3. TALIESIN
Another fucking day in this hellhole.
It’s gotten easier since I stopped giving a shit.
Whoever Taliesin Bevan was when he walked through those gates a year ago is dead and buried. Now, I’m just Taliesin. Bossman of the Gravediggers.
As such, it’s on me to notice problems before they get out of hand. And today, something is scratching at my hind-brain, but I don’t yet know what the danger is.
I’d noticed the shift the moment I stepped into the yard this morning. It’s something to do with the attitude of the guards.
Usually, bored indifference is their MO, but not today.
Why are the screws on the catwalk walking with a new swagger?
And they’re packing heavy. Suppression darts as well as the usual rifles. That’s enough gear to shut down an Elite magic convention.
Why waste the budget? It’s not like the Guild are going to suddenly reignite their sparks. I just don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it. When things don’t make sense, I pay attention.
Speaking of things that don’t make sense, a fat, hand-rolled smoke whistles through the air toward my head. I snatch it out of the sky and look around.
Oh Gods.
A couple of rows below me, the Demented-Digger Twins, Keisha and Alanna, are looking at me with a feral sort of hunger. Keisha winks and Alanna blows a kiss.
No thanks, Ladies.
They’re in for carving up their parents. The abusive fucks deserved every one of the hundred-odd stabs they got, but the fallout left the girls… unstable. It’s a package deal with those two: one sister leaves you screaming, the other leaves you bleeding.
Beside me, Clay lets out an ear-piercing whistle. “Fresh fish, Boss.”
The chant starts up, and I look down into the center of the yard at the two newcomers. A weak-looking boy, who is not sobbing yet, but he’s vibrating with a frantic, cornered energy. He looks like a lower-status witch trying to summon a lawyer with his mind.
Dimitry is welcome to him.
And the girl? She’s something else.
Stalking into the middle of the No-mans-land like she owns the concrete. Medium height and a fragile frame, with a waterfall of tangled pale blonde hair. She doesn’t look to her left or right, just comes to a halt dead center, head held high.
“Look at the balls on her,” Clay mutters. “Can’t see that arrogance lasting long.”
It won’t.
The pretty ones usually choose the Canary life, but she’s wearing red, and obviously Elite.
Superiority oozes from her pores. We hardly ever get her kind down here. Well, she’ll find out soon enough exactly how much her previous status is worth in this shithole.
I look across the space to meet eyes with Dimitry, King of The Guild. Perched next to him is his girl, Odessa. She’s a nasty little thing, black hair cut like an emo-Cleopatra and a temperament that matches—shrewd and blood-thirsty.
I flap my hand at Dimitry. No challenge.
The Diggers don’t take witches. Even if we did, a piece of temptation like her would start a civil war on my block before lights out. I don’t need the headache.
Dimitry sends his number two, Gleb, down the bleachers and into the red zone.
I’m interested in how this will play out. So is everyone else.
The yard goes silent.
“Hello, little fishes.” Gleb’s voice echoes around the concrete walls.
“Welcome to hell. Now here are the rules.” He moves toward the boy first. “You want into the Guild? Convince us. You got money? Power? Or are you just another No-man?” Gleb spreads his arms wide.
“And take a look at the no-men. They live in this strip of no-mans land. They have no rights and no protections.”
He beckons to a small kid in red who’s looking at his feet trying to not be noticed. “19, get over here.”
19 shuffles forward in his too-big red scrubs and slippered feet.
“Do you like being a no-man, 19?” Gleb asks, projecting his voice.
The boy shakes his head.
“Did you fail to impress us?”
The kid nods, looking fucking miserable.
Gleb pushes him away then kicks 19 in the stomach, a standard performance to illustrate the fate of the no-men.
Gleb turns, and clamps a hand on the new kid’s shoulder. “So, you first,” he says. “What do you bring to the Guild’s table?”
The boy wipes sweat from his lip, eyes darting around for help that will not come. I see him wince as Gleb squeezes tighter. “Speak! My patience is wearing thin.”
“OK, OK, Um, well my name is Julian Walters, and um, my dad has a powerful position…”
“Go on.”
“He’s Deputy Registrar for the Havengard Licensing Bureau,” the boy splutters out.
Gleb sneers. “A Deputy? You’re offering us a pencil-pusher, 28? Why should the Guild care about a man who couldn’t even keep his own son out of here?”
“He didn’t try to keep me out—he sent me here!” The kid’s voice raises. “Please, I’ll explain. There’s an election coming up. He needed to look ‘tough on crime’ for the votes. He sacrificed me.”
The muttering in the yard shifts. Everyone in Quo knows what it’s like to be the trash a family throws away.
