Page 74 of Slayer

“I cannot teach instinct,” Celia said. “It’s something a hunter has to carry inside them if they want to survive in the field. You’re going to face situations where there’s no time to think, no time to ask for help. Your instincts will either keep you alive or…” She let the words hang, her gaze sweeping over us. “But I can teach you accuracy and precision. Those are skills. Those are earned. And tonight, these third-year hunters are going to help me.”

She smiled as the hunters moved to the crates and began pulling out life-size wooden mannequins. They were topless with X marks where I assumed their hearts were, the red paint stark against the light wood.

“If you can learn to hit a vampire’s heart on every strike, even under pressure, you’ll be a very successful hunter and live a long life.” She pointed to one of the mannequins. “Aim for the left side of the chest, about two to three inches left of the sternum between the fourth and fifth ribs. Roughly below the left nipple.”

Each hunter brought a mannequin over in front of a student, and we faced it, stake in hand. The field filled with the shuffling of boots and nervous breaths.

“Let’s begin!” Celia said.

This was my greatest weakness. Knowing where the heart was and hitting it each time. I fisted my stake, and the hunter paired with me held the mannequin steady and gave me some pointers. I stabbed it right on the X and grinned when my metal stake dented the wood. We did this for about fifteen minutes, the rhythm almost calming, until Celia blew a whistle.

“Now if only every vampire was shirtless to give you an accurate view of where to puncture,” she said.

The hunters broke away and went back to the crates, returning with clothes for the mannequins.

Ugh. Just when I was feeling confident.

Mine got covered in a billowing floral top and thick coat, the fabric bunching awkwardly.

“Let’s try it now!” Celia called out.

I fisted my stake and drove it down into where I thought the heart was. My assigned hunter helper, Alex, chuckled playfully as he lifted up the billowing top.

Dang! I was, like, four inches off.

“The trick is to line it up with their nose or throat.” He dragged a finger down his nose to his throat and the little sunken part there and then to the chest. When he was in the center of the chest, he moved two to three inches to the left. “There.”

I sighed. This was harder than I thought.

“Try again,” he encouraged, covering up the X mark with the shirt again.

I stepped back, fisting my dagger, and then looked up at the mannequin’s face, drawing a line with my eye from the nose downward and then over three inches. Lunging forward, I slammed the stake into its chest, and it sank halfway to the hilt. The impact jarred my wrist.

The hunter beside me grinned. “Good job, Sinclair. That’s a bull’s-eye.”

“Really? How do you know?” I asked. The jacket and shirt were still in the way.

“I’ve been doing this a long time.” He winked, pulling up the mannequin’s shirt to show me.

He was right. It was a bull’s-eye.

Pride swelled in my chest, warm and surprising. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could get my hunter marks and become an actual hunter on the streets of New York City like Celia. Fight crime in Manhattan by night and then come home to a nice family here in Veil Haven every morning. It sounded like a dream, and I’d never wanted anything more.

“Okay, it’s getting too easy. Time to shake it up!” Celia declared after a few moments, and everyone groaned. I glanced over at Asher to see him watching me, but he looked away when our eyes met.

Alex dragged my mannequin back to the box, as did the other hunter helpers. Only one mannequin remained on the practice field: a slender woman who was missing an eyeball and wearing a baggy men’s suit, the fabric flapping slightly in the breeze. A few minutes later, they’d hooked the single mannequin up to a rig that allowed it to be pulled on a pulley system so it moved left and right in quick jerks.

“Now let’s see how your aim is when your subject is moving,” Celia told everyone.

We formed a single-file line to wait our turn as our assigned hunter helpers stood next to us, whispering words of encouragement or techniques.

Asher slipped in line behind me as Alex leaned in close. “So I have a trick I do when I’m not sure I know where the heart is. I call it the triple jab,” he said, pulling out his stake. “One, two, three in rapid succession a few inches apart in the area you think the heart is, and you won’t miss. You can’t be that off.”

“Oh, I can,” I assured him.

He grinned. “You’re a Sinclair. You’ll do great.” He winked and stepped away.

“Gag,” Asher whispered behind me.