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There was the hubbub of a full crowd and the room was hot and noisy. I was dismayed. Why were so many people eager to watch two living beings tear themselves apart? I tried to keep my face blank but I was grateful for the mask.
Everyone was in black, like they were at a funeral. No guesses as to why these events were called ‘black’ tourneys.
Some women were in full-on couture gowns with trains, as if it were a ball, only the hors d’oeuvres were fist fights between magical creatures. This was fight club meetsPride and Prejudice, and the prejudice part was alive and well.
The black tourney-goers were clumped in sects. There was a handful of fire elementals in one corner, ogres in another and dryads in a loose circle. It was harder to tell what the more human counterparts were, though I could see that some were vampyrs. I’d expected – hoped – that most of the bloodthirsty patrons would be vampyrs, a prejudice of my own left over from watching too many Dracula movies. Alas, they seemed to be in the minority. There was a bit of everything here, a cosmopolitan melting pot of the Other realm, all bound by a desire to see some violence.
Waiters were circulating the room offering Champagne flutes. I watched with disgust as the vampyrs were brought glasses of haemoglobin, though I guessed it was better than having someone attacked. I took a glass of Champagne. I was desperate to down it, but I held it instead; I wanted to fit in but I didn’t want to risk drinking anything in this place.
In the centre of the warehouse was a large cage. It was empty and its floor was pristine, which reinforced the idea that the black tourneys moved around and didn’t take place in one location twice.
Tall tables were dotted around and the candles on them created a soft, atmospheric light. My nostrils were filled with the scent of vanilla, cinnamon and sandalwood, something I’d smelled before. I sneezed rapidly, trying to clear my nose of the heady scent, but I couldn’t; it was all I could smell.
Esme paced impatiently in our mind, angry that one of our senses was being dulled deliberately. Across the room, I watched as members of another small group started to sneeze. Wolves – I’d bet my favourite handbag on it. Manners sneezed. He tried to do it subtly but the urge was too strong. We’d been outed as werewolves.
Chapter 27
Luckily,Bastionhadn’tbeenwrong about his reception. All over the room, people were pulling away and whispering, pointing at him. I didn’t know whether they knew that he was Bastion, the deadliest griffin assassin ever to live, or just that they knew he was a griffin and that was enough. Next to him, we boring old werewolves weren’t worthy of commentary, which was irksome because I was really rocking that dress.
As I looked around the room, I saw someone else sneeze: a woman, standing by herself, a lone wolf. I watched her move through the room. There was something achingly familiar about her – I knew her, I was sure of it – but with the mask covering her face it was difficult to place her. She turned to pick up a Champagne flute from one of the roving waiters. As she turned, I saw her bare shoulder and the vicious scar that ran down it. My heart stopped. Dammit – it was Elena.
I took a step towards her but at that moment the lights that shone down on the cage started to dim. The one sole light in the centre cast long shadows. When I looked back to where Elena had been, she had gone.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, creatures, and Other, welcome to the black tourney!’ the master of ceremonies announced in a long drawl. The crowd roared with excitement. I felt vaguely sick.
‘For your delectation tonight … Ares has a new challenger!’
Another spotlight came on, illuminating a whole bloody orchestra. The conductor gestured and I recognised the sinister strains of ‘Dance of the Knights’ by Sergei Prokofiev. It fit, I guess.
The crowd parted and in stalked a unicorn, being led roughly by a halter collar. Three trolls marched alongside him, heavy axes in their hands. It was clear the unicorn was there against his will, albeit he wasn’t recognised as a sentient being.
I dug my fingers into Manners’ arm. He put an arm around me. ‘Steady,’ he murmured. ‘We can’t fight the whole room.’
I knew he was right, intellectually I really did, but emotionally I wanted to shift into my wolf form and let Esme loose to rip into troll and vampyr flesh. It was one thing for sentient beings to choose to fight in the cage – a crazy choice, but a choice nonetheless – but this was no choice.
The unicorn was being forced and I could see it wasn’t the first time. His white coat was marred by rippling scars and puckered flesh. Poor Ares. His red eyes flashed with hopeless rage as he was shoved into the cage and the door slammed shut behind him. He screamed his wrath, rearing up and clawing down the metal bars with his reptilian feet. The cage sparked and clanged but remained depressingly intact.
‘Requiem Dies Irae’ by Verdi started and out of the shadows phased a vampyr.
‘Young,’ Manners murmured. ‘This isn’t a done deal.’
The vampyr was bold and smirking. He played to the crowd, bowing and blowing kisses. He was unconcerned about being in a cage with a rageful beast. Was it wrong that I suddenly hoped the unicorn would pulverise the vampyr into tiny pieces? Maybe I belonged here more than I thought I did.
The unicorn screamed again, an ear-splitting sound that cut through the fancy strains of the orchestral music with ease. The white beast lowered his head and his horn and charged at the vampyr.
Laughing, the vampyr backed into the shadows and phased away. He popped up to the unicorn’s left and moved with shocking speed, slashing down Ares’ neck with a dagger. Thankfully the dagger was small, but I guessed it was more to drag out the fight than from any sense of fairness.
The unicorn screamed again, but this time with pain. It whirled around. The vampyr phased away again, then popped out to the right. The unicorn danced away from his attack just in time.
The vampyr grimaced and put on some extra speed, moving so fast that it was hard to track him with the naked eye. I watched, gobsmacked, as he ran up and over the cage ceiling, his momentum keeping his feet glued there even while he was upside down. No wonder the Common thought vampyrs had a link with bats.
The vampyr cavorted around, playing to the crowd. He dashed in with his dagger, a little nip here, a little nip there. Fast though he was, he was also predictable. He phased left, then right, then ran around the cage – then rinse and repeat.
I watched the unicorn and for a split second it looked back at me across the space between us. Then it focused on the vampyr, so confident in his success.
This time, when the vampyr phased left, he moved directly into the lowered horn of the waiting unicorn. He staggered back off the horn but, before he could phase again, Ares reared up and smashed his clawed feet into his chest. It opened like a tin of beans, and blood and organs poured out.
But Ares wasn’t done. He reared up again and again, slamming into the vampyr and pulverising him into so much ground meat. No amount of supernatural healing was rescuing this vampyr.
