“Trevor!” Alaric snaps, a clear warning in his voice that he’s overstepped.
“Wait a minute,” I say, trying to understand this. I’m pretty sure Trevor’s mentor is who I’ve been hearing visiting Zahara’s room at night. But if that’s true... “If Zahara already knows him, exactly how does he qualify as a stranger?”
The faerie smiles and gives a small courtly bow to us all. “Colin Stranger at your service.”
“You’re fired,” Trevor snaps. “I don’t want your help anymore.”
“Oh dear, how dreadful,” Colin replies in mock despair. “When you never listened to a word I said or bothered to share your plans with me? What a loss to us both.”
“That is cheating!” Aphrodite screeches. She advances on Zahara. “You have made a mockery of my trial.”
“And we’re done here,” Athena says, smacking her hands together. Aphrodite is suddenly encased in a time-out box. Rada hides a smile, and Athena turns to Zahara.
“Well done, harpy,” she says, then to the rest of us. “Now what is the alternate prize you desire?”
Zahara smiles at all of us. “Return us to the bar, but with all the other patrons removed. We deserve to have a night off and a little bit of fun too.”
Athena considers it for a moment and then claps her hands once more.
Instantly, we are back in the bar, although it’s now almost completely emptied out except for a small group gathered around the jukebox. One of them turns and I recognize Malik’s mentor, Jordan.
“Who wants to macarena?” he asks as the music starts to play.
The girl beside him laughs, and I realize that it’s Edie.
All our mentors are here. Including Stranger, who slips an arm around Zahara, pulling her close to his side. She smiles softly and rests her head on his shoulder. I know Zahara said sex was no different than slamming a doot, but whatever she has going on with Stranger seems like it might be something more.
“Come on,” Edie says, grabbing my hand and pulling me across the bar.
“Strategy, advice, or hints?” I ask.
“Advice,” she laughs and releases me. I realize we’re now in the middle of the dance floor. “I’m going to show you the proper way to shake your booty.”
And then Edie starts to dance. For all of her talk about booty shaking, her rear end is barely moving. Did no one ever teach her that dance starts with the hips?
I shake my head and head over to the jukebox. It only takes me a moment to find what I’m looking for.
As ‘Baby Got Back’ begins to play, I step in front of Edie. “This is where the student becomes the teacher,” I inform her.
As I show Edie how it’s done, I look around to see that everyone is now on the dance floor, shaking what they got and just generally having fun.
We keep the jukebox hopping all night and the drink flowing too. It’s one of the most amazing nights of my life.
For those few hours, we leave our rivalries behind and lose ourselves in the smoky haze. In short, we party like there’s no tomorrow.
Because for some of us, there might not be.
22
At dawn we’re transported to our beds without even being given a last call warning.
I’m annoyed, but then I feel the soft mattress beneath me and relax into it. A moment later, I’m asleep.
The sun is high in the sky when I wake up again. I’m still tired from all the dancing last night, but at least I’m not hungover. Mama always said liquor was the devil’s juice and full of empty calories too, so I tend to stay away from it.
A sunny Rada appears in front of me. “It’s another trial today. Time to get up.”
I groan, needing a little more time to wake up before dealing with Rada’s good morning cheer. “Why aren’t you hungover? I saw you and Sophia break into the top-shelf liquor cabinet together.”
“We did break in and then we drank all the most expensive alcohols inside. Sophia said everything else in the place was peasants’ swill.” Rada lowers her voice conspiratorially, “I couldn’t tell the difference.”
My stomach rumbles with hunger and I sit up. This time I notice the long, flowing scarves attached to the ends of our beds.
“Ohhh,” I say, climbing out of bed to inspect it closer. “I didn’t expect accessories, and whoever managed the color choices is a marvel.”
I hold mine, a husky pink, up to my cheeks, watching as Rada fingers hers—hunter green—with a concerned look on her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Want to trade? I don’t think it’s a strict rule that redheads shouldn’t wear pink—”
“These aren’t scarves,” Rada interrupts me. “And they’re not accessories. These are flags, as in capture the flag.” She knots the green one at her belt, tugging on it to check that it’s secure.
