“For the Reapers we have the former all-state champion and ursian Davis Jones as team captain.”
He was huge; not surprising for an ursian. He wore only Abeolite pants so his ursian Family scars marking his torso and arms would be visible. He also sported several black tribal-design tattoos.
The roar from the audience was deafening.
Tones leaned forward. “Ambrosia took the championship from Jones a few weeks ago and this game has been touted as a bit of a grudge match.”
Kitt sat straighter in her seat. This sounded interesting.
The loudspeaker crackled. “Joining him is his sister, Stacy Jones.”
The ursian female, not quite as big as her brother, was solidly built yet retained her femininity. She also had ursian clan scars and tattoos.
“The third member for the Reapers’ team is veteran Shadow-combat player John St. Johns who has just been drafted into the National Shadow-combat League team the L.A. Fireballs. Tonight will be his last match as an amateur before turning pro this spring.”
At this stage the announcer could probably read out his shopping list and the crowd would cheer.
“And the final participant in tonight’s match is a U.K. exchange student and druidess playing her first game stateside, Penelope Peabody. The match will commence in thirty seconds.”
The druidess was dressed differently than all the rest. In accordance with her religion, she wore a traditional long ankle-length robe in the team’s colors, purple with silver stripes on the sleeves. It was open down the front, revealing that she wore very little underneath. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders and past her waist; it was streaked with purple, red, and white. The druidic people were an earthy, naturally sensual people.
A counter appeared on all the screens, starting at 00.00.20. When it reached 00.00.00, the observation area darkened and a hush fell over the audience. From now on the participants wouldn’t be able to see or hear the spectators.
She could sense someone watching her in the dim light and caught Nathan glaring at her. He didn’t look away. Instead, he lifted his chin a little higher and kept scowling at her. This time it was she who turned away first, trying to concentrate on the match or at least give that impression. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his presence bothered her.
“If your brother frowns any harder, I think he’s going to blow a blood vessel,” Antoinette whispered in her ear.
The short laugh burst out before she could stop it, and she glanced again at Nathan. His brow only deepened. He couldn’t have heard them, but he seemed to know he was the butt of their joke.
“Shh,” she whispered back at Antoinette.
“What’s the joke?” Tones had that dense grin of someone who’s laughing with you but is clueless as to why.
“Never mind, just watch the game,” Antoinette said, patting his hand and winking at Kitt.
With the tension broken, Kitt relaxed back into her seat and watched the Demons enter one of the rooms on half of the large split-screen; the other team’s close-up occupied the second half of the display. Mark held up his hand for them to stop, pointed ahead, and nodded to the witch Hudson. She lifted her hands and blew a golden stream of energy into the room. Two live rats hiding inside the room lit up like Christmas trees.
“What an opening move by the Demons. They are off and running with the first points of the game,” the caller announced.
The scoreboard ticked over, giving 10 points to the Demons.
“What just happened?” Kitt asked.
Tones leaned across Antoinette and whispered, “The Thaumaturgist used a spell that identified life-forms in the room. If she had discovered one of the other team’s members, it would have been fifty points; and if nothing living was in the room, then they would have lost points. The rule of three applies to all magic, meaning they can only use each individual spell in their registered repertoire three times a match. They have to be careful when and what they use it on.”
“Wow, you really do know this game,” Antoinette said, impressed.
Tones pulled back his shoulders and beamed. “See how they have no weapons? They have to find them; it’s part of the game.”
The Reapers’ team members entered another room and began searching through boxes, old furniture, and litter scattered around the room. The female ursian, Stacy, forced open an old bureau draw and slammed it shut, then turned the painting on the wall. She pulled an orange card from where it was taped on the back and grinned.
“The Reapers are now off and running with the discovery of a twenty-point spell card.”
She handed it to the druidess, Peabody, who took it and shook her head.
