Free Magic Strikes by Ilona Andrews Page B

forehead, and pale hazel eyes under forceful white eyebrows. Platinum-gray hair framed his face in a carefully trimmed mane. In his right hand he held a long black cane tipped by a silver dragon head.
    An aura of wealth radiated from him, enhancing his looks like a layer of polish. He smelled of money and prestige. His voice was the auditory equivalent of expensive coffee, rich, smooth, and slightly bitter.
    “Kate, I’m afraid the sword has to stay.”
    “No.”
    “Weapons are forbidden everywhere but the Pit level. You won’t get through the door.”
    Shit.
    I sighed and put Slayer between the front seats. “Stay here. Guard the car.”
    Saiman shut the door. “Is the sword sentient?”
    “No. But I like to pretend it is.”
    A remote clicked in Saiman’s hand. The car answered with an odd chime.
    “What was that?”
    “My security system. I wouldn’t recommend touching the vehicle. Shall we?” He offered me his elbow. I Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    rested my fingers on his arm. A deal was a deal. I was his arm candy for the night.
    At least I looked the part. I had twisted my hair up and stuck a couple of reinforced wooden sticks into the knot to keep it put. I’d even brushed on some makeup to match the ao dai. The dress already added a touch of exotic, and mascara and dark eye shadow took me into intriguing territory. Pretty was forever out of my league, but striking I could manage.
    A large building sat before us in the middle of a huge parking lot. Brick and oval in shape, it rose three stories tall, stretching into the night for what seemed like forever. Buildings of this size were rare in Atlanta.
    Something about the location tugged on me. “Wasn’t there something else here?”
    “The Cooler. This used to be Atlanta’s ice-skating rink. Obviously, we’ve made some modifications.”
    I chewed on that “we.” “Are you a member of the House, Saiman?”
    “No. But Thomas Durand is.” He indicated his new face with an elegant sweep of his hand.
    Not only I was going to an underground tournament dressed like a bimbo, but my escort owned a chunk of it. Great. Since I had gambling and illegal combat covered, maybe afterward I could score some drugs and high-class hookers for an encore. I sighed and tried to look as though I didn’t kill things for a living.
    “Are those blades in your hair?” Saiman asked.
    “No. Putting sharp-bladed things into your hair isn’t a good idea.”
    “Why not?”
    “First, someone could hit you in the head, driving the blades into your scalp. Second, eventually you have to pull the blades out. I have no desire to dramatically unsheathe my hair weapons and end up with half of my hair sliced off and a giant bald spot.”
    A wooden tower clawed at the sky about a hundred yards from the Arena, close enough to cover the entire roof with the fire of the machine guns and cheiroballistae mounted on the platform at its top. The people manning the tower wore distinctive black-and-red uniforms.
    “Red Guard?”
    “Yes.”
    “I guess blood sport pays.” Otherwise the hosts of this little shindig wouldn’t be able to hire the most expensive guard unit in the city. I knew a few Red Guardsmen, and they deserved their pay. A few years ago I had considered joining them for the steady paycheck, but the work was dull as hell.
    “The Coliseum, the pride and joy of Rome, could seat fifty thousand people.” Saiman permitted himself a smile. “Fifty thousand spectators at a time when the horse was the most efficient method of transportation. Blood sport pays, indeed. It also attracts rule breakers, which is why the Guardsmen patrol both the outer perimeter and the inside, especially the ground floor, which surrounds the Pit, where the fights take place. The fighters’ rooms are located there and the House doesn’t tolerate any squabbles outside the Pit.”
    My evening had just gotten a lot more complicated. Tag along with