Magic Games
Page 36
“Oh, think that’s funny, do you?” Sera growled up at it. Her body had blocked off all feeling to her arm, which right now was probably all that was keeping her in this fight. It also meant she’d be in for a world of pain later.
The dragonfly chuckled.
“You are so dead,” she told it, peeling her hand off her bleeding arm. Crimson drops flicked off her fingers, splattering the sand.
The dragonfly came at her again. Its mouth opened, showing off two rows of tiny, pointed teeth. Sera swung the cylinder like a baseball bat, knocking the monster at the magic barrier. It smashed against the web of lightning and burst into tiny, dragonfly-bits confetti.
The audience jumped to their feet, their voices raised in cheer.
“You’re all a bunch of demented lunatics!” she roared back at them.
Her words dissolved into the crowd. She wasn’t even sure if they’d heard her. And it didn’t matter. As the door out of the fighting pit burst open, she clutched her bleeding arm and walked toward it. The pain in her legs and arms was slowly returning. She walked faster. She had no intention of passing out in front of several hundred bloodthirsty supernaturals.
* * *
Sera ran for her locker, reached inside her bag, and pulled out a bottle of healing spray. She drenched her body in the stuff, not even bothering about getting her clothes wet. They were ruined anyway.
The bottled magic sank into her skin, flooding her with soothing warmth. The spray wasn’t half as effective as a mage’s healing spell, but it was enough to keep her conscious. She’d worry about second-degree burns and bleeding body parts later. For now, she had to worry about finding someone to heal her.
“Sorry, peaches,” the guard said when she asked to see a healer. “You need to heal yourself. No outside help. Those are the rules of the fighting pit.”
“I’m not in the fighting pit, genius,” she snapped back.
A muffled sound buzzed from the guard’s earpiece. Someone was talking to him.
“Rules are rules,” the guard told her.
Sera grabbed her bag—and her sword—and marched off. “Rules, my ass,” she muttered under her breath as she headed for the exit sign.
The guard had said he’d bet money on her making it through the day. It was in his best interest to find her a healer. Unless he was lying about the bet. Or someone had ordered him not to help her heal. Like the Game Architect.
Dizziness rushed through her head, a kaleidoscope of yellow and purple lights dancing in front of her eyes. Sera swayed to the side. She reached out, catching herself on the wall before she smashed into it. Her hand, slippery with blood, slid across the satin-smooth surface, smearing it red.
Sera had reached the exit door. She pushed it open and stepped out into the lobby, blinking back the flood of bright white lights. She staggered out and shuffled across the slick marble floor. The light show in her head had exploded into the grand finale of all migraines. She stumbled over her own feet and fell.
Two arms caught her, powerful and smelling strongly of dragon. Sera blinked back the blotchy lights, and Kai’s face came into focus.
“The dragon,” she slurred, then blacked out.
She didn’t know how long she was out, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. When she came to, she was lying on top of a counter in the lobby. The fairy on the other side had retreated to the corner, her face as green as her hair. She looked about two seconds from throwing up. Beside her, her vampire colleague was licking his lips.
A warm, soothing magic rushed through Sera, its silken touch washing away the pain. She turned her head, now that she actually could move it again. Dal was beside the counter, muttering as his hands wove a web of sparkling silver-blue magic across her body. He pressed his palms together, then yanked them apart, dissolving the spent magic.
“Thanks,” Sera croaked, trying to sit up.
Dal caught her arm and pulled her up. A wicked grin twitched at his bottom lip. “Does that mean we’re even?”
“Sure,” she said, returning the grin. “After you’ve done that another hundred or so times.”
He snorted. “There weren’t that many monsters in the tower at Alcatraz.”
“How would you know? You were asleep the whole time,” she teased.
“She’s back to her normal self,” Dal sighed, turning to look back at Kai.
The dragon stood against the wall, his arms crossed stiffly against his chest, his jaw clenched like he’d just bitten down on a piece of iron chewing gum. He looked like he needed to kill something. Now.
“Frowning gives you wrinkles,” Sera told him.
Dark scales split out of his wrists, sliding up his arms. Magic boiled in his eyes, setting the dust in the air on fire.
Dal sighed. “Sera, try not to stoke the fire too much,” he said, then walked off, dodging the cloud of burning dust flurries on his way out.
When he was gone, Sera hopped down from the counter, landing beside Kai. “Are you all right?”
“Am I…all right?” he grunted, his words scraping out like sandpaper.
“I take it that’s a ‘no’ then.”
“You’re hurt.” He set a hand on her shoulder. It was bare, bruised, and dirty. The strap of her tank top had torn clear off. The rest of the shirt hung in tattered strips. There wasn’t enough fabric left to make a bandage.
“It looks worse than it is,” she replied with a shrug and a smile.
