Skeleton Crew (16 page)

“I have made every effort to maintain a certain exclusivity where the dogfights are concerned. The investment required to offer this kind of entertainment is substantial, and the stakes reflect that commitment.”

“I'd like to think it won't be any less exclusive when you let us in on the action,” I said, and smiled.

La Calavera nodded. “No, indeed. You and your friend are rarities here, as I said, and I'm sure the others will welcome the novelty. They will relish the opportunity to wager against such a…delicacy.”

“Great,” I said, even though I didn't really think of myself as a delicacy. “When is the next fight?”

“Tonight,” said La Calavera. “Enjoy yourselves until the party winds down. For the convenience of our players, we hold the fights on the premises. And now, if you'll excuse me, I really must attend to my other guests.” She stood, glanced once at Adan and walked away.

“I feel so used,” Adan said. “Hold me, Domino.”

I laughed. “You're a good dancer.”

“Oberon taught me. He said you had to be able to fight, dance and lie to survive at court, not necessarily in that order.”

“You're a good fighter, too.”

“Yeah, honesty is my downfall.”

“Spoken like an expert liar,” I said. “So what was your relationship to Oberon, exactly? He abducted you.”

Adan nodded. “I was his ward—somewhere between his son and his hostage. We weren't blood, obviously, and that means a lot in the Seelie Court. But he was responsible for me. He took it seriously.”

“What was it like? Growing up with fairies, I mean.”

“It's like a dream now, even after a few months. Like Oberon's party. It's hard to remember details. I think it seemed normal at the time—I didn't know anything else.”

“You don't remember anything?”

“Impressions,” Adan said. “It was…cold. Not the climate—it was always summer in our part of Avalon. But love, genuine warmth, is a rare thing among the sidhe. That's one thing that makes Oberon and Titania unusual—they've got it. But for the rest of them, there's blood, honor, duty, loyalty… There are a lot of good things in Avalon, but kindness and compassion aren't among them.”

“It sounds like the barrio, only worse.”

“A lot worse, I think. Even in the barrio, I'll bet there was at least some sense of community. Some basic human decency despite the poverty and hopelessness.”

I nodded, thinking of my mother and thousands of others like her. “There are good people in the barrio. The poverty and hopelessness just makes them stronger.”

Adan got a faraway look in his eyes. “I do remember something. I remember the first time Oberon took me with
him on a hunt. We were hunting wild boar in the woods, maybe a day's ride from the city. I must have been about ten years old. We were mounted and we had these short, heavy spears with broad, silver points. The dogs—your barghests—would flush the boars out of the bush and we'd spear them. I could barely even lift the spear.”

He laughed and looked at me. I just nodded.

“These boars—they weren't like normal animals, obviously. They could get as big as the barghests, and a lot heavier, a lot more powerful. They had thick, coarse fur and tusks as long as my forearm. Their hides were so tough and they were so fierce, it always took a few good throws to bring them down. Anyway, you probably know how this story goes. I was a decent horseman for my age and size, but you've seen the sidhe horses. I got thrown and a boar charged me. I lost my spear when I fell. All I had was my sword and a short, wide-bladed knife. The rest of the sidhe—including Oberon—just sat their steeds and watched.”

“Jesus Christ. What happened?”

“I killed it,” Adan said, and shrugged. “I don't remember how. When it was over, my sword was broken off in the boar's chest and my knife was buried to the hilt in its eye. And I was covered in blood, like someone had dumped buckets of it on me. Not all of it was the boar's.”

“And they didn't do anything to help?”

“They just watched. They didn't even say anything—no cheering, no encouragement, no advice. They just waited to see what would happen. But that's not really what the story's about. I'll never forget what Oberon said to me when it was over. He said, “The horse sensed your fear. Master your fear and you'll master the beast. You've proven yourself a man, now, so don't expect any more coddling.”

“Coddling? Son of a bitch!”

“Yeah,” Adan said, laughing. “That's what I thought—someone must have neglected the coddling part. He was true to his word, though. After that I was always on my own. I could have just about anything I wanted, as long as I was strong enough and clever enough to take it for myself.”

