Chapter 30 #2
“Or waiting for your guard to drop,” I mutter.
“Exactly.” Luca winces. “Alistair has been gone more than he’s here—night and day. Do you happen to know anything about that?”
I frown. Part of me thought Alistair would tell them—confidentiality clause be damned. “I might be able to shed some light on that,” I say. “Let me check with someone first, though.”
Luca nods, and his hazel eyes rake over my face.
“What?” I ask. “Do I have strawberry seeds in my teeth?” I take a sip of my drink to cover my nerves.
“You look good, Ciprian,” Luca says. “Like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a few weeks, but it works for you.”
I blink, fighting the sudden urge to slump against him and find out if he’s as solid as he seems. I resist the urge. “Things are hard at home,” I admit.
Luca sits up straighter in the booth and braces one elbow on the table. “Are you in danger?”
“Worse,” I sigh. “People I love are.”
“Fuck, man, I’m sorry.” He glances down the hall in the direction Celine disappeared. “So you’re here on enclave business. I guess I thought . . .”
“What did you think?” I don’t bother to correct his assumption and clear my throat. It’s bone dry; despite the two drinks I’ve polished off.
“Nothing.” Luca pats my thigh before he stands. “I thought you might be back for unfinished personal business. It’s good to see you, Ciprian.” He ambles away, disappearing behind the bar before I can think of a damn thing to say in response.
The Mouth of Hell is packed. Like, half a dozen people might be crushed to death before the night is over, packed.
Shoulder to shoulder, Luca, Malach, and I push toward the cage. My ribcage is black and blue by the time we make it there. I rub my side and wince. “And I thought the fight was going to happen up there.”
“If we’d gotten here earlier, it would have been easier,” Luca says. “But Celine is a headliner now.”
“Make some noise for Tusker,” the emcee roars.
I snort. “Is he for real with that?” I caught some of Celine’s early matches, but I never paid much attention to the other fighters.
“Oh yeah,” Luca says. “You’ll love this.”
Malach nods at me, his green eyes dripping with sincerity.
They’re both right. Watching Tusker fight the startled witch is hilarious.
The shifter has a flair for showmanship.
I don’t know if I want to laugh or cheer when he ends the match by kicking his opponent in the balls with a hoof-sized pig foot.
“What is he?” I mutter.
“Unicorn pig,” Luca grunts. “Sounds dumb, but those tusks are no joke.”
Malach laughs as Tusker shifts into a hog the size of a small car and does a victory lap. The cage rattles noisily as he circles the fallen witch. The crowd goes wild.
“If they start oinking for him, I’m out!” I yell to make myself heard over the raucous cheers, stiffening when Alistair appears at my side.
“Wait until you hear what they chant for Celine,” he says.
“Funny.” I slant a glance at Luca, then address Alistair. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Luca chews on his lip ring and avoids eye contact with both of us. The shady fucker insinuated Alistair would be out of town tonight. Is he trying to Parent Trap us? If so, it won’t work. Alistair took things too far when he involved Sheena, and I can’t let it go.
“I never miss her fights,” Alistair says simply. “You look tired, Casanell.”
“And you look tan,” I drawl. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Malach bends to whisper in Luca’s ear, his rumbly accent carrying easily over the crowd. “Do either of them ever say what they mean?”
Luca grins and raises his voice to a obnoxious level. “I think it’s their version of foreplay, but I’m too scared to ask.”
Malach nods as if that makes perfect sense, and I roll my eyes. How cozy of them to share a joke together at our expense. I wait for Alistair to lose his shit, but he pretends he can’t hear them and focuses on the cage.
The lights shift—red at the base of the ring, orange in the middle, and blinking neon yellow at the top. Fire for my hot wings. It’s clever.
A sense of anticipation settles over the crowd, and someone starts a chant. It spreads fast until the entire warehouse is screaming, “Make me sin,” at top volume. Luca shakes his head, a muscle in Alistair’s jaw ticks, and I throw my head back and laugh.
“That’s perfect for her,” I shout.
“But inaccurate,” Malach says, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Sin is a foolish human construct.” Clearly, he’s been brushing up on the human lore about angels . . .
“Demon propaganda is annoying, too,” I say. “Do I look like I have horns and a tail?” Malach examines me, then shakes his head earnestly.
“Here she comes!” Luca points to a glowing red circle at the top of the cage. I squint, and my mouth falls open as Celine drops into the ring, her wings engulfed in flames. Probably thinking about Alistair . . .
Lips painted red, Celine’s makeup is sharp enough to cut. I groan as I notice the scraps of leather she’s wearing. They fit her like a second skin, showing off miles of muscles and curves. She’s upgraded her fighting attire since the last time I was here, and I am super into it.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one.
“Gods, I would fuck that smug look right off her face.” The guy behind us chuckles and drunkenly elbows his buddy. “She’d tap out before I even got started.”
Alistair stiffens at my side, but I’ve already latched onto the loser’s mind, draping my magic over every inch of his consciousness. His lesson will be quick and memorable.
I change nothing about his surroundings except for the cage—which I detach from the ceiling and move to hover directly over him before dropping it.
