Carnival of Souls

mixture in their hands to close the circle.

They stood face-to-face for a moment as the circle lifted around them. In a low voice only she could hear, he offered, “We can both win this. You can advise me, share my rule in secret, and we can… abstain until you’re ready. All you have to do is say how long you need.”

Aya slammed the flat of her palm into his face, breaking his nose, drawing first blood. “Forever. No children.”

“When I win the match, I will offer again,” he promised. “You’ve never beaten me before. You won’t do so today, and I will not kill you.”

She didn’t answer, and Belias’ crosscut slammed into her mouth, not with the force he could use, but still hard enough that he drew second blood as her teeth tore her lips.

Betting-house hawkers called out bloodpoints as Aya and Belias faced each other. Nothing mattered beyond this fight. The pleasure of standing against her filled him with the same thrill it had for years: she was unlike any other daimon he’d met.

He blocked a kick, and she dropped to her haunches to dodge a punch. They continued avoiding and blocking each other’s blows for several minutes, and then Belias caught her in the stomach with a kick that knocked her to the ground. She rolled, and as she came to her feet, she ran to the edge of the ring and lifted the falchion she’d left there.

“Do you really want to do this, Aya?”

She charged him, shifting at the last possible moment and trying to catch his thigh with the edge of the blade. Belias knew her every cue, though, and easily dodged her. Twice more she approached and attempted to draw third blood, and twice more he avoided her.

Belias ducked her blows and watched her tire herself chasing after him. He was faster, better trained, and patient. If not for the angry looks she shot at him — and how furious she’d be when she had to forfeit to him — he’d be enjoying finally standing in a ring with her again. Unfortunately, defeating her was going to make her even less likely to forfeit graciously.

“Fight me, Bel,” she demanded.

He dived out of the way as she slashed at him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Fight me,” she repeated. “You insult me by not even trying.”

“Forfeit.” As he said it, though, he withdrew a pair of throwing knives and launched them at her.

As she moved to avoid the first blade, the second sank deep into her thigh, as he’d known it would. Aya’s cry of pain was hidden under the cheers of the crowd. Her gaze found him, and she looked happier now that he’d injured her. He knew, of course, that it wasn’t the injury but the fact that he’d struck out at her as an equal that resulted in her smile.

“Third blood to Belias,” the hawkers called.

“That’s better.” Aya shifted to put her weight on her uninjured leg. “Only one out of two? You’re not as good as I remember.”

“Liar.” Belias advanced on her. “Incapacitate your opponent. Go in for the close kill. You remember that lesson. You can’t run now.”

“Don’t need to.” She held up the falchion. “You’re coming to me, aren’t you?”

With a growl, he swept her feet out from under her. She landed hard, but he followed her to the ground. He had his not-insubstantial weight supported on his knees and one arm. With the other arm, he pinned her. His left hand flat on the middle of her chest, he demanded, “Forfeit.”

“I can’t.” She withdrew one of the knives from her hip, but she paused before striking.

Belias yanked the throwing knife from her thigh as she stared up at him.

“You can’t kill me with that,” he said.

He stabbed the throwing knife into her arm, causing her to draw in a sharp breath.

“Fourth blood,” the hawkers called.

The crowd cheered his name.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then he felt a blade sink into his stomach.

“That’s not—” Belias gasped as cold rushed through him in a terrifying wave. His eyes widened as he stared down at her. “Poison? You’d poison me, little bird?”

Aya drove the second knife into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Bel,” she whispered as he fell atop her. “I didn’t have any other choices.”

He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that there were choices she could’ve made, but his lips wouldn’t move. All he could do was stare at her, looking for tears, remorse, something to prove he hadn’t been so very wrong about her.

And then, even that was impossible. His eyes lost focus, and the world vanished.

CHAPTER 4

EVENING WAS FALLING AS Kaleb walked toward the Carnival of Souls. After Mallory had fled, he’d returned home. There was no reason to be in the human world if not to see her, so he returned to The City to tend to business matters at the carnival. Hunting her was the only big contracted job he had currently, but until the contract was complete, he needed to supplement his meager funds when he could. That meant visiting the carnival.

Unfortunately, every time he saw Mallory, he was consumed by thoughts of her for hours afterward. Kaleb hadn’t known much about Mallory when he was sent to find her, but in the past couple months, he’d studied how she moved, how she protected her home and her secrets. She was Marchosias’ daughter whether or not she knew it, and whatever human had sheltered her had clearly taught her caution that she took to very naturally. Once he’d started approaching her, she responded with interest, but she’d never allowed Kaleb anywhere near her home, had pretended not to be seeking threats as they spoke, and in general demonstrated an innate sense of vigilance. She intrigued him.

Haage hadn’t yet sent him to the human world to kill her, and the more time Kaleb spent with her, the more grateful he was for that. He liked her. It was foolishness, and he could work around it, but he found himself wishing Haage would change his mind. Stranger still, he had considered breaking his contract and bringing her to Marchosias. Both plans were risky; either option meant crossing one of the two most powerful daimons in The City. Soon, Kaleb would need to decide where his loyalties were — with Haage or with Marchosias.

His ultimate loyalty was to himself and his pack, regardless of whether he temporarily sided with Haage or with Marchosias. Right now, Kaleb’s pack was only two — him and Zevi — but Kaleb would do whatever he must to make them safe. Neither Haage or Marchosias were pack. They were simply daimons with a lot of power.

Tonight, though, Kaleb would bide his time in the Carnival of Souls. It wasn’t a hardship: everything of note started or ended here. Judgments were served here; negotiations of every sort took place in the shadows of vendors’ stalls. Marchosias had decreed, long before Kaleb was born, that the carnival would serve as the mercantile and service center of The City.

It was the epicenter of The City itself. Spiraling out around the carnival were a tangle of narrow streets and old buildings that made up clearly stratified living sections. At the edges, the Untamed Lands encroached; nature tried to consume The City, and they tried to keep it at bay. Before the Witch Wars, The City was larger, but the witches had set nature against the daimons in their final departing blow. For several centuries now, daimons had worked regularly to cut back the growth and try to protect The City. Here at the center, though, was a place of business and pleasure. Music played constantly. Blind drummers played outside the tents where delicate deals were arranged; ensembles in the employ of the pleasure vendors enticed customers with their music as dancers demonstrated their flexibility; and others simply played for the coins that were tossed into their baskets. At times it was a glorious cacophony. Jugglers and fire twirlers showed their skills in time to the music. All the while, hawkers sold their wares to those ensnared by the music, sometimes literally.

For all the violence in the The City — much of it in the carnival — there was beauty, too, especially here. As he walked, Kaleb’s steps caught the rhythm of a daimon who leaned against a vendor stall, tapping out patterns on