A Shadow in the Flames (The New Aeneid Cycle)

by Michael G. Munz

  "Felix?" Brian asked. He followed Felix's gaze into the gloom.

  "Your sight's probably a little better than mine," Felix whispered. "Can you tell: is that blood?" He felt more than heard the reporter's reactive wince beside him.

  Brian looked. "I'm—I can't tell. But I'd be willing to bet."

  "No bet." Still peering cautiously down the alley, he moved into the unknown.

  "Uh, Felix? Felix?"

  Felix waved for Brian to be silent. He pushed himself forward, and it was harder than it should be. Brian hurried up beside him.

  "What do you think you're doing?" the reporter whispered harshly.

  Felix continued creeping forward. The noise coming from The Arena up the street overshadowed any in the alley. He focused his hearing and still heard nothing. "I already know this is a dumb idea, Brian. I don't need you to remind me."

  "I think it is blood," Brian said. He pulled out his taser.

  Felix couldn't help but grin. "Take the safety off this time?"

  "Shut up."

  The reporter paused at the corner, covering him as Felix stepped around it.

  "You're going to fight?" Romulus asked after Felix left. He was following his mentor across the sea of people out towards the center of The Arena.

  "He challenged me."

  "Why'd you throw him off the catwalk?"

  They reached the open area that Romulus had noticed before. It was a giant pit dug out of the floor about twenty feet by forty feet, and twelve feet deep. He stood at the edge with Diomedes while he waited for his mentor to answer.

  "Not him," he said finally. "The one he fell on."

  Romulus thought about some of the "games" he had seen on the board above the bar. "And so just because he challenges you, you're going to fight him to the death?"

  The glare Diomedes gave him all but slapped Romulus across the face. Romulus shrank back and said nothing.

  Below them, the pit waited. Patrons gathered closer to the edge, alerted by some unseen signal that there would soon be a fight.

  "Probably not to the death," Diomedes muttered.

  "But it could happen."

  "Might."

  "But—" Romulus again tried to form a protest but couldn't find the words.

  Diomedes pulled out two handguns while his eyes burned through Romulus in a dead stare. He handed the weapons to him. "Hold these." On the other side of the pit a man jumped in. Romulus took the weapons and nodded to his mentor. For a moment Diomedes said nothing. The anger briefly dropped from his eyes and he said sternly, "You want to learn? Watch." With that, he jumped down, landing heavily on his feet in the dirt.

  Romulus wasn't quite certain what to expect. Would they just fight? Or would there be some sort of announcement? Both Diomedes and his opponent seemed to be waiting for something.

  The opponent was smaller than he would have expected. The man was about Felix's size, wiry and thin. He paced and darted around his end of the pit, rubbing his hands and arms rapidly and bouncing in a frenzy of disorganized energy that made Romulus wonder what drugs he was on. The man glared at Diomedes the entire time, but he looked to be no match for Diomedes's sheer bulk. Perhaps his quickness would give him an edge, but Romulus found himself relieved despite that unknown. His mentor would probably take him easily.

  A knot formed in his stomach.

  Yet still, nothing happened. Romulus glanced around for someone or something that was supposed to trigger the fight. Reader boards appeared unchanged. Screens still continued to show various videos and TV channels.

  What the hell was Diomedes doing accepting this challenge, anyway? They had a job to do. It didn't make sense, but then how does a freelancer gain respect if he runs from a challenge? The question bothered him. He wondered what Felix would say.

  Spotlights from above flashed to life to shine down through the smoky air into the pit. Romulus instinctively looked down only to find both Diomedes and his opponent looking upwards. He followed their gaze to where the four beams crossed. He could see nothing in the glare, but something was happening.

  "Ladies! Gentlemen! Wretched worms I see beneath me!" The voice, shrill and wicked, sounded suddenly as the music in the immediate area stopped. "We! Have! A! Challenge!"

  A roar went up from the crowd. Romulus could now see a man being lowered down into the nexus of the beams, hanging upside down with his knees bent over a sort of trapeze. Nearly naked, with skin dyed deep red, the announcer held a yard-long pipe in each hand. The red man swung slowly as he talked, motioning with the pipes as he addressed the crowd with the demeanor of either a circus ringmaster or a gleeful devil.