“What do you mean?” I ask as I do the same with my own scarf. “And by the way, whether you’re calling it a flag or a belt, that’s still an accessory.”
“It’s for the trial,” Rada says, frowning when her flag falls away from her belt with another sharp tug. “It has to be the final part of Artemis’s trial. It’s why we’ve been working with our horses. Epona helped with its inception.”
“If you have insider knowledge, you better spill,” I tell her.
“If I had to guess...we’re going to melee.”
“Where’s that?” I ask.
“Melee,” Rada repeats, retying her flag to her belt. “It’s not a place, it’s a battle. An unorganized one. Everyone for themselves.” She eyes herself in the mirror, still tightening the knot at her side. “I don’t think the gods like that we formed alliances. They’re pitting us against each other on purpose.”
“Well, I don’t want your scarf,” I say. “Earth tones have never agreed with me.”
“BJ,” she says, spinning from the mirror, clearly exasperated as her knot fails her again. “Don’t you know how serious this is? Epona has us melee in class sometimes. You have to stay within the parameters of the field. If you leave the battle, you’re out. If you lose your scarf—I mean flag—you’re out. I wouldn’t be surprised if more than one of us is stripped of our power today. A melee is an ugly thing, and I guarantee you will take my flag if you get the chance.”
“I do understand how serious this is,” I tell her. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m trying to cut the tension? And who the hell taught you how to tie a knot?”
I jerk her flag from her belt and retie it into a double wrap French knot. Rada stares at me then gives an experimental tug.
“Oh, that’s not coming off easy, honey,” I tell her. “And for your information”—I swiftly arrange my own flag into a Pan Am knot— “I won’t take your flag, even if I can.”
Rada looks up from her belt, confused. “BJ, that’s a terrible strategy. You know that I’ll take your flag if given the chance, right?”
“Yup, I do.”
“And you do understand that you’re not in an alliance with me?”
“No, I’m not,” I say, pulling my hair up into a high ponytail. “But there are bonds that go beyond alliances. Like, for instance, we’re roommates. We know if the other snores, drools all over their pillow, or farts all night after going overboard at the dining hall ice cream bar.”
Rada’s cheeks go red. “I’m slightly lactose intolerant, okay?”
“I know, roomie.” I pat her on the back as we head out the door. “I know.”
We meet the others at the archery field. It’s been transformed into something more like a football stadium, only ten times the size. The targets are gone, and there’s a fine, low hanging mist in a perfect oval surrounding the field. Beyond that, bleachers are set up. Amazons are already filing into place, taking their seats and jostling one another for a better spot.
“Melee, I knew it,” Rada says under her breath.
Our horses are waiting for us in a nearby paddock and Whiskey flares his nostrils at me, rolling his eyes like he’s asking me what’s d
ifferent about today.
“I don’t know, buddy,” I say, resting a hand on his flanks. Even though he hates me, there’s comfort in knowing I’m not going into this alone.
I reach out to touch the fine, white wall of mist we had to pass through in order to reach our mounts. The mist reaches up to my waist, but dissipates before it touches the ground, leaving my shins and feet visible.
“It’s a magical boundary,” Zahara says, rubbing her horse’s nose. “I wouldn’t get all up in it, if I were you.”
I pull my fingers back, rubbing the pads together. But nothing has stayed behind. “Seems harmless.”
“Harmless enough, until you get disqualified,” Sophia says, brushing past us as she leads her mount through the mist and onto the field.
“What’s that mean?” I ask Rada, as I swing onto Whiskey’s back.
“If you leave the field of battle, you’re out,” she says. “If you lose your flag—”
“You’re out, yeah I get it,” I say, urging Whiskey forward. We’ve reached the point where I only have to run my finger along the outside of his ears to encourage him into a walk, which is a relief, given the amount of horse earwax I’ve had to dig out from under my fingernails lately.
