A prison is heavily guarded. Even if I could get to him, would I have a chance to touch his skin?
Unlikely.
Besides, he’s already been punished. I should be happy.
So why am I simmering with disappointment?
Twenty-Three
I manage to wrap my mind around the news of Kenmore’s imprisonment. Enough to function, anyway.
I ask Cassie whether the prison allows visitors. She promises to look into it, then begs me to accompany her and Joe to the Arena. I agree to go, hoping to learn more about Terranus, its people, and who is in charge.
My next best move is figuring out a way to see Kenmore in prison, but that can wait until I get my bearings.
So far, life in Terranus seems ideal. Joanie warned me of danger, but so far, I’ve encountered nothing of the sort. Maybe things have changed since she left Terranus. Would she consider coming back?
We leave the apartment, travel up several levels via the elevator, and walk onto a boulevard filled with pedestrians. Two women play guitar and sing a fast-paced rock song as we pass as onlookers sway.
After five minutes, we reach a market area. Cassie and Joe walk arm-in-arm, and I linger a few steps behind, awed by the ingenious underground architecture. The cavernous, four-story tall market is stunning. Pale orange sandstone has been shaped to form curving balconies and foot bridges that suspend over a crystal-clear blue underground river.
Warm yellow, soft orange, and soothing pink lights seep from shop windows. The mouth-watering aroma of stir-fry assails my nose and my stomach rumbles. We stop at Joe’s favorite noodle bar and he orders up an assortment of delicious protein-packed, steaming-hot noodles.
We devour our meals in a busy area filled with tables of people eating, drinking, and cheerfully gabbing. As I bite into the noodles, I savor the mix of intense flavors, unique spices, and crisp vegetables. Even though it’s not a large portion, my belly is full and warm.
“You seem better,” Cassie says between mouthfuls.
I manage a half-smile. “I’m getting there. These noodles are amazing.”
“We love it here,” she says, and Joe rustles her hair, hugging her with one arm.
I watch them and marvel at their happiness. To be so in love. Is that something I’ll ever experience?
Could I have that same happiness with Reed? I picture his expressive green eyes in my mind, feel the curve of his lips against mine. Physically, he and I are perfect together.
But then I feel guilty and think about Gatz. The time he nursed my bullet wound in his bar. How gentle and warm his hands were as he stitched me up. The way he looked at me after I rescued him from the military headquarters where he’d been held and prepped for more DNA splicing.
But being with him seems impossible. Unless…I casually reach inside my jacket, running my fingers along a hidden pocket sewn inside, under the left sleeve. The reassuring weight of the vial greets me. The serum is still there, protected.
If Gatz took it…could I touch him? Be with him? God, I’ve never even shared a kiss with him. By the time I wanted to, I was deadly.
I finish my plate and push it away. “So, what’s the event tonight?”
“Fight night,” says Cassie offhandedly.
I shake my head in surprise. “What?”
“Once a week, there’s a combat fight. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“What kind of fighting?” I ask.
Joe’s eyes gleam. “Well, anything goes, really. Sometimes it’s hand-to-hand. Once there was an epic sword battle!”
“Really?” They must be exaggerating. I scan the room and see other couples and a few families with kids chattering. A palpable excitement skirts the air.
“We should get going so we snag good seats,” says Cassie hopping off of her stool.
We wind our way through a long, curved archway made of thick vines and emerge into a massive carved stone hall with ceilings as high as a cathedral. I glance a poster on the wall: Tonight Only: The Beast versus Fierce Fury.
Ahead of us, a line has formed in front of a rectangular glass-paned cube the size of a house. I have no idea what it is, but Cassie pulls on Joe’s arm. “Can we stop and show Ida?”
“I’ll go on and save seats.”
“Thanks.” She kisses him, and he wanders toward the arena entrance.
“What is this?” I balance on tiptoes for a better look as we reach the end of the line.
“Don’t worry, it moves fast.”
Out of nowhere, a young woman appears—no—materializes in front of us. The woman smiles. “Hi, Cassie.”
