Magic Strikes(89)

mobile range fighter. She can shoot and move at the same time. Dali can't,» Jim said.

«I do shodo magic,» Dali said. «I curse through calligraphy. I have to write the curse out on a

piece of paper and I can't move while I do it. One smudge, and I might kill the lot of us.»

Oh good.

«But don't worry.» Dali waved her arms. «It's so precise, it usually doesn't work at all.»

Better and better.

«Raphael and I aren't good defensive fighters,» Jim said. «And Derek isn't up to speed yet. I

have to put Dali behind Curran, because he's the strongest defense we have. He'll need a strong

offense and you're the best offensive fighter I have.»

Somehow that didn't sound like a compliment.

«Also the three of us have undergone similar training,» Jim said. «We know what to expect from

each other and we work well as a team.»

He didn't think I could function in a team. Fair enough.

«Group two will take the qualifying bout and the third tier. The qualifying bout should give you

little trouble and third-tier fighters shouldn't be that fresh. Group one will take the second-tier bout.

We will come out together for the championship fight.»

Jim flipped a page on his legal pad. «You're going up against the Red Demons this afternoon.

From what I've heard, they will be fielding a werebison, a swordsman, and some type of odd

creature as their mage. You will have magic for the fight. They try to schedule the bouts during the

magic waves, because magic makes for a better show. Try to appear sloppy and incompetent. The

weaker you look, the more our opponents will underestimate the team, and the easier time we will

all have. My lord, no claws. Kate, no magic. You'll need to win, but just barely.»

He looked at his notes again and said, «About the murder law. Doesn't apply in the Pit.»

Curran said nothing. Jim had just given the shapeshifters permission to kill without

accountability with Curran's silence to reinforce it. Just as well. Gladiators died. That was the

reality. We had to be there. The rest had volunteered. And given a chance, every member of the

opposing team would murder any one of us without a second thought.

THE SAND CRUNCHED UNDER MY FOOT. I COULD already taste it on my tongue. The

memories conjured heat and sunshine. I shook them off and looked across the Pit.

In the far end, three people waited for us. The swordsman, tall and carrying a hand-and-a-half

sword. The werebison, shaggy with dark brown fur, towering, angry. His breadth was enormous, the

shoulders packed with hard, heavy muscle, the chest like a barrel. He wore a chain mail hauberk but

no pants. His legs terminated in black hooves. A dense mane of coarse hair crowned the back of his

neck. His features were a meld of bull and human, but where the minotaur's face had been a

cohesive whole, the shapeshifter's skull was a jumble of mismatched parts.

Behind them reared a nightmarish creature. Its lower body was python, dark brown with creamy

swirls of scales. Near the abdomen, the scales became so fine, they glittered, stretching tight over a

human upper body, complete with a pair of tiny breasts and a female face that looked like it

belonged to a fifteen-year-old. She looked at us with emerald-green eyes. Her skull was bald and a

hood of flesh spread from her head, resembling that of a king cobra.

A lamia. Great.

The lamia swayed gently, as if listening to music only she could hear. Old magic emanated from

her, ancient and ice-cold. It picked up the sand and rolled it in feathery curves to caress her scales

before sliding back to the Pit.

Behind me, Dali shivered. She stood in the sand with a clipboard, an ink pen, and a piece of thin

rice paper cut into inch-wide strips.

I eyed the swordsman. Weak and sloppy. Okay, I could do that.

The crowd waited above us. The hum of conversation, the clearing of throats, and the sound of a

thousand simultaneous breaths blended into a low hum. I scanned the seats and saw Saiman on his

balcony. Aunt B, Raphael's mother, sat on his left, and Mahon, the Bear of Atlanta and the Pack's

executioner, occupied the chair to his right. Sitting between the alphas of Clan Bouda and Clan

Heavy. No wonder Saiman had been persuaded to give up his spot to Curran.

Behind Aunt B, I saw a familiar pale head. Couldn't be. The blond head moved and I saw Julie's

face. Oh yes, it could.

«You bribed my kid!»

«We reached a business arrangement,» he said. «She wanted to see you fight and I wanted to

know when, where, and how you were getting into the Games.»

Julie gave me a big, nervous smile and a little wave.

Just wait until I get out of here, I mouthed. We were going to have a little talk about following

orders.