“Contestants,” Epona’s voice rings out, and the stands—now full of eager Amazons—fall silent. “If you would move to the center of the field, we will begin.”
Malik, Sophia, Zahara, Trevor, Rada, Alaric, and I all move our horses to stand before her. Artemis and Devana stand on either side of Epona, holding bows and arrows. As we gather before them, they circulate among us, giving each of us a bow and a quiver of arrows.
“Are we actually supposed to shoot each other?” I ask.
“Da. Dey are round tip arrows. Dey bruise ya. Dey maybe take out eye. So, no real harm. Get five shots, left-handed strong girl,” she tells me. “Maybe think about vat Devana say, ya?”
“I. Am. Right. Handed,” I grumble at her.
“You are girl who misses all her shots,” she says, moving on to Zahara.
Alaric seeks me out. “Use the arrows to spook the horses, or make them run a certain way. I’ll try to help you as much as I can.”
I nod. “I’ll try not to get in your way.” Argh, is that the best I can offer?
Artemis goes on to explain the melee to us. Each of us has a flag at our belts. The goal is to capture each other’s flags by any means necessary. If we flee the battlefield, or pass through the magical boundary—which is now active, she informs us—we will be disqualified, our flags stripped from us and delivered to whoever happens to be nearest.
“It’s last woman standing,” Artemis declares. “Or man, I suppose,” she adds, although I can tell by the glance she tosses to Rada that she expects her girl to win.
And, I have to admit, Rada has the advantage. She is by far the most accomplished rider among us, easily the best shot, and she has experience in a melee.
Artemis, Epona, and Devana take their places in the stands, where Athena is already seated.
I lean into Rada. “How do we know when to start?”
She gives me a wicked grin. There’s a bellowing noise, like the blowing of a horn. “Now!” she shouts, and makes a dodge for my flag.
“SHIT!” I scream, which makes Whiskey do exactly that. Luckily he also lurches forward, and Rada’s fingers only skim my scarf.
“Ha!” I yell over my shoulder, but barely miss being clocked in the forehead by Sophia, who isn’t going for any grace points. She takes a swing at me with her bow, and I barely glide under it as I lean backwards, my skills from the Limber Little Limbo Ladies pageant coming in handy.
It’s close, though; her bowstring twangs off my chin, and her horse nips my thigh as he passes. Like a true vampire, she trained him to bite.
The Amazons are screaming in the stands, rooting on Rada, and booing me—thanks, girls—when I manage to stay on Whiskey’s back. I flip them double birds and a pageant smile as I pass the bleachers, which most of them gleefully return, although a few are smiling back.
Just in front of me I spot Malik, bent low over his mount’s back. He’s closing in on Zahara, who is on foot now. Her horse is panicked, dancing in front of her as she tries to calm it. It’s not like Zahara not to be able to control her mount, but I don’t have time to figure out what’s gone wrong for her. Whiskey is in an all-out gallop, and he’s cutting the distance between me and Malik, who is going for the easy prey—a distracted Zahara.
My hand is inches from yanking Malik’s flag—a bright yellow—from his belt when an arrow whizzes through the air, cutting past me with a high pitched zip. Malik’s flag is torn away, the arrow pinning it neatly to the ground, making it easy for Rada to bend down from Manathan and yank it free, whooping up a storm—literally, thunder is breaking all around us—as she claims the first flag of the melee.
The Amazons go wild, and Malik kicks the ground in a fury, his emotions getting the better of him. He accidentally shifts into his cat form and his mount panics, veering sideways and crashing into Sophia’s horse. The vampire flies over her mount’s head, but is able to recover in midair, hovering for a moment before coming to the ground. But her horse is down, screaming in pain, two legs folded awkwardly, broken.
Whiskey instinctively runs away from the sound of his fellow horse’s pain, taking me out of the path of danger just as Trevor swoops in behind Sophia. She’s beside her horse, crying, her hands on its muzzle as she tries to give it some comfort. Without hesitation, Trevor yanks her flag—a dark fuchsia—from her belt.
What the hell? Trevor and Sophia have an alliance.
