Piper Cross, an undercover spy, must relive her past as a child gladiator in order to bring the underground arena to justice.
*****
Growing up gladiator is brutal. The cells are cramped...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I snorted at the signage on the old hotel as I turned the corner, violet neon piping doubled in the glossy ebony backboard. It read The King's Favour in sharp-angled brushstrokes, and I had no doubt Bjorn found great amusement in the play on words, as would Lawrence if he ever had a chance to visit.
I hoped there would come a day when the arbitrary war between our packs was over, and we could travel freely between our territories at will. It was strange; after avoiding them for months, I was suddenly struck by the urge to see all of my friends again. To remind them that I valued their presence in my life.
From a distance, the sidewalk looked like it was crawling with ants: hybrid children, playing soccer on the road. A car was coming, so I barked at them to move out of the way, all my years as Head She-Wolf catching up to me in a moment of exasperation. They might not be hurt if they were hit, thanks to their supernatural constitution, but what of the human pin-cushion behind the wheel and their play-dough passengers?
"Why don't you play in the courtyard?" I asked, shielding my eyes against the glare of the new day. Not unlike the mountains, the weather could turn in an instant here. The sun was already baking dry the morning downpour, filling the air with the rubbery smell of tar.
"Can't," one of them said, balancing the ball on his ankle. "They're sparring out back."
"Then play on that road," I said, pointing to another turn of the roundabout. "It's a court, so there should be less traffic."
To my surprise, they did as I asked without question or complaint, as they would have done at Ridgeview. As they would have obeyed Isaac if he was here now. Not because they feared him, but because they respected him. Loved him, even.
I stepped into the gloomy foyer, delighted by the hustle and bustle of hybrids as they got to work cleaning the place up. The curtains were thrown back for the first time in years, forcing the sleepy hotel to wake up. It was slowly coming to, one gleaming floorboard at a time.
When I passed a mop bucket I paused, wrinkling my nose at the noxious odour. "What did you put in there?"
The mop handle looked like a great-sword in the child's grip. "I found some pink stuff under the sink and mixed it with some bleach," he said.
"Tip it out," I replied, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. "And rinse it well before you fill it up again. Ammonia and bleach create a noxious gas when mixed, and those chemicals are too harsh for wood besides."
"Noxious?"
"Poisonous," I clarified.
"Oh." His eyes became saucers. "What should I use instead?"
"See if you can find some eucalyptus oil," I said, already moving on to the next disaster.
Zac and Ariel were standing on the bar, ripping down the maroon fabric pinned to the bannisters in repeating waves. Or rather, Zac was tall enough to be of use; Ariel was perching precariously on his toes, even jumping at times to catch it.