  "Direct your attention to The Pit, where our latest combatants will entertain you with their own bloodlust!" Another cheer went up from the crowd with a vehemence that sent a shudder up Romulus's spine. "Our latest match is a nameless challenge—" (here a number of boos echoed) "—between this immense bald hulk," he gestured to Diomedes, "and the fool who challenged him, this spindly rat-man! Shall we call him Rat Face," the announcer cackled, "or just a dumbass with a death wish?"

  More yells went up from the crowd, crying out both names, profane suggestions for others, and more voices just yelling for a start to the fight.

  "But first, the rules! Simple enough for even you putrid scabs to grasp! No weapons but those in the pit!" Here he hurled the pipes down to the center of the dirt below. "No audience participation!" He shook his head and waggled a fingertip. "And the first one to stop moving. . . is the loser!" The crowd cheered and screamed in approval. The ringmaster gave another cackle as he started to rise back into the darkness. "Have at it, boys!" he cried as he disappeared.

  With that, the fight began.

  Both men bolted toward the weapons. Diomedes's opponent was quick, but Diomedes himself covered the distance in four great strides, overshooting the pipes and barreling into the small man before he could reach them. Rat Face was knocked onto his back and had to move quickly as Diomedes continued to ignore the pipes and lunged in with a kick that knocked the other's feet out from under him. He tumbled to the left as he fell to avoid the strike of Diomedes's fist, and then regained his feet and backed away. Diomedes stood his ground. The crowd urged him on.

  Romulus guessed that Diomedes's immediate goal was to keep his opponent from the pipes and maintain the advantage that his own size and strength gave him in a hand-to-hand fight.

  Rat Face made a feint in either direction, seeming to test Diomedes's reflexes. In each case, equal movement from Diomedes blocked his attempt at progress. Another feint. Then another that ended in an indignant yell. Diomedes said nothing, and once more the small man moved. This time Diomedes flinched in the opposite direction. Rat Face bolted for the opening, but Diomedes was too fast. It must have been a trap; his mentor changed direction instantly to hurl his body around and land a solid blow square across his opponent's shoulder blades. Both continued forward, off balance, but Rat Face slammed into the dirt a moment later while Diomedes stumbled around him.

  The wind knocked out of him, the smaller man struggled to rise as Diomedes regained his balance, turned around, and rushed in anew. Rat Face had just started for the pipes again when a kick from Diomedes slammed him in the jaw. He tumbled back down on a yell of pain that spat blood. The crowd whooped and hollered as Romulus winced. This time, however, the small man got to his feet quicker and came at Diomedes in a furious rush with fists flying.

  Diomedes, seemingly caught off guard, fell back. Rat Face managed no real damage through the larger man's defense but managed to batter him back far enough from the pipes to gain an opening. He rushed for the opportunity, practically diving for the weapons, arms outstretched, but too soon: Diomedes grabbed him before he could lay a finger on the pipes and forced him to the ground in a tackle. The two wrestled in a wild grapple of arms and legs. Though Diomedes was clearly overpowering the man, he could not gain a firm hold; Rat Face flailed and twisted like a farm hen struggling to forestall its slaughter, giving Diomedes
little opportunity to do more than struggle back. They grappled and tumbled through the dirt. Around the pit, the crowd above cheered them on with traded bets and shouted curses.

  Soon Romulus could tell that his mentor's opponent would be able to make a grab for a pipe in a moment if things continued. Could Diomedes see it? He was too close to the struggle, possibly blinded by proximity, the pipes at his back. Romulus tried to yell out a warning, but his shout was lost in the noise. A split second later, the small man seized a pipe and beat it across Diomedes's face with a pounding that Romulus nearly felt himself. His mentor released his hold and rolled off the smaller man. He lay there, reeling, as Rat Face snatched up the other pipe and got to his feet.

