by Justin Sloan
Owen cleared his throat and nodded for Valerie to approach, then said under his breath, “Go on, show yourself off.”
She wanted to kick his smug grin off his face, but stepped forward and did as she was told. As she spun, she noted the pistols holstered on the men standing behind the couches, lingering in the darkness.
“What is this?” the lady said, but her eyes showed she was intrigued.
“A new one for your treasure trove, Norma.” Owen stood tall, thumbs in his belt loops. “A volunteer.”
“Red light or black?”
Owen’s expression changed to one of uncertainty, and then he said, “I imagine she’d perform well in either, mistress.”
The word mistress sent a chill up Valerie’s spine as she thought about all those times Sandra had referred to her so. She hoped they were doing better than this. Right away Valerie could tell this woman was not a Were or Forsaken, and although her thoughts pulsed with manipulation, she had a feeling getting close to Clive would be the best way to go here.
Taking a gamble based on the fact that she knew the term red light districts from Old France, she said, “I’ll go for black.”
“She knows how to speak for herself then?” Norma said, less than impressed with this fact. “But can she fight?”
Ah, so black had to do with fighting. Valerie stood tall and smiled. “Try me.”
Norma glared, reached onto the table before her for what looked like an orange mint, but it could have been anything, and then plopped it into her mouth. Sucking on the mint, she assessed Valerie, and then snapped her fingers.
One of the men took off his jacket and pistol, setting them aside so that he could approach Valerie.
Was this actually happening? She wanted to laugh. She had to remind herself to take it easy. Her goal here was to be one with the shadow world, uncover its secrets, and then undo it so that the city could go on in peace. It wouldn’t help anyone to destroy this guy and reveal what she was.
The first punch was fast, and she let it barely connect so that it looked like she was fast at dodging, but not too fast.
“How far does this go?” she asked as another punch came and she dodged underneath.
“For now, just a demonstration. The real fight will come soon enough.”
Valerie nodded, then let the guy get a punch to her stomach. She doubled over, pretending it bothered her, and then came up with a short uppercut and a sweep of her legs—enough to knock him backward and then send him to the ground.
With a pounce she was on him, one hand on his throat, another lifted to deliver a strike. But instead of hitting, she looked up to Norma who no longer bothered to conceal her smile.
“Oh, you’ll do nicely,” Norma said. She turned to Owen. “Escort her in, and get her a new outfit. I’ll spread the word that we have a contender.”
Valerie stood and offered a hand to the guy on the ground, but he pushed it aside and stood on his own. Poor guy was already getting a few snickers from the others. He’d lost to a girl, and fairly quickly. It probably didn’t happen too often.
“You didn’t tell me you could do that,” Owen whispered as he ushered Valerie from the room and into a side-hall. “I mean, I just assumed, what with your other talents and all…” His eyes darted down to her chest and Valerie put a finger inches from his face.
One eyebrow raised, “Watch it.”
“Hey,” he held up his hands, caught, “after what you just did to that guy, you better believe I’m going to watch what I say around you.” He laughed nervously, looking bother ways down the hall rubbing his hand back through his hair. “Shit, I can’t imagine what he’s thinking right now. I ain’t never seen him bested like that before.”
“Yeah?” Maybe she’d have to slow it down, if she hoped to keep her cover. Take a few extra hits, next time. “So, I’m guessing this is some sort of fight thing then?”
“Pretty much.” He scrunched his nose. “I’d normally say you shoulda went for the red light stuff, better chances of survival and all that.”
“Chance of survival?”
“That’s right. But after watching what you just did? I’m gonna have to move some bets around tonight,” he opened a door for her to step in before him before he stepped over to a dresser and picked up the second package from the left, pulled out what was inside and turned back to Valerie.
She raised an eyebrow, unsure what to think of that, and then even more so when he handed her the new clothes. A full-body leather, skin-tight suit, and—the worst part—heels. Well, not exactly heels, but the kind of shoe that made the back of her foot higher than the front, anyway. She hated that stuff. Give her flats any day of the week.
And now she was supposed to fight in these boots?
“You can’t be serious,” she said, holding them up.
“Best get changed, and fast.” He glanced behind him as a roar sounded from the crowd. “The fights don’t happen every night, so when they do, the crowd goes crazy.”
She was starting to wonder if she’d made the wrong move here. Wasn’t she supposed to be staying out of the spotlight? But, then again, if she wanted to get in close and find out not only what Norma and Clive were up to, but if they had any ties that could point her to the CEOs, she had to get on their good side and earn their trust.
With a shrug, she started pulling off her blouse.
“Whoa,” Owen said, blushing and then turning around. “I didn’t mean—well, jeesh. I’ll give you your privacy, of course.”
He quickly exited the room, and she had to laugh.
The laugh faded fast, however, when she tried slipping into the leather. How far was she willing to take this? Standing there, barely able to squeeze into this outfit, she contemplated simply going out there, sniffing out the Forsaken, and then dragging them back to HQ by their hair for questioning.
If only it were so simple. She knew that violence wasn’t always the best way to get honest, complete answers. She’d have to earn some trust here.
