you?”
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Hawa scowled at Renato.
Renato stepped forward, his fingers curled around his jacket lapel. “I certainly could, if I wished. Any of us could. The important thing is that Zanya makes the decision on her own. That she learns to accept who she really is. Who we all are.”
“I disagree.” Peter pushed his back against the couch.
“People don’t heal that fast,” Zanya said. “It’s just not possible. Now you tell me what’s going on, or I swear—”
“You’ll what?” Hawa shifted her weight, her hands balled into fists. “You’ll have no one to protect you if you so much as give him a shaving nick.”
“Zanya.” Tara’s voice caught her attention. Her friend slowly pushed out of her seat and extended her hand. “I know you. You aren’t a…” Her gaze flickered to the letter opener. “You’re not this person.”
The savage heat pulsing inside her was cooled by the tears welled in Tara’s eyes.
“Please, Zanya.” Renato slowly sat and relaxed into his char. “I’ll do my best to tell you exactly who we are and, more importantly, who you are.”
“‘We’re ancient superheroes’ is not an explanation.” She glanced at Tara, who had tears streaking down her face. Even though they didn’t know much about Renato or these people, Tara wanted to be here. She wanted to be anywhere but back at the orphanage. Zanya looked back to Renato.
She could either kill this Peter guy and make a valiant effort to run for it, or back off and hear the madman’s story. The latter seemed more realistic, considering the black-haired, snarky one was some kind of track star on crack. Plus, it wasn’t likely Tara was as willing to fight her way out, which would most likely mean leaving her behind. That was not an option.
Zanya tightened her grip on the letter opener and ground her teeth. “You’re not leaving me much of a choice.”
He smiled softly—a reassuring kind of smile. “We all have a choice, my dear Zanya.”
When she pushed off of Peter, he sucked in a breath and touched his throat where the blade had left a thin, red line.
“Oops.” She glared at Hawa. “I wouldn’t call that a shaving nick, wouldn’t you?”
Everyone watched in silence as Zanya moved to her friend’s side. They sat, and she took Tara’s hand. Zanya drew in a deep breath, working to recollect her composure.
A flash of color followed Hawa, who landed beside her in the blink of an eye. Then another streak cued her sprint back to her chair across the room.
It happened so fast, Zanya didn’t have time to react. She looked down at her hand, which was now empty.
“I’ll be hanging onto this.” Hawa sat, her legs crossed, playing with the letter opener between her fingers. “Sharp things are dangerous when they’re handled by idiots.”
“You should be extra careful then,” Peter mumbled.
Hawa’s eyes darkened. “Jerk.”
Renato leaned forward. “Let us not forget our history. We have had quite enough blood shed of our kind.”
“Our kind?” Zanya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. But the fact she had no weapon was a game changer. She’d have to shift gears. Play nice. Seeing she had plenty of experience with her psychiatrist, it was a role she’d become skilled at. “Go ahead.” She withdrew her focus from Hawa and trained it on Renato. “Tell me. Tell me who you think I am.”
Renato crossed his ankle over his knee. “What do you know about heaven and hell?”
She shrugged. “Whatever we learned in world religion and history classes.”
“Did you learn about the history of the Mayan civilization?”
“Just that they were famous for measuring time, medical treatments, and knowing a lot about astronomy. They were also barbaric. Practiced human sacrifices. Bloodletting. That sort of thing.”
“And what are their religious practices?”
“I really don’t remember. Can you get to the point?”
He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes
Learning to Kill: Stories