  His mentor was down and vulnerable, maybe even in danger of being killed if he didn't get up! Romulus found himself yelling, screaming for Diomedes to stand. Rat Face moved in and swung a pipe hard and downward. It smashed into the dirt a fraction of a second after Diomedes twisted out of the way. The smaller man exploded to the offensive, swinging one club after the other as Diomedes, now on his hands and knees, tried to regroup. One swing hit Diomedes in the thigh, a blow that Romulus expected to knock him back down, but his mentor continued to move and rolled out of the way.

  His momentary advantage lessening, Rat Face began to jump around Diomedes, still swinging wildly while Diomedes dodged. His mentor struck out, trying to catch his opponent or the pipes, but Rat Face was too quick. He rained blows amid gleeful cackles onto Diomedes's hands and arms. Frustration punctuated every counter-attack that his mentor tried. The laughing jackass's every swing felt like it went straight in Romulus's own face to taunt him, threaten him, and he couldn't do a damned thing to stop it.

  "Hit him!" Romulus whispered. "Come on!"

  The fight continued, and with every pipe swing, every failed catch by Diomedes, every throb of his pulse, Romulus felt the growing urge to leap onto Rat Face's back and knock that smug look off of his face. Every grab his mentor attempted made Romulus wince in anticipation. Every time he caught only air was like a burning brand in Romulus's side. Rat Face was taunting him, taunting his mentor. Diomedes should've been able to stop him, but the man was floating out of reach. Every swing and cackle was a twist of the knife that threatened Romulus's mentor, his protector, his own safety! The threats, the taunts, they had to stop! Diomedes was so close!

  The pipe clanged again across his mentor's reaching hand. The voice screaming for Diomedes to get him was Romulus's own.

  Suddenly Diomedes backed off. Rage burned in his eyes. The other held his ground, still taunting them. Again Romulus yelled for his mentor to get the man.

  Diomedes suddenly scooped his arm down into the dirt and hurled a handful at his opponent's face. It hit the bastard square in the eyes. He stumbled back, surprised and blinded. One of the pipes fell from his startled grip. Romulus roared with the crowd.

  And then Diomedes was rushing forward with a running punch that smashed the man hard in the face. The full force of the blow pounded Rat Face into the ground and released a whoop from Romulus's lungs.

  Rat Face was doubly stunned. Diomedes took full advantage with a series of kicks that shoved him across the ground. Wracked by blows to his entire body, the man struggled to get up. Diomedes grabbed him by the shirt and hurled him forward with one hand. He skidded across the dirt like a rag doll. Again Diomedes was on him. He picked up the small man once more and this time threw him into the dirt wall of the pit. The man hit it head first and fell back as blood rushed from his nose and mouth, covering his face.

  It was then that Michael recalled Ranth's blood on his own face, the warm flood that splashed him as Diomedes's bullet took the Nosferatu's life.

  He stopped cheering.

  Diomedes picked the barely moving man up again by the neck. This time Romulus wasn't in danger. He was watching from above, comfortable, as his mentor struggled for sport against a foolish man half his size. As the memory of his own cheers came back to sting him, Romulus saw Diomedes pause. The now broken-looking man in his grip was not moving but still seemed to be alive. Time hung still in the air. Romulus breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. He looked up to see if the ringmaster was coming back to announce the winner.

  Suddenly Diomedes attacked again. He pounded his victim against the wall with both hands and wracked his already broken body with more punishment, the source of which Romulus couldn't understand. The crowd around him pressed in with wild screams. Michael's own pleas for his mentor to stop were drowned out by the calls for blood that surrounded him.

  The man's battered body leaned limp and beaten against the wall, held up only by the force of the blows impacting his helpless form. Diomedes tugged him forward by the collar, lifted up his body, and hurled the man over his shoulder. His beaten opponent sailed sickly through the smoky air, the force of the throw twisting the body in odd contortions under the red light shining into the pit. The man's eyes were open in vacant observation of his plight. His gaze caught Michael's for a moment before he hit the ground like a piece of meat, and did not move.

  The crowd roared.

  Diomedes advanced, pipes in hand.

  Michael couldn't speak.

