—you carry that thing around all the time?"

"I take it off to shower, since water isn't great even for blood-infused Elf-steel, but yes. All other times, I have it." Joseph reactivated the ward, and the sword vanished from sight. "It's nasty sharp. If I drew it and used it on those guys, they'd lose limbs. Fortunately, they're not really enough of a threat for me to want to use it. But I need them to see what I can actually do, so they know why I don't want to fight." He grinned again. "And what I have in mind should do the trick."


"It's a really simple pattern," Clarice explained, sketching it out on the napkin in front of her. "Elastic in the waistband, four identical sections. You can make it as long or as short as you like, and it works with nearly any kind of material."

The other members of the sewing club, clustered together at the table, murmured in appreciation.

"Looks cool," said Kitasa. "And if we keep the prototype hidden, we should be able to replicate it even if the bigger patterns disappear. You say you can put decorations on this kind of skirt?"

"Oh yeah." Clarice nodded. "In the fifties, they used to applique things like poodles onto this kind of skirt. It would be easy to put other things on it."

"We'll have to try that," mused Kuchito. "And I found a interesting pattern for something a little like a corset. The pictures look really cool; I'm going to copy it a few times so it doesn't disappear. It's for a heavy cloth, or even leather."

"That would be—"

"WHEEEEET!"

Startled silence fell over the entire cafeteria, and all eyes turned to...Clarice's mouth dropped open. Joseph stood on a bench, looking around sardonically and lowering his hand from his mouth.

"Finally, everyone can hear me. I thought I was going to have to take drastic measures. All right. This isn't a mandatory thing, but I do have permission from the teachers. I'm putting on a swordplay demonstration in the gym at three o'clock this afternoon. You don't have to come..." He let a cold glare rest on a corner of the cafeteria where, no doubt, the Reptoids sat, "but it would be most informative if you did."

He hopped down off the bench and left the room, apparently oblivious to the wave of chatter that rose as he did. The girls in the sewing club all looked at Clarice.

"What's he up to?" Fujika raised her eyebrows.

Clarice shrugged. "No idea. I know it probably has something to do with the way the Lizard-men keep trying to make him fight, but he wouldn't tell me a darn thing." She tipped her head to the side, considering. "Though...I can say that if Joseph's giving a swordplay demonstration, it'll probably be really cool to watch."

"Are you going to go?" Kuchito shifted a little. Clarice glanced at her and decided not to call attention to the fluffy, pale-fawn cat's tail peeking through the glamoured skirt.

"After the way he's been smirking about it for two days? You bet I am."


The students filed in, chatting eagerly. All of them fell silent, staring in astonishment as they entered the gym. Clarice stood in her chosen spot, balancing easily on the back of the bleachers.

In the center of the gym, Joseph stood, still as a statue. He had changed out of his badly-fitting uniform and into his Elvish garb, which made him look exotic, eerie...and, if she was strictly honest with herself, drop-dead gorgeous. He hadn't removed his glamour altogether, but he had lightened it, so that his Elven heritage was obvious in his pointed ears and the cast of his face. His head was bent, his hands resting on the hilt of the bokken.

Targets had been set up, from the obvious to the ridiculous, including a clay orb hanging up close to the ceiling. Several dummies stood at random intervals, a few with targets around their necks, a few with their arms out, scarecrow-like, to hold targets bound to their hands, and one with a clay ball fastened on top of its head. A number of the targets were several feet above head height; others were down unusually low. Three bamboo poles that nearly touched the ceiling had been set firmly into the floor, eight feet apart from each other, to form a triangle.

As the sound of feet and people settling into their seats died away, Joseph began to speak, calmly but clearly, his voice reaching every corner of the room.

"Contrary to what you may have been told, this isn't a bragging session. And I'm not trying to claim I'm better than any of you." He lifted his head and opened his eyes. They still looked like human eyes, but the green glowed with a supernatural light. "Ever since I transferred here, a certain group of students seems to have made it their life's goal to pick fights with me. Because I refuse to rise to their bait, and exchange no blows if I can't just walk away, they think I'm an easy target—and appear to be spreading rumors to that effect. What I'm going to do here," he lifted the bokken, "is set things straight—and show you group of knotheads just what you're trying to fight."

