by Alyson Noel
The universe had answered my wish.
But instead of finding myself face-to-face with Theocoles, I found myself surrounded by hundreds of angry, raging gladiator ghosts.
3
I cowered in the dirt, my arms circling protectively as I lowered my head to my knees, attempting to make myself smaller, less of a target, doing my best to avoid the rampage of angry ghosts. Punching the air with their fists, they shouted and roared a long list of threats at some unseen enemy—the words spoken in a language that, much like them, had died centuries before, though the message rang clear. Every last one of them was so consumed by their memories, they were blind to everyone else.
Spying an opening in the crowd, I jumped to my feet, only to be knocked down again by a huge, hulking monster of a ghost who thundered right past me. Not even bothering to stop or slow down when his shoulder plowed smack into my jaw.
“Hey—watch it!” I yelled, rolling my eyes and shaking my head as I struggled to my feet once again. “I mean, I get that you’re like a gazillion times bigger than me, but do you really have to be so rude?”
I scowled, thrust my hands on my hips, and glared at his retreating back. Willing him to turn and give me the apology he most certainly owed me, but he just kept going, as oblivious to my presence as he was to the noise that blared all around. A noise that was not only loud and unpleasant, but also, or at least in the beginning anyway, impossible to make out. Though it wasn’t long before I was able to break it into more manageable chunks. Instantly recognizing it as the sound of hunger and pain and uncontrollable rage—in other words, the sound of enslavement. I’d heard it before.
It was continuous. Unceasing. The only relief coming in a quick burst of laughter that ended as soon as it started. Though I couldn’t imagine what could possibly be worth laughing about in that horrible underground prison of sorts.
Brushing the dirt from my jeans, I set off. Having seen just enough of the ludus to know I didn’t want to linger any longer than I had to, I was more determined than ever to get down to the business of finding Theocoles so I could cross him right over and get the heck out.
Though finding the champion gladiator was not nearly as easy as I’d thought, mostly because I didn’t have much of a description to go on. What little Bodhi had told me—big, strong, tough, scary, intense—amounted to no more than a generic stream of words that could be easily applied to any one of the ghosts that haunted the place.
At first glance, they all looked the same. A bunch of overly muscled, filthy, dirty, greasy-haired men who’d been sliced apart and sewn back together so many times their skin resembled a cheap leather purse. Each of them bearing a pair of hands that were so big and meaty and brutal looking, they could easily kill with a flick of a wrist.
It was like a never-ending parade of warriors, one fearless fighter after another. And just when I’d started to separate them as individuals, one would shift, I’d quickly lose track, and they’d all blur together again.
I guess I’d been so focused on dealing with Theocoles that it never occurred to me there’d be so many other lost souls lingering in the ludus as well. Though I should’ve known since most ancient sites that played host to horrendous acts of violence and repression were known to be haunted by angry spirits demanding justice before they’d move on.
I slunk around the place, at first keeping close to the walls, doing my best to stay inconspicuous, stay out of the way, assuring myself that if I could just steer clear of the jabbing elbows and swinging fists, it would all be okay. Making my way down the corridor, I poked my head into a series of small, narrow rooms I guessed to be the gladiators’ bedrooms. Though unlike my own recently redecorated room back in the Here & Now, which consisted of every modern comfort and convenience I could dream of (and I mean that literally since I manifested everything in it)—these were pretty much the opposite—pretty much the definition of bleak. Consisting of dirt floors, severe wooden bed frames that were shoved against either wall, and, well, not much else. Though, not surprisingly, the rooms were all empty.
That’s the thing with ghosts—they don’t really sleep, and they pretty much always refuse to rest. They’re way too caught up in reliving their pasts to make time for any sort of leisure activity like that, and these ghosts were no different. Prowling the halls, yelling and screaming—it seemed like the more I looked, the more their numbers grew, leaving me to wonder if I’d ever locate Theocoles among the restless swarm.
Knowing I had to start somewhere, I began tugging on tunics and poking at elbows, each time asking the exact same question: Do you know where I can find Theocoles, the one they call the Pillar of Doom?
And each time getting the exact same reply: a blank-eyed stare, which only confirmed what I already knew—I was pretty much invisible as far as they were concerned.
I turned a corner, made my way down a series of short corridors, and had just began trudging down another when I froze in my tracks. Gasping in horror when I found myself standing in the doorway of a room so grisly I had to clamp a hand over my mouth just to keep from screaming.
I peered into the dark, my eyes moving from the rough, bloodstained walls to the heap of severely wounded gladiators who lay on old, splintered planks. Their bodies thrashing against the thick, iron shackles that imprisoned their ankles and wrists—moaning and grumbling and howling in pain—a chorus of agony so awful, I couldn’t help but shiver in fear.
It was a torture chamber—an ancient house of horrors—of that I was sure. Though it wasn’t long before my eyes adjusted and I saw I’d misread the whole thing—it wasn’t that at all.
It was a hospital, an infirmary, an ancient sanatorium run by a tiny, dark man I guessed to be the doctor, or medic, or whatever they called them back in the day. And I couldn’t help but cringe as I watched him tend to the gladiator’s wounds with a bizarre array of pastes and salves and other grotesque concoctions that smelled even worse than the infections that oozed out of them.
