Page 36 of Dance of the Phoenix (Cloak of the Vampire #3)
Aileen
I looked outside the airplane window at the green view of the United States’ countryside as we made our way to Houston, Texas, for the Hecatomb.
The entire airplane was reserved for the Rayne League participants and spectators, along with the two Lieutenants and the Lord, of course.
I’d asked Ragnor before we boarded who was left in charge of the League while all the higher-ups were gone, and Ragnor replied that since the Hecatomb only took three days in total, it wasn’t a long enough time to appoint someone as temporary Lord, or to leave the Lieutenants there.
He did say he left heavy security behind, though.
Now, Ragnor was sitting at the front of the plane with his two Lieutenants. The business cabin was reserved for the Hecatomb participants, while the spectators were sitting in the economy cabin. Every Hecatomb participating pair sat next to one another.
Meaning Logan was sitting right next to me.
After our physical fight a couple days ago, it seemed like we had made a silent agreement to only interact when absolutely necessary. Our training sessions since then had been about going through mock battles silently and without needless chatter.
That was fine with me, to be honest. I was sick and tired of having every conversation with him turn into either a verbal or physical fight. Thankfully, our mutual silent treatment seemed to appease Margarita as well, since she hadn’t tried to threaten me since that last time.
Unfortunately, I had almost five hours of flight time to spend next to Logan until we reached Houston.
Not so unfortunately, Logan seemed to be asleep.
At least until an hour later, when the plane wobbled a tad too violently for my liking, waking Logan up from his slumber.
Once the plane settled, Logan stretched and glanced at me. Before I could look away, our eyes met.
He scowled and snapped quietly, “What?”
“Nothing,” I quickly replied, looking away.
I expected that this would be the end of it, but to my shock, I heard Logan take a deep breath before he said, “We need to talk.”
Slowly, cautiously, I turned to look at him again. He glared at the back of the seat before him.
In truth, I feared talking to him. I didn’t want another fight. But I also knew avoiding talking to him until the very last minute when we had to fight for our lives might not be a wise decision. “All right.”
He tensed before turning to face me. “I will forever resent what you did to me three years ago,” he said, cutting right to the chase. “But for what it’s worth, I apologize for the way I handled our last physical ... encounter.”
My spine stiffened in response. “Thank you,” I said, trying not to sound as if I was forcing the words out. “I appreciate it. And I’m sorry too.”
Jaw locked, Logan nodded and looked away. “Let’s just focus on the Hecatomb from now on.”
“Agreed,” I said at once, feeling an odd sense of relief and regret. I just wished things between Logan and I weren’t so uncomfortably, provokingly loaded.
The rest of the flight went by in a relatively more relaxed silence. I dozed on and off for most of the time, and when I didn’t, I stared at the view outside the window.
When we landed at George Bush Intercontinental Airport, Margarita, who was in charge of arranging transportation for the Hecatomb, led us outside the airport, where a large bus awaited.
The bus trip took about half an hour to get to Midtown Houston. Margarita took us to the back of a fancy building, where we all waited by an old wooden door. She knocked an odd number of times, like in Morse code, before the door moved aside automatically.
Wide concrete staircases leading into a dark underground.
We followed Margarita silently into the gloom; the only sound echoing in the space was our footsteps.
At some point, the stairs grew wider and wider until they turned into a spacious, long hallway with tall ceilings, all painted black with candle lights all over the walls.
It all felt quite stifling, but I swallowed my discomfort and hurried after Margarita and the rest.
The hallway ended in a desk occupied by two tall men wearing butler uniforms, as if to match the Gothic Victorian-era atmosphere. It was even more pronounced when one of the butlers said in a heavy English accent, “Welcome. Tell me the name of your League.”
“Rayne League,” Margarita responded, and I frowned, suddenly looking around me. Where was Ragnor?
The butler wrote something down with a fancy quill and straightened, moving around the desk. “Follow me.”
The passage we’d come through split into two curved hallways, one leading to the right and one left, as if to surround a larger circular room. The butler took us through the right corridor, which was just as dark and candlelit as the main hallway.
We arrived at a door, which the butler opened. It led to a large lounge, painted red, gold, and black, with antique couches and sofas, dark wooden tables, and a kitchen in the corner that seemed as if it had been taken from Downton Abbey .
