Chapter 12

  We said goodbye to Doc before we left, but he either didn’t hear us or the patient he was with was taking all his attention. On the way out, Isea made sure his replacement was behind the front desk, a serious woman who introduced herself as “Jene” and appeared to be only nominally awake. My nose detected the faint scent of something heavenly.

  Jene was drinking coffee. My mouth watered so intensely, I was barely able to mutter a few pleasantries before we got to the door.

  Ryan… we’re home. We’re not home home, but we’re home.

  I cleared my throat and fought the urge to cry.

  “You okay?” Isea asked, but I could only nod and gesture for him to lead on.

  I felt silly. Why was this affecting me so?

  The door to the clinic slid to the side and let us out onto a multilevel concourse about the size of a city block. People clumped and ambled everywhere, either walking up one of the four sets of stairs that took them to other levels or hanging around near popup vendors that sold food or drink from steamy wells behind the counter. I wondered what a cup of joe might cost.

  Doc’s clinic was one of four separate businesses along our little part of the wall along with a boot maker, a tattoo parlour, and an “all services” business of which Isea wasn’t comfortable divulging the details.

  Big tattered flags hung from the ceiling far overhead in ochre and white, displaying collections of symbols I didn’t have the context for, though the half-circle/star motif was featured in every third one or so, either in the background or dominating the whole thing. Strange, waxy vines crisscrossed the support beams on the ceiling as well and hung down between the fabric banners. The great central pillar that seemed to hold the ceiling aloft was painted with some kind of mural or maybe, more accurately, graffiti from floor to ceiling.

  The people were a mix of working folks going to and from their jobs in some kind of uniform like Isea’s clean wear, older folks in loose fitting robe-type coverings, or rowdy sets of revelers in loud colors and visibly dangerous articles of clothing such as spiked cuffs, dangling metal balls on leather cords, or out and out knuckle dusters. Stranger still, no one seemed to bat and eye when the crowds intermixed. They all called to one another like neighbors, friendly and not.

  “Hey,” Isea called to me, slapping me on the shoulder. “Stop gawking. You’re acting like a tourist.”

  I tore my eyes away from the scene with the lingering thought that though I was back among my species, I was still a foreigner and an unwelcome one at that. “Sorry. I- uh- I didn’t know what to expect.”

  Isea slipped a jacket over his scrubs and rolled his neck before he adopted a hunched posture with his hands in his pockets. Then he tilted his head and stared at me until I did the same.

  Once I was sufficiently “discreet,” my companion nodded. “Just like that. Hands hidden so no one knows what you have.”

  “Rough place?” I asked, not quite believing it based on what I was seeing. I didn’t mind having my hands out of sight. The blue fabric of my borrowed pants wouldn’t quite hide the occasional flash of magic like my burnt and bloody work ones would have, but I’d still be able to do it without attracting too much attention. Dad’s jacket was a good backup if I had to summon a weapon or something out of nowhere too. It was a little scorched, but otherwise okay.

  “No. Not really, but it’s… I don’t know. People can get touchy. Just blend in and don’t mention any weird stuff.”

  “No magic metal shenanigans?”

  “Just act human, alright?”

  “Isea, I was born human. This is my human face.”

  My companion didn’t look like he believed me.

  However, it seemed to be too late to argue. We took off into the crowd, slipping in among them and heading for the nearest set of stairs.

  The station decks seemed to be built like pies, sliced in several pieces to create districts that all had some kind of purpose. Where we were, a service district according to Doc, was just that, where tradesfolk tended to their business and saw customers. That included everything from hospitals, to legal representation, to restaurants. Other types of districts would be a quick horizontal trip to another slice while travelling vertically would generally lead us to more service class locations.

  The crowd thickened with every deck we passed. The general mood was boisterous if not particularly friendly. People were talking loudly among others they knew, jostling to go faster up the stairs, and yelling at folks that got in their way. No one paid either Isea or me much mind. Whether I had Stealth, Gray Man or luck to thank for that, I didn’t know. Whoever did notice me, at least, would have an easier time forgetting me if my Skills were holding out.

  Eventually, several long flights of stairs later, we came out on a deck where the elevated lighting and wide open spaces of the previous levels were gone, replaced by a strange, dim closeness. No more than three steps in, and the place got downright claustrophobic, with walls closing in on all sides while the ceiling was somewhere far overhead, out of sight except for the odd red emergency strobe. Our path narrowed until we were elbow to elbow. There were running lights along the walkways and, just above head height, glowing signs of all shapes and sizes that screamed for your attention while obscuring everything around them. A vague haze in the air like fog gave everything a dreamlike appearance.