Blinking, I stare at the stranger, then at Cassie.
“Hey, Evelyn,” says Cassie. They hug and Cassie waves to me. “This is my friend, Ida. She’s new here.”
“Hi!” Evelyn extends her hand in greeting, but I stare at her open-mouthed, unable to process what I witnessed. “How did you…?”
“She can teleport,” says Cassie, like it’s no big deal.
Evelyn smiles evenly. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. What’s your ability?”
I’m flustered and struggle for words. Fortunately, Cassie intervenes. “She hasn’t revealed yet. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
Evelyn changes the subject. “Say, how do you think Fierce Fury will do tonight?”
“I think he’ll put up a good fight,” says Cassie.
“One can hope,” says Evelyn with a frown. “Three cheers for the underdog.”
We advance several spaces. Cassie was right about the line going fast. As we near the attraction, I realize it’s a cage.
Evelyn chatters with someone else in front of her. I lean into Cassie and ask quietly, “What’s in there?”
“You’ll see,” she says with a tight smile.
We inch closer. There must be an animal. Something exotic that draws curiosity. Finally, a group ahead of us move on and we approach the front of the cage. I peer inside and glimpse a hairy creature hunkered down in a far corner.
“Hey, Beast,” the man next to me shouts. “You gonna put the hurt on Fury tonight?”
“This is the Beast?” I ask Cassie. “He looks more like a man than—”
The crouched creature rises. Standing well over six-feet-tall, his hairy back is packed tight with muscles. Long brown stringy hair trails down his spine. The Beast wears black pants but no shirt, revealing fur-covered skin.
Slowly, the creature turns to face the man, casting luminous ochre eyes on him. His face has the angular jaw line of a man, but the muzzle and sharp canines of a wolf. The Beast steps forward and lunges at the man, colliding with the steel bars of the cage. He snarls and thrusts his arms out, slicing the air with jagged claws.
The taunting man jumps back, hiding behind others in the crowd, eliciting raucous laughter from another group of men. “Told you he would piss himself,” one of them guffaws.
“Enough,” yells Cassie.
Meanwhile, my gaze is locked onto the Beast’s. I know those eyes—yellow as a dying sun with midnight-black pupils.
I draw closer to the cage, compelled.
“Ida, what are you doing?” Cassie says behind me.
The Beast pulls his arms inside the cage and fixes his attention on me. He growls a throaty, guttural moan. But I edge closer to the cage, ignoring the warning calls behind me.
I reach out. The Beast tilts his head, ceases snarling, and studies me.
“Peterson…” I manage to say before someone grabs me from behind, dragging me away so fast my vision blurs. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground twenty feet from the cage surrounded by Cassie, Evelyn, and worried onlookers.
I push myself up, scramble to my feet, and peer at the cage.
But the Beast is gone.
Twenty-Four
“Where did they take him?” I ask Cassie.
She pulls me aside, away from the onlookers. “The fight’s about to start. The Beast took off into the back to do…whatever it does just before a fight.” Now th
at we’re alone in the crowd, she tugs my arm, hard this time. “Hey, why did you go up to the cage? You really scared me. Thank God Evelyn teleported and pulled you away in time.”
“She shouldn’t have done that.” I have no idea how she grabbed me so fast. It was a blur. But then again, nothing should surprise me now.
Cassie glances at her biocuff. “Let’s go in or we’re going to be late. Joe scored great seats near the front.”
I straighten my jacket and run my fingers through my hair, smoothing it. My heart hasn’t slowed down yet. I can’t believe “The Beast” is Peterson, my guard from Frontier Medical Lab. And he’s alive.
I jog a few paces to catch up to Cassie now on a mission to get inside. So many questions roll over in my mind…Why is Peterson caged? Why is he forced to fight? Why is this happening?
But she’s fast, and I struggle to keep up. I follow as she cruises past the gate and into the stadium-sized, oval arena with a sunken center pit.
At the top of a steep stairwell, I pause and scan the crowd. Every seat looks to be filled. There must be a thousand or more people in attendance. Joanie had said there were a thousand people total in Terranus. Could it be the entire city is here for the fight?
