by Ken Brosky
But not the prince’s.
“You’re a smooth talker,” I told him.
The prince nodded. “My dear lady, every good enterprise needs an honest avenue so as to look respectable to the society in which its owner chooses to belong. For me, this avenue is tourism. And in order to be a successful tourism operator, one must know how to charm outsiders.”
“Color me impressed.” I turned to Grayle. “Are you going to explain the drivers, or is this going to get messy?”
“I shall answer that,” the prince said, waving a hand at Grayle. Grayle leaned back, acquiescing. It was a strange sight, seeing my nemesis—the most powerful enemy I’d ever faced—so easily giving up control to this guy who clearly wasn’t a Corrupted.
“You see,” the prince said, “I am not without my own enemies, much like Mr. Grayle here. And so when he told me he required assistance in locating a nearby treasure, I of course saw an opportunity to bolster my defenses from society’s natural predators.”
“You agreed to let us stay with you in exchange for the new drivers,” I finished.
“It’s a fair deal,” Grayle said. “They have other abilities besides chauffeuring your friends around town. And I assure you, they’re quite under control.”
The car left the Vontescue estate, turning sharply onto the two-lane highway road that led into town. Prince Leo looked out the window, tapping his fingers on the cane’s lion head. “My family history is rife with conflict,” he said in a low voice. “I assume, based on your knowledge of the situation, that you too know something of Mr. Grayle’s … unique qualities.”
I turned to Grayle. The dwarf’s hardened expression didn’t give anything away. My tense fingers clutched the edge of the car seat. I wasn’t buckled up—it was the first time in my entire life inside a car when I had made the conscious effort to not buckle up. These two men were wolves. No, they were lions. And I was playing a dangerous game, stuck between them.
“You’re making a mistake,” I told the prince. Leo’s right eye twitched ever so slightly. I had his attention. I continued: “You’ve let Sam Grayle’s creatures into your home. The moment you’re not useful to him, you become a liability. And then you go bye-bye.”
“She exaggerates,” Grayle said. “She’s good at it.”
“I’m sure she is,” the prince said, not taking his eyes off me. “But I believe her. And so I shall have to ensure that my usefulness does not expire. Thankfully, Sam Grayle is a stranger to this land. And while he no doubt is quite intimidating in the United States, this land has its own dark secrets. He is not the first of his kind that I have come across.”
I was about to say more, then shut my mouth. Choose your battles, Alice. If the creepy prince wants to go into business with Grayle, then it’s on him. You’ve got enough crud to worry about.
“Why don’t we just cut to the chase?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Ah, a woman of initiative. Excellent!” The prince folded his hands together. “I only wish our associate here was as practiced in the art of promptness.”
“The plan is simple,” Grayle snapped. “And it benefits all of us. We have precious few days before the tournament starts. Alice will meet an intrepid explorer today in a pub in town. The prince will arrange a brief diversion for the remainder of the fencing team. Tomorrow, Alice will beg off practice by feigning illness. She will accompany the explorer and seek out my treasure.”
“Go on.”
“I will collect the treasure and arrange for our prompt departure following the tournament. Prince Leo will keep his new employees and ensure our safe passage off this god-forsaken continent. In honor of your team’s performance at the tournament—regardless of how poorly you perform—Grayle Incorporated will donate a sizable monetary gift to your school.”
“For a theater,” I said. “We need a theater.”
Grayle rolled his eyes. “Fine. A theater it is. I hope you understand that I cannot pay you personally for this service. Such a direct payment would arouse suspicions.”
“I don’t want your money. And a donation to the school is fine,” I said. Plus a few extra dead Corrupted along the way is its own reward …
“Then we are all in agreement,” Prince Vontescue said, clapping his gloved hands together. The sleeves of his fine black coat cinched up a bit, revealing just a bit of his bare wrist. I expected pale, grayish skin like his face. I definitely did not expect that skin to be coated with a strange, pitch-black growth.