  The buildings and signs encroached further and further on pedestrian space until we were shuffling like cattle through the narrow streets of a little city, only whoever had designed this place took the urban planning manual and thrown it in the garbage.

  Isea led me through the press of bodies and past neon signs that advertised all sorts of drinks, music, and entertainment. Names of people I’d never met and places I’d never go flashed and buzzed as we passed along. The whole deck was a twisting warren of lights and people, nary a right angle to be found anywhere, much less a proper grid pattern. Once in a while, we’d come against a wall of people’s backs, waiting to get into a particular entrance of an establishment, but Isea pushed through and pulled me along.

  Stealth is now level 18.

  The deeper we went, the more I wondered what danger Isea thought I was in. In all of this, I had no idea how anyone was supposed to recognize me. Hell, we couldn’t even hear each other anymore.

  Never did I see the same combination of glowing colors twice and never did I see a street sign or any sort of navigational assistant. However the locals were getting around in this maze, it was by some method I couldn’t see.

  It was when we came to a particular three-way intersection that Isea stopped us and leaned against the wall of a “protein grill.” The restaurant wasn’t our destination, however. Isea’s attention was on a pair of black doors across the way. The doors were to a bar, a large one by this place’s standards, spanning tens of meters in either direction and two stories high with lots of flashing lights visible through the fogged windows. The sign above the door read “Devil’s Due” in big red script.

  “We waiting for somebody else?” I asked Isea.

  “What? No. Kind of,” Isea said distractedly as he stood on his tiptoes to see above the crowd. Whatever he was looking for, he found it, gesturing with his head to move again, past the front door and around the side. This place had its own alley instead of butting up against the other businesses directly, which was exceptional.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  Isea grimaced, his face visibly flushing even under the red lights. “They have Mel on the door tonight. He doesn’t like me.”

  “Okay,” I replied, drawing out the last syllable. “Is there anything I should know here?”

  “No.”

  There was definitely something I should know.

  Isea led me to a back door, past a pile of moldering bins and a sparkling minefield of broken glass. The man that answered our knock frowned at the two of us through the narrow opening then went back inside without a word, but when someone returned to the door again, the alley exploded in sunny yellow.

  “Zee! Oh my God, you’re here. I thought you were working! It’s crazy in there right now. Wait, what happened to your hand? Ooh, who’s your friend? Oh, wow, those eyes. That’s shiny. Love that.”

  An absolutely incandescent ball of bright and bubbly blew into the alleyway, a girl about Isea’s and my age with bright yellow curls that went down to her waist and were so voluminous they took up as much space as the girl herself did. Her work uniform was black but shiny, like it was covered in gems, but the most outstanding thing of all was her smile; honest, open, and probably her main source of tips… if that was a thing here.

  Isea tried to answer all the questions at once. “Hey, Chell. Got hurt at work and decided to drop by with- Uh-”

  “You didn’t cut yourself again did you? Wait, forget how it happened. Doc sent you home didn’t he? I’m so sorry. That has to hurt. I wish there was something I could do for you right now but-” She wrapped her finger around one of her golden curls and rose on her tiptoes to get closer to Isea’s face as she took Isea’s hurt hand and caressed the non-casted parts gently.

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  “It’s fine. Seriously, Chell” he squeaked.

  “You needed those hours, though,” Chell argued. “You said so.”

  “It’s not as bad as it could be. Chell, do you think we could get inside?” Isea asked, blushing.

  Chell’s demeanor changed, and she seemed to grow more unsure of herself. “Ah. I don’t know.”

  “I saw Mel. He’s working the door, so our paths should never cross, right?” Isea pleaded.

  “I dunno, Zee. It’s a big money night, and I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

  “C’mon, Chell. We’ll be out of the way, and I won’t make waves.” Isea beamed, grinning in what I’m sure he believed was a confident smile. And here I thought I was a bad liar.

  Chell sighed, shook her head, but quickly caved. She opened the back door again. “You’ve got a real problem, Zee. I swear if Mel or any of the others catch you, you better run. Don’t try to talk your way out of it. And no betting.”

  “On my honor, I won’t even try to talk Mel down. Seriously, if he even gets a whiff of me, I’m gone,” Isea swore with a raised hand.

  Chell frowned up at him but eventually relented with a sigh. “Fine. Follow me in and be careful.” Then she turned to me. “You’ll at least keep him out of trouble right?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to be put in the middle of this, but Chell was also adorable. I found myself unable to simply evade the question. “‘More I hear you guys talk, the more that sounds like a full time job,” I said.

  “You have no idea,” she said with a roll of her eyes before letting out an exasperated breath. Then she opened the door and held it for us. “After you, gentlemen.”