She whirls, equally shocked to find herself betrayed, but ready to fight back. Her fangs erupt and she goes for Trevor’s throat, his horse putting distance between them as fast as possible.
But Sophia is a vampire—and she is pissed. She goes after him, and the crowd cheers her on, ready to see Trevor’s blood, when the misty boundary forms a tentacle, and neatly slaps her out of the air.
“Disqualified,” Athena bellows from the stands. “You have lost your flag and must leave the field of battle.”
Spitting with rage, Sophia gets up, her dark gaze following Trevor as he takes a victory lap, waving her flag overhead as he does. Whiskey circles the perimeter and I spot Zahara, still struggling to bring her mount under control. I guide Whiskey over to her, and she instinctively whirls, hand moving to protect her flag.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What’s going on with your horse?”
“I don’t know,” she shouts back, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the crowd as Alaric takes a shot at Trevor. It flies wide and into the crowd, one of the Amazons nonchalantly raising her shield to keep from being struck.
“He panicked,” Zahara says. “And I can’t get him to calm down.”
Honestly, I can’t say I blame him. Rada’s letting her thunder roll, Malik turned into a lion, Sophia flashed her fangs, and one of his buddies just got downgraded from warrior horse to next week’s glue.
So yeah, I’d be panicking too.
But Zahara’s horse went wild before any of those things happened, and I can feel Whiskey shifting uneasily beneath me. He rears, suddenly, a frenzied whinny erupting as his hooves slash the air.
“Look out!” I scream at Zahara and she dives out of the way, barely avoiding his forelegs just as two hands erupt from the dirt beneath her feet.
“Zahara!” I yell. She turns just in time to see people emerging from the ground. If I thought the guys at the bar last night looked rough, these people are way worse. They look and smell like corpses…
Ohhhh.
Shit.
They’re zombies.
As I absorb the horror of this, four more crawl out of holes around the field.
“What the Hades?” Zahara cries, dodging a zombie’s grip. I grab her wrist, meaning to swing her onto Whiskey’s back behind me, but she twists away, still protecting her flag with her free hand.
“I’m t
rying to help you!” I shout over my shoulder at her as Whiskey makes a run for it. I grab his ears and turn his head just as he’s about to break through the barrier of mist. He veers to the right, and we barely avoid being disqualified.
He slides to a halt, breathing hard, and I survey the field. Zombies are loose everywhere, creating havoc. One is feasting on Sophia’s downed horse while she screams and tries to break through the barrier to help it. But the magical mist won’t let her through.
Zahara is still horseless, though she’s now spread her wings and taken to the air. Using her arrows, Zahara attempts to shoot the zombies below. One of the zombies now sports a back prickled like a porcupine, but it’s not slowing him down. I’ve got a bad feeling that it’ll take a direct head shot to bring one of them down for good, and I know Zahara’s aim isn’t that great. Plus Devana only gave us five arrows. Zahara has already burned through three without doing any real damage.
She descends slightly, her brow furrowed as she takes aim—just as Trevor runs his horse directly underneath her, snagging her low-hanging flag—a dark brown—and tearing it from her belt. Her arrow goes wide and she spins out of control in mid-air, hitting the ground with a hard thump that knocks the breath out of her, one of her wings folded at an awkward angle.
“Zahara!” I yell, just as two of the zombies attack. She tries to shuffle out of the way, but blood stains the side of her mouth, her bad wing dragging behind her.
I don’t hesitate. Digging my fingers into Whiskey’s ears I send him into a mad gallop straight at one of the zombies, who rolls under his hooves, bones cracking. I grab Zahara’s arm and swing her up onto Whiskey’s back. Her arms encircle my waist, her head resting against my shoulder.
“Thank you, friend,” she barely manages to say, her breath knocked out of her. I pull Whiskey to a stop at the edge of the field, handing the injured Zahara over the misty barrier to a couple of Amazons who climb out of the stands to help.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell at Artemis, who—with Epona and Athena—is on her feet in the stands. “You thought it was cute to throw in zombies as an extra curveball?”
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