Relentless

by Michael Arches

  I stood up from the chair and checked the mirror. My new face was round and younger-looking. Luckily, Maureen hadn’t tried to make me hot. I’d blend in well enough. “Very nice, definitely different.”

  Maureen beamed back. “Just bring Cara with you when you return. Dana told me she has great fashion sense. I’m dying to meet her.”

  I was just as eager, and a lot more worried about failing than Maureen seemed to be. Even if the deal went down as planned, Cara had suffered plenty recently. Some wounds never heal, particularly those on the inside.

  -o-o-o-

  WITHIN AN HOUR, I realized Maureen had been right. The makeover had been the easiest part of my day. Ian put us disciples through a particularly tough karate class. Even worse, he seemed to think I wasn’t trying hard enough. He kept saying, “Put everything into your blows.”

  I thought I had been, but he wasn’t satisfied. Magical fighting was a tough world where failure meant years of slavery, or even death. I’d seen that world too close for too long. So, I put every ounce of my strength into each kick and punch.

  When we broke for lunch, I barely had enough strength to hold up my fork. He seemed to push me the most right before a battle.

  I was lost in my thoughts when one of the other disciples, Frank, leaned over and whispered, “Did you see the schedule change? Ian wants me to butt heads with you next.”

  Frank was an idiot, but a strong one. Several weeks back, he’d beat the crap out of me during our first sparring session. That had been legitimate, but I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to let it happen again. And it hadn’t, yet.

  Instead of responding, I silently ate a half of a pepperoni pizza and washed it down with root beer. That was the patented high-energy meal I always ate before a big match—carbo loading at its finest.

  While I stuffed my face, I ignored the fool on one side of me and chatted with Christina, Ian’s daughter, on my other side. She’d somehow gotten wind of my plans for Vegas. “This guy Wang sounds like a double-crosser,” she said. “I don’t trust him a bit.”

  “Me either,” I said, “but I have to deal with him as long as he owns Cara. I’m taking extra money in case he raises the price at the last minute.”

  She nodded several times. “Have you settled your magical core? Beating Eichmann discombobulated you. You need to retune.”

  She loved fancy words, but she also knew more about light magic than I did. So, I took her comment seriously. “I’m still sorting things out inside, but I’d processed enough to beat Turnbull. I wish I had more time to settle my core, but Cara is going to disappear after the fight tomorrow. The gods only know where her new owner will take her.”

  “Let’s meditate with Mom tonight. That’ll help.”

  I patted Christina’s hand. “Good idea. Any tips on how I should handle Zapper?” That was what the kids called Frank.

  I knew that Christina liked him, and she grinned at him while he scowled at me. “Keep an eye open for his left hook,” she said. “It’s a killer.”

  That’s what’d taken me out before. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  One of Christina’s friends dropped by, and before she left me, she gave me a comforting hug. Frank left shortly thereafter, muttering about girl power.

  As I was walking to the station where we dropped off our trays, Dana walked up and whispered, “I hear you’re going to spar with Frank Young. Do you mind if I watch? He’s been hitting on me—he’s a little creepy. Maybe you can beat the crap out of him.”

  I fought back a snicker. This wasn’t the first time Dana had asked me to deal with an annoying guy. “He’s got at least an inch on me, and he’s stronger. The twit gave me a concussion once. I’ll count this match as a win if I come out still conscious.”

  She frowned. “He keeps telling me I’d be lucky to have a big guy like him to protect me, and to make thing worse, you’ve already grabbed the most eligible bachelor available.”

  The thought of Frank putting his paws on Dana made me almost barf. He’d been so obnoxious to me since the day we met. “I’ll do my best, but don’t get your hopes up. And if he smacks me around too much, you can use that as an excuse to blow him off.”

  She thought about it for a minute then said, “Win-win, I love it.”

  Then she followed me to the training room where Frank and I were supposed to spar. As usual, I stripped out of my karate uniform down to spandex shorts and a top that was little more than a sports bra. All gladiators fought naked, and that was how I preferred it, too, but I wasn’t going to give Frank a cheap thrill.

