Expelled from her old school for a crime she didn't commit, Ivy must gain the trust of the High Pack at Ridgeview Academy to stop her new home from going up in flames.
Season 2 of Witchfire
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───── Piper ─────
Ivy tried to circle me. I matched each of her strides, keeping our bodies parallel. If she wanted to make the first strike, she would have to make it head on. A small frown marked the moment Ivy realised that.
The sand whispered as she put more weight on her back foot. I calculated her impending move and adjusted my stance accordingly. Oblivious to anything but her own charge, the silver-haired girl attacked with a snarl, katana slashing down overhead.
For a moment, time seemed to slow, and all I could see was the straight, glittering edge of that blade, growing larger as it came closer. This was it — the true beginning of our duel, or perhaps the true end, because mother had always taught me that an opponent's first move would spell out their doom. Ivy had a bad habit of leaving her middle unprotected.
Time snapped back into place like a rubber band. I stepped out of the way of her sword and made a swift testing slash at her ribs. The tip of my knife scored her leather corset, confirming my suspicions. While Ivy was a competently trained fighter, she wasn't a skilled one. She lacked the reflexes of one born into my line of work. I pranced back before she could hurt me in reply, noticing that as with dodging, countering wasn't instinctual for her. Her actions were deliberated, and decisions took time to make, time that I could ply to get her killed.
The crowd roared when Ivy yanked her weapon up and advanced, this time swinging the blade at me horizontally. She was quick, but my knives were lighter than her sword, and I was quicker. I ducked beneath the oncoming blade, helping it along with the talon on the end of my knife. The sudden weight of the katana caused her to stumble, making her mid-section vulnerable once more.
Once, I would have killed her without hesitation. Corinne's voice screamed for me to act, to gut her and leave her bleeding in the sand. But I had an ulterior motive now, and the battle was about more than just surviving. It was a test. If Ivy Thatcher was so ambitious that she would kill me to take my place, then she posed a threat to the entire High Pack. And I intended to see that threat promptly removed.
Instead of gutting the girl, I sliced through the laces of her left boot. When she slashed and missed again, I set upon the seams at her thigh, then the cross-stitching at the side of her leather corset. Her armour sagged, slowly coming apart. I sincerely hoped that the inconvenience would force her to shift, forcing her to relinquish her silver weaponry.
Pain exploded in my shoulder and I rolled away from it, coming to my feet in the sand a few metres away. What the hell was that? I thought wildly, tossing hair out of my eyes as I searched her form for a clue. The blade of the katana was clean, so I hadn't been scratched or stabbed. Ah. She got me with the hilt.
Begrudging admiration fluttered in my ribcage, its wings quickly crumpled by the hand of fear. She could win this, my mother said sternly. Even as a figment of my imagination, her disappointment was crushing. She learns from those she fights.
