It is with fresh blood, sweat, and tears that I continue to train with Emily Bane over the following days. Desperate to prove my worth not only to the older Hunter, but myself, I dedicate myself to overcoming the physical obstacles that my body has placed in my way. From running on the treadmill, to throwing punches at a boxing dummy, to doing sit-ups, push-ups, quick sprints, and more, I push myself as hard and as fast as I can to become a stronger, more dependable person.


    I push myself to become the Hunter I know I can be.


    On the tenth day after entering the Agency, and the first week after I have officially begun my training, Emily Bane pulls me from the treadmill and says, “Take this.”


    It is a simple handgun: a black police-issue that I had grown accustomed to seeing in the police procedurals my mother would watch, dark and glistening. Emily wields it so casually that it causes me to shiver.


    “What?” Emily asks. “Have you never held a gun before?”


    “No,” I say and grimace as Emily pushes the cold metal into my hand. “I haven’t.”


    “You need to learn.”


    “Why?”


    “Because for one: you’re not going to want to get up close and personal with every Supernatural creature you face. And for two”—Emily draws her own handgun from its place on the wall—“it’s easier to kill a creature with a gun sometimes than it is a sword or knife.”


    We still hadn’t addressed that type of training yet. To jump to marksmanship seems a bit of a stretch.


    <i>You have to do this, </i>I think before tightening my grip on the weapon. <i>How else are you going to kill the monster that killed Mama?</i>


    A part of me hadn’t considered using a gun to kill the vampire. The part of me that <i>had</i> entertained the fantasy of killing it had done so with my bare hands—with the brute strength I’ve slowly been developing over the past ten days. There’d been no shortage of ways I’d imagined killing the vampire.


    <i>But with a gun, </i>I think, <i>you won</i><i>’t have to worry about getting close. You won’t have to worry about getting your neck—</i>


    I blink, stunned.


    “Have you ever held a gun before?” Emily asks.


    “No,” I say.


    “Keep it pointed toward the ground,” she says, “and your finger away from the trigger.”


    “I’ve only ever seen them used on TV,” I confess.


    “TV is good,” Emily says before stepping toward a bare wall and flicking a switch, thereby raising a metal wall separating us from a built-in shooting range. “Now, watch this.”


    Emily adjusts her footing, trains her gaze on a paper cutout at the end of one channel, and shoots three shots in quick succession—


    All without warning me.


    I nearly jump from shock.


    “You could’ve warned me,” I say, though I can barely hear myself through the ringing in my ears.


    “I did,” Emily replies. “I said <i>watch.</i>”


    I shake my head and adjust my hold on the weapon in my hand.


    “Turn the safety off,” Emily says, “like this. Now: aim your weapon and shoot. Try to hit the target. <i>Definitely</i> make sure you’ve got a good hold on it. You don’t want it to kick back and hit you in the face.”


    After approaching the tunnel and adjusting my footing, I lock eyes on the paper dummy and fire one shot.


    It misses completely.


    “Again,” Emily instructs.


    I fire two more times. Both miss their marks.


    “Try and relax, Scarlet.”


    <i>“Relax?” </i>I laugh. “How?”


    “You’re not going to be able to stand still in the field. You’ll be moving. <i>A lot.</i> So get used to the idea of raising your weapon, shooting, moving. A stiff posture is only going to make you an easy target for anything you come up against.”


    With a short nod, I will my muscles to relax and force my wrists to work in a way that feels more natural, more <i>organic. </i>


    When I fire a fourth shot, I don’t expect to hit anything. I surprise myself when the bullet tears through the paper at the edge of the human outline.


    “Wow,” I say.


    “Everyone can shoot,” Emily replies with an encouraging nod. “It’s all a matter of learning how to do it. Now…” She gestures toward the tunnel. “Try again.”


    This next time, I manage to hit the target <i>dead on.</i>


    <i>A killing shot,</i> I think as I take note of the hole in the outline’s chest.


    “Good,” Emily says. “Now—try to hit them while they’re moving.”


    Emily flicks a switch.


    The paper cutouts start moving left to right.


    <i>Relax, </i>I think as I struggle to fight the anxiety surging through me. <i>You can do this.</i>


    I inhale a deep breath through my nose, then exhale out my mouth before aiming at my target.


    The first shot I take blows a hole in the outline’s head.


    The second shot leaves a hole in another’s chest.


    And so I continue firing, hitting some targets and missing others, until I cannot shoot any more.


    “You’ll be able to practice whenever you want,” Emily says. “I’ll continue to teach you how to properly use the weapon, how to load it, how to unload it, that sort of thing. For now, though, let’s give guns a break and get back to something else.”


    “Like?” I ask, careful to safely pass the gun back to Emily.


    “Swords.”


    Emily crosses the room within a moment of moments, during which time she secures the pistol on the rack upon the wall and withdraws a three-and-a-half-foot wooden practice sword.


    “Short… swords?” I ask.


    Emily gestures for me to pass the gun to her and replaces it with a dummy sword.


    “We’re going to duel again?” I ask.