  Dana rubbed baby oil over my bare skin to make it harder for him to grab me and toss me around. Then she kissed me on the top of my head. “May the Mórrígan be with you.”

  Before we started, I ran down my list of Frank Survival Rules on my smartphone. First, avoid getting trapped in a corner. Second, to ignore his smart-aleck mouth. We weren’t allowed to use magic while sparring, and so getting pissed at him wouldn’t do any good. Third, be patient, wait for the inevitable mistake, then make him pay.

  Before we started, Ian whispered in my ear, “I thought this would be a good change of pace for you. You’ve focused so much on magic lately. Don’t neglect your physical weapons.”

  By that, he meant my hands, feet, head, and staff. We didn’t normally use our staffs during training, and they could be a great equalizer. “Thanks.”

  I pulled my shrunken weapon from the pocket in my karate uniform Dana was holding and expanded it. Turnbull’s face had already magically appeared on the shaft along with all my other challenge conquests. That was an inspiring sight.

  Ian’s other two disciples, Jin and Tito, stood with him and Dana in one corner of the twenty-foot-square room. The walls were bare except for several posters showing karate forms. The floor was covered with gray mats. Nowhere to run or hide.

  Frank grinned as he came forward with his staff outstretched. The guy never seemed to lack confidence. I held my weapon near the bottom with both hands so I could swing it at him like a bat. With any luck, that would keep him back.

  When Ian rang a bell, Frank rushed toward me and used his staff to knock mine away. But that movement threw him off balance. I feigned surprise then brought my left foot up, kicking him on the right side of his stomach. And at the last second, I remembered Ian’s advice about hitting harder. With a grunt, I put everything into the blow.

  It landed a little short, grazing his navel. I’d forgotten, my legs weren’t as long anymore.

  Frank groaned but quickly brought his staff back into position in front of him.

  I charged him, pressing the top of my staff against his stomach, trying to knock him backwards.

  He was too strong, stood steady, then he punched me, connecting with my collarbone on my left side.

  Pain radiated outward, but it didn’t crunch. I could still move my left arm. Fight smarter, girl.

  I backed up, circling, working to develop a better strategy on the fly.

  He stabbed at me with the tip of his weapon. I slapped it away, slid to one side, and aimed a lunging punch at the side of his thick skull.

  Ouch! My right fist ached like I’d slammed it into a brick wall. Note to self—don’t do that again.

  On the plus side, his eyes crossed. While I was still close, I twisted my torso at the shoulders and jammed an elbow into his nose, making sure I stretched farther to reach the target. Blood sprayed over me.

  He swung wildly and caught my forehead with his right fist. Stars erupted in front of me. I staggered backwards holding my staff horizontal before my face, hoping it would block any more blows. Two wooden rods danced before my blurry eyes instead of one.

  My mind wanted a nap. It took all my effort to remain conscious. Luckily, he seemed dazed too.

  Do something now, anything! I jabbed at his face with the tip of my staff. It hit something, not sure what. Eyes still too blurry. Stepping forward, I jabbed again, harde
r.

  He screamed, “My eye!”

  When my vision cleared, it revealed blood running down his face covering his left eye. I cringed, hadn’t meant to blind him.

  Ian said in an even voice, “That’s enough fun for today. Tito, get Raphael.”

  I lowered my weapon and stepped forward to see how I could help Frank. He lifted his head and glared at me. Luckily, I’d only tore open his eyebrow, not damaged the eye itself. “Hang in there. You’ll be able to see again as soon as Raphael stops the bleeding.”

  Ian stepped closer and examined Frank’s face, too. “She’s right. Just a nasty cut. Bet that stings.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “It was an accident.”

  Frank just stood there smoldering.

  Guilt washed through me—until I remembered how he’d knocked me silly. The jerk didn’t bother to apologize back then. Why should I feel sorry for him now?