“Come on,” Cassie shouts over her shoulder. Her head bobs up and down as she clears level after level, hustling to reach the front.
My breath catches in my throat. I peer down at Cassie, then back at the exit. I could abandon this sick spectacle. But I clench my fists, decide to stay. For him.
Peterson, what have they done to you?
I will my feet to move and reach Cassie. She slides onto the bench next to Joe, and I take the aisle seat. We’re three rows from a half-wall partition that separates the crowd from the fighting floor.
The chatter from the fans rattles my teeth. I’ve never been in a place with so many people packed together. The noise is thunderous.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Cassie elbows me and then squeezes Joe’s knee. A massive thumping bass interrupts the clamor. In a moment, the audience grows silent. Arena floodlights flicker and then fade out.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” A spotlight illuminates a thin man in a shiny, silver-jeweled top hat. He paces a suspended platform that hovers above the middle of the arena. “My friends.” He pauses and raises his hand to shield his eyes from the glare, peering dramatically at the audience, surveying each section of the ring-shaped grounds. “Are you ready to see tonight’s battle of man versus mutant?”
The crowd erupts. People clap, shout, and stomp. Two seats away, Joe whistles between his fingers, practically splitting my ear drums.
Hamming it up, the announcer dances and spins, gesticulating wildly.
I search the pit floor for signs of a referee, boxing gloves, or anything to indicate how the match will start, but see only the empty pit.
I grind my teeth, impatient for the theatrics to be over. This seems over the top for a simple boxing-martial arts match. I worry for Peterson. The guard I knew was kind-hearted. The thing in the cage—The Beast—was wild-eyed and raw. What has he become?
After more teasing, the announcer rocks back on his heels. “Tonight, Fierce Fury challenges the reigning victor, The Beast.”
Boos and jeers rise from the stands at the mention of Peterson. The announcer grins, letting the derision echo for half a minute. “Let’s get on with it, shall we? Let the fight begin. May the strongest prevail.”
His spotlight disappears, and the arena is washed in darkness. A battle horn’s trill pierces the air, and the floor lights up. At opposite ends of the pit, two wide archways open.
From the portal farthest from us, a figure emerges. A man sprints toward the arena’s center.
“Please welcome your brave challenger, Fierce Fuuuuuury!” screams the announcer.
“Go Dave!” Cassie yells. The crowd roars.
Fierce Fury, aka Dave, bows and waves.
“And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for,” says the announcer, pausing for breath, “the reigning champ of Terranus—the legend. Is he man or wolf…or something else? He’s an enigma…The Beast!”
I hold my breath. A low humming emerges from the audience, then their displeasure builds into a cacophonous roar as Peterson lumbers out of his gate. He’s only twenty feet away from me. If I jumped up and hurdled over the barrier, I’d reach him in less than thirty seconds.
His gait is slow and deliberate. The boos turn into jeers and men and women—kids even—shout insults. Monster. Freak. Half-wit.
My temperature rises, and I clench my fists. I start to rise, but Cassie yanks me down. I land in my seat with a thud. “What are you doing?” she says, glaring at me.
“Look how they’re treating him.”
She shakes her head and turns back to the event.
Peterson halts a few feet away from Fury. He gnashes his teeth and spins, slicing the air with his claws. Then he tosses back his head and unleashes a throaty, growling bark sending the crowd into a booing frenzy.
Finally, the din dies down and the fight begins. Peterson steps into a fighter’s stance, raising his clawed hands, ready to strike.
Fury, in black pants and a long-sleeved crimson shirt, stands with his hands on his hips, unfazed. Below his eye mask, a grin spreads across his face, propping up high cheekbones.
“Careful, Fury,” a boy in the crowd shouts.
The challenger dusts off his chest and then rises several feet into the air, as if he’s floating. The crowd goes nuts.
“His power,” Cassie whispers, as if I’m clueless.
I shoot her a dirty look, but I’m intrigued. What will he do? How does he expect to win against someone so fierce?
