The Infernal Games

by Reed Logan Westgate

  She casually tossed the garment in the hamper, which was nearing capacity, but she dreaded getting stuck in the common laundry room with Amber chattering away like a squirrel on energy drinks. Shaking her head resolutely, she decided the laundry could wait for tomorrow. She stripped off her matching wine-red bikini briefs, adding them to the overflowing hamper before turning the shower to hot. She hesitated only a moment to view her arm in the mirror and note that the magical nightmare energies, while destructive to her sheets, had already begun repairing the burn damage from the day before. The blistered spots from the morning were now scabbed over and shrinking to almost half their original size. The nightmares not only fed her body strength but also allowed for regenerative healing that would make most TV superheroes jealous. Clenching her fist tightly, she could feel her strength returning, and she smiled at her form in the mirror. She wished her breasts were larger. Not as large as Amber’s, which screamed “plastic enhanced,” but at least a size bigger would expand her options; her small athletic build often left her searching the young adults section for garments that would fit correctly. There were only so many options that didn’t include hearts and unicorns on the front.

  Nevertheless, she would have made a great cheerleader or swimmer had her father allowed her to participate in any school sports. He always raved and ranted when she begged that having a tint of the Otherworld in her blood meant she must live a life of concealment, else the government would come for them. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed in the whole shadowy government paranormal FBI like her father did. It sounded far-fetched, and that was coming from someone who spent her nights punching ghouls and squids. Still, the threat remained, so she meandered through school as a nobody, barely even a social pariah. Not only had she been the new girl at the high school in Boston at the tender age of fourteen, but she was tall for a girl, with a strong build. She had been mocked and teased, often called an Amazon or butch, and many times her classmates had just assumed she was a lesbian. Teenagers suck.

  She jumped in the shower, shaking loose the memories and attempting to focus on the challenges ahead. Oxivius would meet her at Pandora’s, just as they had agreed. They would head to the alley and from there try to track down squid-guy. She vowed that this time would be different. The cephalopod had enjoyed the element of surprise the last time they had met. She had wounded it, but she hadn’t been ready for its tentacles, the acid burns, or the ink spray it had shot from its... wherever. This time, Oxivius would be there for support, whatever that meant, and she would be prepared, not mesmerized, by the swirling grossness that was the squid’s ass-button.

  Reaching for the shampoo, she noted it was almost out and cursed again at her bad luck and stupid dependence on the waitress job needed to keep her financially afloat. She couldn’t miss another shift or she would be canned, another pink slip in a long line of pink slips that marked her adult career. She had her diploma from Boston High, just like any other girl, but it was hard to focus on a career doing anything knowing about the Otherworld. Deep down, she was jealous of some of the authors who were able to parlay their knowledge of the Otherworld into best-selling books and movies. Surely they had found a better way to forge a path as an adult than to serve tourists and drunks at a rundown fish joint in beautiful coastal Maine. She shrugged again at the absurdity of her sitting for hours before the dull glow of a computer screen typing out stories about wizards, vampires, and werewolves, perhaps even a screenplay for which she could get some handsome actor to step in and play the seductive and dangerous villain. The sparkly vampire and lustfully sexy werewolves had become the latest tropes in literature, with movies and books glamorizing every aspect of the legendary monsters. The humans ate it up in a gluttonous slobber that was only rivaled by their ravenous consumption of fast food and soft drinks.

  She had fought a werewolf in Boston, which had caused her to get relocated to Maine with some help from Valeria. There was nothing sexy about the curled maw, the distorted hands, and the scythe-like talons that grew from the fingers. The werewolf she had fought had no sexy human form marked with washboard abs and a debonair smile that would make an orthodontist swoon. It was a hellish creature, a distortion of a wolf. It walked on two legs, but that was about as human as it got, with long powerful arms dangling from a thick torso. Its head was a snarling muzzle of yellow teeth behind dripping blood and gore. Most hunted in packs, but the wolf in Boston was a stray. They liked hearts and organ meat, eviscerating their victims before returning to the Mist. Powerful and massive, the creature lacked any human form. Over the years, the legends had added the whole human schtick, probably to sell more books and sex them up a bit. It was as if somewhere along the way, shapeshifters had blended into the werewolf lore.