  No good answer came to me, and I turned to look for Dana. The corners of her mouth turned up. She whispered, “Great job. That should shut him up for a while. I got my skull crushed once but didn’t bitch. What a baby.”

  We’d both fought enough to have been injured much worse. Gladiators occasionally died during matches, and I’d seen plenty of them beaten unconscious, including me. Frank was just freaked out. “He’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

  Sure enough, Raphael hurried into the room, gave me a smile, and approached my victim.

  “Ooh, I’ll bet that hurts,” the healer said in a sympathetic voice.

  He closed his eyes and sang in a quiet tenor, “Ave, Maria….”

  The cut quickly closed.

  Frank had knocked me around a little, leaving throbbing bruises on my forehead, hand, and collarbone. I waited patiently for Raphael to finish with Frank before asking him to check my bruises. Soon, I was as good as new, too.

  When Frank stomped off, Ian sighed. “No worries. This is a good example of why we fight with all our weapons, not just magic. I’ll bet that next time, he’s not as cocky.”

  My sister and I walked back to our suite. When we were alone, she put an arm around me and hugged me. “Way to go, champ. Just like the good ol’ days.”

  That choked me up. In a squeaky voice, I said, “It will be, when we have Cara back. The Three Musketeers will ride again.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, which made me feel weepy, too. I was turning into a big baby.

  -o-o-o-

  Saturday, February 27th

  DANA, TURNBULL, AND I spent the morning flying from Monterey to Las Vegas on a private charter. My sister and I each brought fifty grand in gold coins in our luggage, in addition to toiletries and a change of clothes, in case we needed to stay overnight. We didn’t want some snoopy TSA agent asking questions about the money.

  During the flight, I explained to my slave how he had to pretend to be in charge while still following my lead to handle something unexpected.

  At the airport, I rented a SUV large enough to carry the four of us and our luggage back from the Merlin Arena. I also brought two 9 mm pistols in case some Normal tried to grab my gold. It was best to cover every possibility.

  Over the years, I’d fought at the arena a handful of times, so I knew my way around. As usual for gladiator matches, the main floor had been divided into ten individual rings, each separated on three sides from the others by tall black curtains. That way, most of the spectators could watch several fights at a time. The matches themselves took place in standard boxing rings, but the rules were much different. The fighting was no holds barred, and each match continued until one competitor gave up or passed out.

  We arrived two hours before the first matches, and hundreds of sorcerers had come even earlier to party inside the arena. As I expected, a goodly number of those assholes were already drunk or stoned. That was part of this charming culture.

  A couple of bookies wandered through the crowds. I checked with one of the guys flashing money around, and he told me bettors were breaking against Cara two to three. In other words, the consensus was she’d lose.

  That chapped my ass. To show my support for my sister, I put fifty bucks on her, even though I didn’t expect to be able to collect my winnings.

  I whispered directions to Turnbull and told him to go to Wang’s owner’s box first on the off-chance he was there early and we could do our deal right away. Turnbull found the box, but the room was empty.

  So, I told him to lead Dana and me down to the main floor and to a large side room marked A. All the gladiators had been divided up into two groups so they could socialize with owners and fans without running into their opponents before the match.

  The fighters were required to arrive two hours before the matches began so their supporters would have plenty of time to annoy their favorites—at least that was the way I’d always thought about it. Most of my fans had loved to rehash my recent fights, and they’d expected me to explain each move I’d made in earlier battles. Luckily, I’d won most of the time, so I’d rarely ran into someone truly furious about my technique or me having lost them a big bet. Even so, those idiots had always been eager to tell me how to do better next time.

  The meet-and-greet room contained a hundred tables lined up in long rows, most with a fighter behind each table. Fans packed the aisles as they waited to talk to their favorites. I spotted a half-dozen guys who wore one of my old Bloody Mary shirts. They stuck out because they’d been splattered with blood. The t shirt’s front showed a photo of my face looking particularly wild-eyed and beaten up. The back contained the phrase I always screamed after each victory. I’m the Queen of Mean! Stay Out of My Way, Bitches!

