Master Kaazu completes his spiel, and the hypnotizing bell rings out—the mark of the start of the fight. Four females and two males in full costume launch themselves at each other the second the bell dings. The crowd explodes, changing in a heartbeat from silent spectators to a shouting mob.
Kaazu stands on the other side of the stage in front of the audience, where he accepts what he calls his under the wire wager. For the first sixty seconds of the fight, he allows one last chance to place a bet.
It gives people a chance to see everyone in action first...but it’ll cost them double the stakes.
Fifty more seconds. That’s all we have.
Jetta takes a hit from one of the others, her head snapping to the side even while she simultaneously sends a kick into the male who was coming up on her flank. It’s a free for all, the only winner is the last person standing.
When a different shifter knocks her fist into the trapeze female with the sweetened blood, the shouting intensifies. With her free-flowing blood now in the air and dripping down her split lip, the intensity in the room nearly makes me see double.
We have thirty seconds at best until Kaazu closes the bets for good, and his sole attention will once more be on the fight. My fingers are curled into such tight fists that I can’t even feel them anymore.
My eyes dart to the left, where I know the conjurer is waiting for his chance, but Jetta is on the opposite side of the stage.
Sweat beads down my brow, but I don’t dare wipe it away. There’s no time, and I can’t miss a single blink.
Jetta is taking on two shifters, and one of them, the female wolf, is about to shift, the telltale eruption of fur snaking down her arms.
If she shifts, it’ll take all of Jetta’s attention to fight her off, and she’ll be occupied on the wrong side of the stage. Jetta isn’t allowed to shift on stage. Her only defense is the body she’s in now.
Twenty seconds.
The last-minute bets are swarming in like locusts on a field, so many vampires standing around Kaazu that I can’t even see my troupe master past the throng.
Steadying my focus on the stage, I reach out for every fishline I have on my fellow troupe members apart from Jetta, and I release them all with a harsh snap. With the boost of confidence that I gave them now completely gone, everyone stumbles back. The wolf pauses mid-shift.
Jetta turns, confused, but before she can make a full circle to look at everyone, I re-hook the male shifter on the opposite side of the stage, pulling out so much confidence from him that he roars with it.
Jetta’s eyes narrow, and without hesitation, she runs across the stage and launches at him.
Bingo.
They clash together, while the others slowly come around, but they’re busy fighting each other now, and Jetta is almost in position.
Ten seconds.
I force confidence in every shifter again, and they start fighting with a bloodlust fervor that makes the crowd go insane. Just when the male who’s fighting Jetta is about to pin her down, I cut his string again, making him fall to his knees in his own sudden doubt.
Not one to miss her chance, she flips in an acrobatic maneuver right over him, landing behind him so she can put him into a chokehold. She’s in the perfect position, right at the edge of the stage with her back to the conjurer hiding in the shadows.
Five seconds.
Only because I know to look, I see a hand dart out and clasp the back of her collar. The crowd is shouting, hands raised as more blood spills from the four other shifters going at it with fierce abandon.
Her collar sparks, a trickle of smoke appearing, barely visible from the fog machines and red lighting.
Four seconds.
Jetta is so focused on taking out the male in her full-bodied grip and cutting off his oxygen, that she doesn’t even notice when a surge of power shoots through the collar around her neck. It lights up for a single second, like a bolt of lightning struck it, and then it’s gone, faster even than the vampires could notice.
“Betting is closed!”
I hear Master Kaazu’s bellow, and all of the vampires move away from him to stand in front of the stage, just as the conjurer’s hand slips away at the same moment that the male in Jetta’s grasp slumps to the floor, unconscious.
The crowd cheers, curses, shouts. A hundred separate voices rising up to pound against my eardrums.
Kaazu is watching the stage now, but there’s a frown marring his face. My heart pounds in my chest.
Did it work? Does he know?
When I see a shoe beneath the curtain behind me, I reach back and yank the conjurer out, pulling him back into our shadowed corner. “Well?”
The kid nods. “I was able to break the tracker. She’ll have to get it off later.”
It’ll have to do for now. I shove a wad of bills in his hands. “Go.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. He grabs the money, shoves it into his pocket, and walks away. Head forward, his lone figure walks to the exit where he slips out into the night to escape his own captivity.
I keep his confidence up so that he can get away quickly and efficiently, without hesitation or panic. Nobody escapes very well without the confidence that they can do it. Panicked people do stupid things, and I need him to get far away from here before anyone notices his absence.
I feel my line stretching, moving, my temples slicking with trickles of sweat as I strain to keep it going, to get him further away on sure feet.
No one notices my internal struggle. The ongoing fight is the perfect distraction, and not one of the vampires notices the kid’s disappearance. With any luck, we’ll be packed up and ready to leave within minutes of the ending of the fight, just the way Kaazu prefers.
Another uproarious surge from the crowd, and I see Jetta and the other male shifter are the last two standing.
I wince when I feel the conjurer kid finally stretch to the limit, maybe getting on a bus or catching a cab, and then my power breaks, whipping back against me like a snapped line.
A relieved breath leaves me now that the strain is gone from the distance of trying to hold my power, and also the knowledge that he’s gone. I just hope he stays that way.
Taking a breath, I watch Jetta as she and the male, Perry, fight. They circle each other, going in for hits with expertise that only my troupe has—people who’ve been fighting and training for this all their lives.
But Jetta’s tired. Her chest is rising and falling in rapid breaths, and sweat has plastered her blunt two-toned bangs against her pale forehead. Perry has the advantage, not just in size, but because he wasn’t the one performing for the second half of the show. Jetta’s energy is waning.
In a surprise attack, he knocks her with a level kick to the stomach, nearly sending her on her ass. With one arm clutched around her middle, she tries to gain ground between them to give herself time to recover, but Perry’s not letting her have an inch. She nearly trips over two of the unconscious shifters sprawled on the ground behind her, barely steadying her feet in time.
Swiping at some blood trickling from her swollen nose, she uses the unconscious forms to her advantage by leaping over them with swift agility. Perry follows, but his steps are blockier, his feet larger, and he doesn’t move as quickly as she does.
Vamps standing in the front surge closer, their hands gesturing in tandem with their shouts. Perry seems to be the crowd favorite. He usually is, since he’s built like a bear. No surprise there since he shifts into one.