He raised the bokken above his head, dropped into a fighter's crouch, then—

A blur of green and brown, three cracks in succession, and the first three targets, at chest, head and neck height respectively—and each fifteen feet away from each other—shattered or fell off their stands. Joseph seized the first bamboo pole and whipped himself off the ground, the bokken whistling out to snap three of the higher targets into wild spins. One of them broke loose from its cord and fell. He caught it with the bokken and launched across the room, straight into the pile he had got it out of.

Twelve feet off the floor, he let go of the pole and flew, twisting himself to come at the second feet-first. Curling his legs around it, he spun, striking each of the five targets at varying heights, then dropped to the floor, rolled, and came up in a thrust that smashed straight through a clay disk set up in front of him.

Lightly, he backflipped from a half-kneeling to a standing position, wheeled on the balls of his feet, and went after the dummies. The ones with the targets at center mass were the most unfortunate, receiving blows that knocked them drunkenly back or to the side on their stands. The wooden sword whistled as he knocked the disks off the arms of the others. Then he swung it up in a double overhand chop down right on—the clay ball, stopping the sword's thrust just before it permanently dented the dummy's head.

Another backflip sent him up on the poles again, wheeling around them and leaping from one to the other, his sword seeming to spring of its own accord from one hand to the other as he lashed out at the few remaining targets. From a spot near the ceiling, he flipped out into midair and dropped. A rolled landing brought him up to a low crouch, where he whirled, flicking his legs with the speed and precision of a Cossack dancer, and ruthlessly snapping his bokken into all the last, low-set targets.

Finally the only one left was the clay orb at the ceiling. He whirled into position under it, paused for just the fraction of a second, then—

"HAI!"

Hurled himself straight up, twenty feet into the air, curling, flipping out, and—

Brought the bokken, unbelievably, down on the orb, smashing it into fragments.

And landed, lighter than an autumn leaf: a perfect three-point landing, his bokken held straight out to the side. Clarice looked down at her watch and smiled, so broadly that her face started to hurt. The whole display had taken less than five minutes altogether.

Breathing easily, Joseph rose to his feet, and tossed his hair over his shoulder. A breathless murmur came from the girls in the still shocked-silent crowd: his hair was longer, gleaming in the light like a wave of black opal. There was no other sound. No one moved. Clarice wasn't entirely sure that anyone else could.

Joseph glanced down at the bokken and started. "Uh—oh, wow. Uh..." He held it out to the captain of the kendo club, looking sheepish. "Sorry about this, I...you guys use a lighter wood than I'm used to."

The bokken looked as if Gin had stolen it on one of his full-moon nights and spent the entire night teething. Clarice raised her eyebrows. I wonder what kind of wood he and Breagan use, in that case. I figured those were pretty normal for bokkens.

"Uh..." The captain accepted it, still wide-eyed and blinking. "Ap-apology accepted."

Joseph ran his hand through his hair and grimaced at it. "That worked up a sweat. Not as bad as sparring with Dad, but I still won't be pleasant to be near for a few hours." He turned away. "I'm going to go freshen up."

And, quite simply, he walked out of the gym.

Clarice covered her mouth, trying to keep back a laugh. That kid has absolutely no concept of stage presence. At all. A whole room full of fixated people, and he finishes by leaving to shower. Though...she looked over some of the faces she could see. Of course, escaping quickly might also have been a wise move.

It started with a collective inhale, as though the entire audience had suddenly realized they'd been holding their breath since...about the time he started thrashing the dummies. Then the storm broke.

She couldn't understand anything, but the gist was fairly clear. Everyone was...impressed would have been trite. Obsessed might be closer to it, though adoring probably applied in a considerable number of cases, judging from the screaming going on. The lizard-men looked as if they couldn't move for fear of toppling over in a faint. Virtually all of the girls were hugging each other and screaming excitedly. Even the Security Team looked stunned.

Grinning, Clarice started hopping down from the bleachers. Normally, she'd be shy about revealing her almost feline agility, but at this point, she could have done everything up to—and possibly including—removing her armband and smashing down the wall, and no one would notice. She passed the newspaper club, and snickered in spite of herself.

"Pictures!" Gin was clawing for the camera. "Please tell me we got some!"

"I tried." Even Mizore sounded impressed. "But he was moving so fast. I had it set at the highest shutter speed, but I think they may still be blurry."

