He walks inside. The space is massive and empty, with a slanted roof and a few small arched windows. None of their panes are covered, allowing the sun to shine freely through. Strips of white light cut across the boarded floor, and in the rays, flecks of dust dance and sway, while forgotten furniture is covered in white sheets and covered in cobwebs.
“Tolerance to light can come with the years. Or you can train yourself, like I have.” Lysander moves so I can join him. “And step lightly. Many of the boards are loose or missing.”
Looking down, I see that he is right. Pieces of the wood are either gone, splintered, or rotting away. A thick layer of dust covers everything, disturbed only by scattered footprints. Looks like Lysander has been up here a lot.
Closing the door behind me, I press my back against the wall so the light from the windows don’t touch me. Lysander, though, moves with cat-like grace across the room, dodging the sunny spots with ease, and goes to a metal trunk at the opposite end of the room. Opening it, he rummages through and then pulls out two long swords.
“Are we really going to practice up here?” I ask.
“Yes,” Lysander replies, “is that a problem?”
I glance at the windows ignited with early morning light and then at the wide gaps between the floorboards at my feet. One misstep and I could be burned alive. Or could fall through to the floor below.
One of his blond brows rises as he waits for my answer.
Despite my anxious thoughts and the tension in my body, I shake my head as a reply. If this is what I need to do in order to train myself, so be it. Lysander has always been known to be a great fighter, and if he’s willing to teach me, then I’m going to listen. Even if his methods are a bit off the cuff.
He hands me a sword, and the weight of the weapon surprises me. I’ve never held one before so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s light and fits nicely in my grip. I twirl it in my hand and swing it back and forth to get a better feel of it.
“Be careful, Avrum. You don’t want to hurt yourself before we even begin.”
I stop, but can’t fight the grin spreading across my lips. I feel like a child again, trying something new and exciting for the first time.
Stepping into the middle of the attic with his own sword in hand, Lysander gestures for me. “We will begin with your footwork,” he says as I stand in the spot he picks. A strip of light from the center window separates us like a transparent wall. “Have you ever touched sunlight, Avrum? After your change?”
What an odd question. “Of course not.” I was taught very early on by Henri to never step foot in the daylight again or risk being destroyed.
To my horror, Lysander reaches one hand out toward the beam of light.
I hold my breath.
His hand begins to hiss and crack, turning black fromhis long fingers to his wrist. The smell of burning flesh hits my nose, and my stomach turns. But Lysander only closes his eyes and tilts his head back, his face clear of any pain at all.
I can’t even believe what I am seeing. The blackened skin begins to curl back and flake, catching the air and flying away, turning to ash. He’s disintegrating before my eyes.
“Lysander, please,” I say, wincing at the sight of it. It’s so disturbing; I can’t take it a moment longer. “I get it. Stop this.”
Opening his eyes, he withdraws his hand, his face still an emotionless mask. I don’t know why he did it, but he got his point across. Ten fold.
“It’s a slow death,” he murmurs, holding his hand up and examining the cracked skin. “Slow yet final.”
I swallow, fear creeping in. I’m not so sure about this anymore. Having to dodge Lysander’s sword was one thing. Avoiding being burned to death by the sun? This training sessions is feeling more like agreeing to a suicide pact.
Slowly, Lysander’s skin starts to knit together and restore itself to its natural glossy, pale color. He flips it front to back to show it’s fully restored. Not a blemish or scar to be seen.
“The sunlight and the missing floorboards will help with your footwork and your attention,” he says as he holds out his sword and points the sharp tip at me. “Are you ready?”
Nervous, I glance about the attic. Another patch of sun cuts across my right, dangerously close. If I move thewrong way, I can quickly look like Lysander’s hand. Or with one wrong step, I can fall through the ceiling to the floor below.
Am I ready? Absolutely not.
Before I can even raise my weapon or answer, Lysander takes two quick swipes at me. I’m forced to leap sideways, my body meeting with the sun. Immediately, I’m hit with pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Like thousands of little sharpened needles are being stuck into all my exposed skin—my hands, my face, my neck, all at once. Clumsily, I jump again out of harm’s way, only to lose my footing to avoid a missing board and almost topple over.
“Watch yourself!” Lysander demands. “You must be aware of your surroundings as well as yourself.”
It takes me a second, but I’m able to right myself again. Lysander’s sword is too quick to allow me any time to fully recover. I scramble away just before the blade can catch my shoulder.
Breathing hard, I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you trying to kill me?”
