Crown of Ash (Blood Skies, Book 4) (14 page)

She looked behind Vago and saw his bodyguards, a pair of thick-necked and well-muscled men with long knives and auto-pistols.  Danica was surprised he didn’t object to her carrying weapons
in his presence
, but then she remembered she wasn’t technically his prisoner. 

It just seems like it. 

“There
’
s an event today,” Vago said as he cracked open a shellfish and slurped out its pasty white innards with his considerable tongue.  Danica tried not to look, but the sound he made
while
he ate was thoroughly nauseating.  “I would like you to accompany me.”

“Gosh,
could
I?” she said flatly.  She finished her black bomber,
and
their waitress brought her
another. 
Danica
drank it without hesitation.  Her spirit hugged tight against her skin, and she felt him burn with disapproval – she’d already had several of the stout licorice-flavored drinks, and every time she imbibed another he
had
to clear the alcohol from her
blood
with a jolt of arcane energy
.  H
e
was
gentl
e
enough with Black
to
cleanse her system without making her vomit, but
h
is
treat
ment
became slightly less friendly with
each subsequent drink
. 

She’d had to keep
him
reigned in
, and that made them both
uncomfortable
.  The Revengers undoubtedly ha
d
hunter witches keyed in to
hi
s particular arcane signature, and
even with Vago’s so-called protection,
using him
for even the simple act of burning the
liquor
out of her body
was
living
danger
ously
. 

Gargoyles soared overhead, hired muscle used by Vago to keep the peace
in Blacksand
.  From what Danica had seen on the streets and in the docks
,
they weren’t terribly good at their job. 

Someone started the arcane jukebox in the corner
.  A
heavy guitar riff
blasted
over unintelligible
vocals
. 

“Are
n’t
you going to ask what sort of event
we’re going to
?” Vago asked
with a smile
.

“No,” Black said.  “I don’t have much of a choice
but to go
.
  It doesn’t mean I have to care.
”  She leaned in closer
to him
.  “We’ve been here for almost
three
weeks, Vago.  And while I appreciate your helping us, we
are
paying you back by assisting your lackeys with every shitty job you throw our way. 
Now you want to use
me as arm candy to go to
some
gambling den
or to make a public appearance
at
a
pit-fight.  But know this:
my team and I are leaving.  And we’re going to do it s
oon.”  She sat back and took another drink.  “And if you try to stop us, you’re going to pay.” 

He smiled.  His
face
stretched
.  T
haumaturgic grafts had been laced into his flesh
to
protect his body
from
long-term exposure to
caustic coastal winds and
to
shield
his
mind
from psychic intrusion.  He looked like an intelligent zombie.

“You are
a
remarkable
creature
,” he smiled.

“Yeah.  I get that a lot. 
So
…”  She lit another cigarillo. 
God, I do
n’t
need to get hooked on these again. 
“Since clearly you’re just
dying
to tell me…w
hat’s the event?”

“A race.”

“Oh, goody,” she said.  “Chickens?”

“
Automobiles
,” he smiled. 

“Oh.  G
oody.”

Blacksand’s racing arena was
a
tall and columnar structure made of red steel and dark stone
.  T
he stadium seats were arranged at such a steep angle Danica
felt
sure she’d
tumble out of the stands and
back
down
to the central racing pit
if she
didn’t step
careful
ly.
  Spectators packed the complex.  They were
ruddy-face
d and sweaty-palmed drifters,
merchants and runaway soldiers
. 
People
desperately clutched
cash and coins in their dirt-caked hands
, and t
heir faces
were
dank with sweat and industrial oil
. 

F
ueling pits billowed thick plumes
of gritty steam. 
Exhaust
and
heat
turned
the
air
hazy
and thick
. 
The
arena
hummed and vibrated. 

Danica, Vago and his bodyguards were seated on the uppermost balcony of the stadium seats, a semi-private box that
hung
precariously
out into open air
.  Danica felt the sting of salt wind and saw churning clouds in the distance. 

The height
at which
they sat was truly dizzying
.
H
ard winds
came in
from the sea
and shook
the structure
.  The seats were
made of
hard metal
and
covered with loose red blankets and imitation wool that smelled like
goats
.  Black didn’t want to use her spirit to shield her
self
from the cold,
so she pulled her armored coat tight and did her best to ignore it.