  She reached out to the faucet and cut off the running water. Awake and ready, she dried quickly with a soft white monogrammed towel she had pilfered from one of the local tourist trap hotels, which had been yet another pink slip in her illustrious career. Tossing the towel on the hamper was the last straw for the overflowing basket; it tumbled over, spilling about the bathroom floor. She shook her head in raw frustration and stormed out, leaving the mess for after her night’s festivities. She quickly crossed her studio living room, lifting the pullout bed back into the sofa before making her way to her closet. When she wanted to be attacked, she dressed provocatively to attract attention, to look like prey.

  Tonight she was the hunter, and she grabbed her black high-waisted yoga pants with the mesh cutout panels on the thighs and slipped them on. They were functionally good for running and allowing her maximum range of movement for kicking. She grabbed her best sports bra and topped it with a purple tank top that fit snugly, pausing to throw a few punches to make sure everything stayed where she needed it to. She completed the outfit with a sleeveless gray hoodie and her running sneakers. She scooped up her still damp brown locks into a tight ponytail with a basic black hair tie and grabbed her keys and wallet, stuffing them into the center pocket of her hoodie. Satisfied she was ready, she flicked off the lights in her studio apartment and checked the time, noting that she still had a half hour to get to Pandora’s to meet up with Oxivius. With a last check of her apartment, she headed out into the hallway with a bounce in her step and an eagerness settling in her stomach.

  She passed by the common laundry room, which was active with residents of the building waiting on the timers to go off while watching a TV that was cranked up loud to compete with the dull drone of the washers and dryers. She made it to the stairs without incident, glad none of the other residents were as chatty as Amber. She made her way down the steps to the first floor of the old courthouse and out the front door, where she encountered a waiting and rather impatient Amber.

  “God, Xlina,” she said, noting the arrival from the building. “Late for training at the gym or what?”

  “What,” Xlina said coolly, not wanting to play into the woman’s endless taunting. Amber was almost a perfect vision of Xlina’s dream from earlier, squeezed into a little black cocktail dress that looked uncomfortably tight. “Nice dress.”

  “Thanks,” Amber replied, staring down at her phone and cursing her Uber for being late.

  “I couldn’t pull that dress off,” Xlina snickered mischievously. “Not sure how your date is going to manage it either. It looks like it’s fused to your skin.”

  “Very funny,” Amber said in a mocking voice, giving Xlina’s outfit a once-over before wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I at least value my appearance enough to put in some effort.”

  “Oh, yes; it must take quite a deal of effort,” Xlina smiled back. “Climbing up to the roof and all to get a high enough vantage point to dive into that thing. Did you have assistants hold it for you, or did you just set it down like a shot glass in a circus act before climbing up there and leaping in?”

  “What would you know,” Amber retorted. “You’re dressed like Sporty Spice and Rocky Balboa had a baby. Are you off to a prize fight tonight? Couldn’t g
et a date, huh? Just taking it out on the gym equipment.”

  “Actually,” Xlina huffed defiantly. “I am meeting a guy at Pandora’s.”

  “In that?” Amber returned with another once-over that was clearly exaggerated to make her point. “Who are you meeting? Perhaps the movers you hired to finally get your apartment settled in fantasy land?”

  Xlina steamed. She didn’t know why she had started picking on Amber. Perhaps it was her defense, putting up a wall so as not to get close to the soon-to-be corpse, or maybe it was just that she was so damn perfectly normal, living the college life that would always elude her. Either way, she smoldered as Amber returned her cruel barbs with barbs of her own. Beneath that pretty smile and New England charm, Amber could rival the best of them in witty one-liners and taunts.