  Chell didn’t follow us.

  “What was that about?” I asked Isea, grabbing his elbow and bringing him up short. “Seriously, Isea. I’m not stupid. We’re not here for Chell are we?”

  “We are,” Isea responded a little too quickly.

  “Didn’t I just say I’m not stupid?” I repeated, but Isea’s attention was already somewhere else, the doorway in front of us and the bustle of a cheering crowd. He yanked his elbow away, hard enough I didn’t want to hold on for fear of hurting him.

  “Worry about you, and I’ll worry about me, Smith,” he said.

  Balls.

  We entered the club from behind the bar, through the staff entrance. The neon light motif carried through to the interior of the place. There were tables everywhere with boisterous people yelling and cheering as a holo played in the center of the room from a huge projector, its edges distorted by all the smoke and other particulates in the air.

  On the broadcast, two men were squared off in a big, empty room. The floor was littered with scorch marks and gouges with the occasional smattering of blood. Both men were winded, their chests rising and falling as if they’d run a marathon. Suddenly, one of the men, the one in black robes and a blue belt, sprang forward, too fast for the holo to follow, and he seemed to blink across the space to connect a flaming fist with his opponent’s jaw.

  The club erupted in cheers. Palms slapped the surfaces of tables as the downed man in a red belt laid there on the ground.

  The tenor of the cheers changed, however, because as the blue belted fighter pulled away from his punch, he clutched at his stomach, staggering.

  A triumphant grin blossomed on the red belted fighter’s face, even as he laid on the ground. Slowly, he pulled a tiny knife from his sleeve, wet with the other man’s blood. Blue’s eyes widened, and he rushed forward to attack again only… well, the holo didn’t pick it up well, but I was pretty sure all of his blood that was supposed to be on the inside was suddenly on the outside, and it clung to him like plastic wrap. He clutched at the liquid, clawed at his own face and neck like it was suffocating him. His efforts did him no good, though. His fingers could find no purchase on the surface of his new prison.

  He fell to his knees then down to the floor.

  Again, the club exploded. People whooped, shouted, slapped each other on the backs, and ordered more drinks. I turned to elbow Isea to ask him a question, but he was gone.

  I guessed I really was on my own.

  Quietly urging Stealth and Gray Man to keep doing their thing, I slipped through the crowd to have a seat at a table in the corner, one of the tall ones with stools. I arrived just as others were vacating, only I wasn’t alone.

  “Mind?” a visibly drunk man with cropped hair asked as he pulled out a stool and sat down before I could respond.

  “Not at all,” I replied, taking my own seat. Instinctually I picked up a half empty glass and held it close to my face to obscure it and blend in with the other revellers. The tiny bit of liquid that sloshed in the bottom smelled sweet but strong.

  The guy at my table cringed visibly at the holo. “Bad luck, that one.”

  “Pardon?” I asked.

  “Bad luck. Filius… not a good match for him. Once that Teth kid draws blood, it’s just over.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Bad luck, I guess.” I replied, thinking for a moment. Had I lucked into a talkative drunk?

  Something occurred to me.

  “So, the fire fist guy. He not up to this whole thing?”

  My table buddy nodded. “Filius. Yeah. No. He’s pretty good, actually. Got them moves. Good training,” he said, miming some kung fu punches and spilling a little of his drink. “Bad matchup is all. He’d do great ‘gainst somebody slower, maybe armored or whatever.”

  The holo shifted scenes to a table of four serious looking people in black robes. The woman in the center, an imperious lady with gray at her temples but no other visible signs of age, conferred with the men at her flanks then raised her hand to speak.

  “Tidus of Teth is the victor. You are most welcome at this Academy and will enjoy full rights and privileges until your graduation. Filius of the Marshal Family, you have been defeated. Best of luck in your next match. Lose once more and you will be asked to withdraw.”

  Filius, the drowned man on the floor, I gathered, didn’t answer. He was currently being dragged from the ring by a team of medics in clean wear.

  The imperious woman turned to the fourth party at the table with the tiniest of smirks. “Was this test to your satisfaction?” she asked.

  The fourth man angrily stared back at her, grinding his teeth and making his goatee appear crooked in the process. His thick eyebrows gave the impression of a man that was constantly angry.

  “Is this satisfactory, Mr. Marshal?” the woman asked again in a tone that said there would not be a third chance to answer.

  “I- uh- didn’t know the Marshals had people in the school. I thought they were just… you know.” I bluffed. I spared a glance around the room for Isea, spotting him next to a booth where money was changing hands. He was currently in an animated discussion with someone I couldn’t see.

