Veiled Spirits

Letting go of the portal, I watch it snap closed. Shoving my hands into my stolen hoodie pocket, I take off for the gym. Bishop falls into step beside me.

“You wanna spar or use a punching bag?” Bishop slings his arm around me as I walk. At six-foot-three, he towers over my five-foot-six frame. I poke him in the ribs to get him to remove his arm. With how much muscle he has, I doubt he even felt my jab. We start walking with me tucked into his side.

“Punching bag. I’m too angry to spar. I don’t want to break your pretty face. You need it to pick up chicks.” I grin up at him.

He just rolls his eyes at me. “You know I’m not picking up women.”

“You should,” I tell him quietly, earlier mirth gone. “Or dudes. I really don’t care, as long as you’re with someone.”

Bishop hums in disagreement but doesn’t say anything further. We walk the rest of the way in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts.

The red-brick front of the Poisoned Vine comes into view. I pick up my pace when I see the MMA gym’s black awning decorated with crimson thorns and lettering dripping with blood.

Bishop chuckles at my excitement. He pulls open the glass-and-metal door before waving me through. I practically skip inside.

It’s a huge space, complete with three sparring rings, a wall of punching bags, and a padded area for practice. The gym has black tile floors, black mats covering the walls, and red mats on the floor of the sparring rings and practice area. With the wall of windows and fluorescent lights in the industrial ceiling, the gym is well lit.

I start toward the hanging bags when a cheery voice calls out. “Hey, Izzy and Bishop!”

“Hey, Reggie,” I say with a smile as I turn toward the eager wolf manning the front desk. His curly brown hair complements his mocha skin and deep brown eyes. Reggie’s earnest smile makes it impossible to be in a bad mood.

Mages aren’t the only ones with magic. The same magic that allows mages to cast spells also powers animal shifters, like wolves and bears, fae, vampires, sirens, and more.

Usually, different magic users keep to themselves. But the Poisoned Vine is open for anyone, other than normal humans, to use. As long as the rules are respected. The average human has no idea we exist, so we try to keep separate from them.

The Poisoned Vine is owned by some wolves. That’s part of the reason I chose it. I’m sick of all the elitism of mages. When I’m on my own time, I don’t want to interact with a single mage, outside of Bishop and my family. No Hawthorne Grove mage would be caught dead in a wolf-owned gym, so I’m in the clear here.

“What are you doing tonight?” Reggie enthusiastically asks.

“Just some punching bag work,” I answer for both Bishop and me. Bishop usually only spars when I do. He likes to stick close to me, so he’ll likely take the punching bag right next to mine.

“Cool! The owners are going to be here tonight. Stop by before you leave, and I’ll introduce you!” Reggie is so excited at the prospect of introducing us that I don’t have the heart to refuse him. Giving him a small nod, I head over to the punching bags.

“Don’t forget gloves, Izzy,” Bishop calls. I nod, while having no intention of following his advice.

Shoving my earbuds into my ears, I put on my favorite gym playlist. “Dying For” blasts in my ears as I push up the hoodie’s sleeves, so they won’t get in my way.

I aim a bare-knuckled punch at the black bag hanging in front of me. My fist lands with a satisfying thud. My knuckles sting, but I don’t pay them any attention. Instead, I lose myself in the music and violence, punching out all my pent-up frustration from the week.

When my knuckles are too bruised and sore to keep going, I reluctantly step back from the swinging bag.

While beating up an inanimate object helped some, it didn’t do nearly enough to calm the storm raging in me. It’s a constant battle to keep all my emotions inside at school. Reacting to the insults and taunts will only encourage the power-tripping mages.

Any reaction chances letting my magic out to play. I have to use every shred of self-control I possess to keep my magic chained up when it wants to lash out at the other mages. While it would be satisfying to pay them back for the daily pain they cause, it’s not worth it.

Nothing is worth Bishop’s and my family’s safety.

The daily struggle against my magic is exhausting. Add in the lack of sleep from spending most nights crossing ghosts, and I’m hanging on by a thread. I can’t keep going like this much longer.

Something has to give.

I’m just not sure what.

Scrubbing my battered hands over my face, I attempt to force back the frustration and exhaustion trying to drown me. I refuse to cry here. Guys are so quick to judge a girl for crying. In a gym full of dudes who are already judgmental about me being the only girl, I don’t want to give them another reason to look down on me. Women like hitting things, too, so I don’t know why they’re so uppity over it.

“You okay?” Bishop asks as he stops in front of me, brown brows slanted in concern.

“Just peachy,” I mutter behind my hands. Letting my arms fall from my face, I don’t resist the hug Bishop pulls me into. He always seems to know what I need. It just makes staying away harder.