“Shouldn’t I be headed back to the dormitory?”
“Not tonight,” Bowman said, and I glanced at Woodrow just in time to catch the censuring look he shot his subordinate.
“Why not?” Would Lala and Mirela spend the entire night worrying about me in silence?
Should they be worried?
We turned to the left into a hallway lined with steel doors nearly twice as wide and a third again as tall as I was. Trolls, ogres and giants hunched over to peek through the windows in about half the doors, but the other rooms appeared to be empty. They also appeared to be much taller and wider than the holding cells I’d spent my first few hours at the Spectacle in.
This was where they kept the poor creatures forced to fight in the ring. The “bipedal beasts,” anyway.
A third of the way down the hall, something slammed into a door as we passed it. I jumped, then flinched again when Oki, theadletfrom Metzger’s, rammed the glass again. How many of the other menagerie beasts had been forced to—
“Eryx!” I had to swallow a sob when I saw the gentle minotaur watching me through one of the windows. “Has he already fought?”
Neither of the handlers answered, but a gash had scabbed over on Eryx’s forehead, beneath his left horn, and there was a chip missing from the tip of his right. I couldn’t see how much other damage had been done to him in the ring, but he was alive and upright.
“Rommily’s okay!” I shouted as they dragged me past. “Everyone’s looking after her!”
“The minotaur and the oracle?” Bowman snorted, and I realized I’d accidentally given them something to use against two of my friends.
When we reached the fourth room on the right, Bowman opened the door and pushed me inside.
Woodrow aimed his remote at me to program the door restriction. “Take a shower,” he said. “Someone will come by with food and a change of clothes.” He closed the door, and I got no further explanation for my isolation.
At the back of the cell was a doorway to a bathroom, where the facilities were sufficiently large and sturdy enough for any creature that could have required the twelve-foot-tall space. A toothbrush and a roll of toothpaste sat on the edge of the stainless-steel sink basin. At the end of the bathroom, the floor slanted toward a drain beneath a basic showerhead.
A soap dispenser was built into the wall, but unlike the facilities in my dormitory, there was no shampoo. And there were no towels. Evidently the beasts were expected to air dry.
Nausea made my stomach churn as I looked around the cell.Why am I here?Was this the arena’s equivalent of the private rooms hidden by draperies in the main building? Had one of the guests requested time alone with me?
Surely Vandekamp wouldn’t take such a risk. Unless he’d figured out that I couldn’t avenge myself. But how would he...?
A bitter lump formed at the back of my throat. I’d told them about Gallagher’s oath. There would be no reason for him to swear to protect me, if I could protect myself.
But if this was some kind of big spender, after-the-fight service for a wealthy patron, why had they told me wash off all the makeup? Why had they put me in a concrete room in the basement? Was the cell part of the experience for some sick fight fanatic?
Maybe I was reading too much into the cell. Maybe the handlers were just too lazy to walk me all the way across the grounds to the dorm.
I stripped off the skimpy costume, then turned on the shower and stood beneath the stream of water. It wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold either, so I counted my blessings.
It took five handfuls of scentless hand soap to wash off all the body glitter and scrub my face clean, and another three to wash all the stiffening and holding products from my hair.
While I was rinsing my head for the third time, the cell door squealed open from the other room. I assumed someone had come with food and clothing—and hopefully a towel—until that eerie feeling that I was not alone didn’t fade when the door closed again.
I stood frozen under the lukewarm shower, my heart pounding almost hard enough to hear.
When no one spoke, I turned off the water and stood dripping on the floor, desperately wishing for a towel. Or some clothes. Or a weapon. I stood as still as I could, listening. And finally I heard a single deep exhalation, as if the breather had run out of patience.
“Who’s there?” I demanded, in as strong a voice as I could muster. “This room is already occupied.” As if there were any chance in hell that they’d accidentally put someone else in the cell with me.
“Delilah?”
Gallagher’s voice was such a relief that I burst into tears. I rushed out of the bathroom, so eager to verify what my ears had told me that I forgot for a second that I was naked and dripping wet.
He stood in the middle of the floor, still dressed only in his cap and the tattered pants he’d fought in, now extra tattered from Argo’s claws. Sand clung to his feet, and his arms were covered with welted snake bites. In his left hand, he clutched a bundle of clean clothing.
I froze the minute his gaze landed on me. His eyes widened when he took in my vulnerable state, then his focus snapped back up to my face with the same professionalism he’d always displayed as my handler in the menagerie. Only now there was no professional detachment. He no longer had to pretend he didn’t care about me. That he hadn’t pledged his entire existence to serving at my side and protecting me with his own life.