“The more powerful or stronger the spell, the more points it’s worth. They get the points, but I don’t think the druidess can use it,” Tones whispered. “Still, they’ve stopped the opposition from gaining a valuable spell and a possible advantage.”
The Demons came to a locked door. The shape-shifter Curran shrank into a perfect replica of the witch Hudson’s familiar, the snake, and slithered through a crack in the door. Then Hudson shoved her teammate’s Abeolite suit through the crack—and a few minutes later, Curran opened the door from the inside and came out holding a red-handled fire ax, which she passed to the team captain. The scoreboard clicked over another 80 points for the Demons’ team.
“Well played,” the commentator roared. “Entering a locked room and finding the first weapon.”
“They opened the door without breaking it down or busting the lock,” said Tones, “which gained them thirty points, and the fire ax can be used as a weapon, which gives them another fifty points. If she’d found a gun, it would have been one hundred; a silver-bladed sword, one hundred and fifty; and a gun loaded with silver nitrate, two hundred points. Though it isn’t really silver nitrate; they try to avoid accidents.”
The arena afforded a wider view of the game, but it wasn’t always possible to see what was happening. The large screens were there for the close-up action. However, this got more complicated as both teams split into pairs. Seph and the ax-wielding human captain formed a pair.
With the commentary and Tones’s explanations, Kitt was really getting into the game. Cal sat forward on the edge of her seat, totally engrossed in the game like the rest of the audience. But not so with Nathan—every now and then she could feel the weight of his stare, those cold tawny eyes a shade or two darker than her own.
Seph and Ambrosia made their way along a corridor. The attention to detail they paid to setting the scene was impressive. Yellowing stained paper hung off the walls in torn strips, some of the wooden floorboards were missing, and antique lights flickered, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
Seph said something and the team captain nodded. Kitt wished she could hear what was going on. Wait, she could. She opened the panel in the arm of her chair and selected Seph’s image on the small screen then inserted the earpiece.
They were silent now. A frown of concentration creased Seph’s brow. The overhead screen flicked to show the Reapers’ captain, Jones, and his teammate St. Johns waiting in the opposite room. They were setting up an ambush. St. Johns had a lethal-looking crossbow. A collective gasp from the crowd echoed her own.
Antoinette grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s been tipped.”
But accidents happen. With the amount of force it took to launch a bolt, it would be very easy for it all to go wrong with that particular weapon.
Seph stopped suddenly and pulled up her captain, Ambrosia. She leaned in and whispered so quietly, Kitt couldn’t make out a word. The tension was building and she moved forward in her seat.
Did Seph sense something? Does she know they’re there?
Seph and Ambrosia flattened themselves against the wall and carefully moved along it. Kitt’s heart thundered in her chest. Seph pointed at a spot on the wall and Ambrosia positioned the ax, then snow leopard fur rippled up Seph’s right arm. When he gave the nod th
ey struck together. The ax bit into the wall beside the ursian Jones’s head, then Seph punched her partially changed arm right through and wrapped her fingers around St. Johns’s neck. She yanked her arm back, slamming the human’s head into the torn plaster and wood.
He crumpled to the floor, clutching his face and screaming.
Seph ran into the room and tried to pull his hands away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she cried. “Please let me look.”
The nearest camera zoomed in on the injured man. A large splinter of wood had lodged in his left cheek, close to his eye.
Seph reached to pull the splinter out.
“NO!” Kitt yelled. Tones and Antoinette turned to look at her, confused. “If she pulls the splinter there’s a danger of rupturing the eye, and he could lose it,” she explained.
“Shit,” Tones said.
Seph’s hand wavered over the sliver, then she tilted her head in the direction of the audience, almost as if she’d heard her . . . or someone else.
“How did Seph know where Jones and St. Johns were?” Antoinette asked.
“She probably heard her opponents’ heartbeats,” Tones offered.
Kitt shook her head. “Not unless she transformed her ears, but we would’ve seen that.” Come to think of it, why hadn’t she?
“A hit that precise took more than a guess,” Antoinette added.
