by Angel Lawson
“And who pays for the house?” The question brings out a tic in his jaw and when he doesn’t answer I stop pressing. For now.
I look out onto the street and I recognize a bodega and then an electronics store. So much of the city looks the same to me but when I see a kid with baggy pants and a gold tooth hanging on the corner I say, “I’ve been here before. Today. Are we going back to the Magic Shop?”
“No, but we are nearby.” He drives past the stairway that leads to Tran’s shop and turns a corner. There he directs the car into an underground garage and parks. Opening his door, he nods at the floor and says, “Get that bag.”
I’m already dressed for a workout. Athletic tights. Hoodie with a workout tank underneath. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail and I have trainers on my feet. I grab the bag off the floor and sling it around my shoulder.
On the way out of the garage Clinton finally explains. “You’ve made a lot of progress in our sparring sessions, but if the Darkness crosses what you’ll encounter will be a totally different situation. You’ll not only fight physically but mentally and against magical forces. A simple punch won’t kill anyone.”
“Kill?” I ask following him across the street.
“This isn’t about getting the upper hand. It’s about stopping the apocalypse. The Darkness will not stop—not this time. It’s hungry.”
On the sidewalk, I stop Clinton with my hand. He turns and looks down at me. “Aren’t you afraid you’re just teaching the Morrigan how to be a better fighter?”
He shakes his head. “The Morrigan already knows how to fight, sweetheart. She’s the Goddess of War. This is about me teaching you how to fight back. If you’re serious about separating away from her you’ll need to be strong and ready.”
“But who am I supposed to kill?”
“You’ll know when the time comes.”
I hate him for being vague but I know he doesn’t care. This whole thing is crazy. Apocalypse. Goddess of War. Sometimes I’m sure I’ve lost my mind. That this is just another fantasy I’ve slipped into like my books and writing.
But the smell of the asphalt is too strong and the smarmy skin of the guy at the door is a little too memorable. And when we step into the gym there’s no need to pinch myself. My imagination isn’t this creative.
There’s a crowd packed around the square ring in the middle—much like a boxing ring, with ropes bordering the edges. Seats are on an incline for better viewing and the stench of alcohol is strong. Curiosity licks at my brain and a strange energy pulses behind it.
“Clinton—what is this?”
“The fights.”
“And we’re here to watch?”
A thin line appears on his forehead. “No, you’re here to fight.”
I spin on my heel. No freaking way. I’ve barely made it three feet toward the door when I feel a huge hand wrap around my upper arm. Clinton has stopped me in my tracks. “You can’t make me go out there.”
“No, but it’s what you need to do. Take it to the next level.”
“Suicide? In front of a crowd? No thanks.”
We stare at one another for a long moment. Finally he blinks. “We’ll watch. Maybe you can at least absorb some of the strategy and when you gather enough courage we can come back.”
That little jab goes nowhere. All I want is to get out of here. Away from the lure of magic and the blood-thirsty crowd, but I’m curious enough not to walk out the door. The magnetic pull of clashing forces drags me back.
“Two matches,” I say.
“Three?”
“We’ll see.”
He graces me with one of those rare smiles, followed by a brief but toe-curling kiss. I follow him to a sliver of bench with a good view of the ring and the crowd around me. After a moment I lean into him and ask, “Who are all these people?”
“It’s probably not a surprise to you that if gods and goddesses and ancient magic exist, then so do other supernatural beings.”
I stare at him for a second. “This actually does come as a surprise.”
“Really?”
“Well, yeah, I guess?” But of course that’s stupid. I’ve seen enough in the last month to know that my grip on what’s normal is flimsy at best. The raven friends I’d made and forgotten as a child were real. They’re my guardians, assigned to me because I carry a smidge of the ancient Goddess of War in my soul. I narrow my eyes. “What are we talking about here?”
“Various beings. Angels, demons, demi-gods, Nephiliam…a little bit of everything.”
“Angels.”