Oberon as Adan described him reminded me a lot of Shanar Rashan—maybe that's why they hated each other. My boss had taught me a lot and I'd always be grateful to him for it. But he'd also been more than willing to let me learn the hard lessons on my own. And if I didn't survive one of those lessons? Well, I guess in six thousand years you see a lot of people die. Adan and I were a lot alike, too, with one big difference: I'd always had my mom. Adan never had anyone. Even now, after he'd returned from Avalon, the first thing his father did was go on vacation.

“What do you think of the mortal world so far?” I asked.

Adan nodded and gave me a little smile. “Honestly? So far it seems a lot like Avalon. Our little corner of it, anyway.”

“The more things change…”

Adan just looked at me, waiting for me to finish the thought.

“Uh, the more they stay the same. It's just a saying. Adan, how is it you know Jude Law movies but you don't know shit like that?”

“It was a good movie,” he said, laughing. “No, I hear you—it's weird. The Seelie Court has been watching this world a long time. That isn't news to you—Oberon had to know what was happening here in order to set his plans in motion. But watching a place isn't the same as living in it. Think of a place you know a little about but have never visited, a place you've never lived.”

I nodded. “Like Japan. I know a little about the popular culture, and I maybe have an image of what it looks like— Tokyo, anyway—but I'd be fucking clueless if I actually went there.”

“Yeah, that's what it's like for me. Parts of this world are familiar to me. Most of it is alien.”

I held up my glass. “Well, here's to two well-adjusted individuals who survived lost innocence and childhood trauma to lead healthy, happy and productive lives.”

Adan raised his own glass and touched mine. “They sound like amazing people,” he said. “I'd like to meet them someday.”

We laughed and drank. We finished the first bottle of champagne and ordered another. It was definitely juice—I got the same buzz off it I got from spinning spells. We couldn't be sure who was listening so we avoided talking about zombies, Xolos or demons. We talked about the outfit, instead, and I realized it was because neither one of us really had anything else going on in our lives. There just wasn't much else to talk about. I didn't mind. It was nice just to talk to someone.

There was never a last call in the shadow world, but eventually the crowd thinned and the staff turned from serving to cleaning up. There were only about a dozen spirits left in the club, and they huddled together in small groups, no doubt discussing the forthcoming entertainment. Before long, La Calavera reappeared and ushered us all through a door by the stage to the back room where the fights would be held.

In the real world, underground dogfights were usually held in vacant lots or buildings, and rarely in the same place twice. The “pits” were really nothing more than small, portable enclosures built from plywood that could be pulled out
of the back of a van or truck and set up in a few minutes. La Calavera had done some redecorating and her pit was the real deal. The room behind the stage was like a small amphitheater, with rows of low stone benches encircling the pit. The pit itself was only about four feet deep and fashioned of cut, pale stone mottled with dark-brown stains. There was an open space between the stands on the far side of the room, and half a dozen cages were placed there, side by side. Inside the cages were the Xolos.

They didn't look anything at all like Caesar. In the Between they were made of light, like a master artist had sculpted a sunrise in the shape of a dog. They were beautiful, magnificent, and to look at them was to know peace. And they'd been driven mad.

One of the Xolos threw itself at the bars of its cage, over and over, until white-gold light spattered the insides of the cage and the stone floor like blood. Another sat on its haunches and howled, a mournful lament that worked its way into the center of me and filled me with despair. Another Xolo lay on the floor of its cage, its eyes wide and staring, its light dull and dim. One of the creatures turned in circles inside its cage, first one way and then the next, whimpering quietly.

It took everything I had not to draw Ned and start shooting. I glanced at Adan and saw the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching. The spirits in the room didn't even look at the Xolos. They talked quietly in their little groups and drank champagne. They laughed. I saw the woman in the red dress and barbed wire and the man with the skin mask. The others I didn't recognize, but I vowed to remember them.

La Calavera walked over and stood in front of the cages. She raised her arms and the other spirits quickly took their
seats. Adan and I sat close together on the stone bench. I took his hand and he held it tightly enough that I couldn't reach for my gun.