“But how did she know?” Kitt wondered out loud. A yellow light started flashing above the room and everyone froze.
“What’s going on?” Kitt asked.
“The match is suspended until they get the injured off the field,” Tones said.
“John St. Johns will be withdrawing from the match due to injury,” the commentator announced.
Paramedics entered carrying a stretcher. The Reapers’ captain, Jones, held his teammate’s hand in his massive fist and talked to him. He stood back and let the paramedic load the wounded man onto a stretcher—worry clearly etched his features. Ambrosia clapped a comforting hand on Jones’s shoulder, which the ursian acknowledged with a quick nod. Then it was game on as usual.
Outnumbered, the Reaper took off to rejoin his team and Mark Ambrosia gave the opposing team captain time to re-join his other teammates before continuing, earning him a roar from the crowd.
After a half hour, the tension was palpable for those who watched. The scoreboard showed 395 points to the Demons, and 375 for the Reapers. The Reapers’ druidess Peabody and ursian Stacy had taken the Demons’ shape-shifter Curran out of the game. And now the two teams had just a room between them. No one in the crowd dared to even breathe. Not even a whisper was audible.
Antoinette gripped the arm of the chair until it creaked. Tones sat forward resting his chin on the back of his hands and fell silent. Kitt could almost taste the adrenaline released from the pores of the excited spectators. The entire audience held a collective breath as the two teams stepped into the same room to face each other for the first time.
The Demons’ witch flung a stun spell she had picked up along the way. The spell exploded in a splash of color against the chest of the Reapers’ captain, sending him backward onto the floor. He twitched like an electric current was jolting his body.
“Ohh,” the commentator announced. “The Reapers have lost their captain to a paralyzing spell. A mighty painful one by the looks. The Demons lose twenty points for the spell, making them dead even with the Reapers. This is a close game, folks.”
“What?” Antoinette said. “Why did they lose points?”
“Some spells cards found have a points cost if used, especially if they cause pain,” Tones said. “And that one caused a lot of pain.”
“Shit, that bites,” Antoinette said.
Tones looked at her. “I think it might be worth the sacrifice, look.”
The female ursian Jones flew into a rage, her body rippling with the effects of the transformation, anger at her brother’s cruel disablement speeding her change.
The witch Hudson’s python hissed at the furious female black bear as she reared up on her back legs. The witch’s hand shot out, conjuring another spell. The druidess dug her hand into a pouch under her robe and threw something on the ground. It sprouted into thick green tentaclelike vines.
Most thaumaturgy came from life and nature—familial witches through animals, and the druidic through plants. Seph was midway through her transformation when the vine tendril whipped around her arms and waist, lifting her off the ground.
Then Hudson conjured a phantom bear to combat the real one, and the two animals met in a clash of teeth and claws. Mark Ambrosia took the animated vine tentacles with the fire ax and a sword he’d found along the way. Delicate purple-red petals unfolded along the tendrils, bursting into beautiful blooms. The flowers immediately began to shoot thorny darts.
One of the tentacles wrapped around Seph’s throat and began choking the life out of her. Kitt looked away and caught a glimpse of Cal looking pale and panicky at her sister’s plight. No, it was more than that, she clutched at her throat, like she was being choked too.
Ambrosia pulled out a thorn lodged in the side of his neck and stumbled forward. He shook his head, his movements slow. The thorns were venomous. He brought the sword down and severed the tendril wrapped around Seph’s throat and then fell forward onto the floor. The vine withered, freeing Seph, who immediately leapt for the druidess, hitting her chest and knocking her back against the wall. Her snow leopard jaws clamped down on the forearm of the mostly naked magic wielder, though not enough to draw blood. With her attention broken, the plant withered and died just as the phantom bear knocked out the ursian.
“THE DEMONS WIN THE MATCH,” yelled the commentator. “What a masterful piece of teamwork displayed by both teams here today. I cannot remember a more exciting match.”