“The two doors lead to the male and female residences,” the butler said and gave us all a polite bow. “For any questions, you may find me at the front desk.”
Once the butler was gone, Margarita turned to look at us. “Go get settled,” she said. “In fifteen minutes, all participants should meet back here.”
It was already so late at night that I just wished I could call it a day and sleep like the Rayne League members who came as spectators—like Isora—could do. But with the Hecatomb officially starting tomorrow, I knew I’d have no such leisure.
The female residences were filled with bunk beds, hammocks, and only a couple of queen beds. Margarita claimed a queen bed for herself, and I saw Yelene, Zoey, and Cassidy arguing over who should take the other.
Since I did not want to fight over a fucking bed, I claimed an upper bunk, while Isora, throwing a smile in my direction, took the bed under mine.
Once I was done in the room, I returned to the lounge, where CJ and Neisha were already waiting.
When I joined them, their conversation stopped and they turned to look at me. Since I had a feeling I had just interrupted a private chat, I felt somewhat nervous when I said, “Hey, sorry, but have you seen Ra—I mean, our Lord?”
Neisha and CJ exchanged glances before returning their gazes to me. “No, not really,” Neisha replied with a shrug. “I assume he’s in his room?”
CJ shook his head. “I saw him saying something to Margarita before we left the street. He disappeared after that.”
Meaning I wasn’t hallucinating, and he really wasn’t here. The question was, where was he then? “Thanks,” I murmured and sat down on the couch.
“So how are you doing?” Neisha asked, swiftly changing the subject. “I mean, things have been quite tense between you and Logan lately ...”
Thinking back at how public our fight had been made my cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Yeah, we’re fine now,” I responded, looking down at the marble floor. “Sorry for making things ... weird.”
“It’s all good,” CJ said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I wondered how things were with Jada now. She’d come along as a spectator, and every time I glanced at her, I had to look away. Her misery was far too hard for me to process, given everything else that was going on.
That and the fact she requested that I kill her if things with CJ’s battle went awry.
Looking at CJ, who was now chatting about what would happen tomorrow, I wondered for the first time if I should tell him about Jada’s request. She was his soulmate, his Alara Morreh , as Jada called it. I had a hunch that he would want to know.
But I knew this wasn’t my call, or even my business, really, so all I could hope for was that CJ survived and, consequently, Jada did too.
A few minutes later, all participants gathered in the lounge, and Margarita took us out of our League’s dormitory and back to the eerily dark corridor. The butler from before awaited us near a door on the inner wall, which led to yet another dark candlelit corridor that ended in a tall gate.
The moment I stepped beyond the gate, my jaw dropped. Before me was an actual honest-to-God Colosseum-like arena. Its floor was white marble, surrounded by multiple seats like an actual stadium.
Margarita raised her hand to draw our attention to her. “This is where the Hecatomb will take place,” she told us. “Take a few minutes to get accustomed to the feel of the arena, the floor, and everything else. Because after today, the next time you’ll set foot here will be for your battles.”
Everyone spread out then, looking around in wonder. I couldn’t help but stay in place, wondering about the marble floor. When I tapped my foot on it, it felt slippery. That wasn’t very safe. Didn’t arenas usually have sand?
“What do you think?” Zoey asked as she came to stand next to me, her eyes sparkling in excitement.
“This is going to be tricky,” I told her, and she turned to look at me in surprise. “The floor is far too clean and slippery. Your feet will have no grip in even the best of sneakers. But fighting a battle barefoot is also not optimal ...”
Zoey’s surprise faded into a chuckle. “You worry too much, Aileen,” she told me, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll all make it, slippery floor or not.”
I stared at her, even more worried by her confidence bordering on arrogance.
I remembered the marble floor back in my father’s basement.
A few girls had tried to escape—Tansy being the only successful one—and the one thing that got them was how slippery the floor was.
It caused them to fall down, alerting my father to their attempts.
Crouching, I pressed my fingers to the floor and slid them across it. I grimaced when my fingers slipped, making me press my palm against the marble.
The bad, ominous feeling accompanied me all the way back to the residence, where I settled in my bunk bed, covered myself in the blanket, and wished it could be three days later already.