by Ken Brosky
Suddenly, my opponent was lunging forward, stabbing her foil directly at my chest. I parried once and stepped back, trying to regain my balance, but the Hungarian was too fast. She stabbed again, and this time I felt the dull tip of the blade bounce painfully off my chest protector underneath the jacket.
“Point Margit!” the coach announced, giving his player a nod.
I turned to Chase, cocking my head.
“Allez is French for go,” he said.
“Right,” I murmured, my voice bouncing off the facemask so that it echoed in my ears. Even the sound of my voice inside the mask was different and disorienting. I got back into an open stance, foil held just a little bit higher this time, steeling my nerves.
“Allez!” the coach shouted.
This time, I gave the girl named Margit the right of way, parrying her blows and forcing my feet to take short, quick steps. Margit’s blade seemed to have its own tango routine, moving deftly through the air, bouncing off my blade and resuming its dance with a fluid ease.
I took the offensive, focusing my attacks on the area right above her belt. She parried weakly, losing fluidity. Her dancing sword had missed a step and was out of tempo, I realized. I jumped forward quickly—balestra!—bringing my arm out and around, guiding the tip of my foil right into her stomach.
She flinched, shouting what could only be a Hungarian curse.
“Point …”
“Alice,” I said through the mask.
“Point for Alice,” the Hungarian coach said with little enthusiasm.
I readied again, stealing a glance at the other two matches. Miguel and Scott were holding their own. At least, it looked like they were holding their own. Provided they were the big guys with the blue stripes on the back of their masks. Whoops, nope, I thought. Miguel isn’t that graceful.
“Allez!”
I jumped forward again, but this time instead of being caught off-guard, Margit stepped into my attack, parrying my opening thrust, guiding my blade upward. Before I could take in a sharp breath, we were face-to-face. Or facemask-to-facemask. Our blades locked. I could feel her strength radiating up the blade, her free hand clutching mine to prevent me from escaping. It felt like a vise.
The image of Edward flashed in my mind. Edward, Prince Charming, smiling at my weakness, holding me close while he threatened my life. Edward, the first Corrupted I’d ever killed.
“Jo Ejt,” Margit hissed. She pushed me back with incredible force, knocking me over. I felt an intense sharp pain in my ribs and cried out, trying in vain to keep my foil held in front of me as I rolled onto the mat. My chest plate shifted. My hot breath bounced off the mask, warming my already flushed face. Margit didn’t wait for me to recover, closing the gap between us and stabbing at my chest. I parried once, twice, each time feeling the strength in my arm dissipate. I drew in a sharp breath and the pain in my ribs came back all over again, distracting me.
Margit’s blade clanged against mine, knocking the foil out of my hand. She reached down, gently tapping it against my chest plate.
“Point for Margit!” the Hungarian coach announced.
I got up, tearing my mask off. Miguel and Scott were both on one knee on their mats, watching me. They’d already lost.
“Ooooookay,” Mr. Whitmann said, clearing his throat. “Let’s, uh … get three more suited up.”
I carefully took off the chest plate, handing it over to Jasmine, who glared at it as if it might bite her. She tightened the straps, putting it on over her t-shirt. “I’m glad I wore an uncomfortable bra,” she said sarcastically. “Otherwise this might actually be fun.”
I turned to Chase. He was looking at me, grimacing.
“Don’t say anything,” I warned him.
He held up his hands in mock defeat.
I looked around, searching the gym. “Where’s Seth?”
“He wandered off to go watch that Dracula play,” Margaret said. “Because clearly he doesn’t want to see us get our butts kicked.”
I turned toward the double doors at the far end.
“Wait.” Chase reached out for me, missing. He turned in his wheelchair. “Don’t you think you should stay here? These are your opponents in that tournament. We’re not going to get many chances to watch them.”
“No,” I stated. “Seth needs to be here with us. He can’t … he can’t just go running off!”