He nods. “Yes.”
“What’s a Nephiliam?”
“Fallen angels…back in ancient times, they bred with the daughters of man and created Nephiliam. Basically, a human-angel hybrid. They’re vicious warriors.”
I glance around the room trying to figure out who is who, but everyone just looks like regular people, just like Clinton and I. Other than some incredibly attractive people, with striking features and intimidating physiques, I can’t find identifying markers. “And you all come here to fight?”
“Sure. It’s no fun to fight a human. Not fair either. It’s a good way to blow off some steam.” Clinton’s hair falls over his ear and I reach up to tuck it back in place. A shadow falls over us and we both look up to find a woman with braided blonde hair standing before us. She wears a flirty, dangerous smile and holds out a bottle of beer in Clinton’s direction.
“Brought you a drink,” she says, eyes never acknowledging me. “I owed you one for last time.”
I notice the way his eye brow lifts, just a little, and the way his eyes take her in. I can’t be sure it’s out of interest. He’s a Guardian after all, his job is to assess those around me, but I’m not sure how I feel about the tone of their exchange.
“Thank you,” he says taking the drink. “How have you been?”
She raises her arms over her head, flexing her muscles and lifting her ample breasts inches from his face. Good grief.
“Pretty good. I haven’t seen anyone interesting sign up tonight. It will probably be pretty lame. Unless you’re fighting.” Her blue eyes flare. “Will I see you in the ring?”
“No,” he says, taking a sip of the beer.
“No? One of your brothers?”
“Not tonight. We just came to enjoy the show.”
At last her eyes skirt over me when he says ‘we’. The blue is so cold I nearly feel the air shift in temperature. “Oh well, I guess you’ll have to settle for cheering me on. I’m up in a bit.”
“Good luck, Hildi, but I doubt you’ll need it.”
She smiles at the compliment and walks off.
“Uh, what was that all about?” I ask, noticing he’s put the beer on the floor.
“That’s Hildi. She’s a Valkyrie. If she offers you a drink you take it.”
“And if you don’t?”
He laughs. “She’s a little like you. Blessed with the power of a Goddess. She also thrives on war. And in ancient times traveled with Ravens. It gives her an affinity for me and the others, although I don’t think she really knows why.”
I tilt my head. “And do you have an affinity in return?”
He slips his arm around my back and pulls me close. In my ear he whispers, “It doesn’t work that way and you know it. You’ve claimed our hearts, bodies and minds. You dictate our whims and in return we protect you from the Darkness that lurks at the edges. Don’t question our loyalty.”
I turn and our lips are nearly touching. I feel his breath. I see the determination in his eyes and I don’t doubt him for a second. Jealousy has no place in our relationship and I understand his conviction. I lick my lips and I’d claim him for real right here and now but a bright light flashes over the ring. He brushes my nose with his, breaking the moment. “It’s about to start.”
I have no idea what to expect but I focus on the ring. The lights dim around us and the rowdy crowd settles—a little. A tall man strides to the middle, a spotlight glarin
g off his smooth, brown skin. His teeth are white, and from my seat, appear sharp.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready for the Monday night free-for-all?”
“What’s the free-for-all?” I ask.
“It’s when anyone can throw their names in. Other nights have organized fights. Sort of like regular boxing or wrestling.”
“And you thought I’d toss my name in? To fight angel-hybrid-Valkyrie warriors?”
He smiles and shrugs.
I can’t even with him.
Two more spotlights click on, one zooming to opposite corners. Two men stand on each side dressed like a mixture of a MMA fighter and possibly a ninja. I have no idea what is even going on down there.
“Watch these two. You’ll learn a lot. That’s Diamond Dave and Rocky Boa.”
“What kind of names are those?” I ask, but Clinton’s eyes are glued to the scene below. I expect a little fanfare but there’s nothing but the sound of a buzzer announcing the start of the fight. Both men move to the center of the ring, circling one another. I’m not sure what Damien wants me to learn and I’m about to tell him so when what happens on the stage nearly forces me to my feet.
