“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.”