I waited for the crowd to fall silent. I kept my eyes on the rock star, my stance loose, my expression calculatedly bland. He wanted payment in fear or anger—either would make him the top dog in the room. I gave him my apathy instead.
It was like prison all over again. Your first day on the yard defined who you were for the rest of your time behind bars. Inside Eisenberg I was tested just like this, by a guy who had a foot of height and a hundred pounds of muscle on me. I remembered facing that moment of uncertainty and fear, deciding my fate, and jumping in with both fists flying.
Getting my ass kicked, but showing I wasn’t afraid and I was willing to scrap, earned me as much respect as it did pain. I’d do it again tonight, if I had to. I still didn’t like the idea. Bottom line, whatever I did here would spread through the courts; this was my chance to make a name for myself and show them how I handled my problems.
“What’s your name, buddy?” I asked.
“I’m not your buddy.”
“Okay,” I said. “What’s your name, pal?”
“My name,” he said, voice rising as he played to the room, “is Grimm. Hunter MacGregor Grimm.”
I stared at him. He stared back.
“I…” I shook my head. “No. Really. What is it?”
“Hunter. MacGregor. Grimm.”
I squinted. “Okay, I mean…if that’s really what you want to go with. You might want to workshop it, though.”
“My great-great-grandfather was the sire of all vampires. My great-great-grandmother was the queen of the werewolves.”
“No. Stop.” I held up a hand. “First of all, there’s no such thing as vampires. Or werewolves. Seriously, what is this?”
While I was talking, my third eye was digging deep. Listening to the pulse of his blood, feeling for the texture of his soul. Whatever his real name was, “Hunter Grimm” was a cambion. I sensed something else there, too, buried in the barbed-wire twists of his half-demon soul, some hot and toxic energy, wild magic crammed into a container too small to hold it.
“They call me the Mystical Marauder, the Hard-Luck Harrower, the Demon Magic Sentry.”
“That’s three titles,” I said, “and I bet twenty bucks nobody calls you that.”
“I ride across these forsaken lands with my blade at the ready, in search of fools and pretenders. And when I find them, their heads join the collection on my trophy wall.”
“Your blade. It’s a katana, isn’t it?” I glanced sidelong at Caitlin. “You know it’s a katana.”
Caitlin studied him, eyes narrowed to serpentine slits. I figured she sensed the same thing I did. I was being flippant, playing to the crowd and trying to get a smile—and frustrate Grimm into tipping more of his hand—but this wasn’t just some puffed-up clown looking for the wrong kind of attention. I wasn’t going to make a move until I was sure what I was dealing with. And despite the quips, I was taking him very seriously.
“Which court do you claim?” she asked him.
He turned, grimaced, and spat on the floor. The whole room had been whispering. Now it was holding one collective breath.
“A better one than this. Bad enough that a prince’s hound would spread her legs for a human. Elevating one to knighthood? That’s nothing but a sick joke, just like you, just like your entire court.”
“This would be a good time to stop talking,” I told him.
“Why? You’re weak. If you claim otherwise…duel me. I wield the black blade of Masamune and the talisman of Thor. No pretender can stand against me.”
Caitlin leaned close and murmured in my ear.
“He challenged you, after insulting your hound and your prince, pet. The Cold Peace will not protect him. Do as you will.”
And he wanted it, almost as bad as I wanted to give it to him. Grimm had his footing squared and light, his fingers curling at his sides, just waiting for me to throw the first punch. Which was exactly why I didn’t.
This guy was a joke at best, a nutcase at worst, and everything about this situation screamed setup. For all his goofy claims and posturing, he wasn’t entirely harmless; the pulsing core of wild magic in his gut told me that much. Beyond that, I had to think about the message my next move would send.
When I saw the trap, I almost admired it.
Grimm—or whoever paid him to put on this act, most likely—had maneuvered me into a no-win situation. His wannabe tough-guy act meant that if I did beat him down, legal or not, I’d come off looking like a thug who punched out a harmless loser. On the other hand, if I backed down, I’d look like I was afraid of him—and that was infinitely worse.
Caitlin was right. Somebody here resented my promotion. But instead of testing me themselves, they sent in a chump who looked like he was in no way, shape, or form capable of doing the job. So I was damned if I fought him, damned if I didn’t. Every eye in the room was on me. I needed to find a third option and I needed it fast.
“I’m not going to fight you,” I told him.
He grinned in triumph, like a bully who just took over the playground. “See? You see, everyone? The human is weak. He’s weak, just like his entire court, like his prince—”
“I wasn’t done talking,” I told him. “Shut the fuck up and listen. See, a couple of weeks ago, I was walking down the street and passed this mean-looking little kid. He was nine, ten years old maybe. He looked up at me and said, ‘Your hair looks stupid, mister.’”
That got a tiny chuckle or two, but most of the guests were silent now; they were busy trying to follow my angle and figure out where I was aiming to land.
“Now, first of all, that kid was wrong. My hair is flawless.” I ran my fingers through it to highlight the point. “But you might be wondering…what did I do to him? Did I beat him up? Kill him? Of course not. It doesn’t matter what he said to me—he could have insulted my girlfriend, my mother, my family name—because there’s absolutely no honor in a grown man retaliating against a child, and there’s no weight in a child’s insults. He was beneath me.”
I jerked my thumb at Grimm.
“Just like this clown is, and I’m not going to degrade the dignity of the honor I’ve been given by dueling him.”
From the blindsided look on his face, I figured Grimm had prepared for every response except that one.
“You’re…you’re afraid,” he said, fumbling for his tough-guy act. “You know you can’t beat me.”
“Please. I’m a knight of hell. You’re a pissant nobody. I don’t have to prove myself to you.” I turned my attention to the rest of the room. “And who am I supposed to be defending? Caitlin? Caitlin, the Wingtaker? You all know where she earned that title, and if you don’t, you’d better ask somebody. Prince Sitri? The master of an entire court? Get real. I don’t care if Hunter MacPfeiffer Granola here curses all three of us out, all day long. His words don’t mean anything, because he doesn’t mean anything.”
I took a long, slow look around the room. Checking expressions, searching for the tell of a player whose gamble just went south. Mostly I was looking for Naavarasi. Either she’d left or she’d found another face to wear.
“One of you, though,” I said. “One of you I do want to duel. Because somebody here hired this joker.”
Grimm’s left eyelid twitched. “That’s not true. I’m a lone wolf. A one-man occult army—”
“Shut up, sparky. Grown-ups are talking.” I made a circle, giving everyone a dose of eye contact and seeing who looked away. “One of you wanted to test me, didn’t have the steel to do it yourself, and put this loser up to the job. Now that? That is an insult worth going toe to toe over. So step up.”
Honestly, I didn’t care if it was true or not. Even if Grimm was acting alone, I’d just reframed the narrative. Now the guests were looking at each other, whispering, pointing subtle fingers.