Page 69 of Bonds of Magic
“You hold it like this to stab,” I said, shifting the hilt in his grasp. “Gives you more power and protects your wrist. Got it?”
“Got it.” His voice was breathy.
I swallowed. “And like this for throwing.”
I slid his fingers into position, then bent his elbow and brought his hand up to mime a throwing motion. Then I flipped the knife around, so he was holding the blade. “You can throw like this too, but it takes more practice.”
My heart was thumping, standing this close to him, touching his hand. But it was the best way to show him how to hold the knife. And he wasn’t wrong to want some protection. Frankly, I should have thought of giving him a blade before this.
Cory looked up at me, grinning. “Can I practice now?”
“We need to get to your lesson.”
“This is a lesson too.”
“Yes, but youneedto dream.”
“Who’s to say I don’t need to know how to throw knives? Come on, Noah. I can dream on my own now. I can do it when I get back to my room tonight.”
“You’re still learning to control others’ dreams, though.”
“So we’ll work on that next time. Just this once, can’t we do something different?”
It occurred to me suddenly that maybe Cory didn’twantto go to my cabin tonight. If he were embarrassed about what had happened last time, he might be sensitive about going back to the same spot. Or maybe he was worried I would peer into his dreams again.
Maybe I was being an asshole.
I sighed. “Fine. You can practice. Come on.”
I led him to the gym and pulled out a target, a big bull’s eye stuffed with straw. Then I went into the armory and selected a new knife for him. The balance wasn’t as good as the balance on my blades, but it would snuggle neatly against Cory’s forearm in its matching wrist sheath, and I didn’t mind loaning it to him for the long-term.
“Here,” I said, trading the new knife for my old one and sliding that one back up my sleeve. “You can practice with this one.”
“It’s smaller,” Cory said, eyeing me with more suspicion.
“It’s less noticeable. If a knife is going to be any use, you need to carry it with you at all times. The smaller it is, the easier that’ll be. Now.” I pointed at the target. “Hit the bullseye.”
He moved his hand into something that vaguely resembled the grip I’d shown him earlier, raised his arm, and threw. The knife arced up, then came back down, hitting the floor two feet in front of the target.
“Oh God, that’s embarrassing,” he said.
I stifled my urge to agree. “Not bad for a first try.”
“You’re only saying that to make me feel better.” He gave me a flat look.
“I’m saying that because as far as I know, you’ve never thrown a knife before. I don’t expect you to know what you’re doing yet. But we can definitely work on your form.”
Even his feet had been wrong.
“You ever play baseball as a kid?” I asked. “Soft ball? Or play catch with your dad in the backyard?”
He laughed bitterly. “No. I didn’t exactly have a lot of aptitude for it. And my dad never cared enough to teach me. Not when berating me was easier.”
Once again, I couldn’t make sense of the man who’d been his father. A child was a gift. A treasure. Back when I’d had Ben, I would have done anything for him. The day he turned four, I’d bought him a ball and glove. We’d played catch under the beech tree behind the house.
Of course Ben couldn’t throw very far yet. He wasn’t even in school. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to spend time with him, to let him know that—
I winced, shutting down that line of thought. I worked hard to keep my memories of Tara and Ben buried. It was easier that way.