Kurumu wasn't saying anything. This was unusual for her, so Clarice paused and took a look. Drooling. My gosh, she's actually drooling. I think she's going to need another...lecture from me later on—but right now, I could take my armband off entirely and she wouldn't care. She jumped down to the floor and walked out of the gym. Thank God Joseph didn't remove his glamour altogether—or that anti-dazzle charm would be irrelevant.


Joseph stepped out of the shower, slicking water off his hair. That little demo was a lot more fun than it really should have been. He groped for the towel, mopping streams of water off his chest and legs, and laughed softly as he felt ridges and definitions that couldn't be seen under the glamour.

He laughed again as he remembered bath days when he was young; he had hated water almost as much as a cat, and while he didn't scratch or bite, Ange had been forced to hold him down at all times to keep him in the tub. He had grown slipperier and faster when he reached his later toddler years; one of his earliest memories was streaking out of the bathroom, soaking wet and with hair full of shampoo lather, and Ange chasing him down the hall, vainly trying to grab his slick body. It had been Breagan who caught him, scooped him up, pinned him, and carried him back to the bathroom. After that, his father had washed him. It didn't make it any less of a rodeo, but Breagan was faster than him, and could catch him before he reached the bathroom door.

Usually. Joseph started to laugh again, leaning against the wall to keep his balance. "Oh, man, he was so mad at me."

"Who was mad about what?"

Joseph glanced up to Kyle leaning against the wall, watching him. He grinned, not embarrassed. "My dad. I really...really embarrassed him that one time." Then he cocked his head. "Hey, when did you get back? I haven't seen you since that second day."

"I got back just in time to catch your swordplay demonstration. What happened?" Kyle cocked his head. "That time you embarrassed your dad, I mean."

Joseph finished mopping himself off and reached for his clothes. "You sure you're interested? Some of the details are a little weird to some people."

"Ah, who wouldn't be?" Kyle sat down. "What's this story that's got you in stitches?"

Joseph pulled his pants on. "Okay, this happened when I was six. We have a house in Texas; that's where we were staying. Great wild place, I love it there. There's an arroyo in the back yard, a gully, almost like our own little canyon. I would spend hours exploring down there. Well, this one day, we had company over, these distant relatives of ours. They were just passing through, but they stopped over for a day to visit with us. They had three boys all around my age." He grinned at the memory. "We had a great time. We all went down to the arroyo; hunted lizards and prairie dogs, found a little natural slide, and had a four-way free-for-all wrestling match. It was awesome. But oh, man, were we ever filthy when we finally went back up to the house."

He picked up his shirt and tugged it on, sliding the glamour over it as he again failed to button it more than halfway up his chest. "Well, our moms took one look at us and ordered us into the shower immediately. Dad told my cousins to use the girl's shower, since he and I were going to be taking up the one in their room."

Kyle cocked his head to the side. "You and him?"

"Yeah. See...I really hated having to take a shower. As far as I was concerned, if you wanted me clean, just chuck me into the swimming hole. I'd swim around for a while, get rid of the top layer, I'd be good. But Mom and Dad didn't think that was enough—and they always insisted that I had to use soap. Our opinions differed just enough that...well, ever since I was four, Dad had to bathe me, and I always thrashed around so much and got us both so wet he just started showering with me. And even if you got me in the shower, there was really no guarantee that I would stay there." Joseph shook his head and blushed. "Oh man, that day, it was a rodeo and a half. Dad was normally a lot gentler about cleaning me up, but I'd ground dirt into my skin so bad he practically had to take a putty scraper to it. And my hair was full of sand, so he really had to dig in with his nails to get it all out."

"Oh, I bet that was fun." Kyle grimaced and put his hand to his head.

"I was howling, Dad was hollering at me to stay still...it was a mess. I wanted out of there like I hadn't since I was three. But he had a pretty good grip on me, and I couldn't get away...until I accidentally caught him in the face with my lathered-up hair."

Kyle stared. "You didn't."

"I didn't actually head-butt him. I just thrashed back and bingo, he had a face-full of lather. Of course, he let me go to wipe the soap out of his eyes, and I was out of there." Joseph snorted with laughter. "Butt-naked, dripping wet, shampoo running out of my hair all the way down my body...it was the first time I can remember since Dad started bathing me that I made it out of the bathroom. I heard him yell behind me, heard his steps, knew he was coming after me, and I panicked. Instead of trying to make it to my bedroom, I ran for the stairs. I think I was trying to get outside, and I was almost fast enough to make it. I was halfway down the stairs by the time Dad reached them. He didn't bother trying to catch me on the stairs; he just jumped down and caught me at the bottom."