Still, even though he did his best to heal them, to my eyes it remained a scene lifted straight from a horror movie—a scene I was desperate to flee. Bolting as fast as I could, I tackled the stairs two at a time, pushing my legs beyond all reasonable limits, wishing there was a way to outrun the shocking images that blazed in my mind.
Finally reaching the landing, I paused against a sturdy stone column that fronted an open, shade-covered room that, judging by the number of gladiators sitting on long wooden benches, hunched over shallow wooden bowls, greedily slurping some kind of horrible, lumpy, gray porridge, I guessed it to be a cafeteria. And while unlike the hospital, there was no blood and gore, it was still pretty gruesome in its own way, leaving me to wonder, yet again, at the logic of some of these ghosts. I couldn’t even begin to fathom why anyone would ever willingly choose to stay in such a gawd-awful place.
Spying the practice arena just a few feet beyond, I made my way toward it. My hand pressed to my forehead, shielding myself from the sudden rush of heat and glare, I took a good look around, noting how just like the barracks, the hospital, and the cafeteria before it, it was also crowded with spooks.
Their long, wooden practice swords sliced through the air, as their round wooden shields jabbed and punched at some unknown opponent before them. My eyes darting furiously, searching for Theocoles among them, figuring if he was to be found anywhere in this ludus it would be here. As the undefeated champion, it just seemed to make sense.
Problem was, I was so clueless as to how it all worked, it was impossible to tell who was the best one among them—the one good enough to be champion—the one worthy of being called the Pillar of Doom—when they all looked so determined, so fearless, so eager to destroy whatever unlucky opponent stood in their way. All of them sharing that same ruthless eagerness to kill, to slaughter, to shred and destroy—burning like a flame in their eyes.
I was just about to give up, just about to head over to the Colosseum and try my luck there, when I saw something so unexpected, I f
orced myself to blink a few times to make sure it wasn’t a mirage of some sort—make sure I hadn’t somehow dreamed it all up.
It was a girl.
A beautiful dark-haired girl standing on a balcony that overlooked the arena.
The only other girl in the place besides me.
Though unlike me, she was dressed in a way that was far more appropriate to the time. While I was in jeans, a (super-cute) tee, and my favorite ballet flats, she wore a gorgeous silk gown that draped and swirled and trailed over the ground.
I studied her closely, taking in her smooth olive skin, her sweep of long, glossy, dark hair—the front of which was fastened at the crown by a shiny jeweled clasp, while the rest was left to tumble over her shoulders and down to her waist in a riot of waves.
Running a hand down the front of her elaborate red gown, she focused hard on the gladiators below. Her long, slim fingers picking at the embroidered gold sash at her waist, looking so elegant, so beautiful, so graceful and refined, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she might be doing in such a sad, filthy place.
Or at least that’s what I thought until I looked a little closer and noticed how she focused on one gladiator in particular. The intensity of her gaze telling me he was someone special, not just to her, but to the arena in general.
I followed the length of her flashing brown gaze, my eyes lighting on a gladiator who rose above all the rest. He was taller, stronger, his movements both brutal and graceful.
He was a savage fighter. There was no doubt in my mind. But unlike the others who grunted, and punched, and kicked up great clouds of dust, this gladiator was different.
This one had the poise, and presence, and arrogance that could only belong to a champion.
And I knew in that instant, I’d just found Theocoles.
4
While I’d been told more than once that I possessed all the delicacy and finesse of a bull in a china shop, as far as Theocoles was concerned, I was determined to take an entirely different approach.
Which is to say that I didn’t approach him at all.
Instead I approached the girl I’d seen watching him.
Or at least I tried to approach her. Though the truth is I didn’t get very far. The moment she saw me grinning and waving from the space just below where she stood, she vanished. Just poof and she was gone. But not before I caught the look of pure shock displayed on her face.
Unlike the others, she’d seen me. And at that point, with not much else to go on, it felt like progress. It felt like a start.
I wound my way past the gladiators, ducking and dodging around their fiercely punching swords—stopping beside the one the girl had been watching, wondering why I’d failed to notice him before.
From this angle he was even taller than I’d first thought. He towered a good foot above the rest, which is probably why he didn’t look nearly as bulky. Though that’s not to say he wasn’t strong, because he was. The circumference of just one bicep alone appeared wider than both my legs put together. And while his skin bore its fair share of battle scars, it was nothing excessive, or at least not compared to what I’d seen on his fellow fighters.
He dropped his sword to the ground and wiped a hand across his brow, clearing it of the heavy sheen of sweat that shone on his forehead, while sweeping aside the tangle of long dark curls that fell into his eyes. Revealing a face that, aside from a nose that had clearly been broken once or twice, was dark and smooth and surprisingly unblemished for someone in his line of work. And I couldn’t help but think that in another time and place—a more modern time and place—he would’ve been splashed across magazine covers and movie screens. But in ancient Rome, his fame was due solely to the grisly acts he’d committed with his sword.
