Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Two levels below the boarded-up mansion, life buzzed and moved around the windowless rooms. The large bunkers were taller than I figured, making it possible to almost forget you were buried in the earth.
Not that I could. I despised being underground after months of being without the sun or stars, no fresh air, living in a tomb at Halálház.
Being down here prickled at me with deep-seated fear, like being covered with ants.
More than sixty people milled around the base, all dressed in dark clothes, but nothing that screamed “uniform.” A collection of shapes, colors, races, and species, most seemed to be in their twenties to thirties, but with fae, you never knew.
The modern underground bunker was larger than the square footage upstairs, telling me it was constructed well after the homes were built above. The large area was broken up into a training room, mess hall, computer room, offices and bathrooms, and bunk rooms were down a hallway.
“This is only some of us. Some choose not to live here. We have over a thousand fighters to our cause, but only about a hundred live here. Nothing compared to Povstat in Prague, but every day more join us.” Andris guided me through the bunker.
“This is what we call the hub or the brains of the operation.” Andris pulled me to a room where Ling sat, motioning us inside.
The space was packed with screens, machines, and other equipment I had no clue about.
The monitors displayed numbers and letters, maps, and what looked to be bomb materials.
“Intel, hacking, coding, buying black market items, researching for missions. This room is the crux and where we plan everything.” Andris pointed to the screens.
Ling tapped on a keyboard, along with several other people, none of whom even looked up when we entered.
“Wow.” I didn’t have to know a lot about computers to know this equipment was not only imported, but probably extremely expensive.
“This way is the training room.” Andris moved quickly, peering into the room. About twenty people worked out on the mats, perfecting moves. It reminded me a lot of my training at HDF, but here they looked more to be self-training, and there didn’t appear to be one lead instructor.
A huge guy darted for a girl only about five foot two on a mat. In two moves, the girl twisted his arm and flipped him over on his back.
Damn.
“Birdie?” Andris called to her. “Come here for a moment.”
She blew a piece of loose hair from her face as she strolled over, regarding me with annoyance.
She looked to be about my age, short, thin, but had a solid frame, with heavily lined light blue eyes and white-blonde hair, which hung to her ass even in a ponytail.
She had a nose ring and piercings up each ear.
Wearing all black, her entire persona was defensive and challenging.
Ready to fight you, as if she had spent her life proving she wasn’t weak, and being a pretty girl didn’t make her a target.
Something I understood. It didn’t make me like her, though.
“Birdie, Brexley.” He introduced us. The fastest forced smile slipped on and off her lips like water.
“Hi.” She placed her palms on her hips, then tilted her head. “Wait . . . Brexley as in the Brexley Kovacs?”
“One and the same,” I replied dryly.
“She’ll be staying here, and I thought you two could room together.” He seemed to ignore the tension between us. “She could follow your schedule.”
“What?” she exclaimed, already shaking her head. “Oh, hell no. I finally have a single room.”
“Birdie.” His tone was filled with the warning I remembered so well from my childhood.
“You know I don’t get along with people.” She glowered at him. “I’m not roommate material.”
“Neither am I.” I stared her down.
“I think you two have far more in common than you think.” He patted our arms. “Brexley, will you be okay? I have a few things to deal with.”
“Sure,” I replied. Birdie and I continued to glare at each other.
“Okay, I’ll check in with you later.” He rubbed my arm before strolling off.
Birdie crossed her arms, sizing me up. “Guess I thought you’d be . . . I don’t know . . . more. The illusive Brexley Kovacs seems a bit of a letdown.” She shrugged. “What kind of name is Brexley anyway?”
“What kind of name is Birdie?”
“It’s not my real name, but it fits me.” She took a step closer, testing me.
“While people are busy cooing about how cute and small I am, wanting to stroke my feathers, I swoop in and kick their ass. Want me to show you?” She gave me a pointed look before swiveling back to the mats, shoving a guy out of her way.
I changed my mind. I think I liked her.
An hour later, sweat dripped down my back as I reached over and grabbed a cup of water. I had jumped into training, peeling off my top layers, leaving me just in pants and a tank.
