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“Ohhh, looks like we’re about to see the High Lord’s signature move, folks!” the commentator announced gleefully.
“Really great rigging,” Holt said quickly. “Super thin wires.”
“But… I didn’t see him hook himself up to them.” My brows furrowed as I tried to spot the wires. “He can’t have had them connected to him the whole time, right?”
“There’s… It’s…” Holt faltered, then blurted out, “Magnets.”
Moving almost faster than I could track, High Lord Crossbody dove toward the ring, smashing right into Blood Suckapunch and taking him down to the mat with a loud boom.
“A classic flying crossbody!” the commentator yelled into the mic. “A flawless takedown!”
They writhed around together for a while in a very invigorating performance, before High Lord Crossbody managed to get Blood Suckapunch on his belly so he could pin his shoulders to the mat.
The referee, who’d been hovering just outside the ring, dove under the ropes to count the seconds, smacking his hand onto the mat once, twice, three times before jumping to his feet and grabbing High Lord Crossbody’s wrist to wrench his arm into the air.
Screams and cheers rang out from the audience alongside a chorus of boos. Once the ref had let go of High Lord Crossbody, he flung both arms dramatically into the air as his feet lifted off the mat and he rose high above the ring. Like some kind of… sexy, sweaty angel.
“That was so cool,” I breathed like a dork. “The animatronic wings are amazing. Like, they actually look like they blend into his skin. And I really can’t see the wires at all.”
From the couch behind us, I heard Larkin snort and mutter, “Wires.”
“The audience loves those two together.” Holt spoke loudly over him. “Very energetic matches.”
“Yeah, usually,” Larkin piped up. “Because they’re normally both flying around the entire freaking arena. Seriously, Holt, you might piss everyone off tonight because you told the guys to ‘tone it down.’”
I glanced at Holt with a tiny frown, wondering why he’d done that, but he was back to pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I swear to god, Larkin…” He dropped his hand and gave me a nervous smile. “I just didn’t… want you to be overwhelmed or whatever.”
I flushed. Was I seriously such a loser that he’d thought I’d get “overwhelmed” by an energetic wrestling match? Like I’d get the vapours and pass out?
Returning his nervous smile with an embarrassed one of my own, I turned back to the arena. High Lord Crossbody was still in the air, showboating and lapping up the cheers from the crowd. Blood Suckapunch was making a big show of glaring up at him and hissing.
Then he vanished.
Like, literally vanished. As my brain short-circuited for a second, a big bat shot into the air, circled High Lord Crossbody, then flapped its way between the bleachers and down the walkway Blood Suckapunch had come from.
“I… What?” I said blankly, unable to comprehend what I’d just seen.
“Special effects,” Holt blurted again. “It… There’s a… hole in the stage.”
But I hadn’t seen any trapdoor open under Blood Suckapunch. I’d been looking right at him. He’d just been there, and then he’d been gone, and a bat had flown up from the exact spot he’d been in.
Like a real vampire.
I looked over at Holt. He was sweating. Whatever body paint he used was good stuff, because it wasn’t running at all.
“Do you want a drink? Or do you need to use the bathroom or anything?” he asked quickly, like he was suddenly desperate to get me away from the view of the arena. “There’s a break now before the next match, so… we should go. To the bathroom. Or just… go hang out in my office again. Is your hangover gone? Mine is, so we could get really drunk again—”
“Seriously, how did he do that?” I asked, looking back down at the arena. I heard Holt let out a strangled sound. “I didn’t see a trapdoor open or anything.”
I leaned closer to the window and peered down at the arena. A lot of the audience was moving toward the bar during the break, and I tried to spot Blood Suckapunch creeping out from under the ring or hiding among them.
The doors to the arena suddenly opened, and I quickly looked over to see if he was making a grand reappearance for some kind of finale. But it wasn’t Blood Suckapunch—it was the cackling granny from last night, once again on the arm of her big bald companion.
“Taylor, why don’t we…” Holt was saying something, his voice edged with panicked desperation, but I was too busy staring at Cackling Granny as she patted her companion’s thick arm and stepped back.
And then, in front of my very eyes, she turned into a giant lizard.