With a sigh, she breathed in and pulled on the leather. It squeezed her body at first, but after a second seemed to be one with her skin. She checked herself out, even twisting over to see her butt, and smiled. Damn. She was starting to understand why some girls wore this stuff.
When it came to the shoes, however, she was not sold in the slightest. These things were clunky, and she found herself wondering if she had ever worn anything other than flats. Even back in Old Paris, on the few times her father had made her play dress up for the eventual day that he might need her in court—which never came—he had always given in to her insisting on shoes that were comfortable. It was practical, after all, if she needed to make a getaway.
Now she was supposed to fight in these things?
Good thing she been training to fight for way too long. She would assume this was just one more challenge to make the training more difficult.
There was a rap on the door, “Ready?” Owen called out.
“As I’ll ever be,” she looked one last time in the mirror before stepping over and opening the door.
He stepped back in and bit his lip, looking like he was about to cry.
“Really, that’s your reaction?” she asked, unsure how to take it.
“Wow,” he said, biting his fist. “You sure you don’t want to go red light?”
Her eyes narrowed, “You sure you don’t want my knee in your sack?”
His head shook left to right as his fist stayed in his mouth for a moment before he dropped it to talk. “I just—I’m sorry. But DA—AMMNN. They’re in for a show out there.”
The meaning was polite, the method needed work. “Try saying something more like, ‘You look like a strong and independent woman, and that outfit is very flattering,’ next time. Deal?”
He laughed. “Isn’t that what I said? I could’ve sworn those were my exact words.”
She gave him a look, hands on her hips, feeling way too exposed. The black leather was there, but as far as she was concer
ned, she might as well have been nude. “Can we get this over with?”
“You prefer a whole room gawking at you instead of one man?” he asked. “Sure, makes sense to me.”
She looked down the hall, “I prefer to have this all be a distant memory.”
He smiled and stood aside, motioning for her to go through down the hall first.
“So you can look at my ass?” She scoffed, and motioned for him to go. “I don’t think so.”
With a you-caught-me smile, he shrugged and led the way. They took a left and he led them past the room with the flashing lights, which was still full of music and had people dancing, but was about half as crowded as it had been.
“How does this work exactly?” She asked from behind him.
“It’s pretty simple, mostly people come to watch the regular fights, but they like to mix it in with some women action here and there. It’s sick if you ask me, but who am I to judge. As sick as it all is, I’m still here, ain’t I?”
She had to agree with him. It was sick, and so was he.
“So I just have to kick some freako’ butts,” she said. “I can do that. And this Clive character will be there?”
“Oh yeah,” Owen said with a laugh. “He never misses this stuff. Just hope you don’t get one of the girls that’s using. They can be tough.”
“Using what?”
He looked back at her, puzzled. “I keep forgetting you’re new. Some of Clive’s people, they have a special supply of some new red drug. They keep it on the down low, so I don’t know what it really is, though it kind of resembles blood.”
Vampire blood, Valerie thought to herself. If Clive’s girls used it, that meant Clive had a supply.
She had come to the right place.
“Here we go,” Owen said, pulling apart two red curtains. She stepped out into a stairway that led down into a pit and was greeted by a loud cheer from the people on the surrounding bleachers.
Bright spotlights shone on the pit, and blood splattered the ground and walls that protected the spectators.
This was actually happening. She couldn’t believe it. The woman inside said to run, that this was barbaric and dangerous.
The vampire inside was uncaged, bring it the fuck on.
In general, the vampire part of her won out, and so she descended the steps, one at a time, shoulders back, chest out, eyes forward.
More cheers broke out as she stepped into the pit, and then a man at the far side, on the top stair but partially hidden in a sort of booth, stood with arms out and silence descended, though some whispered the name, Clive.
“We have a volunteer!” he said, and the crowd cheered again, quickly silenced by another wave from him. “It’s a dark world we live in, one where our freedoms are challenged at every step. A new leadership has taken hold of the city, but they do not rule over us. This, right here, right now, this is our night. Let us enjoy it!”
The cheering rose up and this time he joined by clapping, before yelling, “Let it begin!”
From the area beside him, a woman stood, waved to the cheering fans, and descended the steps. This was a huge woman, as muscular as some of the Weres Valerie was used to. Her black hair was tied up in a bun in a way that showed off her muscular jaw-line, and instead of breasts under that leather suit just like Valerie’s, she practically had pecs.
The cheering turned to an anxious hum of awed whispers when the woman stopped five feet from Valerie.
“You’re a pretty little thing,” the woman said. “I’ll regret the maiming, but that won’t mean I’ll enjoy it any less.”
Valerie stood completely still, simply waiting.
The woman was clearly used to more of a reaction than that, because now she snarled and charged, pulling back to punch. A quick glance around, and Valerie had to remind herself to put on the show. Make them believe.
The punch hit her in the shoulder and she spun with it, going to the ground. Not a bad punch, but nothing compared to strikes from Weres and vampires. She scanned the crowd, searching out any sign of more of her kind amongst them, then rolled with the kick to the ribs as if it had knocked her down.
Part of her wanted to laugh at this charade, but then again, it was depressing to know that regular girls were put up against this woman hoping for some quick cash or who knows what, and likely left a mess.