“Why not?” Chase asked. “I mean …”
His eyes betrayed him. “Oh, come on,” I said in a low voice, aware that some of the Hungarian girls were watching us. Different country, same drama. “Gross, Chase! Don’t be that way. Seth is just a friend.”
“So let him go.”
“Look. It’s … he’s just … ugh!”
I see the death of your loved ones …
“I’ll be right back,” I said, putting distance between us before he could reach out again. I was afraid if he reached out, I might grab his hand and hold it. And then what? Then I’d have to let go. Because that idiot wizard had successfully gotten into my head. Of course Seth meant something to me, but he meant something in a different way than Chase.
Which really should have gone without saying. But … well, boys.
I left through the doors under the basketball hoop, entering a wide hallway. The school was like ours, only the lockers were smaller and painted yellow and blue, which seemed to be the school’s colors. Banners hung near the ceiling above the lockers, advertising what seemed to be a school dance given the musical notes and colorful party decorations drawn between the words.
There was a haunting singing coming from farther down the hall. I walked slowly, listening, mindful of my surroundings. Old halogen bulbs hung from the ceiling. The classroom doors had square-shaped windows, and through the windows I could see that the rooms were dark.
I turned the corner, following the sound of singing to the end of the hall. There were only two doors here. To my right was the cafeteria, where a handful of students dressed in elaborate period costumes were sitting at a long table and eating from a tray of snacks. To my left was the theater.
The theater!
Cripes, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. This really hit home. Washington High’s plays and theater stuff happened in the gym, which had a built-in stage on the far end. Some plays, like Jesus Christ Superstar, needed a special stage built in the center of the gym so the cast could take full advantage of the script.
This school had its own theater.
“Awesome,” I said, pulling open the doors and stepping into the dark theater.
My eyes took a moment to adjust. I felt dizzy and had to grab the back of the nearest seat to keep my balance. Memories of my confrontation with Agnim and the dragons seemed to overtake my consciousness. This theater was too similar, right down to the balcony above and the dark red curtain pulled back to the edges of the stage. Even the seats felt the same: soft, old, made of a scratchy red fabric.
“Alice!”
I took a deep breath, shook my head and scanned the rows of seats. Seth. And Briar. They were sitting in the empty middle rows. I went over to them, slipping between the folded seats and sitting beside Seth.
“You weren’t supposed to leave the gym!” I whispered harshly.
Seth shook his head. “This is too important.”
“Indeed,” said Briar. “Do you notice anything about this play?”
I turned to the stage. Dozens of students wandered as if dazed, singing a low, haunting chorus. The set was dark, with painted gray bricks in the background and a single old-fashioned lantern hanging from the ceiling. The light in the lantern was a dark orange to simulate an open flame. The students were dressed just like the ones I’d seen in the cafeteria: medieval earth-colored tunics for the boys, blood-red flowing dresses for the girls.
At the base of the stage was an older man watching with crossed arms, barking orders.
“They’ve been practicing this,” Seth said. “And I’m going to warn you right now that something’s about to happen. Be
cause the first time I saw it, I nearly pooped my pants.”
“Ditto,” Briar murmured.
I leaned forward. The music was slowing down, the chorus entering a decrescendo. Something stage left caught my eye: a mound of something, not illuminated by the stage lights. “What …”
A hand appeared, clawing at the mound. Dirt! Another hand appeared and a spotlight landed on it. The fingers twitched as if hurt by the light. The singing boys and girls grew more frantic, their voices rising once again. Two of them gracefully made their way stage right, but there was another mound there as well, two more hands appearing and clawing frantically at the dirt as a spotlight appeared.
The background music grew shrill. The actors began shrieking. The creatures emerged from the dirt piles. Their skin was pale. They wore ragged cloaks and no shoes. Their mouths hung open, revealing fangs that glistened in the orange light.
“Cut!” said the man. He clapped his hands together, shouting something in Hungarian. The other students sitting in the first few rows clapped as well. Then it was back to business, the director shouting new orders and hurrying the cast offstage.
