“And there’s your vampire,” Callie said, her mouth set in a firm line as all five men dragged Damon from the back of the wagon. One burly man, his sweat-stained shirt rolled at the sleeves, kept a stake positioned firmly over his heart.
“Gentle now, Jasper! We need him alive before the fight!” Callie called, her voice sharp. Damon turned, baring his teeth in our direction. I saw surprise in his eyes, which quickly turned into contempt.
“ My little brother, the good Samaritan ,” he whispered under his breath, barely moving his jaw. Luckily, he said it low enough that only I heard.
His voice sent a tremor through my body. Callie cocked her head, and I realized how risky it was for Damon and me to be in such close proximity. Would spite cause him to call me out as a fellow demon? “Are you sure I can’t help with the vampire?” I asked her.
“You heard my father. We’ll start you at the ticket counter. And if anyone tries to sneak in, let Buck handle them,” she said, gesturing to the hulking man hovering several paces behind her like a distended shadow.
A commotion sounded in front of the tent. Callie let out a whistle as we approached. The front flap was closed tight, and a mass of people had surrounded a wooden ticket booth. Some, dressed in tattered britches and with dirt-stained hands, were clearly from the shantytown surrounding the lake. But others were dressed in their finest: the men in top hats and silk smoking jackets, the women in feather-adorned hats and silk dresses, fur stoles draped around their bosoms.
Callie turned to me, her eyes shining. “It’s never been so busy. Dad’s going to be so happy!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Now, go help Buck,” she commanded before running back around the tent.
I stood in the wooden booth at the entrance, listening for Damon. But instead my ears filled with snatches of human conversation.
“I’ve got a hundred dollars on the lion.”
“No, the vampire. Monsters always win over beasts.”
“I’ve told this pretty lady here that she owes me a kiss if the beast wins.” One man hiccupped, obviously drunk.
I ground my teeth, wanting to lash out, to bite each and every one of them, to teach them a lesson. But I remembered Lexi’s words about revenge. Killing these men would not help Damon.
A hand clapped my shoulder. I whirled around, ready to bare my teeth.
It was Gallagher, his face flushed with excitement. “We have to hustle, son! The fight’s about to start, and the more we pack ’em in, the bigger the payday.” He hopped on an overturned apple crate standing just outside the entrance.
“Step right up, folks! Welcome to my Odditorium! See the world’s ugliest woman, marvel at the world’s strongest man! But that’s just the warm-up act. Because tonight, we have a battle royale, the likes of which have never been seen. Monster versus Beast. Who will win? And who wants to bet? Because this is one death that will lead to riches for some.”
The crowd pressed in more tightly around me, swarming like a mass of hungry insects.
Gallagher grinned at me. “Get ’em in, and get ’em bidding.”
And so I held out my hand, collecting their coins and orange stubs of paper, all the while resisting the urge to reach out and snap their necks, as easily as I would a twig branch, and drink the liquid within.
As soon as I’d taken every last ticket and accepted every last dollar, I slipped into the tent behind an overweight man clutching a sweaty wad of Confederate notes in each fist. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, sawdust, and, of course, blood.
People were milling around us, paying extra money to gawk at the Strongman and the Tattooed Lady, all of whom were hidden behind thick black curtains at various intervals along the perimeter of the tent. But the majority of the crowd was clamoring around Jasper. Large wagers were being placed, with lots of shouting and hand signals and stacks of greasy notes being passed back and forth. Jasper gleefully chomped on his soggy cigar and laughed.
Sailors yanked foreign bills from their billfolds. A few teenagers pooled their coins. Well-dressed men in ties waved gold coins.
“Fight, fight, fight!” one red-faced man began yelling. Instantly, the people standing by him began to chant as well. Three well-dressed women, their hair in curls atop their heads, glanced at each other, giggled, and echoed the cheer, their alto voices contrasting with the men’s baritone ones.
Gallagher strode into the tent, his cane tapping a path through the sawdust. People turned and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of him; in the circus tent, he was just as much an attraction as the freaks. After all, this was the man who’d caught a vampire.
Be strong, brother, I whispered under my breath, remembering all the times Damon had won fights back in Mystic Falls. Damon had never provoked those battles but had always been a good fighter, always landing a punch fast when a fight broke out. That’s why he’d been so respected in the army. But now, in a battle against a mountain lion, especially after not feeding for days . . . I shuddered.
“ Brother? ” I whispered tentatively, at a decibel I knew only his ears could detect. I was hoping for some sort of reply, even though I wasn’t sure whether he could have actually heard me. If he did, he said nothing in response.
“And now, let’s introduce our fighters!” Gallagher’s voice broke through my reverie. Two animal handlers, their hands in leather gloves and wearing boots that came up past their knees, walked into the ring, leading a mangy mountain lion. The mountain lion had a grayish-yellowish coat and yellow teeth, and, despite its lean body, looked brutal. And hungry. As if on cue, it uttered a roar.
“In one end of your ring, you have the mountain lion. But this is no ordinary cat. This beast is the Alberta Avenger! He came down from Canada to find the hunter that killed his mate. He eviscerated the hunter, his wife, and all of his children except the youngest, whose legs the lion ate before leaving the rest of him alive to tell the story. Since then, you have followed the mountain lion in the newspapers as it has feasted its way on innocents in the Union and Confederacy without prejudice. Tonight, it is here only after we captured it trying to stow away on a boat bound for the Andes Mountains in South America. The mountain lion, ladies and gentlemen!” Gallagher yelled, his showmanship on full display.
The crowd dutifully applauded enthusiastically, and some even cheered.
“Its opponent is a legendary vampire that has been terrifying children and their parents for centuries. Viktor the Cruel was born in 1589 and was heir to the Hapsburg Empire until he first tasted blood—his sister’s—and began a three-hundred-year feeding frenzy that has left a trail of drained bodies around the world. At an estimated two victims per day, this brings Viktor’s kills to one and a half million people, more than double the size of Italy. This unstoppable lust for blood continues tonight.”
The applause was more nervous now, but the cheers were louder.
Gallagher spread his hands apart with a flourish, and Damon came into the ring, surrounded by four handlers. His hands and feet were in chains, and his face was partially hidden by a muzzle. His skin was bleeding from the vervain, his eyes were bloodshot, and the expression on his face was one I’d never seen.
I could understand the hatred he felt—I was fighting every instinct I had not to kill the people holding him captive. But his imprisonment had changed him. Damon had called me a cold-blooded killer. The look in Damon’s eyes was not one of sport, or survival. It was pure bloodlust.
A hush filled the tent. The mountain lion strained at his chains, but Damon simply stood in his corner of the ring, as if unaware of what the imminent future held for him.
“And . . . go!” Gallagher yelled. Immediately, the handlers unlocked Damon’s chains and opened the iron door of the mountain lion’s cage, then ran off the stage. The lion jumped toward Damon, making contact with his chest. Damon let out an anguished moan and fell backward. Then, just as quickly, he rose to his feet and roared, his face suddenly flushed, his fangs on full display. I knew this was all instinctual: Damon’s Power rising to the surface as soon as he’d felt the attack. I had learned this about our kind in the past few weeks: Our power led us to do things before we even knew we were doing them. Despite Damon’s external weakness, his Power was still intact.
The lion leaped again, and Damon went low, ducking under the claws and coming up at just the right moment to dig his hands into the lion’s neck. But the lion tossed Damon free; he rolled to a stop only when he slammed into the gate surrounding the ring.
