I raised the two swords—the Cherkassy saber was heavier and more curved, while Slayer was lighter and straighter—and began to chop, loosening the muscles. One sword a shiny wide circle in front of me, one behind me, reverse, picking up speed until a whirlwind of sharp steel surrounded me. Slayer sang, whistling as it sliced the air, the pale, opaque blade like the ray of a steel sun. I reversed the direction, switching to the defense, and worked for another five minutes or so; while walking, I turned and saw Barabas standing by the glass.

A weremongoose, Barabas was raised in the bouda clan. They loved him, but it soon became apparent that he didn’t fit into the werehyena hierarchy, so Aunt B, the alpha of Clan Bouda, had offered his services to me. He and Jezebel, the other of Aunt B’s misfits, acted as my nannies. Jezebel watched my back, and Barabas had the unenviable task of steering me through the Pack’s politics and laws.

Slender and pale, Barabas was born with a chip on his shoulder, and he made everything into a statement, including his hair. It stood straight up on his head, forming spiky peaks of brilliant orange and pretending that it was on fire. Today, the hair was particularly aggressive. He looked electrocuted.

“Yes?”

Barabas opened the glass door and stepped into the gym, his eyes tracking the movement of my swords. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes you scare me, Kate.”

“Barabas, you grow two-inch claws and can bench-press a Shetland pony. And you find me scary?”

He nodded. “And I work with some very scary people. That should tell you something. How do you not cut yourself?”

“Practice.” I’d been practicing since I was tall enough to keep my swords from snagging on the ground.

“It looks impressive.”

“That’s mostly the point. This is the style of bladework used when you’re knocked off your horse and surrounded by enemies. It’s designed to let you carve your way out of the crowd as quickly as possible. Most people will see you doing this and decide they should be somewhere else.”

“I don’t doubt it. What if it’s one super swordsman guy that jumps in front of you?” Barabas asked.

I raised Slayer and drew a horizontal eight with the sword, rolling my wrist.

“Infinity symbol.”

“Butterfly.” I sped it up and added the second sword below. “One butterfly higher, one butterfly lower, switch arms, repeat as necessary. Throat, stomach, throat, stomach. Now he isn’t sure what to guard, so either you kill him or he gets out of your way, and you keep walking until you’re out of the crowd. Did you want something?”

“Curran is here.”

I stopped.