The Battle Begins Page 13

“My brother’s a medic here.”

  “Well, my brother is Vince Romano.” Antonio jutted out his chin. He was doing his stupid aggro act—wide stance, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Okay,” the kid said. He was smaller and looked a little wary, but he didn’t shrink back from Antonio like some other kids did. “Good for him, I guess?”

  It wasn’t a challenge—the kid just seemed confused. Antonio, naturally, was not amused.

  “It means he’s the king of the Drain, sky boy, and if you knew anything about anything, you’d show a little respect.”

  “Antonio, relax.” Leesa sighed. She was suddenly embarrassed and wanted to melt away. Antonio could be a ton of fun, but to most people, he must seem pretty intense.

  The boy wasn’t into comparing cred, though. He looked exhausted and preoccupied with something else. “Look, I’m not here to bug you, okay? I’m just waiting for my brother. You can go back to watching innocent animals get tortured or whatever,” he muttered.

  “I’m not a Moniac,” Leesa snapped, offended at his accusation. “I’m just here looking for my lost dog. Let me know if you come across a giant mutant spider.”

  “You mean the Poisonous?” the sky kid gasped. “As in the Australian funnel-web spider and long-coat Chihuahua mix who had a win/loss ratio of twenty-four to six, the third best in the league, ever?”

  Leesa raised an eyebrow. This kid was really geeking out.

  “Sorry,” he said with an awkward cough. “It’s just that he was the only Unnatural to ever come close to defeating the Invincible, which is a pretty big deal.”

  “So you’re a Moniac.” Leesa sneered at him disgustedly. “I bet you’ve never even seen them get hurt. Guys like you don’t have the guts to sit through the real thing. You just warp in on fancy little screens.”

  “Big screen,” the kid corrected. “But I don’t anymore, now that I know what goes on.” He glanced into the training area, and Leesa thought she saw him wince a little each time the whistle blew, just like she had. “Now I’m trying to save them.”

  Leesa could almost feel Antonio’s disdain, but she couldn’t help asking, “How?”

  “I was trying to think of ideas . . .” Marcus kicked at the fence with his skate shoes, nervous to be put on the spot. “Like, I don’t know, we could raise money to release some of them. Offer enough to buy their freedom.”

  Antonio’s laughter sounded as sharp as the trainer’s whip. “Who’s got money to spare? You? Go back to your cloud castle. That’s not how the world works,” he repeated.

  Leesa hadn’t had an answer to that, but the sky kid did.

  “Well, it should,” he said. “And maybe if we try to do something, then one day, it can change.”

  “Nothing changes,” Antonio practically spat.

  The sky kid shrugged. “Some things do.” Then he waved to his brother, who’d just come in the door, and dropped his skateboard. He turned to go, but first he gave Leesa a final, meaningful look and said, “I did.”

  33

  CASTOR WAS LEFT IN THE CARE CENTER FOR THE NIGHT TO recuperate. The bed they gave him felt like a puffy cloud compared to the mat in his cell, and the medicine made his body so numb he nearly forgot his injuries. But though the pain from the fight was fading, the panic remained. Whenever Castor dared to close his eyes, he saw Deja’s fangs, her head darting to strike, so long after the lights were shut off and the sound of human voices left the hallway, he lay wide-awake.

  “How are you doing, pup?” a voice said in the darkness.

  He hadn’t even heard Pookie come in. There seemed to be nowhere in the facility that was off-limits to the old mutant.

  “I’ve been better, to be honest,” he answered. “Now I understand why they named me the Underdog. I barely had a chance.”

  “But you won the match!” Pookie said excitedly. “And you also won the loyalty of every fan in that stadium. As for your flying, it will get stronger.”

  The praise from his eight-legged mentor was a rare gift, and Castor couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride. Still, he was wary.

  “I don’t think I’m up for training, if that’s why you’re here.”

  “Not tonight,” Pookie told him. His mentor’s voice was softer than usual, sympathetic. “I brought you something for comfort.”

  Castor heard a click as Pookie flipped a switch, and the overhead lamp snapped on, filling the room with greenish light. When Castor’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, he saw that Pookie was holding out a strange, rectangular object. He set it on the bed in front of Castor’s nose.