“Oh my God,” I say, rising up. Damien tugs me back down in my seat.
Black tendrils slither down one Rocky Boa’s arms. It looks like smoke but I blink and realize they’re snakes.
Snakes.
Dave doesn’t seem remotely surprised and he flicks his wrists, revealing a series of blades. They glint in the bright light and a wicked grin appears on his mouth.
“Blades?”
“It’s legal. Anything goes in there.”
Dave slashes through the air, cutting off the head of one snake. In reaction, two more appear. The smile slips and he goes for Rocky’s body. Clinton leans in and says, “The snakes are a protection. The more he cuts them the more they’ll appear, eventually wrapping Rocky in a body of armor. Dave needs to go for throat.”
“The throat?” I watch as the fighter does just that, taking a sharp swipe at the other man’s neck. He misses but the snakes hiss in fear and as the snakes grow they slither along the canvas ring, growing into something larger, scarier.
“All Dave has to do is nick him and he’ll go down. Those blades are dipped in poison.” Sure enough. Dave goes after him again, this time tearing a hole in Rocky’s shirt. The snakes circle around and around, zeroing in on Dave.
“They’re going to get him,” I say about Dave, covering my eyes. The sound of the snakes hissing echoes in my ears.
“Don’t be so sure.”
I take a peek just in time to see Dave perform a pretty fantastic acrobatic move, jumping over the snakes and using the corner post of the ring as leverage. He flips in the air, slicing so fast I can’t see his movements. Snake heads roll and the smoke conjures more but Dave has Rocky on the ground with a blade against his pale neck. The snakes continue to circle but blood is drawn, spilling from Rocky’s neck. The serpents offer one last hiss before fading into thin air. Rocky’s body lies in a pool of blood. The crowd is on their feet, shouting in a chorus of cheers and jeers, depending on who they wanted to win.
“He’s dead?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach.
“In the real world? Yes,” Clinton says. “But the ring is enchanted. Rocky will survive—other than his ego.”
“The ring is enchanted?”
“Yes. Those skills? The blades and the snakes? These people can’t use those powers on Earth. Somewhere else? Wherever they came from? Sure. But here? The laws don’t work that way. Just like how I can’t shift into a crow anymore, and how you can’t infect people with the Morrigan’s death. Not normally, at least.” He looks down at the ring. “But down there? Like I said, anything goes.”
I stare down at the body, which definitely seems to be dead. Rocky’s neck is limp and twisted. Dave struts around the ring, declaring and owning his victory. The referee (if you can call him that) ushers Dave off the stage and for a few, awkward moments Rocky’s pale, graying body lies alone on the floor.
The referee returns and stands over the body. He waves his hands and a flash of shimmery light hovers over the ring. The man’s mouth moves, reciting an incantation. No one around me seems to notice. They’re talking and drinking and behaving the way any event-goer would during an intermission. Not me, though. I can’t keep my eyes off the man on the stage—the body on the mat. The magic swirls over Rocky and enters him quickly through the mouth. A moment later the fighter’s eyes pop open and he inhales a gulp of air. He fumbles for a moment but the man helps him off the ground, pats him on the back, and sends him off the ring.
I look at Clinton and say, “That was fucking insane.”
“That guy is a Shaman. He monitors the games—makes sure everyone plays fair.”
“Fair?” I shake my head, feeling like I’m in an alternate reality. I mean, maybe I am. Suddenly the room feels too crowded. Too tight. I stand up, seeking air.
“You okay?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Just going to the bathroom. Be right back.”
His gray eyes narrow in concern but I squeeze his hand and work my way through the people on our row, down the walkway and toward the sign pointing to the restrooms. I get to the bottom floor, turn the corner and sigh. Even the supernatural have a long line for the women’s room.
I lean against the wall and wait, glancing at the woman behind me and giving her a sympathetic smile. She simply glares at me in return.
