“We’re going straight to the Trial,” I whispered to PB through ragged breaths, indicating the lights nobody else seemed to notice amid the frenzy of building the last bonfire.
“Will you two stop slacking off?” Hartt bellowed.
PB pivoted seamlessly with the only ammunition available. “Maybe we could if someone else lugged these fucking bags!”
I eyed Melange, uncertain she’d take the cue, but she didn’t miss a beat. “He’s right! I’m done! You bitches try winning this without Melange!”
As the lagging Angels caught up, Shawn rallied his team, throat hoarse from yelling. “They aren’t even working! Hurry!”
Amid the Devils’ argument, I fought for Erika’s attention, but it was Imogen who glanced in my direction. I nodded intently toward the Arena, and her face fell with understanding. “Tell her,” I mouthed, turning away before anyone from either team could see.
The Angels soon bolted with their sack as Shawn cheered, “We can do this!”
Their advance prompted Hartt to lunge at PB, and I instinctively leaptbetween them until Aspen, the unlikeliest diplomat, parted us. “Hey, hey, hey! We carry bags, okay?”
Once we had a few feet separating us, Melange rounded on me and PB. “So why did I just sit my ass in the dirt?” She winced as PB pointed to the Arena. “Shit balls.”
Everyone else was finally gleaning the Trial was nigh, prompting panic amongst the women. Erika somehow was managing to stay cool as we trailed final Angel Fortune into the searing lights of the Arena. I saw the sprawling chain mail curtain from Episode 1 was back, now concealing a tall structure—and whatever torture awaited.
“Angels, you win this Tribulation!” Ecklund announced. “And as you can see, our next Trial starts… Right! Now!” The heavy curtain dropped, unveiling a huge tank of water at least ten feet deep. A thick platform encircled the rim, ladders on each side.
No doubt this was where we’d go to commercial.
“But that’s not the only surprise… Tonight’s adouble elimination!”
Never mind, that’s where we’d go to commercial.
“One womanandone man leave tonight!” Legitimate gasps. Double eliminations had happened occasionally in my day, but never so early in a season. I helplessly looked at poor, spent Shawn. Erika wasn’t the only ally we’d jeopardized…
“With winning, the Angels get that special advantage. Dare I say… a Devil’s bargain?” Ecklund inserted the appropriate pause so a collection of overworked editors in Simi Valley could eventually cut to our sweaty, dusty faces. “Will this Trial proceed as usual—Devil versus Angel—or will you forgo the Trial entirely and pit four Devils againsteach other?!”
My stomach bottomed out, suddenly much less worried about Erika and Shawn and way more concerned about myself.
“Do we pick which Devils?” Camdon asked.
Ecklund shook his head. “No, the Devils would iron that out themselves.”
I turned to my right, stunned to find PB looking inexplicably satisfied. “Why are you grinning? They’ll put you and me against each other.”
“Stay cool,” he purred.
“So, Angels: guaranteed control or guaranteed safety?” Ecklund asked.
Shawn’s hand limply rose to offer an alternative, but I shot him an adamant silencing look. In his current state, he’d lose oppositeanyone. I couldn’t let him do that.
“We’ll stay ‘Angels Strong’ and let the Devils pick each other off,” Camdon said, meaning my newfound alliance was—officially—totally doomed. I’d leave or PB would.
Ecklund commanded the Devils to elect their first man, my name echoing like a chorus of bells, until a shockingly serene PB broke rank. “Hartt.”
Hartt erupted in jeering laughter. “You know you’re next.”
“So what do I have to lose? Besides,” he responded blithely, “I can’t fucking stand you.”
“I’ll also vote for the douchebag boning my dumbass cousin,” Melange added.
Ecklund regarded me, last in line. “Luke, the votes are against you, but chime in.”
No point in pretending otherwise, my aching feet stepped forward. “Put me in, Coach,” I said before clapping PB on the back. “I hate it came to this.”