“I don’t like being this exposed,” she said to Vago. 
The box
was
separated
from
the nearest
seats
b
y metal
rails, but
she and Vago
were
plainly visible
to everyone around them
.
“I thought the idea of hiding was to keep a
low
profile.”

“My dear Danica,” Vago
smiled.  “You must trust me.  I’ve hidden people before
.  The best place to hide is in plain sight.”

“
It’s
also the best place to go if you want to get shot in the face,” she
said
.

Their seats
were
located
a good 300 feet over the race
track
.
Black was able to make out a surprising number of details
from their vantage
, like the fact that human skulls
bordered
the road
and that the names of prominent dead racers had been carved or slashed into the concrete. 

The growl of revving engines shook the arena.  Massive vehicles crafted from black steel and magically hardened bone
drove up to
the starting line
.  Tail
pipes spat spectral-laced smoke. 
The vehicles sported a
rmor plate
,
gigantic ram blades
and massive chain-wrapped wheels
.  Drivers
buried
beneath
thick leather
and
iron
helmets
looked up and salute
d the crowd, which had
worked
itself to frenzy
.  Money exchanged hands as bets were placed.  People rushed to their seats. 

Danica and her spirit felt
more
tension in the air
than excitement.  The spectators
expected someone to die, and based on
what Black
saw
that was exactly what they
were going to
get. 

The racers were all highly stylize
d showmen with bizarre costumes,
bull horn helmets and purple and black face-paint, fetishist leather zipper masks or flamboyant gladiator steel.  One racer was dressed up like
a
psychotic clown with fangs
,
and
he had
blood on his button nose and
his
oversized lips; another was dressed like
a
dystopian vampire opera singer, complete with a top-hat and a cane
carved out
of bone.  Their
cars
were grungy and dark, covered in blood and oil and armed to the teeth with blades and melee weapons (no projectiles were allowed, as the risk of injuring the crowd was too great)
.  M
any of the
vehicles bore
logos and stylized designs
like
leering faces or skull-and-
crossbones or scantily clad women with bat’s wings. 

An announcer came over the crackling intercom and announced each racer and his vehicle
. 
Barely
dressed
showgirls
smiled and waved at the crowd as they
marched across the arena floor with
excessive banners
. 

Danica
found
the entire
scene
preposterous.
 
It reminded her of the death races they’d held
at
Black Scar
, only this event was jovial, and someone might actually survive. 

A blaring horn s
ounded, and the race began.

A dune-buggy
equipped
with
blade
d
ram plate
s
quickly took the lead as it
knocked a retrofitted Trans Am into the wall.  A thick red truck so loaded down with armor it was a wonder it could even move bullied its way into the middle of the
pack
, followed closely by an El Camino with saw blades in its grill.

While
she watched the race
from their dizzying perch, Danica
noticed that
others
were watching
her
, merchants and black marketers, mercenaries and drug dealers, all associates of Vago’s who were clearly impressed by
the
“date”
he
’d
brought
to the races. 

I’m surprised he didn’t ask me to wear a cocktail dress
, she thought bitterly. 

Crashes sounded up from the arena and shook the narrow stadium.  The crowd roared as the El Camino skid, fishtailed and spun into a massive spike in the wall.  The vehicle ripped apart in a shower of steel and blood. 

Danica looked up.  Something was wrong.  She wasn’t sure what, but she sensed something, some presence
at the periphery of her vision
. 

The crowd roared.  Another crash
sounded down below
.  Three of the nine cars had
already
wrecked
. 

She smelled acid in the wind
. 
Danica
felt
off-
balance as the chaos of motion and sound twisted around her.  Normally she
’d have
used her spirit to fight
off
th
e feeling
, but she didn’t dare
, not
with how exposed they were.

God damn it, Vago, it’s like you
want
me to get caught.

That thought didn’t settle well with her.  She was already suspicious of their so-ca
lled “host”, and s
he wouldn’t
have
put it past him to arrange her capture
, so long as he saw a profit in the deal
.