  “What is it?” Castor asked, studying the picture on the front. It was surprisingly simple and antiquated, with no 3D imaging or interactive features.

  “It has stories inside,” Pookie said vaguely.

  “About the ancestors?” Castor had never heard of stories being written down. Wasn’t that what elders were for, to tell you about the past?

  “Not just about the ancestors,” Pookie said. “About make-believe things, too, I think. And about places you’ve never been.”

  Like the Greenplains.

  As tired as he was, this was a subject Castor was definitely interested in. “Where did you find this?” he asked, adjusting his body so he could look up at his mentor.

  Pookie’s eyes were bright. “Leesa brought it,” he said breathlessly.

  “Leesa?”

  “My human.” Pookie sighed. “She was here today, watching your team in the training center. This fell from her bag.”

  His human? Castor couldn’t fathom choosing to spend time with a human, knowing what they were capable of, but there was something about the wistful look on Pookie’s face that made Castor want to know more about his past.

  “You lived with her in the Sky Towers?” That was where most of the minis had started out—tiny dogs for tiny spaces.

  Pookie nodded. “We were the best of friends from the time she was a little girl.”

  Man’s best friend. That’s what the Gray Whiskers had called the bond between humans and dogs. It was hard not to scoff. Some friend this human must’ve been for Pookie to end up here. She’d probably abandoned him on the street like so many others had when automopooches became popular.

  But Pookie’s pointed grin was wider than ever as he swayed slowly on his feet, remembering his time with Leesa.

  “We did everything together. I sat by her side when she studied and lay in her bed while she slept. She’s the one who taught me to do tricks.”

  “You learned all those flips and twists from a human?” Castor asked in disbelief.

  “Not quite,” Pookie said with a chuckle. “Back then we worked on simple things like ‘roll over’ and ‘sit pretty.’”

  Castor raised a furry brow and cocked his head. “‘Sit pretty’?”

  Pookie crouched on some of his back legs and picked up two of his front ones, holding them bent close to his chest. His expression was eager, and his tongue hung out of the side of his mouth. He lifted his chin and held the pose. “Sit pretty!”

  To Castor it looked like a ridiculous version of begging, but if that’s what humans thought was “pretty,” he’d keep that in mind.

  “You miss her?” he asked, watching Pookie from the medical bed. “That human girl?”

  Pookie dropped his legs back down, and the action seemed heavy, though his delicate feet made no more than a whisper against the floor.

  “I miss Leesa very much.” The old dog smiled, but his voice sounded unbearably sad. “In truth, it’s the only reason I still wear this old thing.” He tugged at the collar around his scrawny neck. “Because it reminds me of her.”

  Castor was about to interrupt here—how he longed for the choice not to wear a collar!—but Pookie continued talking about the girl, his eyes wistful.

  “I miss Leesa’s voice and her scratches under my chin and the way she used to call me with a whistle.” When Castor wrinkled his nose, Pookie explained, “Not like the Whistlers’ whistle. It wa
s a bright, happy sound she made with her mouth—a secret code between us. Sometimes I’d hear it in the stands during my matches and know she was watching. Leesa was the reason I tried to win—I didn’t want her to see me get hurt.”

  That made Castor think of Runt. He wouldn’t want his little brother to see him in bad shape, either. Still, with his swollen nose and bruised leg, Castor looked worse than he ever had, and if his brother had been here, in the NuFormz prison, he would’ve run straight toward him, howling a hello. It also strangely made him think of the young human boy.

  “Why didn’t you go to her today, when you had the chance? Maybe she could’ve taken you home!”

  Pookie shook his head. “I am no longer just her dog. It’s better for her to forget me. This is my home now.” His beady eyes drifted to the white walls, the waxed floors, the light that hung from the low ceiling, casting eerie shadows each time it flickered.

  “I don’t want to think of home right now, though. I want to think of somewhere else.” His gaze snapped back to the book lying in front of Castor. “I never learned to interpret the humans’ strange symbols, but there’s a rumor that you might know how?”