Which was why I decided not to tell him about my little fight the previous night.
At practice, we sparred with the teams representing France and Denmark. Both were tough, versatile, and full of energy. Like, lots and lots of energy. Inhuman amounts of energy. I kept up with the saber fencer from Denmark, nearly beating her, but it was clear by the end of the match that only one of us was on the verge of passing out. Spoiler alert: it was me.
But the boys? The boys held their own. Scott and Miguel both won their matches, and Mr. Whitmann celebrated by dancing in a circle while pretty much everyone at the practice facility watched. Everyone was getting excited and anxious about competing for real.
Everyone but Chase. He sat in his chair, brooding, biting his knuckles between his shouts of encouragement to the girls. But he was distracted by the boys’ team, glancing over in their direction whenever Mr. Whitmann cried out in excitement. I couldn’t get a bead on him. Was he jealous of their success? Did he want to coach the boys instead? Was he worried the girls couldn’t compete?
“Maybe we should just bite the bullet and take the Jump,” Margaret said later in the locker room. The four of us had staked out two mirrors on the far end, our makeup bags splayed out between the sinks. The brown bottle of Jump sat next to the sink, too. We’d all stolen glances at it from the moment Margaret had taken it out of her bag. None of us were quite sure what to do with it.
“It’s the only way we’re going to win,” Jasmine said. “Rachel? What do you think? Do you think you can beat any of the girls we’ve practiced with?”
Rachel shrugged, applying black lipstick. “Dunno. Never been into sports before this. Maybe everyone does cheat.”
“It’s not even cheating. It’s like a sports drink,” Jasmine said brightly.
“Totally,” Margaret said. “That’s not cheating, right? And, like, you know there’s some stuff in sports drinks to refill your electrolytes. Electrical lights? Elec-tra-bites? Whatev. You know what I mean.”
“Let’s just wait,” I offered, replacing the bandage on my shoulder. The cuts were sore. My ribs were sore. My arm muscles ached. “Let’s compete on our own first. I mean, the tournament is set up so that we’re not out after the first round anyway. So it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”
“No, no,” Margaret said with more than a touch of sarcasm. She leaned in close to her mirror, applying mascara. “We’ll just get humiliated is all.”
Humiliated. I had to admit, they were making pretty good points. It made sense. Lots of athletes admitted to using Performance Enhancing Drugs, and more yet got away with it. Maybe this is how you compete in the big-time sports world, I thought. An even more important point popped up in my mind: what benefits would it have for a certain someone who fought monsters on a regular basis? If I’d taken Jump before fighting that horse-monster thingy, would I have this cut on my arm?
When we left the locker room, Chase and the rest of the boys were standing beside one of the three candy vending machines. The white hall was quiet and empty—we were in the basement of the practice facility, which also had two large weight rooms on the far end that were reserved for the fencers.
“I don’t care what you think,” Scott said. He had his fist clenched and he was standing over Chase and suddenly I realized we’d just walked out of the girls’ locker room and into the middle of something big. My heart began pounding. My feet propelled me toward Scott but then Chase turned and gave me a “back off” look. I stayed a few feet away, mentally checking Ch
ase: I’ll keep my distance until Scott gets closer. Then all bets are off and I’m taking him down.
“You’re being stupid,” Chase stated. His face was flushed. All of the boys’ faces were flushed.
“What the heck is going on?” Jasmine asked. “You guys never fight.”
“The boys want to cheat,” Chase said. “Isn’t that right?”
“No,” Scott answered.
“Come on,” Chase said, cocking his head. “Be a man and admit it.”
“We used Jump today,” Miguel told Jasmine.
I snapped my fingers. “That’s why you were doing so well! I mean …”
“No, no, you’re right.” Miguel laughed. “That’s exactly why we were kicking ass today. Ain’t a question about it, we were dead in the water before today.”
“It’s temporary,” Chase said. “It’s not real. You’re not all of a sudden better than anyone out there. It’s an illusion.”
