Dead Witch Walking

knew about Trent's biodrug dealings seemed unlikely, but she was too smart to not be worried about how her predecessor died. Trent was going to use her as he had Yolin Bates, leaving her dead in an alley somewhere.

My chest tightened as if I was going to cry. A faint scent of redwood came from her, almost overwhelmed by her perfume. Miserable, I pulled the carrots farther in and downed them as fast as I could. They smelled sharply of vinegar, and I wondered at Sara Jane's choice of salad dressing. She had only given me three. I could've eaten twice that.

'I thought you farmers hated chicken killers,' Jonathan said, pretending indifference as he watched me for any unminklike behavior.

Sara Jane's cheeks colored, and she rose quickly from her crouch. Before she could say anything, she reached out an unsteady hand and braced herself against my cage. 'Oooh,' she said, her eyes going distant. 'I got up too fast.'

'Are you all right?' he asked, his flat tone sounding as if he didn't care.

She put a hand to her eyes. 'Yes. Yes, I'm fine.'

I paused my chewing, hearing soft pacing in the hall, and Trent walked in. He had taken his coat off, and it was only his clothes that made him look like a Fortune-twenty executive rather than a head lifeguard. 'Sara Jane, aren't you on lunch?' he asked amiably.

'Just leaving now, Mr. Kalamack,' she said. She glanced worriedly between Jonathan and me before she left. Her heels thumped dimly in the hallway and vanished. I felt a wash of relief. If Trent was here, Jonathan would probably leave me alone and I could eat.

The haughty man folded himself carefully into one of the chairs opposite Trent's desk. 'How long?' he said, putting an ankle on his knee and glancing at me.

'Depends.' Trent fed his fish something from a freezer-dried pouch. The Yellow Tang bumped against the surface, making soft sounds.

'It must be strong,' Jonathan said. 'I didn't think it would affect her at all.'

I paused in my chewing. Her? Sara Jane?

'I thought it might,' Trent said. 'She'll be fine.' He turned, his face creased in thought. 'In the future, I may have to be more direct in my dealings with her. All the information she brought up concerning the sugar beet industry was slanted toward a bad business venture.'

Jonathan cleared his throat, making it sound patronizing. Trent closed the pouch and tucked it away in the cabinet under the tank. He went to stand behind his desk, his fair head bowed as he arranged his papers.

'Why not a spell, Sa'han?' Jonathan unfolded his long legs and stood, tugging out the creases in his dress pants. 'I would imagine it would be more certain.'

'It's against the rules to spell animals in competition.' He scribbled a note in his planner.

A dry smile crossed Jonathan's face. 'But drugs are all right? That makes perverted sense.'

My chewing slowed. They were talking about me. The bitter taste of vinegar was stronger on this last carrot. And my tongue was tingling. Dropping the carrot, I touched my gums. They were numb. Damn. It was Friday.

'You bastard!' I shouted, throwing the carrot at Trent, only to have it bounce back against the mesh. 'You drugged me. You drugged Sara Jane to get me!' Furious, I flung myself at the door, wedging my arm out, trying to reach the latch. Nausea and dizziness rose.

The two men came close, peering down at me, Trent's expression of domination sending a chill through me. Terrified, I raced up the ramp to the second level, then downstairs. The light hurt my eyes. My mouth was numb. I staggered, losing my balance. He'd drugged me!

A realization clawed through my panic. The door was going to open. This might be my only chance. I froze in the center of my cage, panting. Slowly, I tipped over. Please, I thought desperately. Please open the door before I really do pass out. My lungs heaved and my heart raced. Whether it was from my efforts or the drugs, I couldn't tell.

The two men were silent. Jonathan poked me with a pencil. I allowed my leg to quiver as if I was unable to move it. 'I think she's down,' he said. Excitement tinged his voice.

'Give it some time.' The light hit my eyes as Trent moved away, and I slit them.

Jonathan, though, was blessedly impatient. 'I'll get the carrying case.'

The cage trembled as he unlatched the door. My pulse raced as Jonathan's long fingers closed about my body. I wiggled to life, my teeth bearing down on his finger.

'You little canicula!' Jonathan swore, yanking his hand out and pulling me with him. I loosened my hold, hitting the floor with a bone-shaking thump. Nothing hurt. Everything was numb. I leapt for the door, sprawling as my legs wouldn't work.

'Jon!' Trent exclaimed. 'Get the door!'

The floor trembled, quickly followed by the slamming of the door. I hesitated, unable to think. I had to run. Where the hell was the door?

The shadow of Jonathan came close. I bared my teeth, and he hesitated, cowed by my tiny incisors. The sharp stink of fear was on him. He was afraid, the bully. Darting forward, he grasped the scruff of my neck. I twisted, sinking my teeth in the fatty part of his thumb.

He grunted in pain and let go. I hit the floor. 'Damn witch!' he shouted. I staggered, unable to run. Jonathan's blood was thick on my tongue, tasting of cinnamon and wine.

'Touch me again,' I panted, 'and I'll take off your entire thumb.'

Jonathan drew back, afraid. It was Trent who scooped me up. Deep under the drug, I could do nothing. His fingers were blessedly cold as he cradled me in his hands. He set me gently into the carrier and latched the door. It clicked shut, shaking the entire cage.

My mouth was fuzzy and my stomach was twisting. The carrier was lifted, swinging in a smooth arc until it landed on the desk. 'We have a few minutes until we have to leave. Let's see if Sara Jane has any antibiotic cream in her desk for those bites of yours.'

Trent's mellow voice grew as fuzzy as my thoughts. The darkness became overwhelming, and I lost my grip on consciousness, cursing myself for my stupidity.

Twenty-two

Someone was talking. I understood that. Actually, there were two voices, and now that I was regaining the ability to think, I realized they'd been alternating with each other for some time. One was Trent, and his wonderfully liquid voice lured me back to consciousness. Beyond him was the high-pitched squeaking of rats.

'Aw, hell,' I whispered, having it come out as a thin moan of a squeak. My eyes were open, and I forced them closed. They felt as dry as sandpaper. A few more painful blinks and the tears started to flow again. Slowly the gray wall of my carrier swam into focus.

'Mr. Kalamack!' called a welcoming voice, and the world spun as the carrier turned. 'The upstairs told me you were here. I'm so pleased.' The voice got closer. 'And with an entry! Wait and see, wait and see,' the man nearly gushed as he pumped Trent's offered hand up and down. 'Having an entry makes the games vastly more entertaining.'

'Good evening, Jim,' Trent said warmly. 'Sorry for just dropping in on you.'

The mellow cadence of Trent's voice was a balm, soothing my headache away. I both loved and hated it. How could something so beautiful belong to someone so foul?

'You're always welcome here, Mr. Kalamack.' The man smelled like wood chips, and I scrunched back, bracing my-self in the comer. 'Have you checked in, then? Do you have your placing for the first round?'

'There will be more than one fight?' Jonathan interrupted.

'Indeed sir,' Jim said brightly as he gently turned the grate of the carrier to face him. 'You play your rat until it's dead or you pull it. Oh!' he said as he saw me. 'A mink. How very—continental of you. This will change your odds, but no worry. We've fought badgers and snakes before. We thrive on individuality, and everyone loves it when an entrant is eaten.'

My pulse quickened. I had to get out of there.