Gray Witch (Black Hat Bureau 5)

“Oh, yeah.” He retrieved the snack from where it landed on his thigh. “They’re raiding the Tunnels of Tumult.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

No matter how often Colby explained Mystic Realms to me, I couldn’t wrap my head around its nuances. The details held my interest about as well as when I gushed to her about my newest book with subplots galore.

All I needed in order to support her was knowing that gaming was to her what reading was to me.

A happy place.

A much happier place than the one I was currently in.

Screaming, roaring, the crowd surged to their feet as the daemon wrenched his opponent’s hip from the socket, tore off one of his six legs, then beat him to death with it. Classic. Why bring a weapon when you could make your own? Next came his finishing move. A quick twist of his wrist, and off popped the head.

“Are the challenges always this hardcore?” I indicated the crowd with my chin. “And so well attended?”

“Yep to the first.” He skimmed the gathering. “Nope to the second.”

As a frequent attendee, Clay was the authority here. This was my first time witnessing the spectacle in its glory. Or should that be gory? A front row seat to watch the daemon fight for his—and Asa’s—life wasn’t my idea of entertainment. I had avoided my debut for months, but I was all in with Asa now. If I wanted him—and I did—I had to stake my claim for all to see.

Grateful for the cooler Asa packed for me, I dug out a bottle of chilled water. “What makes today special?”

“Stavros is the only person who pulls in these numbers.” He patted my head. “Until you, apparently.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hey, friend.” Eyes on my drink, Clay wet his greasy lips. “Can I have a sip?”

“You have roach legs stuck in your teeth, so no. I don’t want your backwash.”

“They’re crickets,” he corrected me then examined one. “Probably.”

Heaving a sigh, I surrendered one of the precious bottles for his use, to pollute as he saw fit.

“Rue.”

The daemon bounded over with the oozing head of his latest kill and presented it to me on his palm.

“For you.” He dropped to one knee and extended his arms until ichor dripped onto my pants. “You like?”

All eyes followed the prince, and the gazes of every daemon in the stands now bored holes through me.

“It’s the best one yet.” I ignored the foul stain spreading across my jeans. “My new personal favorite.”

“Rue claps for me.” He swung the offering to show Clay too. “Claps help me kill faster.”

Clay choked on a laugh he blamed on a cricket leg going down the wrong pipe.

“Well—” he coughed into his fist, “—you are half fae.”

The nod to the Tinkerbell effect made me smile, but the daemon tilted his head to one side.

“There’s a play called Peter Pan,” I explained. “When Peter’s best friend gets hurt, the audience is asked to clap if they believe in fairies. Tinkerbell, his best friend, is a fairy. So, the claps save her life.”

The whimsical idea appealed to him, if his bright eyes were any indication.

A crackle filled the speakers overhead before they squealed in an earsplitting screech then fell silent.

“Ruger of Agonae,” the announcer boomed, then a heartbeat later. “Face your doom.”