Outfoxed (The Fox Witch #1) - R.J. Blain Page 0,38

about it,” I lied, hoping to put the man at ease.

“If you need references, I’ll make sure you have them. With so many people vying for the spots, you’ll need every advantage you can get. You having the deed from your landlord, may he rest in peace, will factor in your favor. I can have the reference form for you by the end of your shift, and I think you should take it, just because I don’t think we’ve hit the worst of this mess yet. They’re saying thousands are dead, and we might hit up to tens of thousands dead by the time the week is out. You take care getting to your cellar today, you hear me? The storms are starting earlier, and they’re starting off strong and lethal.”

Brent’s concern worried me enough I nodded. I could take the papers without finishing the application—or I could apply and hope the rules of Asylum would counter the bounty out for me.

Then again, I doubted men like Sandro would let something like Asylum stop him from bagging a fortune.

I liked challenges, except when the challenges could lose me everything. What was life without freedom? What would happen to me if I returned to the East?

I didn’t want to find out.

Sunday, May 3, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

* * *

After a busy morning at McCoy’s, the thought of a stint at Rising Sun Martial Arts Center tired me. The fear of the tornadoes having taken out the old Mongolian drove me across the outskirts at a jog. Jogging would likely keep the bounty hunters at bay, too. Sandro might give me some competition, but I hoped my luck would hold for a while longer.

My jog matched the run of most, and I could outlast even long-legged men with something to prove.

It was good to be a fox some days.

While Mother Nature had it out for Tulsa, she’d left the martial arts center alone, and I counted students through the window before stepping in through the door to get changed into the plain linens Batbayar provided everyone so we all stood equal on the mat.

Twenty-six students meant six new kids had joined the fray, and I couldn’t tell if he’d lost anyone in the latest swarm.

When we lost a student, our lessons took on a ceremonial tone, one of honor and memorial and grief.

I always left those sessions with a weary heart, teary eyes, and a desire to take on Mother Nature myself so she’d stop stealing from us when we’d done nothing to earn her hate. Changing into the linen robes offered a sense of normality, something that seemed odd at the end of a day filled with upheaval and death.

When I stepped into the studio, Batbayar lifted his hand, signaling that everyone should settle down and prepare for the lesson. Rather than move straight into his usual lesson-lecture partnered with exercises, we started with stretches partnered with meditation, something the Mongolian had stolen from the Chinese, adopting numerous techniques from taijiquan and a few from qichong to create something new. I’d asked him about his taijiquan and qichong once, but with a single shake of his head, I’d understood.

His past, much like mine, delved into dark waters. When he wanted to teach me those secrets, he would—or he wouldn’t.

Batbayar enjoyed his secrets.

“Today, I will teach your minds and your bodies, but more your minds than your bodies. Grief has touched us all this day. Some of you have lost friends. Some of you have lost family. Some of you have lost your homes. Today, we’re going to learn a method of coping with grief, one that goes beyond the rituals of remembrance to the physical. You will begin walking the path of the sword. You may have heard from the older students that lessons were beginning for them. They begin for you, too. Jade will be my partner today, and I will teach you all you need through her.”

While spars with Batbayar with the older kids counted as dangerous enough, with a room full of younger ones, he’d beat me black and blue and demand—and receive—perfection. The first steps of a child’s development as a martial artist required perfection. Everything they learned now would become a foundation for their future.

Understanding struck me, a blow as physical as the ones Batbayar would deal to me soon enough.

He gave them reason and purpose when the children were in dire need of both.

His teachings wouldn’t save any of us from Mother Nature, but perhaps it