Okay then.
The crowded line moves slowly and the causal chatter of the women turns to whispers. I’m staring at my feet, wondering if I should go get a pedicure tomorrow when I hear a girl near me say, “Can you believe he showed up with her? That scrawny thing?”
“Seriously. He turned me down last week.”
“Same but two months ago. I stopped trying after that.”
“I’ve never seen him with anyone. Never. And then bam, he’s got a date. He fucking kissed her when they walked in. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Someone snorts. “Date? Let’s call a spade a spade. That girl looks a one night stand. Like he found her down at the sorority house or something.” That voice rings louder than the others.
“Did you see his last fight?”
“I saw his body. His muscles. That’s not a six-pack, girl. I counted at least ten.”
“He’s hot but I’m sort of into the other one. The broody one,” the girl behind me says. I peek over my shoulder and see a spark in her eye. “I bet he’s wound up so tight. I want to be the one to loosen the spring.”
“I’ll admit it’s hard to pick. The men in the Raven Guard are all fucking epic. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into them, one-by-one.”
There’s an explosion of giggles and when I look up at the name “Raven Guard,” the girl who said it is staring straight at me. It’s Hildi with her white blonde hair braided tight around her skull. She’s very tall and when she talks her hair flows down her back like a mane. Her Norse genes stand out among the other women in the line, including my own dark hair and skin. Tiny tattoos decorate the sensitive skin behind her ear and I even if Clinton hadn’t told me she was powerful, I would instinctively know.
“What?” I ask, because I’m slow as molasses.
“You seem interested in listening to us so why don’t you just join in? Tell us what he’s like.”
“Who?” Okay, I’m not that dumb, but I’m also not sure where this is going. Hildi grins. She knows she’s got the upper hand. I bite. “Clinton? He’s just an old friend.”
“An old friend?”
I step out of line to meet her. The other women fall back, watching the scene unfold. “Don’t play games with me. Clinton and the others? They need a real woman to take care of them. Not a little girl like you. Someone who can handle their strength—their passion.” She strides forward and places a hand casually on her hip. “Do you even know what you’re playing with here?”
“I have an idea.”
The same buzzer I heard before cuts through the air and her eyes flick over my head. “Clinton deserves a warrior, not a filthy human or whatever fairy hole you crawled out of. You should stick around. Watch a real woman in action. We’ll see who he leaves with when this is all over.”
It’s a foolish threat on her part. Weak and pathetic. She’s the one that has no idea what she’s dealing with and laughter echoes deep in my mind.
There’s one way to bring out the Morrigan. Threaten to take her man.
*
I push through the crowd, not back to my seat like I should, but toward the ring in the middle. The next fight is in full swing and it looks like a goblin of some kind is battling a man with sleek black wings. It takes me a few minutes to find who and what I’m looking for: the Shaman. He’s standing at the edge of the ring. A list of names is on the table next to him. I walk up and see Hildi’s name and pick up the paper.
“I need to get added to this list,” I shout, trying to be heard over the roaring crowd. The black winged angel swoops overhead and I hear the disturbing sound of crushed bones. I reach for the Shaman’s robe and yank.
“Hey,” I say, when he finally looks down on me. His expression is more curious than annoyed. His dark eyes take me in. Unlike Hildi, I suspect he knows exactly who I am. “I want to fight.”
“The slots are full.”
“Make room.” I point to her name. “Against her.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You want to fight the Valkyrie?”
“I do.”
The Shaman’s eyes flick to the crowd, to where I know Clinton is sitting. I don’t turn around. “Yeah, I’m here with him. He brought me here to fight. I’m ready and this bitch needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Revenge?”
“Let’s call it a lesson in making assumptions.”
He nods and slashes his finger across the name of Hildi’s opponent, causing it to disappear. “So who is going to fight tonight? You or the Goddess?”
I pull my hoodie over my head and the charm heats at my neck. “Probably a little bit of both.”
Chapter Seven
Morgan