It felt good to work out at that level of intensity. It had been a while. And Andris had made sure everyone here drilled at a high level, even more seriously than HDF. They were not fooling around.
“You already done, X?” Birdie bounced on the mat, her face dripping with sweat.
Somehow her eyeliner still held in place, but her hair stuck to her face.
She had taken to calling me “X” for some reason.
The fae believed names held power and intimacy, and it had leaked into our generation.
Plus, it would have been stupid to link your real name to a radical group.
I doubted anyone here used their given name.
“Not at all.” I wiped my forehead. My muscles burned with fatigue, and I loved it. Birdie was small, but damn, the girl could fight. I knew she was fae, which made her faster and stronger, but I did my best to keep up.
“Have to say, you’re better than I thought.” She moved back on the mat, making room for me. “Especially for a human.”
“Thanks,” I replied dryly. “You too.”
She smirked.
“What are you anyway?”
“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask?” We started circling each other.
“Do I look like I care?” I shrugged.
“Well, you look like one of those girls raised with perfect social etiquette. A cloth napkin in her lap and separate play shoes.”
All fucking true.
“I was never really good at being that girl.” I stepped sideways, keeping the same distance away from her as we learned each other’s weaknesses. “And you look like someone who doesn’t give a shit about etiquette or what’s rude.”
She snorted. “I’m the lowest fairy you can get and still be considered fae.”
“Parents?”
“Strung out on fae-cocaine. The only thing they cared about was their next hit or beating me when they couldn’t get it.
I left when I was about ten and never looked back.
” We orbited each other, her strikes for me fast, but I dodged everyone.
“Since I already know about your tragic orphan tale, I say sharing time is over. Not that anyone here would feel a bit sorry for you. You had food and a warm bed, which is a hell of a lot more than most of us.” She darted in, her fist clipping my hip as I swiveled out of the way.
Her lids narrowed, her jaw rolling. She tried again as I dropped to the ground, kicking up.
My heel smacked her in the gut, flinging her back, thumping her hard to the ground. Her eyes widened in horror.
I moved faster than she expected. “You don’t move like a human.”
The other trainees stopped, their eyes on us, and their mouths dropped open in shock, then darted to me in bewilderment. The response had me thinking this had never happened to Birdie. She was clearly used to being the one who dropped people.
She bounded up quickly, her expression straining with fury.
She moved in, her anger blinding her to the obviousness of her move.
I leaped out of the way, my elbow ramming into her shoulder blade, my other hand striking her chin as I spun.
She didn’t fall, but heaved a grunt from her chest, whipping around to face me.
Murmurs and movement surrounded us as figures encircled us, their full attention on our fight. My focus drifted for a second, and she leaped for me, her fist cracking across my cheek. I stumbled back. Fire scorched up my face, the side of my mouth split. A trickle of liquid rolled down my chin.
Touching it, my fingers came away red.
Oh, hell no.
Diving for her, my hand struck fast, colliding with her kidneys, forcing her to bend over, a cry breaking from her lips.
“Damn, no one has ever taken Birdie down,” a man commented. “Five hundred forint on the new girl.”
“Six hundred on Birdie.”
Bets hurled around us, but their voices were distant, my focus on her. She was scrappy. Someone who grew up fighting dirty. I had been trained properly, but my time in the Games proved I could be as filthy.
Sweeping her leg, her boot sank into the back of my knee, my face slamming into the mat with a crack. I would feel the pain later, but adrenaline shoved it aside as Birdie jumped on me.
The crowd cheered and yelled, stirring intensity in the room.
Blood gushed from my nose, my insides festering with anger as her punch came down on the back of my neck.
With a violent flip, I rolled and tossed her off.
Birdie tried to bounce up, but I grabbed and flipped her before springing on her, pinning her.
My arm curved back, ready to deliver the final strike.
Her eyes blazed with resentment, blood drizzling across her chin. You could tell she was not used to being the loser.
She growled at me and would have come again, but an older woman stepped into the room and clapped. The room burst with commotion.
“All right. That’s enough,” the woman said. “Chow time!”
Begrudgingly, figures begin to step away. I let my attention wander.
Stupid rookie mistake.
Crack!