Page 21 of Circle of Death
“Right now,” says Dache, “your biggest weakness is not trusting your own strength.”
“Another proverb from your pile,” says Maddy. “You’re just bullshitting me.”
“Think so?” says Dache. “Let’s find out.”
CHAPTER 23
THE ANNOYINGLY CHEERFUL monk sets a brisk pace as they walk deeper into the park. Maddy is quiet the whole way. She walks a few paces behind Dache, trying to pretend she doesn’t know him. But by the time he stops to wait for her near a renovated playground, the silence just gets uncomfortable.
Maddy realizes there’s no way to ditch her tormentor, so she decides to pump him for some family background. Make the time worthwhile. Maybe score some intelligence she can actually use.
“So how are you and Lamont connected?” she asks.
Dache stops. He taps his head—“Here”—and then his chest—“and here,” he says. Then he starts walking again.
“Right. I get it,” says Maddy, catching up to him. “Not that way. I mean where did you meet? How far back do you go? What’s yourstory?”
“I know what you mean,” says Dache.
Maddy realizes that’s all she’s going to get.
She follows her teacher off the path and into a secluded cluster of oak trees, soaring up more than fifty feet. Dache stops in the center of the grove. “Time for today’s lesson.”
Maddy glances around. “Here?” So lush and peaceful. “Couldn’t we just have a picnic?” When she looks back, Dache is gone. Maddy starts speaking into the open air.
“Quit it, Dache. You’re obviously here.” She turns a full 360. “Unless you took the hint and returned permanently to Mongolia, which would be too good to be true.”
Maddy feels a sharp sting on the crown of her head, like she was hit by a pebble.
She spins around and sees a couple with a baby stroller passing nearby. Not the pebble-throwing type. Then it happens again. Another hit. This time she looks up.
On a branch ten feet above, a fat gray squirrel is dropping acorns on her. As soon as Maddy spots him, the animal skitters along the narrow branch, jumps onto the tree trunk, and hops to the ground.
A second later, the squirrel is gone and Dache is back, leaning against the tree. He tents his fingers and points them at Maddy. “Your turn.”
Maddy laughs out loud. “Me? A squirrel?”
“Highly useful form,” says Dache. “Very sure-footed.”
Maddy rubs her head, buying time. She’s actually excited by the idea of shape-shifting, but she’s not sold on the example. Aren’t squirrels just rats with fluffy tails? And deep down, she has more serious doubts. What if she can’t do it? What if she can’t change back? What if she’s permanently deformed? She starts thinking of a hundred things that could go wrong.
“Lamont does cats,” she says, still stalling. “I like cats.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” says Dache. “Cats are complex. A hard form to control. Start simple.Rodentia: SciuridaebeforeCarnivora: Felidae.”
Maddy shifts her feet awkwardly and looks up into the trees. This is so weird. “Okay. How does it happen? Do I just imagine myself as a squirrel, and then…poof?”
“Not that easy,” says Dache. “But you absolutely have it within you to trigger the transformation. You were born with it. Trust me. I’ll guide you to it.”
Something in his tone makes Maddy stop resisting.
“Look at me,” says Dache.
She does. She reallylooksat him. Past the tacky dad wardrobe and the brown, wrinkled skin. She notices that his eyes seem younger than his years—sparkling and alive. And now it’s like he’s seeing straight through her. Maddy feels her mind going numb. Then, somewhere deep in her brain, something clicks. Her body starts to tighten and twist. It feels like some kind of seizure.
The next instant, Maddy’s heart is speeding at three hundred beats per minute. Her muscles feel as tight as compressed coils. And she’s almost weightless.
Now she’s flat on the ground, sensing the cool grass under her belly. Then, suddenly, she’s vertical on a tree trunk, feeling the satisfying grip of claws on bark.
