Stunned, he landed hard, off balance, and rolled over to his knees. He looked at her in shock and rage, blood dripping down his chin. Leaping to his feet, he launched himself at her.

Annja dodged away, planting both hands in the middle of his back and shoving him into the ropes. He was tangled for a moment, cursing loudly and promising her that she was going to die.

Annja believed he meant it. She saw that Keshawn's friends were still struggling with other gym members.

He stood again, then came at her more slowly, trying to keep his hands up and use his size and reach, getting more canny now that his confidence was eroding. He threw punch after punch. Annja easily dodged them or blocked them, giving ground and drawing him to the middle of the ring. He breathed like a bellows.

Incredibly, even after her workout, Annja still felt fast and strong. Her breathing was regular, her mind calm. Eddie had been right. She hadchanged. She didn't know where the extra energy was coming from. She guessed anger and adrenaline had kicked in powerfully.

Annja stopped giving ground. Keshawn came at her with another flurry of blows. She stood still, moving her arms just enough to block everything he threw at her. Then – when he was tiring, gasping for breath – she struck back.

The right fist swept forward. Her first two knuckles slid through his defense and between the slits of his headgear. More blood gushed from his nose.

She lifted a knee into his crotch hard enough to raise him from the mat. Before he could fall, she swept her leg out and knocked the unsteady man's feet out from under him. He hit the mat hard.

Sirens wailed just outside the gym.

"You're done," Annja said in a slow, controlled voice. She felt much cooler than she would ever have imagined.

Annja watched as EMTs worked on Eddie Watts. Most of his injuries were superficial. He bled from his nose, split lips and a cut over his right eye. His left eye was swollen shut.

Uniformed police officers had taken Keshawn and his friends into custody. Detectives stood questioning witnesses.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Annja asked as she held Eddie's callused hand.

"I'll be fine, girl. When I came outta that fight with Cassius Clay, I looked worse than this." Eddie gave her a lopsided grin. "Don't know what you been doin', Annja, but what you just did?" He shook his head gingerly. "That was something special. Ain't ever seen nobody do that before."

Annja didn't know what to say. She couldn't believe everything that had happened. Over the years, she'd had to fight on occasion. Even in the past few days, she'd had to fight against the Brotherhood of the Silent Rain.

But this time wasdifferent. She had changed.

Hours later, after the police had finally released her and she'd checked on Eddie in the hospital, finding that the old boxer's daughter was with him, Annja returned home.

She took a shower so hot that it steamed up the bathroom, leaving fog on the glass walls and the mirror. Scrubbed and feeling clean again, she sat on the floor in the center of the loft with the lights out. She pulled herself into a lotus position, back straight, and breathed deeply.

Working slowly, knowing it would take time, Annja gradually relaxed her body. She breathed in and out, slowing her heartbeat, centering herself the way she had been taught.

She stared at the dark wall, then imagined a single dot on it. She focused on the dot until the city ceased to exist around her.

Something had changed about her, and she sought it out. In Eddie's Gym, she'd moved with greater speed and more strength than she'd ever possessed. Where had that come from?

Something had unlocked the speed and strength inside her. It wasn't just adrenaline. She'd been afraid before. She'd felt pumped from fear. But she'd never been that strong or that fast. The source was something else.

The image of the sword appeared in her mind.

Earlier that day, after she'd returned from lunch with Bart McGilley, she'd sat in her loft and tried to reach the sword the way she had in the back of the taxi. Nothing had happened.

Now she saw the sword perfectly. It was whole, resting once more in the case.

Slowly, Annja reached in for the sword, closed her hand around the hilt and drew it out. When she opened her eyes, the sword was in her hand.

It was real.

She stood slowly, afraid that it would disappear at any moment as it had in the taxi the night before.

Taking a two-handed grip, Annja started moving through one of the forms she'd been taught in martial arts. Her interest in swords had started early, before she was even a teenager. She'd learned forms for the blade in several disciplines.

In the quiet of the loft, in the darkness of the night with the moon angled in through the window, Annja danced with the blade. In no time at all, it felt as if she'd always known it, and that it was a part of her.

The ringing phone woke Annja. She blinked her eyes open and glanced at the clock beside the bed. It was 9:17 a.m. Caller ID showed it was Bart, calling from his personal cell phone.

"Hello?" she said, her voice thick.

"Sorry," Bart said. "I guess I woke you."

"Yeah, again." Annja sat up and reached for the sword. It was gone. She'd laid it beside the bed before succumbing to fatigue in the wee hours.

"I heard you had a late night and a little excitement," the policeman said. "I told you before that Eddie's Gym is a rough place."

"I like Eddie. He's a good guy," Annja replied.

"He is a good guy," Bart agreed. "But his place is in a bad neighborhood."

Annja pushed up out of bed and walked over to the window. She raised the blinds and peered out. The city was alive and moving. "I live in a bad neighborhood."

"I know. Anyway, I wasn't calling to gripe at you. I just wanted to know if you were okay."

"I am," she said. "Thanks for caring." Where does the sword go?she wondered, distracted.

"I heard Eddie's going to be okay."

"He will be."

"Good. Do you need anything?"

"No."

"So what are your plans?"

"I'm going to stay in all day and work on my segment for the show."

"Fantastic," Bart said. "The way your luck has been running lately, maybe it's in your better interests to keep a low profile for a while."

Annja smiled a little. "I resent that."

"Yeah, well, sue me. Right now, you seem to be quite accident prone."

"No more than normal," she said, laughing.

"Stay in, Annja," Bart said. "Stay safe. If you need anything, call me."

"I will. You, too." Annja broke the connection.

She put the phone away and looked for the sword again. It made no sense. She wondered again if she was losing her mind.

Had the sword really belonged to Joan of Arc? She had no way of knowing. But she wanted to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. She didn't believe in magic. But every culture she'd studied had very deep and abiding beliefs in the supernatural and incredible powers.

Taking a deep breath, she visualized the sword hanging in the air before her. She reached for it. When she closed her hand around the hilt, she felt it. It was real.

Walking over to the bed, she put the sword down and drew her hand back. The sword remained where it was. She sat down in the floor and watched it. Twenty minutes later, it was still there.

Deciding to experiment, she closed her eyes and wished the sword was not there, that it would return to where it came from.

When she opened her eyes, the sword was gone. Panic swelled within her. She couldn't help wondering if she'd wished it away and broken whatever mysterious force bound them.