“Now they’ll reset,” Seth said. “It’s not, like, a giant mound of dirt. It’s just a plastic covering with a thin layer of dirt over it. That’s how the actor hides underneath.”
“That doesn’t make it less frightening, though,” Briar added.
Seth shook his head. “Definitely not. These Hungarians know how to make a play interesting, I’ll give em that.”
“So this is related to the crates of dirt you found?” I asked Briar.
The rabbit nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know.”
“But that’s not the important part,” Seth said. “Because this play isn’t actually about the vampires. They’re part of it, obviously, but there’s so much more awesomeness. Tell her, Briar.”
“Well,” Briar said, leaning in. “Based on what I’ve seen from watching them, this play is the story of a hero.”
“A hero!” I turned back to the stage in awe. “They know about the Corrupted?”
“Er, not exactly. The one they call the hero was indeed a hero, but the event was so long ago that he’s become more of a legend than anything else. The story is that he arrived in town and rid the town of particularly nasty wolf-like monsters that were preying on the town. Then he went north, where it’s said he brought a great calm to a troubled region.”
“A great calm …” I thought back to my dream. The noisy giants … it couldn’t be a coincidence. Hero dreams weren’t big on coincidences, I’d noticed.
“Not only that,” Seth said, sitting up in his seat all excited-like, “here’s the coolest part. So, like, you know how in the U.S. we have vampires and werewolves? In Eastern Europe, they have werewolves who come back as vampires after you kill them. How awesome is that?”
I looked at Briar. The rabbit just rolled his eyes.
“All right, we’re going back to the gym.” I pulled out my cell phone, tapping the home button a few times. “Darn it! My battery’s dead. We won’t be able to look anything up about this story.”
“Oh, what’s that?” Briar asked, his ears perking up. “Your precious Google is not available? Fancy that! Whatever shall you do? After all, the internets can solve every problem on the planet! It’s a shame you don’t have a dedicated old-fashioned researcher to rely on in this instance … oh wait, you do, don’t you?”
I sighed. “Point taken, rabbit.”
“Oooooh, I get it,” Seth said, pursing his lips. “That’s funny.”
We left the theater, heading back toward the gym.
“We need to know more about this event,” I told Briar. “In my dream last night, I saw where Tom Thumb is hiding out, but I can’t place it. He said there was a secret entrance. Something about a guy named Blaise Pascal.”
“The mathematician?” Briar asked, twitching his whiskers.
“I guess? I don’t know. Tom Thumb mentioned him in my dream. Since you’re the one with plenty of free time and invisibility—”
“And amazing research skills.”
“Exactly. Since you have all those wonderful qualities, it’s up to you to get us some more information.”
“I shall do my best.”
“Meet me back at the hotel as soon as you can. We need to nip this in the bud before the train is ready to go.”
Briar stopped. “If you think you can simply rush through this, I have—”
“Yes, I know, I know,” I said, pushing him toward the exit. “Everyone has a problem with me today. I get it.”
“Really, now!” Briar said, obviously irked. I pushed Seth into the gym and shut the door behind me before the rabbit could really get going.
It was obvious just by the look on my teammates’ faces that there wasn’t any good news. The boys looked pooped. The girls looked grumpy. Mr. Whitmann and the Hungarian coach stared intently at the last two competitors, each stroking their mustaches.
“What did we miss?” I asked Jasmine. She just shook her head, frowning. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her pretty dark face flushed.
“It was a slaughter,” Miguel said. His curly dark hair clung to his forehead, wet with sweat. “Adam’s doing the best. He’s only losing by five points.”
I watched the two fencers shift back and forth. One danced with grace while the other tried countering with a furious passion. The graceful one moved from one attack into the next, raising his foil high, then low, guiding it so that the blade seemed to slither like a snake. The furious one parried sloppily, stepping back, then moving into an attack that was more about brute strength than form. His blade clanged hard against his opponent’s.
To no avail.