  And then his mentor stopped short. He stared upward, out of the pit, at a point behind Romulus. Romulus turned to see what he was staring at but found nothing but the chaotic flash of lights and the blackness beyond. When he turned back, the devilish ringmaster above was concluding the match with a flourish of words that Romulus couldn't listen to. Romulus only watched, silent, as Diomedes climbed out of the pit.

  "We're leaving," his mentor said as he reached for his weapons. Romulus handed them back in reflex.

  "What?" he finally managed.

  "We're leaving." Diomedes pointed up behind Romulus. "He's there."

  Romulus followed his arm to one of the TV monitors that showed a female reporter among flashing sirens on a street in the night. Behind her sat a familiar black floater.

  Romulus glanced back into the pit. The small man's body was being pulled out. Romulus couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

  "Hurry up," Diomedes said, moving away already.

  Romulus turned, let out a shaky breath, and followed his mentor.

  XXIII

  There were, in fact, two bodies. Felix only gave them a moment's glance before checking up the alley and then behind him to make sure they weren't walking into an ambush. Aside from the bodies, the alley remained dark and deserted. Belatedly, he looked upwards. Still nothing.

  Motioning then for Brian to step out, Felix crouched to examine the men and winced. One was covered in blood that looked to be his own, his chest and face cut as he lay unnaturally against the wall. Felix checked his pulse and found nothing. The other body, a little farther around the corner, looked undamaged and much more relaxed. For a moment Felix thought he could be sleeping, but, like his companion, his pulse was silent. Felix recognized them both.

  "Nasty piece of work," Brian said from behind. "What happened to the other guy?"

  "Don't know," Felix replied. "Doesn't look like he was attacked. Looks like he just. . . died."

  "Looks like we've got another Wraith attack."

  "These are the men who jumped me," Felix said. "Two of them, anyway."

  "Jumped you? When?"

  "A while ago, when we arrived. They implied I should stop asking questions about the arsons. Diomedes and Flynn showed up a few moments later, but the cops came and they ran off before we could find out too much."

  "Doesn't look like they got very far."

  "Maybe. There were four of them, though. Why did these two stop? I didn't hear any attack then."

  "Maybe the one had his heart attack or whatever and the other stopped to help him," Brian suggested.

  "And the other two kept going? Makes sense; then he attacked after we'd gone. I'd sure like to ask these two some questions."

  "Given their current state, I'm sure they'd prefer to be able to answer."

 
; Felix knelt down beside the one who hadn't been slashed and wished he knew the signs of death by heart attack so he could check Brian's theory. He began to search the body.

  "They obviously had some connection with the arsons. And given what happened to him," Felix motioned to the bloody one, "I'm even less convinced that 'Wraith' sent them." He wished they had some other name to call the vigilante. He found some cash and decided to ignore it, continuing his search.

  "Maybe he sent them to take care of you and this is their payment for failure?" Brian supposed.

  "I admit I hadn't thought of it that way," said Felix. "Still, if he was close enough to do this to them, why not just do me himself?"

  "Mmhmm."

  "Still, I'm not going to rule it out." Felix found a phone in the ganger's pocket, a more expensive model than he would have expected. He pulled it out and scanned through the recent call history. Only numbers, no names, but Felix still recognized one.

  "I'm an idiot," he said.

  Brian looked down from a nervous glance about the alley. "What is it?"

  "Charlie Hobbes," said Felix. He told the reporter about his encounter with Charlie in the rubble of Diomedes's ruined building and how the man claimed to not know anything about the arsons. Or, rather, that he "might" and had to do some checking.

  "You think he tipped them off?" Brian asked. "Or maybe he had a hand in hiring them?"

  "The former, if it's anything. If he was directly involved he'd have fed me some false information to throw me off his trail. I'd bet he sold the fact that I was looking for them. Probably why he wanted to wait to tell me anything: he wanted to see how much they'd pay first."

  "So you think these guys are the arsonists?"

  "I'm starting to think that's a definite possibility. If that's the case, then how's our vigilante play into things?"

  "A patsy?" Brian offered.

  "Expensive patsy." Felix dialed Charlie's number from the ganger's phone. It rang.

  "Yeah?" It was Charlie's voice.