Page 29 of Reaper
Fuck.That really hurt, and it made it a lot harder to focus on any casting.Good thing most of my magic is the “blow shit up” variety rather than the “intricate spell weaving” variety.But even fireballs take a certain level of focus, and that’s hard to manage when it feels like someone is stabbing you in the side with every breath.Anthony must have heard the crack as well because all his attacks focused on my torso.Kicks, punches, even shots to my face that made me double over backward to avoid them—everything put more strain on my screaming midsection.
It was all I could do not to unleash on him and win the goddamned fight fair and square, although I was only about sixty percent sure Icouldwin with a broken rib against a completely healthy opponent who matched me speed for speed and strength for strength.I called power and started flinging balls of purple energy at Tony, but he dodged them with barely a blink.I tossed some to explode in the dirt in front of him, but he just leapt over the shower of sand and pressed the attack.
He’s good, I thought.I’m gonna have to ask him exactly what he did for Oberon before he got canned because most of the fae I’ve fought weren’t this skilled.Except for the…goddammit.Except for the faerie knights.The elite fucking fighting force of the magical realm.Faster, stronger, and better trained than pretty much any other group of warriors in any world because they combined physical gifts with centuries of training time.No wonder he thought he could beat me in a fair fight.He could.
I’ve beaten faerie knights before, but that was with all my magic, home field advantage, a battlefield of distractions, and a little bit of creative manipulations of the rules of fair fights.In other words, I cheated.Now I’d let myself get a broken rib by taking it easy on a guy who could just kick my ass legitimately.Sometimes I’m just a fucking idiot.
And this fucking idiot needed to get this shit over with before I took any more serious damage, so the next time Anthony threw a kick at my face, I zigged when I “should have” zagged, stuck my forehead into his foot, and spun away into the darkness, unconscious before I hit the sand.My last thought as I faded out waswell, at least I lost…
22
Iwoke up in my room, with a massive headache, dry mouth, and as I looked in the mirror after grabbing a shower, a truly impressive array of bruises.The best one was on my back, a perfect outline of a foot along my ribcage that hurt when I touched it, hurt when I moved, it hurt when I breathed.Hell, it hurt when I thought too hard.I started getting dressed but stopped after my jeans to catch my breath.Broken ribs suck.
Are you okay?Becks asked.It feels like somebody kicked the shit out of you.
That’s because somebody kicked the shit out of me.I threw my last match, because I liked the guy, but halfway through giving him the win, I realized he was a goddamned faerie knight, and I was barely fifty-fifty to beat him on my best day.
So you let somebody kick your ass who could probably kick your ass anyway?That was dumb.
You’re not wrong,I replied.It wasn’t my best decision.And now it sounds like I’m going to pay for that bad decision.Gotta go, babe.I think I’m getting called to the principal’s office.
Love you,Becks said.Don’t do anything else stupid.
No promises.I tamped down our connection as the footsteps I heard outside my door slowed and Pete came in.
“The Boss wants to see you,” he said.He was back in Stern Pete mode, a face he’d been wearing most of the time since my fight in the cafeteria.
“I guess he’s not going to offer me a raise, huh?”I said, wincing as I pulled a shirt on.
“Not so much,” Pete said, gesturing for me to precede him out the door.“Are you healed?”
“No,” I replied.“Probably going to take a couple days.If I can stay out of trouble, I can use a spell or two to speed things up and be ready to go by the next fight.”Assuming therewasa next fight.I couldn’t be sure the Boss wasn’t going to toss me out right then, which would leave me with no more idea where the fight club was than I’d had at the beginning.And with a busted rib and a shitload of bruises to go with my lack of anything useful.I needed to stay inside, no matter what.As long as my next fight wasn’t a death match, I was going to have to win it.
We stopped at a door I hadn’t seen before, about halfway between the arena and the mess hall.There were no signs anywhere, just a plain door with an unadorned brass knob.Pete knocked, and the Boss called out “Enter.”
Pete gestured at the door, and I went inside.This was my first good look at the Boss, not that I had any illusions that he was actually in charge.He was a manager, taking orders from whoever was really running the show, a guy whomightshow up for the big fights on Saturdays, if that.But anything I learned from this douche would put me one step closer to the real boss.I just had to convince him that I still wanted to fight, I just didn’t want to fight Tony.
He was a big guy, probably six-three or four, but it was hard to really tell with him sitting down.Thickly muscled, with big hands that looked like they’d seen a fair bit of hard use.He had short red hair, an almost military-tight buzz cut, and a long handlebar mustache.Frankly, he looked a lot like an actor offThe Walking Dead, but more muscular and with a soul patch.He wore a polo shirt that was about one anabolic steroid away from splitting every seam, and he leaned on his elbows with a disapproving look on his face.
“Mr.James, what am I to do with you?”He had a little bit of a brogue, and I pegged him for first-generation Irishman.He’d been in America a while, but no more than twenty years.Probably came over as a teen, if I had to guess his age.
“Well, I’m shit at canasta, but I play a pretty mean game of checkers,” I replied.One of these days I will learn not to mouth off at the boss bad guy.Today obviously was not that day.I didn’t have high hopes for tomorrow, either.
To my surprise, he laughed.It wasn’t my worst effort, but usually the middle management villains are so hyped about keeping what little power they’ve managed to scrabble their way into that they can’t find the humor in anything but suffering.This guy was either secure in his position, or had a shred of humanity left in him.I was putting my money on Column A.
“That’s pretty funny,” he said.“Have a seat.Water?”He held up a bottle.
“Sure,” I replied, then caught the bottle he tossed at me.I cracked the seal and took a long drink.“So…I lost.”
“You did.”
“Am I fired?”
“Not even a little bit.”Okay, that was off script.
I took a drink of my water and sat silently, waiting for him to explain.He sat silently waiting for me to ask for an explanation.The joke was very much on him.I’m over a century old, so I’ve built up a decent stock of patience, and I knew that I could literally sit in the office waiting for him to grow old and die without aging a day, so it was going to be his move, no matter if the power dynamic dictated that I be the one to ask for more information.
We played chicken for almost a full minute before he chuckled again and leaned back.“You’re never going to ask, are you?”