“Chase, everyone is doing it! It’s not cheating if everyone is doing it!” Jasmine exclaimed. The boys, surprised to hear her pipe in, simply nodded. Chase was temporarily stunned, glaring at her with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. Like he was grossed out. Truth be told, I was starting to get a queasy feeling in my stomach too.
“Dude, we want to win,” Scott said. “And we can’t do it without the Jump.”
“But then you lose something,” Chase said, frustrated. His hands waved around wildly in front of his face. The straps of his leather gauntlets flapped back and forth. “You don’t win. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a hollow victory because deep down, you’ll always know that you cheated to get there.”
“So what?” Miguel asked. “Compadre, it sucks losing! And all we’re gonna do is lose if we don’t keep up with everyone else!”
“I know it sucks to lose!” Chase shouted. He wheeled closer to the boys. The boys took a step back, at least temporarily intimidated by Chase’s passion. He had that presence, even in his chair. He was pushing that presence out in front of him like a force field. “I was on losing baseball teams my whole life! Sometimes we played well and got awards, but then some other team came along and ended our season. Once, just once, we won it all. I got one base hit and struck out three times. But that one hit was the sweetest feeling in the world because it came against the toughest pitcher in the state.”
“We’re not going to get a hit!” Scott shouted. “This isn’t a Cinderella story. We’re not going to magically start winning if we just, I dunno, grin and bear it! Did you see us out there? We can only compete if we do what everyone else is doing, dude!”
“You don’t know everyone else is doing it.”
“So we don’t know,” Scott said, taking a shaky breath. “But we know enough.”
Chase shook his head. He looked on the verge of crying. I wanted to sidle up to him and hold him, but I didn’t want him to look me in the eyes. Because then he would know the horrible truth: I wanted to take Jump, too.
I wanted to win.
“There were guys on our baseball team who tried steroids,” Chase said in a low voice. He looked down at the white tile floor. “Steve Blake and Jamarcus Griffin. It screwed them up. They got angry all the time. Jamarcus got acne so bad his face was scarred. Steve started going bald. Then Jamarcus’s mood started getting even worse. It changed them. That’s why they both left the school Junior year.”
Everyone was quiet. I couldn’t believe it. I remembered Jamarcus and Steve only a bit, seeing them in the halls sometimes. I remembered when Jamarcus started getting bad acne. Everyone joked about it behind his back. No one said anything to his face because he had a temper. He shouted at teachers.
“That’s not going to happen to us,” Miguel said. “We ain’t using steroids. It’s just a little pill to make us tougher. It’s different.”
“There’s always a catch,” Chase said. “You can’t just take some magic pill that makes you a better athlete without some sort of side-effect. It doesn’t work that way. Whatever Jump gives you, it takes from somewhere else.”
“Just … let us deal with it,” Scott said. “You know? And don’t try to guilt us just cause we want to win.”
“You’re pathetic,” Chase snarled. “Every one of you.”
Scott’s body tensed. I jumped between them, pressing both hands into Scott’s chest and pushing him back before he could take even half a step. I looked into his fiery eyes, challenging him.
“Fine,” he said. “So we’re pathetic.” He looked over my shoulder. “Coach your girls, Chase. We’ll take care of ourselves from here on out.”
The boys turned together like a pack of wolves, making their way to the staircase just beyond the vending machines. As he passed the last soda machine, Scott punched the plastic exterior.
“Wow. That was way too intense for me,” Margaret said quietly.
Chase took a deep breath, watching the boys walk up the stairs. I walked around him and took the risk of putting a hand on his shoulder. I knew he might shrug it off. I knew he was angry. But I wanted to be there with him. I wanted him to know that I was there for him.
His hand reached out, grabbing mine.
“Chase,” Jasmine said, “Alice had a good idea. Maybe we could just give it our all during the first round. No Jump.”