  I was filled with a curious mixture of pride and horror to see people still wearing those shirts, and most of them contained my signature where I’d signed it personally. Sports fans were nuts.

  Dana spotted one wild-haired guy wearing my face and whispered to me, “I was so jealous of you. Your fans are fanatically loyal, and lots of them knew we were sisters. I must’ve signed five hundred of those shirts, right under your name. Hardly anybody bought mine.”

  “That’s because they were too pretty and feminine,” I whispered back. “I’ve got one, but these idiots prefer gore. I gave them what they came for. Now, let’s find our sister.”

  Chapter 5

  A MAP TOLD us exactly where we could find Cara, and we wove through the crowds to reach her.

  From fifty feet away, I spotted her, which sent a wave of relief racing through me. With luck, she’d soon be free. I wanted to rush up to her and hug her, but that would blow my cover big time. Dana and I had to stay cool.

  Cara sat and smiled up at some big lug towering over her table. She wore a long, slinky, white silk dress covered with sequins. Any normal person would’ve thought she was about to strut down some fashion runway. In a perfect world, that should’ve been her job. She had a cover-girl face and a sleek, graceful body perfect for showing off haute couture from any top designer.

  Instead, she sat next to a burly Chinese guy with a scraggly beard who had to be a bodyguard. His job was to make sure none of her fans got too enthusiastic or angry. Because she’d suffered from a terrible run of bad luck, she needed the protection.

  My stomach churned as I watched the tall guy shake his finger at her. It took all my willpower to hang back instead of running up there and launching one of my shoes into his nuts. Thankfully, he soon moved on.

  We approached her slowly. The overnight bag I carried on my shoulder seemed to get heavier, like the gold was trying to hold me back. We seemed so close to recovering Cara, but that was an illusion. The only true ways I could free her would be to either buy her from her owner or to win a challenge fight against him.

  Like most gladiators, she’d cut her wavy black hair short to make it harder to grab. For me, it triggered wonderful memories of combing and braiding her once-long locks that contrasted beautifully with her milky white skin. The sound of her low, breathy voice
also resonated in my memory, bringing up dozens of random memories of her. By the gods, I missed her so much.

  Fortunately, the next guy in her line seemed more relaxed. She’d always had a way of talking to guys that soothed them and made them eager to please her. She needed that skill these days more than ever.

  I whispered to Dana, “I can’t believe we’re here. She seems healthy. Wang must’ve healed her wounds to give her a chance to win her final fight.”

  Dana shrugged. “Or he wanted to increase her value to some sorcerer looking for a bed partner. Oh, Moira, we’re so close to getting her back. She does look so much better than when I saw her a few weeks ago. Cara was never cut out for this horrible business.”

  That was true, but she’d survived it for several years. That couldn’t have been easy, even in the featherweight class. Just one more battle, baby girl, and you’re done.

  Dana and I couldn’t talk to her because she’d recognize our voices. Wang was sure to have told her to warn him if we came around. But she didn’t know Turnbull, so I whispered to him, “Go up to her and find out everything you can. We mainly want to hear her talk so we can gauge her mood and well-being. Keep asking questions until I nudge you to leave.”

  “Yes, Master,” he whispered back.

  Dana and I walked behind him like his dutiful little bitches. When a tall, black guy finished talking with Cara and moved on, we had her to ourselves.

  “How are you?” Turnbull asked her.

  She beamed at him as though he was a long-lost friend. “Excellent, thank you for asking. I’ve never felt better before a fight. I’m sure I’ll win.”

  That was textbook gladiator bullshit. I’d spewed the same crap too many times to count. I ignored the words and focused on her flat tone of voice. Plus, she kept looking away from him. I could just imagine her thinking, I’m so thrilled I won’t have to endure this much longer. What a nightmare.

  Her bodyguard seemed ready to fall asleep. He also had probably heard this fake banter hundreds of times. Part of the game.