  Castor had felt so ignorant and useless in this place, but for the first time, he felt important. Pookie needed him now, and Castor was eager to help. He nosed the cover open, pointed his claw under the first line to mark his place, and began to read.

  34

  WHEN CASTOR RETURNED TO TRAINING, TEAM SCRATCH greeted him with cheers all around the Pit. He was still limping on his leg a bit, and the wound on his nose had turned into a tender scar, but Castor felt safer than he’d expected to among these animals. Deja had been sneaky and cruel, and she slithered off to the other side of the Pit with Rainner. But looking at the concerned faces of Jazlyn, Moss, and even ornery Enza, Castor knew they had his back.

  The grizzly-tiger ambled over, ready for her specialty: giving orders. “You’re on flying duty today,” Enza informed him.

  When Castor grimaced—he hadn’t flown since that night with Deja—Enza actually looked vaguely apologetic.

  “You can take it on the easy side, but I want you off the ground. Samken choreographed a stellar routine for your match against him coming up, and we both want you to feel comfortable and know exactly what to expect.”

  “I guess I can do that.” As much as he hated flying, he was grateful to just have a routine he could rehearse, and since his wings hadn’t been injured, they actually felt stronger than a lot of other parts when he tested the muscles with quick stretches.

  “Swipe, swipe, swipe!” Enza was directing Jazlyn now. The rabbit-panther was swatting at the air on the grizzly-tiger’s command. “What is that? Do you plan to give them a pat on the head?”

  “Teamwork is not about negativity, Enza,” Moss reminded her.

  “I’m not being negative!” the grizzly protested, but the next time Jazlyn hopped by, shadowboxing, Enza said, “That’s better. Way more feline,” and even batted playfully at Jaz’s fluffy cottontail as she passed.

  Moss flashed Castor a square-toothed grin. They were starting to feel like a real team after all.

  That feeling changed later that afternoon, though, when Laringo’s trainers had to drop off something at the office, and they parked the private transport truck right outside the Pit. It was bright red, and its sides were painted with elaborate images of the Invincible mid-strike.

  All season, they’d only seen his poster glaring down at them as they trained while the whispered threat of last season’s Mash-up stayed in the back of their minds. The handlers had been keeping Laringo from them until they were more seasoned fighters. Or more worthy victims, Castor thought as he folded his wings uncomfortably.

  Enza stopped ramming her punching bag and drew in a sharp breath. “Do you think he’s in there?” she asked, her gruff voice softened by wonder.

  There was a loud bang in response, and then another, and then the whole vehicle started to shake.

  Moss was shaking, too, but in a different way: from snout to hoof, the striped bull was the picture of fear.

  “Enza!” the veteran neighed sharply. “Don’t go near there!”

  “It’s Laringo!” she breathed with awe. She dropped down to all fours and eagerly lumbered over to the fence.

  A white-striped face suddenly filled the window behind the bars, and immediately goose bumps crept over Castor’s whole body, and next to him, Jazlyn shivered.

  Unlike the flat blue eyes in the poster, the eyes that stared out at them were paralyzing. They were hyper-focused. Pale as ice and electric blue. And above all, consumed by utter madness.

  Castor had seen rabid dogs before. Dogs that gazed into the distance but that couldn’t seem to see. Dogs that couldn’t quench their undying thirst. Laringo’s stare held the same horrors, but Castor could tell that Laringo’s rage didn’t come from the kind of sickness that makes a dog rabid. It came from humans. Only humans could take a creature and transform it into something so unfeeling. The humans had tried to do it to Castor and he’d bitten his handler. Transformed, embattled, and beaten down, he was far from the scrappy street dog who’d entered the NuFormz facility weeks ago, but Castor knew his heart was still true.

  As Castor looked into Laringo’s cold gaze, he was grateful that he was learning to fight—not in the ring—but for himself. Even without giving them a look at his deadly tail or his slicing claws, with a single glance, the Invincible had managed to put every animal in the Pit on high alert.

  Except Enza. She seemed enthralled by his power.

  “I just want you to know, I wanted to be on your team from the beginning,” she called out to him.