He falls to the dirty concrete floor, covering his face with his hands and twitching as he screams. People stare. Someone yells at him to shut up or get out. Drunk and dumb, he doesn’t deserve my best work, but terror I can give him.
I layer in the crack of splintering wood, a blanket of crushing darkness, and a spray of green sparks to simulate failing enchantments. He’s now experiencing an accurate simulation of what might happen if the witch magic protecting the cage really failed.
Finally, to give him the full experience of being crushed to death, I add a few bone-snapping sounds. And since a true artist never forgets practical effects, I shove my foot back and kick him in the face. That should do it.
A gentle, calloused touch on my face brings me out of the haze between nightmare and reality. I blink rapidly as Luca drops his fingers from my cheek and grins. I may not have horns or a tail, but the angles of my face do sharpen when I use my magic.
Most people don’t get the chance to notice.
The asshole’s friends drag him away, and we watch along with the rest of the nearby spectators. He’s still raving like a lunatic when I feel Celine’s eyes on me.
I meet her gaze, then shudder. Because she’s looking at me like she did in the bathroom, except this time there are no tears staining her face. For a second, everything slows down, and we’re the only two people who exist.
Eventually, Celine breaks away, pivoting to hype up the crowd on the other side of the ring. I feel the absence of her attention as if someone stole my coat on the coldest day of the year.
Her opponent enters the cage in a cloud of puce-colored smoke. I snort, because that’s one witch trick I’m more than familiar with. It sucks for this witch that their magic is such a gross color, because it’s more sickly than cool.
They shake hands. The bell rings. The fight begins.
It’s brutal.
After a few testing strikes, the witch goes on the offensive, hurling spikes of magic at Celine. Bobbing and weaving, she dodges them all. I’m exhausted just watching.
This is a stamina contest. The winner will be the one with more in the tank. When the witch’s chest starts rising and falling in frantic, staccato beats, I smile. Besides a light sheen of sweat, Celine shows no signs of fatigue. It’s only a matter of time.
Sure enough, the magical blasts get slower, and Celine doesn’t waste a single opportunity. A jab here, an uppercut there. When she leaps six feet in the air, I hold my breath, watching mesmerized as she drives her fist into the witch’s skull like a hammer.
Lights out.
I go crazy right along with the crowd.
Celine circles the cage and waves to her fans, but I’m fixated on the drip of sweat rolling down her neck. It trickles over the curve of her breast before disappearing into her leather crop top. I lick my lips and groan.
“Let’s go,” Luca says.
Nodding like a puppet on a string, I let him lead me through the crowd with one finger hooked in my belt loop. It’s sweet. And considerate. And I’m too into Luca’s attention to tell him I can keep up fine on my own.
The crowd thins as the four of us duck down a narrow hallway.
A metal door swings open, and Celine comes out with a few other fighters, including Tusker. He sees us coming first and wipes a drop of blood from his nose before tossing his arm over her shoulder.
“Your roster is here, Verity.”
“Shut up.” Celine shakes her head but doesn’t bother to knock the fucker’s hand off.
Glistening with sweat, her hairline is a darker red than the tips of her intricate braid. I force my eyes away from her to glare at the pig boy. “What was your stage name again?”
Luca groans and tosses an elbow at me that I dodge, but I’m still too worked up by the jerk in the crowd to care about his warning. If I want to be a prick to the sweaty oaf manhandling Celine, I will. He’s lucky I don’t drag him into a nightmare too.
Snapping my fingers, I raise my eyebrows. “Wait, I remember! Is it Ham Slam?”
Tusker’s eyes widen. “No, it’s—”
“Oinkzilla,” I exclaim, cutting him off.
He spits blood on the ground, then runs his tongue over his teeth before smiling at me and putting a pair of blunted, oversized incisors on display. “That’s not it either, man.”
“You’re right,” I groan. “I can’t believe I got it wrong again. That’s my bad, Mr. Hogfather, sir.”
“Ciprian,” Celine hisses, her brown eyes sparking with annoyance.
I don’t give a shit.
He’s still touching her shoulder.
Tusker sees where I’m looking and wisely drops his hand before offering it to me. “I’m Dominic, but where the fuck were you when I was trying to come up with a good stage name?” He points at Celine. “This one was no help at all.”
Dammit all to the monster realm and back. He’s fucking nice.
Reluctantly, I settle for shaking his hand instead of breaking it.
With a distinctly troublemaking grin, Dominic waves and walks away, whistling cheerfully. As soon as he’s out of sight, Celine advances on me. “Ciprian Casanell, I swear to the gods.”
“You invited me,” I remind her, backing away with my hands up. “And I’m glad you did. You were magnificent, hot wings!”
“Did I see you drag some random dude into a nightmare?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not sure. Did you?”
“I saw nothing unusual, angel,” Alistair says, holding a serious expression without breaking. Luca can’t manage it. After making a strange choking sound, he covers his mouth with his hand to hide his grin.
Malach steps to Celine’s side and begins meticulously removing the leather wraps from her hands. She shakes her head at me, then looks at him, her expression softening. “What about you? Did you miss it, too?”
Malach kisses her knuckles and grins. “As I told you, My Truth. The demon is worthy.”
Luca groans and I laugh. I’m really starting to like this guy.