“You’re hurt,” he repeated. “And you’re asking if I am all right? No, I’m not all right. You look like you’ve been run over by a tank, torn apart by vampires, then burned to a crisp by dragon fire.”
The dragonfly chuckled.
“You are so dead,” she told it, peeling her hand off her bleeding arm. Crimson drops flicked off her fingers, splattering the sand.
The dragonfly came at her again. Its mouth opened, showing off two rows of tiny, pointed teeth. Sera swung the cylinder like a baseball bat, knocking the monster at the magic barrier. It smashed against the web of lightning and burst into tiny, dragonfly-bits confetti.
The audience jumped to their feet, their voices raised in cheer.
“You’re all a bunch of demented lunatics!” she roared back at them.
Her words dissolved into the crowd. She wasn’t even sure if they’d heard her. And it didn’t matter. As the door out of the fighting pit burst open, she clutched her bleeding arm and walked toward it. The pain in her legs and arms was slowly returning. She walked faster. She had no intention of passing out in front of several hundred bloodthirsty supernaturals.
* * *
Sera ran for her locker, reached inside her bag, and pulled out a bottle of healing spray. She drenched her body in the stuff, not even bothering about getting her clothes wet. They were ruined anyway.
The bottled magic sank into her skin, flooding her with soothing warmth. The spray wasn’t half as effective as a mage’s healing spell, but it was enough to keep her conscious. She’d worry about second-degree burns and bleeding body parts later. For now, she had to worry about finding someone to heal her.
“Sorry, peaches,” the guard said when she asked to see a healer. “You need to heal yourself. No outside help. Those are the rules of the fighting pit.”
“I’m not in the fighting pit, genius,” she snapped back.
A muffled sound buzzed from the guard’s earpiece. Someone was talking to him.
“Rules are rules,” the guard told her.
Sera grabbed her bag—and her sword—and marched off. “Rules, my ass,” she muttered under her breath as she headed for the exit sign.
The guard had said he’d bet money on her making it through the day. It was in his best interest to find her a healer. Unless he was lying about the bet. Or someone had ordered him not to help her heal. Like the Game Architect.
Dizziness rushed through her head, a kaleidoscope of yellow and purple lights dancing in front of her eyes. Sera swayed to the side. She reached out, catching herself on the wall before she smashed into it. Her hand, slippery with blood, slid across the satin-smooth surface, smearing it red.
Sera had reached the exit door. She pushed it open and stepped out into the lobby, blinking back the flood of bright white lights. She staggered out and shuffled across the slick marble floor. The light show in her head had exploded into the grand finale of all migraines. She stumbled over her own feet and fell.
Two arms caught her, powerful and smelling strongly of dragon. Sera blinked back the blotchy lights, and Kai’s face came into focus.
“The dragon,” she slurred, then blacked out.
She didn’t know how long she was out, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. When she came to, she was lying on top of a counter in the lobby. The fairy on the other side had retreated to the corner, her face as green as her hair. She looked about two seconds from throwing up. Beside her, her vampire colleague was licking his lips.
A warm, soothing magic rushed through Sera, its silken touch washing away the pain. She turned her head, now that she actually could move it again. Dal was beside the counter, muttering as his hands wove a web of sparkling silver-blue magic across her body. He pressed his palms together, then yanked them apart, dissolving the spent magic.
“Thanks,” Sera croaked, trying to sit up.
Dal caught her arm and pulled her up. A wicked grin twitched at his bottom lip. “Does that mean we’re even?”
“Sure,” she said, returning the grin. “After you’ve done that another hundred or so times.”
He snorted. “There weren’t that many monsters in the tower at Alcatraz.”
“How would you know? You were asleep the whole time,” she teased.
“She’s back to her normal self,” Dal sighed, turning to look back at Kai.
The dragon stood against the wall, his arms crossed stiffly against his chest, his jaw clenched like he’d just bitten down on a piece of iron chewing gum. He looked like he needed to kill something. Now.
“Frowning gives you wrinkles,” Sera told him.
Dark scales split out of his wrists, sliding up his arms. Magic boiled in his eyes, setting the dust in the air on fire.
Dal sighed. “Sera, try not to stoke the fire too much,” he said, then walked off, dodging the cloud of burning dust flurries on his way out.
When he was gone, Sera hopped down from the counter, landing beside Kai. “Are you all right?”
“Am I…all right?” he grunted, his words scraping out like sandpaper.
“I take it that’s a ‘no’ then.”
“You’re hurt.” He set a hand on her shoulder. It was bare, bruised, and dirty. The strap of her tank top had torn clear off. The rest of the shirt hung in tattered strips. There wasn’t enough fabric left to make a bandage.
“It looks worse than it is,” she replied with a shrug and a smile.
“You’re hurt,” he repeated. “And you’re asking if I am all right? No, I’m not all right. You look like you’ve been run over by a tank, torn apart by vampires, then burned to a crisp by dragon fire.”
