Dust

XII

Time passed; over the next week, Damien and I continued to train Gael, and he improved every day. I am beginning to forget the timid, frightened human I first came across in that forest; as Gael grows more comfortable here in Maris, he loosens up, talking less and less about where he came from and embracing his training with a new enthusiasm.

A new leader of the Bureau is being searched for, and as of now, Elliott is the interim. Gael, Damien, and I still watch him with the utmost caution, as I am sure he had something to do with his father's death. I speak nothing of it to Sloane, as she is taking a momentary break from her work to regain herself. It's clear that the loss of her father has devastated her, so it seems unfair to antagonize her brother. This doesn't mean, however, that I'm not on to him.

"Finn, please be careful with those throwing stars—Dame, watch him, please," I say, observing my brother with a wary eye. Damien nods in understanding and crosses the arena to him, sweeping him off his feet and throwing him over his shoulder. Finn laughs wildly, and I begin to tell Damien to put him down, but stop and shake my head with a sigh. Telling Damien to quit doing things that make him smile is stupid, so I don't.

"Okay," I say, turning back to Gael. It's early morning, and the smell of shampoo lingers in the damp curls in his eyes, which drip water onto the padded protection Damien lent him. The clothes are a bit tight on Gael, who is admittedly a bit stockier than the slight-built Damien, but fit him well enough to grant mobility. "Up," I order, and Gael's fists come up, partially hiding his face from me.

"Good," I commend. "Well, Gael, as you know, you're human—"

His eyebrows lift. "Quite obviously, Gemma; I've been here for at least two weeks now, and you are just now noticing—"

"Shut up," I snap. "What I was going to say is that most species have an advantage over you. Faeries can use the wrath of mother nature, witches and wizards can cast harmful spells, and vampires—"

"Can and will eat you," calls Dame from his seat against the wall. When I glance at him, he looks up at me from beside Finn, grinning.

"I was going to say that they're unusually quick, but fine."

"Quick? You mean my shazamming ability."

I narrow my eyes, trying to focus on Gael. "Dame—"

Gael is curious. "What is he talking about?"

I wish I could have stopped the question before it left his lips, but I'm already too late. Before I know it, Damien has left his seat beside my little brother and appeared in between Gael and me, a swirl of black air rising and then settling around him. It is, I must admit, kind of cool, but its coolness has worn off the longer I've known Damien.

"That, my friends," he says, "is called shazamming."

"That word was never officially coined," I say, prodding at Damien to get out of the way. He rolls his eyes, then turns and drops a wink at Gael before "shazamming" himself back against the wall. Finn gives an applause, and I just sigh and try to go back to training.

I motion for Gael to put his fists back up. "I'm saying that, even in spite of that, you should always be prepared for combat. I mean weaponless combat."

Gael gives a brisk nod, getting himself in a protective stance and bouncing on the balls of his feet. A few days ago, before I'd instilled the proper stance on him, he had looked like an idiot, but now—now he looks like a real hunter, and I feel myself grin in approval.

Gael notices. "Why are you smiling like that?"

I cough, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. Brushing a flyaway hair back from my face, I reply, "No reason. Okay. Hit me, Gael."