That thought angered Valerie, so when the woman lifted her foot to bring the heel down for a strike, Valerie sprang up, hit the woman with a solid punch in the groin, and then swept out her planted leg while head-butting her.
The crowd went wild as the attacker staggered back, blood gushing from her nose as she toppled over at the pain down south.
“Right in the nads!” someone shouted.
“Bruda’s a woman, she ain’t got no nads,” another yelled back.
“That’s debatable,” the first retorted, followed by laughter and then more cheers as Bruda stood, ignoring the blood but walking with a limp, and came back for more.
Clive’s interest piqued, he was leaning forward now, as were his acolytes who surrounded him on each side. It was time to prove herself.
The wood-plank floor trembled with each step of Bruda’s approach. Valerie closed her eyes, silently telling the woman how sorry she was for this, and then turned, opening her eyes to see Bruda’s knee flying at her face.
She dodged around to the left and swung out with her right so that her forearm caught the woman in the collarbone, flipping her up and into the air and slamming her onto the floor. The wind knocked out of her, Bruda gasped and looked at Valerie with wide eyes before the punch came—swift and to the point, knocking her out cold.
Valerie hoped it wasn’t enough to cause any lasting damage. But hey, the woman had definitely been out for blood, so if it hurt a bit?
Well, that was perfectly fine with her.
For what seemed an eternity, Valerie crouched there, fist still extended, waiting for a reaction from the crowd. She slowly raised her gaze to the front row, where a line of people sat with their mouths open, eyes wide with shock.
She stood, turned to Clive, and looked around at the spectators behind him before she looked back at Clive, a small smile on her face and asked into the silence, “Who’s next?”
He tilted his head, considering her, and then started laughing. The crowd seemed unsure what to do, until he stood and shouted, “Bravo!”
Now the cheers started, filling the little arena. She nodded, not totally enjoying this praise for having hurt a normal citizen of Old Manhattan. Well, maybe normal was stretching it. She wasn’t sure what to expect next, so stood, hands clenched into fists, until Clive waved her up.
“Bring her,” he said to the tall man to his right, then turned and exited through a back door.
Standing there, confused, she hesitated until the man waved for her as Clive had done. Several other men and women stood nearby, all staring at her anxiously, waiting, so she went.
The men and women patted her on the shoulders as she ascended the stairs, still cheering and clapping. When she reached the top, the tall man simply nodded at her and started walking. There wasn’t much else she could do but follow.
In the back room, the crowds cheering was still audible, but more like distant waves than the thunder it had been moments before. Clive stood at the far wall, pouring himself a flask of something red. Blood? Valerie stepped closer and sniffed, and was surprised to catch a whiff of red wine—likely a cabernet.
“Imported from across the seas,” Clive said, offering her the glass.
She hesitated, and then took it.
“Bruda has been part of the show here for…” He glanced around at the walls, and only then did Valerie notice the various tapestries hanging there. Different animal symbols on various colors, including one with a golden eagle on red, with fifteen black patches sewn on below it. “Fifteen years now. Each mark represents a victory here, a grand tradition carried down from my time with the Toro Pirates, when I lived in a city once call
ed Toronto.”
“North of the old border?” she asked, amazed. “Did… Canada survive?”
“Oh, it’s quite pleasant there these days,” he said, pouring a glass for himself and nodding to his acolytes to leave the room. He went to the corner and pulled aside a cloth, showing various weapons in a glass case. There were a couple short swords, a claymore like she was used to, and items with metal spikes and more. “A lot of Canada suffered like the rest of the world, but what remained became warmer and, in fact, quite lovely. The people, so used to their free health care and other benefits of old, went a bit crazy once the government collapsed, and what you have now is a hodge-podge of different nationalities who’ve taken up in Toro, if the pirate lord will have them.”
“Toro being old Toronto?” she asked, her head working on this new information. Now there was this whole larger pirate issue north of the border, or what used to be a border, but she hadn’t even considered how other parts of the world would have changed following the great collapse. Her mind had always been occupied with two places—the parts of Western Europe she’d come to consider her old home, and America, where she’d always dreamed of coming.
Clive nodded and adjusted the tie around his neck. It was dark, almost blood red, and went well with the black dress shirt and suit he wore, even more so with the fierceness in his eyes.
“How… can I help you?” she asked, then took a sip of the wine. Oh God, she thought, loving the old taste that brought her back to a younger, happier time in Old France.
Sandra would likely kill for a bottle of this.
“I’ve never seen fighting like yours,” he said. “I’ll be honest; I love it here. But part of me has always looked for an excuse to return to Toro, to join back with my pirate brethren and sail the seas, maybe the skies.”
She waited for him to continue. He didn’t, so she asked, “But something’s stopping you?”
He nodded, “And that something is power. Here,” he opened a hand and waved around the room, “I have all this. But up there? Up there I’m simply a pirate that hasn’t returned yet. You see, my crew was lost some years back, and when I found out I could set up shop like this here, I quickly made it my business to do so. But it’s not the same.” He looked at her, “Have you ever heard the phrase, “A pirate’s life for me?”