"Wow. Um..." Kyle blinked and rubbed his hair, his expression saying he wasn't sure if he should picture the scene or not. "I take it this wasn't a quiet chase?"

"Not in the slightest. I was squealing like a little pig and Dad was yelling. We had an audience when he grabbed me." Joseph guffawed. "I was too little to be embarrassed about it, but Dad wasn't—though he was almost too annoyed with me to be, at first. I thought it was Mom standing by the door, covering her face; she was at the head of the gawkers."

"Why would your mom be—" Kyle's eyes widened. "Uh...was your dad..."

"Just as wet and as naked as I was. He just didn't have soap in his hair. She asked him if he would at least put on a towel next time. Dad irritably said he would rather catch me halfway to the door butt-naked, than have to chase me halfway across the property in nothing but a towel, and anyway, this wasn't anything she hadn't seen a thousand times already. She answered in a really dry voice that if she had seen it a thousand times, his marriage was in trouble. Dad's eyes got real wide, and then he blushed so hard he turned purple all the way up."

"Uhh..."

Joseph laughed so hard he doubled over. "It wasn't Mom. It was her identical twin, Paige. Dad can normally tell them apart, but I'd got him so mad he hadn't realized the difference." He caught his breath and sat up. "I don't think he's ever moved that fast in his life. I was in real danger of sliding off his shoulder, he booked it for the bathroom so hard. After that, he always barricaded the door from the inside so I couldn't make it out." He wiped his eyes. "We don't bring that story up too often, but it's still one of what Mom and Aunt Paige call the 'Keep-Him-Under-Control' stories—and that one works faster than just about any of the others."

"I would imagine." Kyle was laughing and blushing at the same time. "Oh my gosh, I can't—how many other people saw you?"

"I don't really remember, since by the time I knew there were people there, I was hanging upside down over Dad's shoulder. He favors the Tarzan carry, especially when it comes to me. But I do think I saw my girl cousins, and my sisters—they, at least, were too young to realize it was that embarrassing. They still shucked their jumpers and ran around in the nude as often as they could without getting caught. But..." He closed his eyes, trying to remember, "I think three or four of the cousins were old enough to be shocked, and I'm pretty sure I heard a high-pitched voice saying something about tushies as he booked it off."

Kyle shook his head. "Wow. I honestly wish I had a few stories like that. Your family sounds... really amazing."

"There are times I'm amazed that we're all alive, but yeah. I guess I agree with you there." Joseph looked at Kyle. "Okay, you didn't just come in here to hear me tell you a story about when I was a kid. What's going on?"

Kyle grinned sheepishly and rubbed his hair. "I guess I'm...well, almost fangirling about your little display back there. Seriously, you were like a friggin' ninja. Where did you learn to fight?"

Joseph stared at him. "I have never hidden where I learned to fight, Kyle. My dad taught me. Over a number of years and a great deal of literal blood, sweat and tears." He grinned. "Guess there's no point being coy about it now; Dad is the best swordsman in two worlds. I'm nowhere near his level, but...I picked up quite a bit."

"That's the understatement of the week." Kyle shifted. "Um...I guess what I was really wanting to ask is...would you teach me?"

Joseph stood still for a moment. "Uh..." He would not like the way Dad teaches. At all. "Well..." But then again, I'm not Dad. And I have finally figured out some of the things he'd been trying to get through to me... "I guess I could try."

"Sweet!" Kyle grinned. "I can get us the gym when no one else is using it. What time you want to do it?"

"We'll start tomorrow, right after lunch. We'll go until one of us is knocked out or first blood, whichever comes first."

"What?"

"Dad's joke." Joseph glanced at Kyle's seal, wondering if he had imagined the echo-like laughter. "Though it's not really a joke for histraining sessions. We'll go for half an hour at first, and move up if we can get the time."


Joseph was already waiting in the gym when Kyle arrived the next day, two long bokkens in front of him. He was in his Elf-made clothing again, stretching in a way that made him look part cat. He looked up as Kyle came panting in.

"Good, you're here. I was starting to wonder if you were going to come." He climbed to his feet.

