Carnival of Souls

The crowd took a collective breath.

Marchosias growled before asking the accuser, “Do you have evidence that Verie was not aiding one of the contenders unfairly and undercutting the rules of my competition?”

“No.”

“Do any of your witnesses?” the judge added with a brief glance at Marchosias, who now stood with his arms folded over his chest.

“My witnesses . . .” The accuser looked around him; all of the witnesses were gone. “No.”

“Do you have evidence that this cur’s death was unjust and by a ruling-caste woman?” the judge prompted. He paused only briefly before pronouncing, “Aya, the judgment on your action finds you unaccountable and—”

“I ask to be held accountable.” Aya lifted her gaze to Marchosias. “If judgment finds that Verie was interfering with the competition, his death is eligible to be counted as a competition kill. I request judgment that Verie was interfering.”

“Do you have evidence?” the judge asked.

Aya’s attention shifted to the judge. “If you doubt my word on this, shouldn’t I be held accountable? Either he was interfering or he wasn’t. If he wasn’t, his death is unjust. If he was interfering, I should get credit for his removal. There is precedent.”

The smile that Marchosias had barely been restraining became a wide grin. He stepped in front of the judge and walked to the edge of the platform. “It would seem that, as arbiter of the competition, that would be my ruling.” He looked at the crowd, who fell completely silent as he let his gaze slide over them. “If I award this kill to Aya, she will move from fourth- to third-ranked position on the matchboard. It could upset a lot of bets . . . at least for those souls who weren’t attentive enough to stay at the carnival to attend judgment.”

The crowd strained as the urge to rush to the betting houses conflicted with the danger of walking away from Marchosias. He knew it, let the tension build, and then held his hands up as if he hadn’t made a decision already. “What say you?”

Cries of “Aya!” mingled with “Yes!” and “Her kill!”

Marchosias lowered his hands as he turned to Aya. “The people have rendered judgment. The kill is counted as justifiably yours.”

The chaos of the crowd ru

No mercy.

He didn’t like to inflict injury for point count before killing his opponent. He was decisive, but not cruel. If a fight started, it ended with a kill, but he didn’t torture. Until a match began, a forfeit was a solid win: it meant that he’d succeeded in wi

Now, as a result of Aya’s play, he would have no choice but to do so tomorrow.

CHAPTER 5

MALLORY PREFERRED TO DO her morning run in the quiet hours just before sunrise. Once people were headed to work or school, she felt self-conscious. They rarely commented on her odd attire, but they looked. Attracting attention wasn’t on her father’s list of good ideas. The goal was to blend in, to be unobtrusive so that if anyone came around asking questions, there were no details strangers could share. A teenage girl ru

She pulled the door shut behind her, slipping away from the safety of her warded house and watchful father and into the soft violet of the last moments of night. Something about the peculiar purple-gray skies made her relax. It felt right in a way that the harsh midday light never did. This was the time when her body felt intensely alive, as if her very skin were too tight to contain her and the only way to relieve that pressure was to be outside. The only other times she felt that pressure were when it had been too long since she’d seen Kaleb. In that case, too, she knew how to cure the tension—she simply needed to be nearer to him.

The feel of the ground under her feet was a comforting rhythm as she set out on today’s path. She had a series of routes, and before each run, she drew a letter from an envelope she kept in her dresser. That kept her routes random, which made her harder to follow or stalk; unpredictability was a priority when hiding from daimons. Today’s path took her toward the community college, along the river, and around the shopping mall. One of the things she looked forward to each time they moved to a new town was charting her run routes. Make the moves fun, her mother had often said. Mallory still tried.

Not quite a mile from the house, two men ran up on either side of her like they’d been waiting for her. A quick glance verified that they didn’t have witch eyes, but they didn’t look like they were in shape to be ru

“I’m not looking for company,” she said as she picked up her pace. They weren’t the first men to try to hit on her or intimidate her, but she ran a little faster, pretending they were threats and letting herself run as if they were.

Both men sped up so they were alongside her again, and her pretend fear became actual fear.

“Back off,” she said.

The one to her left gri

Mallory put out her hand to keep from ru

The trickle of fear became a rush of adrenaline. Flight wasn’t going to work; the only option left was a fight. Mallory turned her head, tracking the location of the second man, who now stood several steps behind her, and tried to reason with them. “You don’t want to do this. Go back to wherever you’re from and—”

The man in front of her flashed his teeth in the sort of smile that made her think of angry dogs. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re more use as a pretty, living bargaining chip, so just come along peaceful-like. We’ll take you to The City, and you’ll be treated like you deserve.”

“The City?” she echoed.

His words clicked into place for her, and the extent of the danger became clearer. Daimons? Here? Mallory stepped to the side, trying to evade him. Her hand was already reaching for her gun as she moved. If they were really daimons, the idea of facing two of them made her mind slip into that eerily calm place she found during training.

But it felt like the world hit fast-forward as the man lunged at her. He had appeared human, but in a split moment, he was something else. She wouldn’t call him a dog, although he looked more canine than anything else. Claws too long for any dog extended from long digits on hands that appeared human. The body had a dog’s fur, but the limbs were more muscular. The tatters of his clothes clung to an animal shape.

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