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...
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One morning, an envelope was thrust into my hand instead of a blade. It was heavily perfumed and reeked of amber things, like honey and saffron and apricots and incense. The wax seal was already broken, and there was a cheap scrap of lined paper stuffed inside along with stiff, expensive card.
I read the note first:
Piper, This arrived at the estate for you and Isaac. I'll send someone to pick you up at 10pm. Please use the rest of the day to scrub up. Even a turd can look expensive if you polish it enough. Yours truly, - B.
I shook my head at his cavalier tone, too wound up to share in his humour.
"What is it?" Isaac asked, sensing my disquiet.
"We're going to a gala," I said, flashing the formal invitation. The lettering was inlaid with gold, and the scrolling borders had little chips of gemstones embedded in the swirling sapphire ink. It was probably more expensive than anything I currently owned, my shifting leathers included.
Wardon snatched it out of my hand. I didn't even see his arm move; one second it was by his side, the next he was holding the weighty card up for inspection, and I was simply clutching air. "No, you're going," he said, with a hint of disappointment. "It's lanistas and gladiators only, along with the top fifty patrons. They want to show you off."
"But you're our trainer. Surely they'd extend the invitation?" Isaac asked.
"Or you could bribe your way in?" I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
Wardon merely shook his head. "I will not risk being trapped in a pocket dimension because I was too impatient to glimpse my son after centuries of waiting. It's almost certainly a trap."
"Obviously," I said, my smile stiff as the card. "It says: 'No weapons under any circumstances'."
"So discreet weapons?" Isaac asked, humour sparkling in his eyes.
"Precisely," I said. "But it's the trap that we've been waiting for. Tonight we put our plan on action."
The ancient vampire crushed the invitation in his fist, scattering shimmering dust across his wing-tip shoes. I frowned, hoping we didn't need it to get in. "There is much to do."
"Did you want to go over the plan again?" I asked, even though we'd been over it a hundred times.
"No," Wardon said grimly, with the air of a man going to war. "We're going shopping."
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