The White Raven

A Bird in the Hand... Is a Useless Bird

The bag flies backwards as I punch it again and again. The sand from the red bag falls onto the ground. My knuckles hurt but I pay them no attention. I lift my right leg of the ground and swing it around. It collides with the bag with another satisfying bang. I grab a quick drink from my water and pin my wavy black hair back in a bun. After that I go over to the weapons and pick up my weapon of choice, the same as any other training session, a small silver dagger with a five-inch long blade and an engraved hilt. On the hilt is an intricate design of a hundred intertwining lines inside a pentagram, the symbol of a Wicca. It feels like it belongs in my hand, like a dagger should, it feels like an extension of my arm. While I'm at the rack of weapons I also grab the belt of regular smaller throwing knives and tie it around my waist. I stride over to the throwing target and pull out one of the smaller daggers and put my dagger into its place. I take a breath and put the dagger behind back, over my shoulder. I look up at the target and throw. I watch as it flies through the air, seemingly going in slow motion. It slams dead in the center. I barely have time to catch my breath before I release the next one it landing only a centimeter from the other one. I throw dagger after dagger only a second after the previous one. When all of the daggers from the belt are gone and I only have my dagger left in it, I take the belt of and place it on a nearby chair. I turn around further from the target than before and get ready to throw when I hear the door opening behind me. I react on instinct. I spin around and throw the dagger to an inch to the side of the person's head that has just came in. They freeze shocked by the knife that came so close to killing them. They stay in the shadows so I can't see their face but as soon as they speak I know who it is.

"You know, you could just ask who it is instead of throwing a dagger at them." They say as they pull the dagger out of the hideous green plastered walls.

"Hey, Eric." I murmur as he walks towards me holding out the dagger.

"Thanks." I grab it and turn around and throw it at the target. Dead in the center knocking all the other out of the way.

I turn around to face Eric again. He's wearing black denim jeans, plain brown combat boots and a black tank top that shows of his muscled arms, his blonde hair falling over his eyes. I feel heat flush my cheeks and I am suddenly and anxiously aware my own appearance. Tight, black leather pants tide together on the side with leather straps, a black leather corset with buckles around my waist and chest over the top of a zipper. On my feet are knee length black leather combat boots. My heart gives a little flutter as it always does when I see him and we embrace in a hug, a smile spreads wide across my face. Eric lifts me up the puts me back down. He's taller than so he leans down to me and I stand up on my tippy-toes as we kiss a quick kiss careful to make sure that no one is around to watch. He pulls away first and I sigh and lean back from him and onto the table. It's all I get, every week a single rushed kiss. It's all we can risk. There's the usual sad look in his eyes. The look of longing for more but knowing he can't have it and I know I wear the same look. I try and lean in for more and for once he too leans in, our lips meet again and then I hear a cough from the door. We tear apart suddenly distressed, before I realize that it's just Izzy.

"You two done canoodling?" She asks, her smile evident in her voice.

I look at her and shake my head a slight smile on my lips. "Where's the trouble?" I ask.

"Have a guess. The graveyard, a couple went missing a couple of days ago and were found with the usual wounds." She says, walking into the small training room.

I nod going over to grab my dagger from the target and a stake from the table. I put the stake in the scabbard in my boot and hold the dagger in my hand.

"Let's go then." I murmur.

*

We drive there. Eric at the wheel of the car, a sleek black Bugatti Veyron, as we speed toward graveyard ducking and weaving in-between traffic. I hear Eric breath out between his teeth as we round the corner to the graveyard. It looks just like any other cemetery would look like, the same headstones and fences you'd think there was nothing special about it unless you knew where to look. I mutter a spell under my breath and I can see all the super natural energy that is pulsing through the place. Eric and Izzy can see the energy to and I know they can see it swirling around me but I ignore their stares. I'm used to it. A hundred different coloured streams of energy flow through out the graveyard but we pick out the one we are after. A scarlet red that is brighter than the rest. Eric pulls the car into the gutter and we jump out the car. We go around to the boot and pull out the weapons but the first thing Izzy pulls out is a bottle the height of a card.