"Had a few complications." Kyle looked at him. "Were you even at lunch?"

Joseph made a face. "I'm starting to look for opportunities to skip meals, especially when curry is in the menu. I've made a deal with Clarice: whenever she has Home Ec, I will eat whatever she brings me and make no comments on the quality, as long as I don't have to use chopsticks and it isn't highly spiced."

"You don't like spicy food either, huh?"

Joseph grimaced. "I literally can't handle it. Dad's the same way. One of the few downsides of being a Sceath."

Kyle nodded in understanding, tapping his seal. "I've got some downsides, too." He looked at the bokkens. "What are we going to do today?"

Joseph scooped them up and handed one to him. "First, I'm going to find out how much you know about a sword. If it turns out that all you know is not to hold the sharp end, we'll start with the positions."

"Uhh...that might be about the extent of my knowledge. What are the positions?"

"You will be very acquainted with them by the end of this half-hour." Joseph lightly tossed his bokken from one hand to the other. "Simply put, the positions are the...steps to swordfighting. They're the building blocks; the movements you start with. 'Wax on, wax off', if you will, and if you don't mind the Karate Kid reference."

"Okay..." Kyle took a fighter's crouch, only to have Joseph shake his head.

"Not when you're just learning. The crouch comes later—and it's automatic. Just stand normally for this." Joseph raised his sword. "All right. Copy what I'm doing: Position one."

Kyle awkwardly lifted the bokken into a mirror image. "Like this?"

"Don't force it. Just lift your hand. The sword is meant to be like an extension of your arm. It won't start feeling natural if you have to overdo it every time. Try again. Position one." Kyle copied him. "That's better. Now two. Three. Four. Five. Six." He demonstrated each one and lowered his arm. "Those are the positions. We're going to practice them until I can yell a number at you and your arm jumps to the right place."

"Thank goodness I've already had math class."


Joseph had no idea how much Kyle enjoyed the practice, which consisted of nearly twenty-five minutes of just shouting, "One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six!" and moving the bokken to the right place. For his part, though, it conjured up some good memories: his first little wooden sword, and his first lesson with Breagan. He had been a more energetic pupil than Kyle—though since he had been four at the time, the comparison was unfair. He had been six before the novelty of practicing the positions had worn off.

When he finally stopped shouting, Kyle's right arm sagged lifelessly. He groaned and rubbed it. "Owwww...oh, wow, that is going to be so sore tomorrow."

"Um..." Joseph looked him over. "You will be allowed to switch to your left hand at some point next time. It's a good idea to be proficient with both hands." He set the bokken down. "But seriously, you do karate. I'd have thought your arms would be stronger."

"I use my legs more often than not. Owww."

"Go take some aspirin." Joseph grimaced. "You're luckier there than I am, too. Elves react badly to painkillers."

"How badly?" Kyle looked up at him curiously.

"Badly enough that Mom has never dared try it on any of us. I believe turning blue and then barfing all over the place was what she described happening to someone else. She did not want to experiment with us." He took Kyle's bokken and shrugged. "Not that she has to. There are some perks to being a Healer."

"I think I'm going to want a relative who's a healer. Man, this is sore." Kyle flexed his shoulder. "Ow."

"See if the school nurse has some pain cream to put on the joint," Joseph advised. "And...if you're up to it, meet me here again tomorrow; same time."

"Sheesh."

"Hey, you're the one who asked me to teach you how to fight with a sword. I got the absolute snot beaten out of me seven ways from sundown—every day. Dad doesn't let up. I think you can take what I'm asking. Tomorrow, we'll go over the positions, then I'll give you some sequences so you can see how they work in a real swordfight."

"I can hardly wait." Kyle grimaced, then scowled down at his seal. Joseph suddenly realized that it was whole again, and wondered if the echo-like laughter was more than just his imagination.

"Was that Kazuken?"

Kyle's head jerked up, startled. "What—you heard that?"

"I heard a sort of echo." Joseph eyed the seal. "I've been hearing it for a while, actually. I thought I was going a little nuts until you reacted to it."

"You're not going nuts." Kyle rubbed his head. "Though it is a little strange that you can hear him. Normally, I'm the only one who can do that."

Joseph tapped his ears. "Sceath have really good hearing. That might have something to do with it."

"I hope that's it." Kyle moved his right arm and groaned. "Oww...this is gonna be fun."