Cheers and screams erupted from the crowd and then the commentator’s words were entirely lost to the voices of the audience—the arena silencer must have turned off. And the Demons could be seen waving to the crowd, then they turned to help the opposing team members. The two team captains, both looking a little worse for wear, clasped hands and pulled each other into a manly, backslapping hug. Both teams’ members shook hands.
Tones was on his feet clapping wildly, cheering and screaming at the top of his lungs, “FANTASTIC. WELL PLAYED!”
Antoinette looked at Kitt and directed a tilt of her chin over Kitt’s shoulder. She turned to find Nathan standing in the aisle a few feet away, with Cal and four burly bodyguards.
Kitt’s throat closed; she stood on wobbly legs. Antoinette discreetly tapped Kitt’s inner arm to show that she was nearby if needed. Nathan’s pale eyes burned under his scowl. “What are you doing here, Kathryn?”
Chapter 13 - Brotherly Hate
“Nice to see you too, Nathan,” Kitt said, trying to smile, but feared it came off more as a grimace.
Her brother’s frown deepened. “You were never interested in contact sports.”
“How would you know what I’m into, Nathan? It’s been years since we last saw each other.”
“Hi.” Tones put out his hand. “Antonio Geraldi. I used to work with your brother.”
Nathan glanced down at the outstretched arm, and ignored Tones’s offer.
She could’ve just kissed Tones for trying to diffuse the situation a little, and patted his shoulder as he backed off. “Not that I need to explain myself to you, but I came to see my daughter.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kitt glimpsed Raven standing near the arena exit in the same dark clothes he was wearing earlier. His wide-brimmed hat was pulled down low in front, but she knew he was watching. When Nathan turned to look at Cal, Raven took a step forward and she gave him a slight shake of her head. She could handle this.
“So, what did you think of your sister’s first game?” Antoinette asked Cal, trying to distract the twin from the tension between her uncle and mother.
“Seph did really well, I think”—her eyes darting nervously between Nathan
and Kitt, then Antoinette—“and what do you think?”
“I thought she played brilliantly,” Tones interjected. “The way she dispatched St. Johns was awesome. She must be very strong to have such control over her transition at such an early age.”
“Yes, yes she is.” Cal dropped her eyes to the ground. “But she’s going to beat herself up for injuring him.”
“Tell her not to,” Antoinette said. “These things happen in a match like this.”
The girl nodded. “True, but knowing Seph as I do . . .” Then she looked at Kitt and smiled.
“Cal, please wait for me outside,” Nathan said.
“But . . .”
“I said wait outside,” he growled.
“Okay.” Cal turned to Kitt. “Thanks for coming. I know Seph will really appreciate it.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Tones said.
“That won’t be necessary,” Nathan hissed.
“Maybe not, but I’m headed that way myself,” Tones said in a hardened voice. This was a side of him Kitt rarely saw. Nathan always had a knack for bringing out the worst in people.
Her brother signaled a couple of the bodyguards to follow them, leaving two to remain on watch with him.
Kitt waited until Tones and her daughter were far enough away before confronting her brother. “That was rude and uncalled for.”
“I’m not here to make nice with you or your friends.” He clasped his hands in front. “But I do have a message for you—”
“What, stay away from the twins?” she cut in quickly, not wanting to play his nasty little mind games. “That’ll be a little hard since they’re in my class. And we’re going to cross paths while at the Academy. You’re on the board and the girls are attending— Can’t we at least be civil to each other?”
Nathan stepped closer and dropped his voice. “I trust you will respect the edict of the council and keep contact with Pride members to an absolute minimum.” He glanced toward the exit as Tones and Cal disappeared. “I tried to have them transferred when I learned you would be taking some of their tutorials, but there are no openings at the academies we deem suitable. They’re in your class and that’s as far as it goes. All other contact with them is forbidden without my express permission.” By the look on his face, she knew that would never happen. “Do you understand?”
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