Sensing I had only seconds to spare before he returned to his drills, I was just about to speak when he turned to me with eyes the color of deep gleaming topaz, causing the speech I’d prepared to sputter and spurt into an embarrassing garbled-up mess that went something like: “Um, hi. Excuse me for bothering you.” I waved my hand back and forth in a lame attempt at friendliness. “But would you happen to be Theocoles … uh, you know … the one they call the Pillar of Doom?”
He grunted, cleared his throat, and had the audacity to hock a big fat loogie directly at me.
A big fat loogie that landed in the exact same spot where I’d stood just seconds before I gasped and jumped out of the way.
I glared between him and the puddle of ick, shouting, “How dare you!” I shook my head, felt my cheeks grow red. “I mean, seriously! While I get that you’re from another, far more barbaric time in history—while I get that because of that we may not be on the same page where manners are concerned—still, you cannot tell me that you truly don’t realize just how incredibly rude that was!”
He stooped toward the ground, scooped a mound of dirt into his hands, and rubbed it into his palms before retrieving his sword and wiping the handle as well. Acting like he didn’t see me. Acting like he hadn’t just totally insulted me in the very worst way.
I was just about to really let him have it, when a soft voice drifted from behind me and said, “I’m afraid he cannot hear you.”
I turned to find the girl from the balcony.
“Neither can he see you. So please, do not take offense.” She glanced between the gladiator and me. “Theocoles sees only what he chooses to see. You and I are invisible to him.”
I frowned. Scowled. Slewed my gaze first his way then hers, saying, “From what I can tell, I’m invisible to everyone but you. What gives?”
I folded my arms across my chest and gave her a thorough once-over, unable to keep from noticing how her nearness only seemed to magnify just how different we were. And though I tried not to feel small, and insignificant, and completely outclassed by her presence, it was no use.
She was tall—I was puny.
She was pretty—I was forced to settle for cute.
She was curvy and girly—I was skinny, scrawny, and as shrimpy as it gets.
And even though her clothes were completely outdated, there was no denying her gorgeous red gown definitely worked in her favor.
There was no getting around it—she completely and totally eclipsed me in every conceivable way. She was a bright, shining star, while I was a planet so small and insignificant it had never been named.
My thoughts were interrupted by the lilt of her voice saying, “Unfortunately, those you see here are as enslaved in their afterlives as they were in their physical lives.” She paused, her perfect pink mouth pulling into a frown. “They refuse to let go and move on.”
I quirked a brow in response, it’s not like she’d just revealed something new. If anything, it was just the same ole same ole—definitely a scenario I was all too familiar with. All of the ghosts I’d met so far had been enslaved by their lives and unwilling to let go of their pasts—and believe me, they all claimed to have a very good list of reasons for choosing to linger. Not unlike me back when I was haunting the earth plane.
“And you?” I asked, refusing to let her off quite so easily. “Why are you still here? Why haven’t you moved on?” I paused, waited for her to reply. But instead of answering, she bit down on her lip and quickly looked away. “I mean, I’m assuming you know about the bridge that leads to the other side, right?” I cocked my head to the side, which caused my hair to fall into my eyes. But the longer I waited for her to speak up, the more silence I got. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to take you there or anything. It’s not like that’s any of my business. I’m just curious. That’s all.”
I shoved my bangs back off my face and cast an anxious glance all around. The Council was privy to every single thing that went down, leaving me to hope they’d at least caught on to the fact that I’d finally learned my lesson. That I had no further interest in making up my own assignments, much less catching souls that weren’t mine to catch. Theocoles was my one and only concern, the only one I’d be crossing over on this particul
ar visit to Rome.
Still, I figured it couldn’t hurt to at least mention the bridge. Just in case she didn’t yet know about it … or something.
She turned, her dark eyes narrowing as she regarded me closely. Her hand caught in her hair, twirling a tendril around the very tip of her finger. She said, “I’m surprised they sent you.” She continued to scrutinize me. “You appear much younger than all of the previous Soul Catchers. Much younger, in fact.”
If she was trying to insult me, well, it didn’t work. I just shrugged it right off, or at least that’s the impression I struggled to give.
“The last one they sent was much older. Much bigger too, for that matter—blended right in with the rest of them. Maybe a little too well come to think of it, seeing as he never did find his way out …” Her lip curled as she tilted her head toward the crowd of grunting, lunging gladiators. Her stream of dark curls swinging over her shoulder as she added, “He’s still here. Somewhere. Every now and then I run into him. Or should I say them. Make no mistake, it’s not like he’s the only one who lost his way …”
She was doing her best to intimidate me, and I needed her to know right from the start that while I may look young, and scrawny, and pretty much completely incapable of dealing with any ghost, much less a gladiator ghost—for whatever unfathomable reason, the Council saw fit to assign me. Which clearly meant that despite all outward appearances, I had myself some major Soul Catching mojo working in my favor.
“I know about the others,” I said, crossing my arms before me.
“Do you?” She looked me over, the words spoken so softly I could just barely hear them. Her voice gaining in pitch when she added, “Well, in that case, I’ll just say that you are the very first girl that they’ve sent to these parts—ever. Which is something I find very interesting, don’t you?”
