“A little.”

“Do more. Planks, chaturanga, use your own body weight. Don’t do the same thing every day. Switch it up, but do something every day. Increase the time until you’ve got real muscle fatigue.”

“All right.”

“What?” he demanded when she just kept looking at him.

“We’re having an actual conversation you initiated.”

He shrugged, drank some beer. “No point in conversations unless you’ve got something to say. You held your own last night. Part of that’s the knife Bran gave you. But most of it’s because you’ve got guts. I’d’ve said you didn’t the day I met you.”

“You wouldn’t have been wrong.”

Those sharp green eyes took her measure, straight on. “Yeah, I would’ve. I’m coming from the outside. You formed your group—not long before I came into it, but you’d formed it. You’re the glue.”

“I’m the . . .” The idea surprised her into silence.

“That’s right. And what you said this morning, that was right. Truth is truth, even when you don’t want to hear it. Everyone’s not going to just fall in line, because people just don’t, especially people who’ve had their own agenda for a while. But you were right. We went out there last night and we fought off an attack. We were lucky because we weren’t fighting as a unit. That’s got to change, and that’s something I can help with.”

“How?”

“Battle plans, Blondie. Training. Discipline.”

“That sounds . . . military.”

“That’s why soldiers fight the wars.” He started to flip up the lid on one of the pizza boxes.

Sasha laid her hand on it, kept it closed.

“We eat together—that’s training, too, isn’t it?”

“Okay. Better eat inside. Storm’s coming in.”

“Then let’s go tell the others.” She started out, looked back until he shoved away from the counter to come with her. “Can I try out your other crossbow?”

“It’s got a hundred-eighty pull weight. Even beefed up, you couldn’t cock it.”

“I’d still like to try it.”

“Push-ups,” he said.

The first rumble of thunder sounded as she started up the stairs.

By the time they’d all gathered around the kitchen table, the sky hung dark and broody. With the quickening flashes of lightning, the thunder rolled closer on a hard wind.

“Nothing like a good storm,” Riley said. “Unless it’s pizza.”

“Even bad pizza’s good.” Sawyer lifted a slice, bit in. “And this ain’t bad.”

Watching him, Annika picked up a slice, took a careful bite. “It’s wonderful.”

“Best pizza? Where?”

“New York,” Bran said immediately, and Riley shook her head as she chowed down.

“This little mom-and-pop in a little hillside village in Tuscany. Amazing. Sash?”

“I had some really nice pizza once in Paris.”

“French pizza?” Sawyer snorted. “Forget about it. Neck-and-neck between New York and this trattoria in Florence. How about you?” he asked Annika.

“This,” she said, and took another bite.

“Kildare,” Doyle said when everyone looked at him.

“Irish pizza?” Riley grabbed another slice as she laughed. “That’s below French pizza.”

“In a restaurant run by Italians,” he added. “It wins because it was unexpected.”

“Speaking of winning,” Sasha put in. “We should talk about the idea that we won last night because Nerezza was testing us. Doyle brought up the need for battle plans, for training.”

“Training?” Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

“Bran does what he does.” Doyle took another slice from the same pie as Riley—the one loaded with sausage and pepperoni. “That’s a specific skill set nobody else here can train for. But Sasha had it right. We went into last night individually. We can’t risk that again. We need to know what Bran has . . . up his sleeve.”

“You’re right on that.” Bran nodded, poured wine. “And you’ll know from here and on. We need strategies and plans. If we only react, more, react individually, we’ll lose.”

“No argument, but what training?” Riley continued. “I’m already working with Sasha and Annika on hand-to-hand, defense. And after today, we know Sasha’s a regular Daryl Dixon with a crossbow.”

“Crossbow?” Sawyer paused with a slice halfway to his plate. “How did I miss that?”

“Who’s Daryl Dixon?” Sasha asked.

“The Walking Dead,” Sawyer supplied. “You can handle a crossbow?”

“Apparently.”

“Handle, my ass. It was thwang!” Riley mimed the shot. “Bull’s-eye. I’d stick with her in any zombie apocalypse.”

“I appreciate that, but I think Doyle means we need to start working, and training, together. We’ve made noises about being a team. We need to train like one. Bran’s teaching me about what he uses to make medicines, so I can help there.”

“I could learn,” Annika said. “I like to learn.”

“You should all know the basics. What potion, what salve, what tincture for what injury. You all know basic first-aid of the ordinary sort,” Bran added. “But we’re not dealing with ordinary.”

“And if you’re injured, we wouldn’t know what to use. Okay,” Riley agreed. “We take time for some magickal medicine lessons.”

“Other skill sets have to play. You and Sawyer?” Doyle shook his head, reluctant admiration. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen better shots, and you both keep a cool head. You start target practice with the others.”

“I don’t like the guns,” Annika said quickly.

“You don’t have to like them, gorgeous, you just have to learn to handle one. And you’ve got some moves.”

“I’d pit her against Black Widow. I’m going to buy a shitload of graphic novels for you guys,” Sawyer said when both Annika and Sasha looked blank.

“You need to teach Sasha, refine Riley—you’ve got moves of your own, but Annika’s faster, smoother.”

“Yeah? And what about you? Bran, Sawyer?”

“We’ll all work on it. And on hand-to-hand. Training,” he repeated. “We need to put a couple hours a day, at least, into it. Sasha can make a schedule.”

“I can?”

“You started it, Blondie. You were right, now you follow it through.”

Riley polished off her second slice. “You’ve got a lot to say tonight, McCleary.”

“Because I’ve got something to say.” Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed hard behind it, causing Apollo to belly under the table until his head lay on Riley’s feet. “I’ve fought with you twice, and what I’ve seen is a lot of skill, and no unity.”

“So we hone the skills, and unite,” Sawyer finished. “I’m behind that. On the united front, I think—”

“Sorry.” Riley pushed up. “I’m going to have to eat and run.”

“Run?” Sawyer looked toward the window as the rain started in a gush. “Where?”

“To my room to start. It’s nearly sundown, and since I’d as soon not strip down here in the kitchen, I’m going up.”

“You can come back,” Sasha told her. “You don’t have to stay closed in your room.”

“Yeah, I get it, appreciate it. I’m going to need to run. Storm or no storm, I’ll need to run off the initial energy. I’ll be back. If there’s any pizza left over, I’ve got dibs on it at sunrise.”

She grabbed a third slice and headed out with Apollo close to her side.

Bran looked after her, then back at Sawyer. “You were saying?”

“Ah . . . I lost track. I guess . . . unity. I’m all in on weapons training. Where’d you get the crossbow?”

“Doyle,” Sasha told him. “He has two.”

“Ever used one?”

Sawyer shook his head at Doyle. “But I’m all about it. After last night, I’m going to need more ammo. I expect Riley could use more. Looks like we need a supply list, and what we could call a supply officer. I’d nominate Riley there. She has the most contacts.”

“Supplies are more than weapons. It’s food,” Sasha pointed out. “Household supplies.”

“I could nominate myself. Or you. What about your kind of supplies?” Sawyer asked Bran.

“I’m taking care of it. There would be some things we can acquire as easily as household supplies, but some I’m sending for. We’ve picked up most of the duties around the house and grounds, but I suppose we could be more organized about it.”