Page 61 of Echo Power

After breakfast, Dax announces that I need more training so I can learn how to fight instead of only knowing how to fend off an attack. He starts with fencing, which he describes as "a combat sport."

I roll my eyes. "That foil thingy looks like a skinny metal stick that wouldn't hurt a fly."

"The foil is a dangerous weapon," he says. "Especially if the blade breaks. A Ukrainian fencing champion died that way. Perhaps I should demonstrate how dangerous a foil is."

We both wear protective clothing and full-face masks, plus gloves. I've seen this stuff in movies, but never could I have imagined I'd need to learn swordplay.

Dax removes his mask and makes a come-on gesture. "Strike my cheek with the tip of your foil."

"What? If it can hurt you, I'm not doing that."

"You need to know what a foil can do." He sets his weapon down and makes that come-on gesture with both hands. "Cut me."

I thrust my foil out to nick his cheek, drawing a thin trickle of blood. "Are you okay?"

"You'll need to be more aggressive when we're sparring." He plucks his foil off the floor. "Especially if you want to graduate to a larger, deadlier sword."

"You have bigger swords around here? I've only seen the fencing foils."

"That's because you insisted on searching the solarium while I was ransacking the sitting room. My father kept a pair of eighteenth-century cutlasses on the wall above the fireplace mantel, as well as a medieval broadsword."

"You're going to teach me how to use a real sword? Cool. A cutlass sounds like a pirate sword."

He frowns at me, which is a somewhat softer expression than his usual scowl. "You need to take this seriously. Your life may depend on your ability to fight."

"I know. And I do take it seriously. But if I don't crack a joke now and then, I'll go bonkers. Wouldn't kill you to lighten up on occasion."

"To 'lighten up' in the Echo means death."

"Okay, message received." I square my shoulders and raise my foil. "A death match it is, then."

No, I don't kill Dax. I meant that as a dig at his "every moment is a life-or-death event" attitude. An affectionate dig. Because yeah, I've realized I do like him, especially now that I understand more about what he's been through, in and out of the Echo.

Following a morning of sparring with Dax and an afternoon of more self-defense training, I am once again too exhausted to do anything except gobble up a sandwich and go to bed. Dax tries to talk me into waiting while he makes a big dinner for us, complete with vegetables, though he claims he's never been good at cooking. I'm too wiped out. Maybe living on sandwiches and soda pop isn't the healthiest choice, but for crying out loud, there's an apocalypse going on out there. Screw green beans and spinach. I need cheese and chocolate.

For the next three days, Dax teaches me how to fence and graduates me up to a cutlass. Swords are kind of awesome. The cutlass isn't as heavy as a broadsword, so he tells me it's a good weapon for a woman. There were female pirates, after all. If those ladies could handle a cutlass, so can I. Despite his constant admonishments that I need to stop making jokes, I do take my training seriously. The world outside this estate has no electricity, no running water, just devastation. When we go back out into that new world, which I know we will do eventually, I need to be prepared.

Dax's family armory doesn't include guns or explosives. I never used to want stuff like that, but now I wish we had some.

Every day, we both go down to the cellar multiple times and try to open those boxes. Dax gets more frustrated with every attempt. Maybe I should tell him my theory about why I was able to teleport us away from Sefton and the golem, but I don't know how he'll react. My theory isn't scientific. It's very, very personal. I doubt he'll want to consider the idea, much less accept it.

Because I've become convinced that sex with Dax gave me the power to spirit us away.

It's crazy, I know. And sooner or later, I'll have to share my theory with him. But not today. I'm enjoying this time with Dax, learning to fight and taking walks around the lawn. We kiss now and then, but he hasn't even suggested sex. I'm starting to wonder if he's lost interest, but I think it's more likely that he's as tired as I am. A tough guy would never admit to that.

On the fifth day since our mad host left us here, I realize I need a day off from combat lessons. I've gotten a little sore from all the physical activity. I used to exercise, pre-apocalypse, but I didn't do this kind of intensive training.

"I need a break," I tell Dax. "Please. I'm getting sore."

He stares at me for a few seconds. Then he marches over to a door I hadn't realized was a door, since it blends into the wall and has no knob. He pushes on a section of the wall, and the door pops open. He ducks inside what looks like a closet, emerging with a folded-up table under one arm.

"What's that for?" I ask.

Dax being Dax, he grunts instead of speaking. Then he carries the folded-up table over to the windows and sets it up there. He glances at me and pats the padded tabletop. "Lie on this."

I walk over there, but I can't help eying the table with a touch of suspicion. "Why do you want me to do that?"

"You are sore. I'm going to give you a massage."

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