Stars of Fortune(82)
“How?”
“Battle plans, Blondie. Training. Discipline.”
“That sounds . . . military.”
“That’s why soldiers fight the wars.” He started to flip up the lid on one of the pizza boxes.
Sasha laid her hand on it, kept it closed.
“We eat together—that’s training, too, isn’t it?”
“Okay. Better eat inside. Storm’s coming in.”
“Then let’s go tell the others.” She started out, looked back until he shoved away from the counter to come with her. “Can I try out your other crossbow?”
“It’s got a hundred-eighty pull weight. Even beefed up, you couldn’t cock it.”
“I’d still like to try it.”
“Push-ups,” he said.
The first rumble of thunder sounded as she started up the stairs.
By the time they’d all gathered around the kitchen table, the sky hung dark and broody. With the quickening flashes of lightning, the thunder rolled closer on a hard wind.
“Nothing like a good storm,” Riley said. “Unless it’s pizza.”
“Even bad pizza’s good.” Sawyer lifted a slice, bit in. “And this ain’t bad.”
Watching him, Annika picked up a slice, took a careful bite. “It’s wonderful.”
“Best pizza? Where?”
“New York,” Bran said immediately, and Riley shook her head as she chowed down.
“This little mom-and-pop in a little hillside village in Tuscany. Amazing. Sash?”
“I had some really nice pizza once in Paris.”
“French pizza?” Sawyer snorted. “Forget about it. Neck-and-neck between New York and this trattoria in Florence. How about you?” he asked Annika.
“This,” she said, and took another bite.
“Kildare,” Doyle said when everyone looked at him.
“Irish pizza?” Riley grabbed another slice as she laughed. “That’s below French pizza.”
“In a restaurant run by Italians,” he added. “It wins because it was unexpected.”
“Speaking of winning,” Sasha put in. “We should talk about the idea that we won last night because Nerezza was testing us. Doyle brought up the need for battle plans, for training.”
“Training?” Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”
“Bran does what he does.” Doyle took another slice from the same pie as Riley—the one loaded with sausage and pepperoni. “That’s a specific skill set nobody else here can train for. But Sasha had it right. We went into last night individually. We can’t risk that again. We need to know what Bran has . . . up his sleeve.”
“You’re right on that.” Bran nodded, poured wine. “And you’ll know from here and on. We need strategies and plans. If we only react, more, react individually, we’ll lose.”
“No argument, but what training?” Riley continued. “I’m already working with Sasha and Annika on hand-to-hand, defense. And after today, we know Sasha’s a regular Daryl Dixon with a crossbow.”
“Crossbow?” Sawyer paused with a slice halfway to his plate. “How did I miss that?”
“Who’s Daryl Dixon?” Sasha asked.
“The Walking Dead,” Sawyer supplied. “You can handle a crossbow?”
“Apparently.”
“Handle, my ass. It was thwang!” Riley mimed the shot. “Bull’s-eye. I’d stick with her in any zombie apocalypse.”
“I appreciate that, but I think Doyle means we need to start working, and training, together. We’ve made noises about being a team. We need to train like one. Bran’s teaching me about what he uses to make medicines, so I can help there.”
“I could learn,” Annika said. “I like to learn.”
“You should all know the basics. What potion, what salve, what tincture for what injury. You all know basic first-aid of the ordinary sort,” Bran added. “But we’re not dealing with ordinary.”
“And if you’re injured, we wouldn’t know what to use. Okay,” Riley agreed. “We take time for some magickal medicine lessons.”
“Other skill sets have to play. You and Sawyer?” Doyle shook his head, reluctant admiration. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen better shots, and you both keep a cool head. You start target practice with the others.”
“I don’t like the guns,” Annika said quickly.
“You don’t have to like them, gorgeous, you just have to learn to handle one. And you’ve got some moves.”
“I’d pit her against Black Widow. I’m going to buy a shitload of graphic novels for you guys,” Sawyer said when both Annika and Sasha looked blank.