“Point for Tamas,” said the Hungarian coach.
The fencers took off their masks. The graceful one had been Tamas, the furious one had been Adam. Mr. Whitmann clasped him on the shoulder as he passed, walking dejectedly to the rest of the boys. The Hungarian coach and Mr. Whitmann shook hands.
“He’s stronger,” Adam said with a curled lip. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Use his strength against him,” Chase said, wheeling up to him. He looked up. “You guys let them get in your heads. All of you. They’re intimidating and they’re strong, but they’re not invincible.”
“Oh get off it, man!” Adam exclaimed, face red. “Shoot, why don’t you get out there and fight them if you’re so confident?”
“I’d freaking love it,” Chase snapped.
“Then do it,” Adam said, stepping closer. I felt my legs tense, ready to jump forward. But thankfully, Miguel grabbed the back of Adam’s sweaty t-shirt, pulling him away from Chase. On the other side of the mats, the Hungarian boys and girls watched us with wry, insulting smiles.
“Oh those boys are so not cute right now,” Margaret said.
“Neither are the girls,” Rachel added.
Mr. Whitmann sighed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his gray jacket. “Come on. Let’s get back to the hotel and shower up. We need some lunch.” He put his big arm over Seth’s shoulder, holding him tight. “And you, my little friend, can stay by my side from now on so you don’t sneak off and cause trouble.”
“Oh goodie,” Seth murmured.
“At least Sam Grayle’s picking up the food tab,” I said, hoping to dispel some of the tension.
Margaret glared at me. “You could have at least been here while we got walloped. Like, running to the cafeteria to make out with Seth or whatever? Not cool, Wonder Woman.”
I turned to Chase. He said nothing, wheeling along with the girls with his eyes on the floor. I walked in the back of the group, keeping my distance from everyone. I felt radioactive. I wanted nothing more than to grab the handles in back of Chase’s wheelchair and stay close to him, but now I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was sure that if I did … he would shrug me off.
It was about as bad of a lunch as you could expect, under the
circumstances. Lots of hung heads. Lots of words of encouragement from Mr. Whitmann, complete with stories about his wrestling years when he found himself face-to-face with bear-sized seniors twice his size. Chase chimed in, telling us about epic baseball comebacks against top-ranked teams. No amount of positivity could light our fires, though.
Back in the hotel lobby, Chase cornered me.
“Just stay here with me for a second,” he said. He guided me to the little secluded corner, where the TV was flanked by potted ferns. I sat on the couch, crossing my arms. Getting a stern talking to about a budding relationship wasn’t exactly what I was in the mood for.
“You could have beat that girl.”
I flinched. “Wait, what now?”
Chase crossed his arms, mimicking me. He was wearing his leather gauntlets and a black t-shirt that showed off his arm muscles in a distracting sort of way. “You could have beaten that Hungarian girl. What happened?”
“I just … I got a little intimidated.” You know, having a flashback featuring the dead Corrupted boyfriend will do that to a person.
“They choreograph,” Chase said. “But they don’t have the killer’s instinct like you. You can beat that girl when you face her in the tournament. But you missed a chance to get a good look at her when she was facing Jasmine. And your teammates weren’t all that happy about you wandering off.”
“Chase.” I exhaled a whole lot of frustration, feeling my face warm. “I’m just not thinking about the tournament right now at this exact moment.”
“They are, though.” He shifted in his chair, seriously competing with me for the title of Most Exasperated. “Your team isn’t here to fight dragons or monsters or whatever else. They’re here to compete in the tournament. And you’re on their team.”
“Well, this is more important!”
“What is?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is wandering off with Seth more important than practicing with your team?”
“Oh, is that what this is really about? Are you jealous or something?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Look, I … I know I’m not the ideal boyfriend. Or, I guess we haven’t used that term …” he rubbed his head, staring down at his lap. “I just mean that I understand if you want to chalk up all the time we’ve spent together lately as just a fling or something like that.”