  Laringo stared at her with those terrifying eyes, but he didn’t speak.

  Enza had enough to say for both of them, anyway. “I followed you from your very first match.” She clutched the chain fence in her big bear paws as if trying to pull Laringo closer.

  Laringo stared unblinking.

  “Then I left the zoo because they didn’t appreciate me, didn’t respect me, and I knew I could be better. Stronger. Like you.”

  “You are not like me.” When the Invincible finally spoke, his voice was not the booming growl Castor had expected, but rather soft, like velvet.

  Enza chuckled awkwardly. “Well, I know I can’t be exactly like you. There is only one Laringo—I get that. But maybe we could be friends and—”

  “You don’t want to be like me,” Laringo corrected.

  Castor could swear he heard a bit of desperation in Laringo’s voice, but this was a champion. It could be that his speech patterns were just erratic—as if he were speaking a different language from his native tongue.

  “Of course I do,” Enza insisted. “We’re already really alike. For one thing, we’re both tigers. Second cousins actually.” She twitched her orange-striped tail as if to show proof. “I know we’ll have to go against each other in the match tomorrow, but once we finish the season and we’re both winners, we can be together and—”

  “If we fight, you won’t win.” It wasn’t up for debate. “Not unless Master says so. If we fight, you will not even survive.”

  Enza’s gushy enthusiasm faltered. “Sorry?”

  “You don’t want to be like me, but you have to be like me to win and keep winning. I dream about fighting. Tonight while you lie awake, I will dream about killing you.” There was no emotion in his voice whatsoever. It stayed soft and steady, as if listing what he had eaten at his last meal.

  There’s a reason he’s not among us, Castor remembered Moss saying. He’ll murder us over breakfast.

  Enza blinked, the horror on her brown, furry face plain. Then she fell back hard onto her rump, and the giant she-alpha seemed to shrink into herself.

  Laringo continued to stare her down until his handlers returned and started up the truck. Then, as it started to roll away, he called to Enza in a voice neither taunting nor cruel but scary all the same, “See you at the match.”

  35


  BACK IN CASTOR’S CELL THAT EVENING, HE WAS JUST SETTLING himself in for a couple of hours of sleep before Pookie arrived for his lesson, when he heard a noise—a sort of yowling. At first, Castor thought it was some new training method Pookie had cooked up to catch him off guard, but then he realized it was coming from the neighboring cell.

  He walked closer to the shared glass wall, the fine hairs in his ears twitching keenly. Castor heard the yowling again, along with some sniveling and whimpering and a fair bit of anguished howling.

  “Enza?” Castor asked, not quite believing those sounds could be coming from the tough, quick-tongued giant. “Is everything all right?”

  “LEAVE ME ALONE!” Enza roared fiercely from the corner. Her face was turned away from him, and Castor was grateful he couldn’t see her maw of curving teeth.

  “You got it!” he barked back.

  So much for trying to help.

  He was headed back to his deflated sleeping mat, but then the mewling started up again. Castor thought back to the conversation he’d had with Jazlyn once, about how everyone needed a break sometimes.

  “Enza, I’m worried about you. What’s wrong?” Castor asked again. If she really didn’t want to talk, the worst she could do was hurl a few barbed insults his way and bang on the glass wall.

  This time, the grizzly-cat tearfully opened up. “It’s just that Laringo was my idol and he was so, so different from I thought.” Enza hiccuped.

  Castor thought of Laringo’s emotionless eyes, his monotonous voice, and shivered. Now didn’t seem like the best time to mention the fact that Moss had warned her repeatedly about Laringo’s true, sinister nature, so Castor kept his mouth shut and waited for Enza to continue.

  “I’m different, too, I guess.” She sniffed. “The Whistlers took my stripes and my swagger, and the bones in my throat, so I can’t even purr. I’m barely even a cat anymore.” She curled her long tail up and stared at it forlornly—the last sign of her old identity. “I’m worthless.”

  “Come on, Enza, you know that’s not true,” Castor said. “Besides, you’ve got other things now, like your teeth! You’re the only animal in the world who has sabers.”