“Welcome, friends,” La Calavera said. “Most of you are regulars here, but we do have some newcomers—Domino Riley and Adan Rashan, who come to us from the mortal world—so allow me to explain the rules of our little game.

There will be three fights—two dogs in each fight pitted against each other. All of you must place a wager on each fight, but you are, of course, free to choose the beast on which to place your bet. You may not place a wager smaller than the last bet on your chosen beast. The order of betting will be determined randomly. Each fight will continue until one dog is unwilling or unable to continue. At that point, all wagers will be settled and the winners will be paid by the losers in proportion to their original bet. The house takes any remainder. If there is anyone here who does not understand these rules, let him speak now.”

It was a clever betting scheme. There were no odds, but the rule that your bet must equal or exceed the one that came before it created an incentive to bet on the weaker dog since betting on the favorite would quickly escalate.

“How are the bets placed and the winnings recovered?”

I asked. I didn't really want to draw attention to us, but the spirits were all eyeballing us anyway and the only stupid question is the one you don't ask.

“That shall be demonstrated shortly,” La Calavera said, and everyone laughed. Everyone except Adan and me. “I will allow your names to be placed aside and drawn last for the first fight, so that you may see how the others wager.”

Given that the betting was going to escalate, betting last wasn't an advantage—just the opposite. “You are kind, La
Calavera,” I said, “but that won't be necessary. If one of us is chosen first, just tell us what to do.”

La Calavera inclined her head. “As you wish. If there are no further questions, let us begin.”

The dogmen—both of them ghosts—went to the cages and looped heavy silver chains over the necks of the first two fighters. The Xolos were dragged to the pit and thrown inside, restrained by the dogmen behind the scratch lines carved into the stone. The Xolo on the left was the one that had been lying on its side in the cage. When its handler lifted it and dropped it into the pit, it collapsed again. The other Xolo strained against the chain around its throat, baring its teeth and growling.

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered to Adan, “I'm not sure I can do this.”

“We have to,” Adan said, squeezing my hand. “If we're going to help them, we have to get through this.”

“How about we kill all these motherfuckers instead?”

“Then we'll probably die, and even if we don't we'll never find the other Xolos. There are only six of them here.”

“Okay, but promise me I can kill them later.”

“Promise,” Adan said. “I'll help.”

Another ghost brought a golden bowl to La Calavera. She reached inside and drew out a small, white card. “The first to wager is Valafar,” she said.

A remarkably fat, middle-age man in a charcoal suit and lionskin cloak stood and waddled over to the pit. The other spirits groaned. The pelt taken from the lion's head and mane draped over the man's shoulders, and golden fur cascaded down to his ankles. Other than the cloak and his substantial girth, I couldn't see anything particularly unusual about him. Then he turned to the spectators and smiled.
His eyes were on fire and a serpentine tongue licked out between yellow, jagged fangs.

Valafar stepped into the pit and walked over to the Xolo that was straining against its chain. He knelt awkwardly as only a truly fat man can and grasped the chain around the dog's neck in both hands. Then he leaned in and bared his throat to it. The Xolo snarled and savaged him, shaking its head from side to side and spattering the stone with black juice. The man craned his neck and watched me, still smiling, as the Xolo consumed him.

It went on for quite a while. Finally, Valafar tore his throat away from the dog and wiped the spatters of black magic from his cloak and suit, licking it from his fingers with his forked tongue. Then he struggled to his feet and returned to his seat, still smiling. The flesh of his throat was whole again, but I could see he was diminished even without using the sight. He'd placed a big bet.

The betting continued and I realized it was a perversion of the Xolos' sacred gift, the ability to tear the divine spark from an earthly vessel whose time had come to move on. This was why La Calavera needed Xolos for the fights. Other creatures, like the barghests, could chew on you all day and they'd never be able to take that part of you into themselves, to hold it and keep it safe. Only the Xolos could do that. La Calavera had used that and made it an abomination. It was something only a truly evil mind could conceive.