Master Yi, despite using “karate” to describe his school, had been studying wah lum before Barb was born and was, or at least had been, a truly superior hand-to-hand warrior. If the kids were going to train with anyone local, she wanted it to be Master Yi. In fact, she often wished that she trained with Master Yi instead of with John. You didn’t get better by fighting someone who was your inferior. But, occasionally, she picked up something new.

Barbara followed up with a feinted kick and then two hammer strikes that were both blocked. But the second was a feint and she locked the blocking wrist with her right hand, coming in low with two left-handed strikes to the abdomen and then leaping out of range.

“Bitch,” John said around the mouthpiece.

“Had to call Allison on using that term,” Barb said, backing up and then attacking in the Dance of the Swallow. It was right at the edge of her ability and she nearly bobbled the complicated cross during the second somersault, but it ended up with Hardesty on his face and her elbow planted in his neck. “Don’t use it on me.”

“Christ, I hate it when you pull out that kung fu shit,” John said humorously, taking her hand to get back on his feet. “Bad week?”

“Yeah,” she admitted.

“Well, if you need to kick my ass to get it out of your system, feel free,” Hardesty said, taking a guard position. “I have to admit that fighting you is always interesting. Anything in particular?”

“No,” Barbara admitted as they closed. This time two of Hardesty’s rock hard blows got through her defenses, rocking her on her heels, and she was unable to grapple either one of them. She’d take a blow if it meant she could get a lock; once she had most opponents in lock she could turn them into sausage. But she could feel her concentration slipping and she disengaged. “I’m just tired,” she said, stretching and rubbing at her pads where the blows had slipped through.