Poison Flowers by Nat Burns Read Free Book Online Page A

striking woman she was. And how muscular. She dominated the lobby completely. There was a type of energy emanating from her, a kind of low hum that Marya sensed more than heard.
    Unnerved by the energy as well as the calm gaze, Marya tried to focus on the woman’s appearance and found it very hard to do. She noticed that the short cap of hair was snow white, with just a wisp of darker color around the temples. Her skin bore healthy color, the ruddy tan of much time spent outdoors, and this contrast was further enhanced by those piercing blue eyes.
    The woman was dressed in a master’s uniform, black trousers and tunic, speckled with various patches of achievement and rank. Marya knew then that she was looking at Dorcas Wood.
    “Miss Wood,” she stammered, her throat inexplicably dry. “My name is Marya Brock. I’d like to study with you.”
    Master Wood’s gaze wavered a bit but remained cautious. “Have you studied before?”
    “Yes, four years under Master Hayes in Seattle, Washington.”
    Master Wood nodded. Oddly enough, she seemed to be studying Marya’s shoes.
    “Rank?”
    “First black.”
    She turned to the desk and opened a drawer. “Which means
Kebong
?
Il jang
?
E jang
?
Sam jong
?
Sim jong
?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Marya sighed, glad the forms and stylized dances of this school were the same as her old school. “All of those and currently
O jong
. Also the fighting forms,
sabong chucks
.”
    She nodded, her mouth twitching in what Marya took to mean approval, and pulled a form from the drawer. “Anything else?”
    “I’m trained in
hapkido
.”
    Master Wood turned her full attention on Marya, her eyes cutting through her like a knife. “Ah, the grappling art.”
    She paused a long beat. “Tell me. How does it make you feel to know that you can disable a person in seconds with this skill?”
    Marya chafed under the question, remembering all the hard work it took to learn the subtleties of movement
hapkido
required. Yes, it was a very dangerous art, but she owed the master no apologies. “I feel grateful I can protect myself should the need arise,” she said finally.
    Master Wood was watching her again and silence stretched taut between them. Marya waited her out. Eventually, the master handed her the form. “Everything you need to know about fees and rules is here. Please fill out the bottom part and bring it with you when you come to class.”
    Marya took the form.
    “Now, tell me why you are really here,” she said abruptly.
    Marya quaked inside, then realized the master must have seen the notebook clutched in her hand. “I…I’m to interview you.”
    “Interview me?” Her smile was brittle, her voice sarcastic.
    “Yes, for the newspaper,
The Schuyler Times
. About your life…”
    ‘‘My life…” She shook her head from side to side with eyes closed, then looked at Marya. “What do you know about my life?”
    “Nothing. That’s why…” She shrugged, feeling suddenly helpless.
    “So you thought you’d trot on down here and open up old Dorry like a can of peaches. Then invite the whole county in to have a look inside, see what makes Dorry tick. Is that right?” Master Wood waited for an answer, her glare belligerent.
    Anger swelled inside Marya. “Now, look here. I was just given the assignment…”
    “No, miss, you look here.” Fury darkened the master’s gaze and abrupt fear surrounded Marya’s own anger. “I’m sorely tired of you reporters sniffing around after me like dogs after a bitch in heat. People who know me know I like to be left alone. It’s just you new, pasty-faced, snot-nosed little reporters who are stupid enough to take the bait—to come down here and pull my chain. Now, don’t you feel stupid? I’m sure old Ed Bush is down there just laughing his fool head off at you.”
    Her sarcastic tone bludgeoned Marya, knocking off pieces of confidence as surely as any real weapon. Marya’s face flushed and equal parts of anger and hurt raged within