  “Look, here is my ride,” she said, pointing to a white Subaru with its blinker flashing slowly as it pulled to a stop before them. “If you declare a ceasefire, I’ll let you share. I’m heading to Pandora’s as well.”

  “Truce it is,” Xlina sighed in resignation, reaching out and holding open the door to the Subaru for Amber. She fought to hold back a giggle as Amber eased her way into the back of the Uber, trying in vain to remain lady-like with the high cut of the all-too-tight cocktail dress.

  “Once we are at the club, you’re own your own,” Amber chimed in as Xlina slid into the back with ease, pulling the door closed and flashing a triumphant, “that was easy,” smile. “I don’t need you ruining my night.”

  “Fair enough,” Xlina said as the car pulled into motion. The driver was older, probably retired, and spent far too much time looking up in his rear view mirror and smiling at Amber for Xlina’s liking. He was gruff, unshaven, and dirty, sporting a heavy, cheap cologne. He had one lazy eye that seemed to struggle to keep up, and the other was affixed to Amber. “Watch the road, not the legs.”

  The older man flashed red in embarrassment and nodded before adjusting his mirror.

  “Just checking for seatbelts,” he said with a smirk.

  The ride down to Pandora’s was largely uneventful, with Amber adding last minute touches to her makeup and fawning over herself in a compact mirror she had pulled from who-knows-where in her purse. Xlina just stared out the window at the passing brick buildings in Portland’s historic district, which bordered Exchange Street and signaled their approach to the more commercial Old Port, home to many of the city’s best and worst night spots. The driver circled twice before finding an opening that allowed him to pull up to the curb and drop off his passengers. Xlina caught his greedy eyes on Amber again as she lifted herself from the car and adjusted the lower hem of her dress. His eyes met hers, and he put the car in drive, pulling away without even waiting for the customary tip.

  “What a creep,” Xlina muttered. She walked with Amber toward Pandora’s main entrance.

  “Who?” Amber giggled, her voice laden with confusion.

  “The Uber driver,” Xlina replied as if it should have been obvious. “He was watching you more than the road.”

  “Oh dear,” Amber said in a patronizing tone. “What it must be like to never have anyone ogle you. Me? I don’t even notice it anymore; it happens so often. But I can see where it would be uncomfortable for you.”

  “You give the women’s movement a real step back, you know that?” Xlina said, picking up her walk.

  “Boys will be boys, my dear,” she replied, as if quoting from a textbook. “And there is no harm in that so long as we women can use it to our advantage.”

  “And sacrifice our dignity in the process,” Xlina muttered. Amber was the kind of girl that would flash her goods to get out of a speeding ticket. She relished the power her looks gave her to take liberties while ignoring the struggle and strife others dealt with from the toxic alpha male culture she helped create. Xlina wondered for a moment if her perspective would change when a cephalopod was crunching on the delicate soft spots of her brain mass.

  “Look, Xlina,” Amber said, motioning to the door of the club. “There are two things in this world that give true power: money and beauty. Celebs have both. You, my dear, have neither. Don’t take that out on the boys; it’s not their fault.”

  Xlina looked at the door to the club, which was black frosted glass with neon green letters written like a paint splatter that read “Pandora’s,” set into a brick building with matching blackened windows. The steady thrum of the music could be felt from the club within. The door was more than just the start of her night with Oxivius; it was her way out of the conversation with Amber.

  “Times up,” Xlina said with a grin, opening the door and referencing the women’s movement in the same stroke. It was a reference sure to sit like a burr in Amber’s craw, but true to her words, Amber passed through the door, moving on as if Xlina had just been the hired help. Without so much as a word more, she drifted into the mass of bodies within.

  The club was dimly lit with flashing strobes from the dance floor, which was a densely packed mass of humanity gyrating and moving in tune to a techno cover band. To the right was the long bar lined with people attempting to get drinks from the two clearly overworked bartenders. There were no bar stools; the bar was a grab-and-go setup meant for production and turns rather than the power drinkers who would sit and distract the bartenders.