Fury soars through the air, over the heads of the spectators. Arms reach up as if trying to touch him. Meanwhile, Peterson waits below.
The flying man continues his show for another minute. He cruises above, spinning, flipping, and twisting. After a bit more time passes, the crowd starts to get restless. First, there are whispers, then a chant comes together. Fight, fight, fight…
In mid-air, he bows, then vaults across the arena and lands not far from our seats. A young man seated across the aisle from me leaps up, hoisting a sturdy iron club. He travels the few steps to the barricade and tosses the club to the fighter. A fervor erupts. Cheers and whoops crush my ears, and the challenger turns and waves, pandering to the audience once again as he leaps into the air.
My stomach drops at the sight of the weapon. “What the hell?” I elbow Cassie. “Peterson’s unarmed?”
“Who’s Peterson? You mean The Beast?”
I check myself. “Yes, yes. This isn’t a fair fight.”
“The Challenger is allowed to bring a weapon of his or her choosing. Only one,” she says, distracted by the action.
No weapons are offered to Peterson. He’s poised for battle. Claws out, he stays rooted in place, tracking his opponent in the air. But then Fury descends to ground level and sprints toward him, leaping into the air, and thrusting the massive club high above his head on a collision course.
Peterson slides to the right and rolls away an instant before the club slams down, dodging the brutal blow.
Stumbling, Fury loses his grip on the heavy instrument, then bumps into the arena wall before flying out of Peterson’s reach.
Peterson snarls and advances on the fallen club. He guards it, but doesn’t claim it.
“Grab it,” I say out loud without realizing. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse Cassie flinch at my words, but I ignore her. My insides are twisted in agony. This is painful—an arena full of people cheering against someone I know. I refuse to believe he’s the monster they make him out to be.
I long for Peterson to take the club and defend himself. Were it me, I’d use the weapon to scare the shit out of my opponent. Just when I thought Terranus was somewhere I might fit in, I discover the place is bloodthirsty.
Fury jets around overhead, avoiding Peterson, who blocks access to the weapon.
The crowd has simmered down now that their hero lost his club. Then, the flying man gains speed. He circles the arena, growing faster and faster, until he dives straight into Peterson, tackling him and knocking him ten feet from the club.
Peterson lies on his back, dazed. His chest heaves as he recovers from the impact. Fury grabs the club again and circles the wolf creature who struggles to find his footing.
Get up. I’m biting the insides of my cheeks so hard I taste blood.
Peterson lunges at the crowd’s hero, leaps into the air, and slashes the man’s leg.
Fury flies several feet, but then lands, stumbling and grasping the barricade. Clutching his calf, his lips twist and his eyes fill with rage and something else…pain.
I know how painful Peterson’s beastly claws feel raked against your skin. He scratched me by accident once, and it felt like a dozen searing knives shredding me.
Fury groans. He’s close to us, against the barricade. Peterson strides toward his injured opponent.
The crowd has gone quiet. Peterson’s eyes narrow as he advances. Fury grows still, gripping the club in one hand. He seems weak. Peterson could finish him off now.
I search Peterson‘s face for any signs of mercy. “What happens now?” I whisper.
“Only one. There can be only one winner,” Cassie replies.
“Who decides?”
“Whoever lives,” she says offhandedly.
I want to retch. I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I see it sooner? Why didn’t I realize this bloodthirsty crowd is waiting for the kill? This isn’t entertainment; this is community-sanctioned murder. It’s no wonder Kenmore designed this city. It’s full of death.
It feels like a rock has lodged in my throat. He won’t kill Fury. The Peterson I know isn’t a killer. He’s kind. He smuggled me a candy bar once. He told me jokes. He had a pet mouse. This can’t be happening.
Peterson approaches Fury. He looms over him, then raises his right arm high in the air as if he’s about to bring it down on Fury. The crowd erupts in hisses and jeers. Peterson scans my row, first skipping over and then returning to me. I straighten as if I’m caught in a hunter’s snare. I want to shout out.
The Rogue Spark series Box Set Page 55
