Eight of Hearts: The Vision - Book 2

Chapter 6

Gilberto Tavros strode purposefully through the darkened streets toward the small, rickety booth. His boots clicked with each step, echoing through the night air. He ignored the two boys walking past him in the other direction, even as the smaller of the two waved cheerfully at him as they passed each other.

"I still don't know how you managed to fake everyone's signature like that," the blonde boy was saying.

"Sorry I couldn't get Godfey's signature on there; it's too complicated for me," the smaller boy answered.

"You mean Cecil? He's not an athlete; he'd probably just slow us down."

Their voices faded away as Tavros approached the tournament booth. The attendant sat thumbing slowly through a magazine, and didn't look up.

"I'm here for the tournament," Tavros said. His voice was rough and gravely, like someone in need of water.

The attendant pulled out a new form and held it out without looking up from his magazine. "You need a team of at least six to participate. Have each member sign this document and you're in."

Tavros felt his blood boiling at the audacity of the man. He would have to make a point now.

His hand moved to draw his swords in a blur, drawing, slash, sheathing, repeating, all so fast the eye couldn't follow. He used each of his six swords to slice the offered form, all before a single piece could fall. The attendant jerked his head up and gaped at the single, tiny piece of paper that remained in his hand. Then his mouth slammed shut when he saw who had done it.

"T-Tavros!" he cried, pulling his arm back to relative safety beneath the counter. "I'm so sorry, I didn't--"

Tavros's glare silenced the poor attendant. "Let me see the list," he demanded.

With trembling hands, the attendant pulled out the list of participants who had signed up so far. "I haven't seen anyone you might be interested in," he said as he handed it to Tavros. "I haven't really been paying attention though, so maybe...you won't tell Circé, right?"

Tarvos didn't answer. He scanned through the list of names with his finger until he found the one he was looking for. "James Garland," he said aloud, like a challenge. "What kind of warrior are you?"

James Garland stuck his whole head into the trash can and violently hurled. Shyla stood behind him rubbing his back with both sympathy and guilt at his plight.

"We could hear your screams from the other end of the park," Jonas said, walking towards them with Flora in tow.

"I'm so sorry," Shyla said, "I didn't realize how much of a strain that was putting on you."

James pulled his head out of the trash can and gave her a weak smile. "I'm fine, I'm--huuek!"

"Have you been on the Ferris wheel this whole time?" Flora asked in surprise.

Shyla shrugged dismissively. "There was a...slight malfunction, so we were stuck on it for a while."

Suddenly Isaac dashed right into the little gathering, waving his arms overhead in excitement. "Hey guys, guess what! We're in the tournament!"

"Excuse me?" Shyla asked.

"Hold on!" James said as another bout of nausea sent him back into the trash can. When he recovered again, he spun on Isaac. "You're doing what now?"

"They took our names so we can kick butt!" Isaac replied, as though that explained everything.

Bryce strolled casually up with his hands raised in a calming gesture. "Relax, people; it's just a friendly competition between athletes, innit? I'll make this real quick."