    “It’s the only way you’re going to learn how to fight.”


    “I broke my fingers the last time we dueled.”


    “And Belinda healed you, didn’t she?”


    I reluctantly nod.


    “Good,” Emily says. “Acquaint yourself with the sword. I’ll let you attack first.”


    “Lucky me,” I mumble.


    I balance the sword in my right hand, then go to work raising and lowering, then swinging it about. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    “Ready?” Emily asks.


    “Ready,” I say.


    I lunge.


    Emily spins, grabs my arm, and strikes my lower back, all within a matter of moments.


    “Ow!” I cry and spin, lifting my sword just in time to block an incoming attack.


    “Good!” Emily calls. “Again!”


    I block another blow, then a third, a fourth, all the while refusing to bow to Emily Bane’s relentless assault. The woman is too fast, however, and far too strong for me to physically overpower her.


    But I can win, I tell myself. I <i>want</i> to win.


    <i>Emily never said not to fight dirty.</i>


    Raising my sword, I block a strike, then lash out and strike Emily in the chest with a fist.


    The woman’s grunt, and momentary pause, gives me just enough time to bring my sword about and strike her shoulder.


    Emily lunges.


    I duck.


    Emily’s hand snags my hair and drags me to the ground.


    A wild punch is enough to dislodge her hand from my hair, but not enough to throw the woman off my hips.


    <i>She</i><i>’s too heavy, </i>I think. <i>How do I—</i>


    I bring my sword up before Emily can strike my face.


    “No!” I cry and buck wildly.


    The sudden momentum is enough to throw Emily from my hips.


    The woman jumps up.


    I, struggling to stand, kick out.


    Our feet connect.


    Emily goes down.


    But the moment she hits the ground, she grabs my ankle and pulls me back with her.


    “Quite the scrapper!” Emily calls before launching an attack that misses me by mere inches. “You fight often?”


    “No!” I cry, kicking at Emily’s hand.


    A slight cry rises from Emily’s throat as our appendages connect.


    “You got me,” Emily replies, cradling her hand close to her chest. “But this isn’t over. Not by a longshot.”


    <i>What is she— </i>I start to think.


    But Emily screams, then charges.


    I bring my sword up.


    Emily spins.


    I follow suit.


    Our practice swords collide and skim each other’s lengths.


    Breathless, I apply pressure against Emily’s blade, only for Emily to rear her hand back, punch me in the shoulder, then kick my ankles out from under me.


    I land hard enough to knock the breath from me.


    “Good,” Emily says, reaching up to wipe blood from a split lip. <i>“Very </i>good. You could’ve killed me had we been using real weapons.”


    “I—” I somehow manage. “I thought—”


    “You had me?” Emily laughs. “No, Scarlet. You didn’t. But to be fair… I do have an advantage over you.”


    “What… are you…”


    Emily crouches down and wipes the stray hairs from my eyes before saying, “We Hunters have an edge over humanity. Do you know why?”


    I shake my head, given I am still too breathless to speak.


    “It’s because of the Trinity Serum.”


    “What… is that?” I ask.


    “It’s hard to explain,” Emily replies, first taking hold of my hand, then pulling me upright. “You want the long version, or the dumbed-down one?”


    “Dumbed down, please.”


    “The Trinity Serum is a fusion of DNA taken from the most dominant Supernatural creatures within the United States: Howler. Sanguine. Svell Kaldr.”


    “Wait,” I say, inhaling a deep breath. “You said this is a serum.”


    “Yes.”


    “So it’s like an injection?”


    “Precisely.”


    “So you’re saying you inject their blood into you?”


    “Their DNA,” Emily corrects. “It isn’t exactly <i>their blood.</i> No. That would be bad—very, <i>very</i>


    bad. The Howler blood would turn you into a beast, the Sanguine blood would kill you. I doubt the Kaldr blood would do much damage, but even then, they have a third type of blood cell, so it’d probably screw with your system. No. The DNA is spliced from the blood of the original creatures and made into a mixture that is brewed in our labs, then administered to an initiate once the Guild finds them worthy of the title of Hunter. Don’t go getting any ideas though. It’s kept under lock and key and can kill you if it’s not done correctly.”


    “I wasn’t planning on doing anything,” I say before lifting my head to face her. “Why… why did you say that?”


    “I can see the determination in your eyes,” the woman answers. “The way you move, the way you speak, the way you fight—all speaks of a young woman who’s desperate to obtain something that’s just within her reach.”


    “So what does this mean?” I ask. “I mean… now that I’ve come so close to beating you?”


    Emily laughs. <i>“Close?” </i>she asks. “I said you <i>could</i><i>’ve </i>killed me had we been using <i>real weapons. </i>Just because I’m offering you praise doesn’t mean I’m giving you any accolades.”


    “But—” I start.


    “You need work,” Emily says. “Your movements are too reserved, your judgment too clouded by what might happen to the opposing party. When fighting, you’re supposed to see your opponent as the enemy regardless of how you feel about them as a person. So this”—she wags her fingers between us—“has to stop.”


