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What’s the largest possible prime number? Poor girls had been tearing out their hair, when I clearly was the only competitor who would’ve known there’s a simple proof to show there is no largest prime.
And then there was my fight with Stefinne in the second round. She’d been beating me soundly, and just when I began to panic, the oddest thing happened. Stefinne had me in a choke hold, a dagger in her hand, and was hauling back for the deathblow.
But then she simply . . . zoned out.
It was the strangest thing ever. One moment she was in her eyes. The next moment, she was empty.
It’d given me the chance I needed. Sliding my sword from where it had been pinned under her leg, I clocked her on the side of the head, knocking her cold. Despite her hatred, I really hoped she might’ve just been knocked out, might live to see another day, but a couple of Tracers appeared to whisk her away, and I knew that was the last we’d ever see of her.
I shouldn’t have won that round. But I did. And then I spotted Alcántara in the audience, with that wolfish half smile on his face.
Now it was time for my next fight, and it was against Lilac’s bosom buddy Mia. Part of me wanted to win on my own merit. But there was another part that hoped for more vampire intervention.
Yasuo spoke, tearing me from my thoughts. “You all right, D?”
Rather than answer, I felt compelled to look at the stage. Master Alcántara was staring at me across the platform, his eyes glowing strangely. Inhaling, I gave my rattled head a shake. “Yeah, I’m okay. ” I managed a smile and then flexed my hands. “Just contemplating how remarkable it is that one of the most painful things ever is to punch a bunch of soft flesh. ”
“That Mia chick is so not soft,” Yas said. The three of us watched as she worked through the obscenely limber stretches she did at the start of combat and fitness classes. She had long, stick-thin limbs. Her collarbone, every vertebrae, every rib, stuck out. Her black hair was pulled into a gleaming bun. “Look at her. Girl doesn’t eat. ”
“She was a classically trained ballerina,” I said.
Emma frowned. “Strange. ”
“Tell me about it. ”
“How’d she end up here?” Yasuo shuddered. “And what turned her into Skeletor?”
“Word is, a pesky drug habit. Girl moves to big city; girl meets meth. . . . You can imagine how the story went from there. ”
Yasuo grimaced. “Eeesh. ”
“Don’t be fooled. ” I pointed at her as she folded herself in half, wrapping a hand around each foot. “That right there is lean muscle wrapped over bone. ”
Emma nodded. “Drew’s right. I’ve seen her in class. She’s strong. ”
The gong sounded. My turn.
Rolling my shoulders, I took a deep breath. I felt my friends patting me on my back as I stepped toward the stone. “Here goes nothing. ”
We both climbed on, and Mia stared at me from across the platform, pure loathing in her eyes. She inhaled deeply and dramatically, then fluttered her hands and bent her legs in a fluid karate form.
Great. Classically trained in both ballet and martial arts.
We were allowed one weapon. Mine was a pretty little switchblade that fit my small palm perfectly. I’d contemplated fighting with my shuriken, but wasn’t good enough yet for them to be practical.
I stared in horror as Mia bent to pick up her weapon. She’d chosen the kama.
“Seriously?” I couldn’t help a spurt of nervous giggling. Basically, a kama was a sickle that old Japanese men used to mow down rice, and young ones used to mow down enemies in back alleys. “You have got to be kidding. ”
She shot me a look of total disdain. We waited for the gong to sound again, signaling the official start of the fight, and Mia used the opportunity to whirl her sickle overhead with the same balletic movements she used in her stretches and forms. She took a long, graceful step toward me. “It’s a weapon of the ancients. Used only by those with sophisticated training. ”
She wanted me to find her act daunting. But, really, all her waving around was just starting to annoy me. “It’s a damned grass cutter. ”
“It’s an art. ” She did some cranelike pose, rising up on the ball of one foot with that sickle raised over her head. Her pose was elegant and fierce, and she looked like a painting. She cawed her version of a karate kiop, but to me it just sounded like an injured monk.
“Spare me. ” I’d had enough of these boarding-school dropouts and their posh attitudes. I sheathed my knife.
Whispers rustled through the crowd. Disarming oneself before a fight was not exactly conventional behavior.
