“A cemetery.”

Under my hands his body shook. Laugh at me, will you? I grabbed a bit of flesh over his abs and twisted it. “You know what I mean. Do we call it the lair, the training grounds, palace of death, Hogwarts 2.0?”

He smacked my hand away. “The Hollows, that’s what we call it.”

Great. Everything was called the Hollows. The group. The training place. The road it was on. Lack of imagination if you asked me. Which of course, no one had.

Two minutes later, we were once more underground in the main room of the Hollows’s training area.

We were the last to arrive, and everyone watched as I stumbled in after Sarge. Corb’s jaw hung open. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I left her behind to get . . . some girl things.” Sarge grimaced. “She had a run-in with Jinx. And she spent all her money on books and clothes, so she has no weapons. Good luck with that, Eammon.”

Eammon took one look at me and motioned for me to sit next to him. I started to lower myself but then saw that no one else was sitting. Damn it. “I’ll stand, thanks. And I have a weapon. Two, actually.”

I patted my bag and the two daggers clinked.

Sarge snorted. Then sniffed the air. “Wait a minute, where have you been?”

I’d sat behind him on the bike, but it occurred to me that he wouldn’t have smelled me then, with my butt sitting behind him. I grinned. “You tell me.”

Eammon clapped his hands together. “Enough, both of you. Training begins now. Put on your working clothes, get your weapons on, and start with three laps of the graveyard.”

My turn for my jaw to drop. “I just ran across half of downtown with a giant bug chasing me!” I spluttered.

“Then you’re all warmed up.” Eammon’s green eyes twinkled at me. Yes, I knew eyes were not supposed to twinkle, but they did, and I wanted to smack him for it.

Damn leprechaun.

I glanced at the other trainees and laughed to myself when I saw that they were all standing there, not moving.

The girl put her hand up. “I didn’t buy any clothes. I just bought weapons.”

Corb gave her a push. “Then put them on and get running.”

I, on the other hand, stripped to my underwear where I stood and pulled on the new clothes Gerry had made for me. The soft, supple leather clung to every curve, but wasn’t hard to get on. Some subtle netting strips ran down the legs of the pants, which would help with cooling me off—a necessity not only for the heat, but for the fact that I was going to sweat like crazy. The top was actually a snug-fitting jacket that I reluctantly pulled on over my tank top, buckles cinching it shut.