    “I don’t want to hurt you.”


    “I have the Trinity running through me, Scarlet. I’ll heal within the day. You, though… you’re going to need some time to recover.” Emily turns to look toward the locker room off to the side. “I’d highly recommend you start practicing more on your own. You’ve been doing well so far, but you need to learn more about your body and the way it works. Getting knocked down a few times will help, but let me warn you about something. You listening?”


    “Yes.”


    “You can’t be sloppy during your review, whenever that may come. The Guild will want to know you’re competent enough to succeed out in the wild. Understand?”


    I nod.


    “Good,” Emily says. “Now go. Shower. Get something to eat. I’ll expect you here at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow morning to continue your training.”


    “Thank you,” I say, then turn and make my way out of the room.


    * * *


    The revelation of Emily’s supernatural strength is enough to spur me to seek alternative methods of recovery. Knowing that I will not be able to train through the bruises on my ribcage or my feet, I shower the sweat from my body, grease a piece of toast with butter, then pull my hair back into a ponytail and make my way out of my room, all so I can go in search of the white witch, Belinda.


    It takes a bit of thinking and a lot of memory to redetermine her location, but eventually, I come to approach the door to the witch’s apartment and knock.


    I have just finished the last bite of my toast when the door opens.


    “Scarlet?” Belinda asks. “What are you doing here?”


    I lift my shirt just enough to reveal the developing bruises along my check.


    “Oh,” Belinda says. “I see.”


    “Can you help me?”


    “Come in,” the witch says.


    I step into the woman’s spacious apartment and instantly seek out the metal examination chair.


    “I take it Miss Bane has been hard on you?” Belinda asks as she closes the door.


    “Not unnecessarily,” I reply.


    Belinda steps forward and gestures me to climb atop the metal table. “I wish she would be more careful,” the witch says. “You’re young, yes, but bodily injury is not good regardless of how well I can heal it.”


    “I don’t think anything is broken,” I reply. “At least, I hope nothing’s broken.”


    “Let’s see.”


    I strip the T-shirt over my head and seat myself atop the table.


    “I’m going to press my fingers along your ribcage and try to gauge the depth of the bruising,” Belinda says. “Is there anywhere else that hurts?”


    “My ankles.”


    Belinda gestures me to remove my shoes—only to frown when my swollen ankles are revealed. “I’m surprised you’re walking.”


    “It hurts,” I say, “but it’s bearable.”


    “I take it Emily wants you back in for training as soon as possible?”


    “Tomorrow morning, if it’s doable.”


    “It’s doable, but you’re still going to be sore. Lie down, dear, and put your feet up on the table.”


    I swing my feet up, spread out along the table lengthwise, and grimace as the cold metal bites into my skin. It is only when Belinda begins to use her healing magic upon me that I am able to feel any relief.


    “Are you all right?” Belinda asks as I let out a slight cry.


    “I’m great,” I reply, though I cannot tell if it’s a <i>sarcastic</i> or an <i>honest</i> answer.


    Belinda, however, doesn’t bother to question me and instead continues to massage the magic into my body. She starts first on my ankles, then trails her hands along my calves and knees. When she reaches my hips, I tremble—not only because the magic is starting to hit my nervous system, but because the tendrils of unease are causing me to feel pain as well.


    <i>Just relax, </i>I think. <i>Think of it as a day at the spa.</i>


    “There now,” the witch says as she pushes more magic into my body. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”


    “What—” I start and feel a flutter of hesitation strike me. “What did you do?”


    “A little soothing spell to help you relax.”


    The woman’s fingers begin to dance over my ribcage anew, imparting healing magic into the mountains and valleys of my torso. My ribcage burns with energy—sings with pain and screams from pleasure—but the more Belinda works, the more the pain dissipates.


    It is over almost as soon as it’s begun.


    What feels like a half-hour later, I open my eyes to find the witch standing above me, a small smile on her lips. “Take a look,” she says before lifting a mirror.


    The majority of my bruising is gone. All that remains is a slight smattering of purple along the curve of my hip and ribcage.


    “Bruising is hard to treat,” the witch says, “especially since I can only channel magic so far into the body without causing extreme discomfort. The surface pain should be gone, however.”


    “It feels like it is,” I say, pushing myself upright and reaching for my shirt. “Thank you. I’m sorry I don’t have any way to pay you right now.”


    “You’ve no need to pay me, Scarlet. After what happened to the last trainee…” Belinda sighs. “Well, let’s just say that I’m thrilled you’re all right.”


    I open my mouth to speak but stop before I can do so.


    <i>What is she not telling me? </i>I wonder as I pull my shirt over my head.


    Had the last trainee under Emily Bane’s watch been seriously hurt? Disabled? Or maybe—


    <i>Killed? </i>I think.


    Knowing that the question is too inappropriate to ask, I push myself off the table and say, “Thank you,” once again.


    “Come again if you need help,” Belinda says. “My door is always open for you, Scarlet.”


    With one last nod, I slip out of the room and make my way toward the elevators—


    The whole while wondering just what it is I’m not being told.