  “Cops? Nope! Moving up in the world, or at least that’s what I hear. Ol’ Filius there and his brother been making their names ‘round here, but not so much with matchups like that.”

  That was two separate threads to pull on. So, I abstained from the decision and let my talkative friend choose. I raised an eyebrow and leaned in close. “Kind of makes you wonder doesn’t it?”

  “Ah! It does, indeed, sir! Glad I’m not the only one thinking it. Conspiracy.”

  I grinned and pointed to my head. “We’re only thinking about it because we’re sane, right?”

  “Hah! Damned right. Suspicious stuff, putting Filius up against the blood mage. Punishing the kids for the shit the Family pulled.”

  “What his Family did?”

  “Oh, that’s one of the puzzle pieces. Marshals called this whole thing! Just up and one day said the Academy wasn’t so grand no more! Guess they’re not small time anymore like the old days, but damn… The other Families aren’t taking it well. Filius drowned in his on blood just now because of it. Not that I’m complaining. Been a good show.”

  The pieces clicked together in my head. “They call for this Audit a couple days ago?”

  More shouts from the rest of the club as two more contestants were put on the stage.

  “Probably. Not sure when exactly. Just remember the school going nuts, lots of construction. I work up in Brightside most days, and I haven’t been home to see my kids for more than a few minutes.”

  So, the Marshals called for the Audit, and it involved the students fighting for… something. They were fighting for the right to stay at the school. The guy at the judges table didn’t seem pleased, and the kid that just got turned inside out probably didn’t feel great about the situation either.

  “I am satisfied with this match,” the goateed man finally said in a clipped tone that said he was anything but.

  “Very good,” the imperious woman said, nodding and gesturing to someone off camera. “Bring the next two!”

  The Marshals were paying a heavy social cost for this, and they were already a smaller Family compared to the powerhouses of humanity. What did this gain them? The timing matched up precisely with my release from prison, a prison they really didn’t want to see me leave. If I assumed they sent one runner to the CA to get authority to keep me in captivity and then a separate runner to come here and start the Audit, I had to assume they were both plays to keep me vulnerable. Would they even allow me to enroll in this Academy as long as they were doing this tournament thing? I had to assume not. Otherwise the events didn’t make sense, and the Marshals were losing political capital for nothing.

  While I’d been thinking, another match had begun on the holos. This time, it was a tall, amazonian woman with a sword and shield against some kind of duelist with two swords. Already, blows were being exchanged, the woman a clear victor in most of them. She gave no ground and wherever her sword swung, the other guy couldn’t contest her power. The match, though one sided, kept going for quite some time, however. The tall swordswoman couldn’t seem to pin the duelist down.

  I wasn’t paying much attention, though. I was lost in thought.

  The image of the judge woman with the gray temples was burned into my mind. The way she talked, how she seemed at odds with the Marshals. She was shaping up to be my best bet if I wanted a sympathetic ear and a shot at the Academy.

  The problem was going to be getting to her…

  Another round of cheers erupted when the duelist took a cut on his thigh. My tablemate groaned and put a hand up to his forehead.

  “Dang. I had thirty riding on him,” he lamented. He punctuated the sentence by gulping the rest of his drink.

  Something made me look around again and take my eyes off the match. Something was wrong. Something had changed, though I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  I did another sweep of the place, standing up from my seat to get a better vantage.

  No Isea. Chell, however, was behind the bar, tearful and being comforted by several other wait staff. In her hands she held a pair of glasses that belonged on her boyfriend.

  Ah. Shit.

  “Got to go, buddy. Take care of yourself,” I told my new friend as I slipped from behind the table.

  “Sure. Sure,” I heard him reply. I was already halfway across the room, though.

  I made a beeline for the door, hardly bothering to go around tables. Chell was hyperventilating in front of it and leaning on the frame, but she caught me as I made to open the door.

  “Don’t. You’ll just make things worse,” she pleaded.

  “Doorman Mel?” I asked her the obvious question.

  She bit her lip and sniffed, but I could see that the answer was ‘yes.’

  I looked from her to the doorway, considering but only briefly. “Well, I’ve always wanted to meet a Mel. Think I’ll go say ‘hi,’” I assured her with a self-effacing smile. “I’ll at least try not to make things worse”

  It would be a drastic departure from how I normally handled things, but maybe today was the day to break that streak.

  Chell’s wet and bleary eyes seemed to search my face for any hint of a lie, but either she didn’t find one or her concern for Isea outweighed any other considerations.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  Then I took off down the dark hallway and out into the red lit alley.

  Hey. Thanks for giving In my Defense a chance. New chapters will be posted Tuesdays and Thursdays, eventually ramping up depending on the amount of interest we can generate here.

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