“But he’s got secrets,” Julian rushes on, desperate now. “I’ve got proof he’s been taking backhanders to pass permits. He’ll do whatever I say to keep his secret. And if I become a Guild member, then he’ll have to do whatever you say too.”
Gleb looks up at Dimitry.
It’s a simple play, but a powerful one. Dimitry gives a slow, calculating nod.
“A boy with a grudge,” Gleb grins. “Welcome to the family, Walters. Let’s hope Daddy stays in office, or your value is going to drop real fast.”
One down, one to go.
The girl.
It’s not like I’m heartless, but I’ve got to keep the peace on my block. The five women we have already cause enough headaches, and none of them are delicate little Barbie Dolls. The direct opposite in fact.
Gleb is up in the Princess’s face now.
At first she doesn’t flinch, but then the ugly Russian runs a finger down her body, tracing a line from her lips to her breast. Her hand whips around and the crack of her palm against his cheek brings a shocked, absolute hush to the yard.
Gleb doesn’t even blink. He just slaps her back, the force of it nearly taking her off her feet, before he starts circling her like a shark.
“You have a temper, 27. We don’t like that in our women. We like them submissive. Bend the knee to the Guild and you’ll always have protection from the animals over there.” He waves a hand at the Diggers.
My boys shout back, cursing his name, but I stay silent. I’m watching her chin. She lifts it higher, showing her disdain. I wish I could see her eyes.
I know there’d be fire in them.
“Get on your knees right now,” Gleb yells.
I half expect her to refuse, and even though it’s the wisest choice, I’m a little disappointed when she gracefully lowers herself to the ground.
As Gleb reaches for his zipper, the whoops and whistles from the Guild bleachers become deafening. Rice stands up and yells in my direction. “Fuck, Boss. It’s almost worth a challenge for a mouth like that. Can I?”
“No.”
Fucking Rice. I can’t wait until he’s out of here.
Gleb fists her hair, hauling her face into his crotch. He’s grinning around the yard, so fucking pleased with himself.
I want to look away but I can’t.
But the next second he’s screaming—a noise so high it sounds inhuman.
“Holy fucking shit!” Clay jumps up. “She bit his dick off!”
He’s right. Gleb falls to the floor, as the girl stands. Then she spits a mouthful of blood into the dirt and wipes her chin with the back of her hand.
Fuck.
Stupid bitch. Dimitry is not going to allow that disrespect. He can’t.
And there we go. The Guild leader stands, descending the bleachers with a rigid, cold annoyance.
Meanwhile, Odessa looks on with delight, a cruel, predatory smile stretching her red lips.
She doesn’t look horrified; she looks like she’s just been handed a front-row seat to a hanging, and she was going to enjoy every second of the Princess’s demise.
If King Dimitry is stepping in, her demise is possible. This girl is in more trouble than she can imagine.
“27,” Dimitry’s voice booms in his heavy Russian accent. “You have committed a crime against the Guild. For that, you will be punished.”
The girl crosses her arms, Gleb’s blood still smeared across her chin.
She tosses her pale hair, looking every bit the defiant queen.
“Fuck you, asshole,” her high, clear voice echoes around the space.
“Fuck you, and all the assholes you rode in on.” She spits again.
“And my name is not 27. It’s Aurora Drakeward. And I kneel for no man.”
Oh, shit.
Aurora Drakeward? The sister of Cosmo?
I owe Cosmo Drakeward a debt that can never be repaid. He’s the reason the stolen Ashgrave kids made it home. I picture the moment he flew into this very prison yard in his shifted form; a golden dragon, glowing with internal fire.
Yes. A fucking dragon.
Even though innate magic is impossible.
Am I supposed to sit here and allow his sister to be raped and tortured in a manner that will break her forever?
No. I can’t do that.
Shit.
Dimitry’s cold gaze is assessing, probably sizing up every advantage owning her will bring him. I look at her standing there, freezing and alone, but still full of fire and I feel just one thing.
Protect.
But fuck, what about the Diggers? The peace I’ve built in the sub-levels is a fragile thing. Routine is the only thing that keeps us from eating each other. And this girl? She’s every reason my men have for hating the world. A five-foot-five, beautiful, blonde arrogant insult.
I see the sneer on Layla’s face and take a final drag of my cigarette. This is a bad idea, but I don’t have a choice.
Fuck.
I stand and shout. The one word cutting through the whistling and jeers.
“CHALLENGE.”
The yard goes deathly quiet. Dimitry slowly turns his head, his eyes narrowed into slits. My own men stiffen, confused and scowling.
“Cool heads,” I murmur to Clay before I walk down the steps and into the No-man-zone.