“Ya,” Margaret said brightly. “Like, we could just see how it goes, you know? Maybe we won’t need it if we just keep practicing and getting good advice from you and looking for their weaknesses and then maybe we’ll have, like, an 80’s movie montage for good measure.”
Chase grunted. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off the staircase. “And what if you don’t win the first round?”
Jasmine looked at me. Margaret and Rachel, too. Inside my little makeup bag was my magic pen … and the bottle of Jump.
Chapter 5
The limo whisked me through the city, which reminded me a lot of a Milwaukee suburb: lots of small concrete buildings and concrete roads lined with traffic signs. Only Agnasora had a hint of the ancient hidden amongst its newer buildings. Between a red-brick Laundromat and a white hotel was a beautiful old building with tall semicircular windows and two sharp spires, like a church. Only it wasn’t a church at all … it was a school. On the next street was a tall apartment building with colorful window shades, and beside that was an old Orthodox cathedral. It was surrounded by grass and trees, its four dome-shaped spires stretching impossibly high. The front was held up by six thin columns, and above the columns were stained-glass windows that reflected the midday sunlight. The Gothic-style arched doors were open and welcoming.
The street narrowed. The driver squeezed to one side to let incoming traffic pass. It felt almost claustrophobic, and through the window I could see the oncoming cars pass within a few inches of ours. I definitely liked my neighborhood’s wide roads better.
I also didn’t really like having a Corrupted chauffer.
The pen was warm in my pocket, tempting me. Go ahead. Just poke him right in the neck. The divider window is down … he’s distracted …
Yeah, then what? When he turns to ash, who’s going to take over driving?
We were on the other side of the city now, passing a yellow trolley whose tracks intersected the road and ran to the long brown-bricked train station off to my left. I stared at its bright red roof, wondering …
Who the heck built a castle underground? And how are trees growing down there?
Because magic, Alice. Because magic. That’s why. And trying to answer “why” is just going to lead to more questions.
“Here,” the driver growled, pointing toward the small square-shaped gray building coming up on the right. Yup, it was definitely a bar: little windows, neon sign hanging over the door, green dumpster sitting right outside.
“Very welcoming,” I said.
The driver grunted, saying nothing. He pulled over. I got out, biting my tongue before my automatic politeness kicked in. No way I was thanking him for giving me a ride. That would leave the d
istinct impression that I wasn’t planning on destroying him at some point in the near future … the last thing I wanted to do was give the poor dummy mixed signals.
I grabbed the bar’s cold door handle and pulled. Warm, stale air greeted me from inside. Stale air tinged with the nauseating smell of beer and mold. I stepped inside, stopping to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I took in the scene with a hero’s eye:
Small bar to my left, lined with a single string of white Christmas lights. One bartender, middle-aged. Two men sitting at the bar. Jukebox in the far corner. Posters of scantily clad women on every wall. Five old tables, three of them lined with empty glasses. Only one table currently occupied. One guy. In his forties, maybe. Thin beard. Brown leather jacket. Old brown baseball cap. Half-gloves. Grizzled expression.
My contact.
I walked over to him, ignoring the bartender’s curious look. My contact kept his eyes on his half-finished beer, spinning the glass slowly with his fingers. He had a bit of an Indiana Jones vibe going on … if Indiana Jones was having a bad day and preferred baseball caps.
“Ahem,” I said, clearing my throat.
The man looked up. He had brown eyes to match his jacket and dry-looking wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. It was a weathered face. It was the face of a real, honest-to-god explorer, not the beefcakes you see in movies who are slathered in makeup. This guy was for real.
So obviously I was temporarily at a loss for words.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Alice,” I said. “Alice … G.”
He grunted. “Well, Alice G, what do you want?”
“To join your exploration party.”
He was momentarily silent. His left eye narrowed, studying me. He scratched his thin dark beard, which was peppered with gray hairs. “And what makes ya think I wanna take a schoolgirl along with us?”