  To the left of the dance floor was a scattering of tables and booths, all accented with small lamps with purple shades that barely illuminated the surface of the tables. Xlina doubted there was full lighting in the club at all and guessed the walls in the background were painted either a dark red or brown. Not much lined the walls in terms of decorations, except in the back corner, where neon signs advertised local draft beers, and a crooked neon sign flickering in the dim light read “restrooms” above a dark corridor.

  Xlina waded through the throngs of people huddled around the scattered tables; she avoided knocking into a drunken man at one point and evaded a woman double-fisting pints at another. She scanned the darkened tables, looking for any signs of Oxivius before turning a cursory eye to the booths. In the back, sitting alone with a reddish drink before him, sat Oxivius. He lazily stirred the mixed drink with a little straw, looking lost in thought.

  She waded through the crowd in his direction, making it all the way to him and sliding into the booth across from him before he even took his eyes off his drink. He looked up through those steely blue eyes, which only seemed brighter in the dim lighting of Pandora’s. She sat for a second, lost in those eyes as he looked at her so intently that she thought he was looking straight into her soul. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she motioned to the drink.

  “Were you waiting long?” she asked in her best attempt to be polite and ladylike.

  “Not long,” he replied. He adjusted the mandarin collar of his black shirt. It was fancy, very fancy, with a dark purple vest stitched with a black floral pattern that looked like roses curling up his chest. Suddenly she felt very underdressed and questioned whether this was a hunting arrangement or if he had intended something more.

  “So you’re going to help me track this thing?” she continued, feeling uneasy. “I didn’t really ask before but... what do you do?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” he replied, not lowering his eyes from her for a moment.

  “Wizard? Warlock?” she answered, waiting patiently before continuing. “What’s your connection to the Otherworld?”

  “That’s rather personal,” he replied back evasively.

  “Well, it matters,” she answered, pressing again, “if we are out there together after all.”

  “It didn’t matter this afternoon,” he said through a smile. “Besides, I’m not here to fight. I am here to pick up the mess when you do and ensure you make it home. That was the deal I believe. I’m your... backup.”

  “Yes,” Xlina nodded. “But I’d like to know whether my backup can take care of himself.”

  “If I couldn’t, Valeria wouldn’t have recommended me, love,” he said
with another hint of that European accent. His words and demeanor were cold like ice, yet they warmed her inside. There was something reassuring about them. His eyes were intent, reading her, but his face lacked the look of judgement. It was like he was just seeing her for who she was, with no inner monologue behind his eyes judging or commenting.

  “Okay, so you can take care of yourself,” she said dryly. “So I should warn you, the girl who came in just before me, she is this thing’s target tonight. Her and some jock that looks like he fell out of the most cliché Saturday afternoon TV special.”

  “Excellent,” Oxivius nodded, absorbing her words. “Bait for the trap. Well played, love.”

  “No, she isn’t bait,” Xlina replied firmly. “She is my neighbor.”

  “I see,” Oxivius nodded knowingly. “The stakes of the game are raised when it isn’t just a nameless face, no?”

  “It’s not that,” Xlina said in a dismissive tone.

  “Truth, wolf,” Oxivius interrupted, a sudden firmness in his voice. “I don’t need details, but I do require the truth from you for this partnership to work.”

  “Fine,” she relented. “I don’t care to use my neighbor as bait. It feels personal.”

  “Keep going,” Oxivius grinned.

  “It’s not that I am her friend,” Xlina continued, not sure why she was confiding such things to him, other than his weird ability to read her like a book. “In fact, we argue like cats and dogs.”

  “Not there,” Oxivius interrupted again abruptly. “I don’t need details, just the truth.”

  “I don’t understand,” Xlina said with a shake of her head. “I just said it felt too personal and that we weren’t friends.”