We followed Carter’s souped-up Fiat and pulled up behind him a block away from the building. We walked the final distance, spotting a group of about a dozen Grigori huddled together not far from the construction site, as planned. They were beneath a ‘glamour’, hidden from human eyes. It was reasonably constructed but I’d seen better and stronger. It worried me.
Exile activity only seemed to be increasing, and while Grigori were strong and capable, we were limited in number. Although new Grigori continued to come through, it took seventeen years from first being given the essence of an angel before we could embrace our powers, and then even more time to train. Our numbers were simply not holding up. Had the angels not foreseen this problem?
They must have.
And yet I feared that the time when we would finally be overpowered was closer than we knew.
I stayed behind the guys. They didn’t think anything of me pulling on my worn Yankees cap – a gift from Zoe – and moving into the shadows. We were Rogues. Anonymity was our right. And a lot of Rogues had serious trust issues with the Academy.
The senior Grigori running the mission greeted Gray. I recognised Clive and his partner, Annette, from a previous gig we’d taken on a couple of months back – not that I’d ever spoken with them. Clive and Gray shook hands and talked quietly while I looked at the team they had assembled.
Another unsettling feeling swept over me. There were more than a dozen Grigori but the majority were young. Apart from the leading pair, only a few looked prepared.
Gray returned to where we’d been standing at the edge of the pack.
‘Okay, they had a tip-off that this is a tournament site. We have the north entry and exit, which is the closest. We hold the upper level.’
I wondered if this was the same tournament the exiles I’d taken on earlier had discussed. Tournaments had been popping up all over the city lately.
‘How many?’ Carter asked.
‘They don’t know. Intel says it could be a big group.’
Milo gave a toothy grin. ‘Yeah. Bet they’re in there swapping recipes and baking bread.’
The guys chuckled.
‘Why aren’t there more Grigori here? And more senior Grigori at that?’ I asked, grimacing, as I realised my critical observation made me sound a lot like my mother. But London was a big city with an independent Academy. I was surprised they hadn’t sent in a more impressive show of force.
‘Apparently they’re spread thin at the moment with this type of operation,’ Gray said and shrugged. ‘That’s why they called us in, I suppose.’ He glanced at the others. ‘Let’s just do our bit, get our money and clear out.’
We all agreed, and I pushed my unease to the side and focused on the job at hand. Once we received the nod from Clive, we ran towards the northern entrance, which I was pleased to note was the closest, giving us the advantage of first eyes inside. Once the Academy Grigori started to filter into the building, any hope of stealth would be forgotten. They did not value our defensive shields in the same way Rogues – particularly our small group – did.
We slipped in through the side door and down a dark corridor that led towards another door. When Gray cracked it open we heard the sounds immediately, and tensed.
Flesh against flesh.
Ripping.
Beating.
Inhuman growling.
The sounds combined evoked death.
Slowly we stepped through the doorway and found ourselves looking down. The construction works had reduced the building to an outer shell that concealed nothing but a cavernous space.
Floodlights sat in the corners lighting up what could only be described as the exile equivalent of a fight club.
‘Maybe we should just leave them to it,’ Carter whispered, gesturing towards the sparring figures below.
It wasn’t an altogether ridiculous idea. At this rate the number we’d have to face would soon be considerably fewer. In Exile Fight Club there is only one rule: the loser must die. And right then, there were four simultaneous fights going on and what looked like another two dozen exiles divided into two distinct groups, champing at the bit as they waited on the sidelines.
Over the past two years, since the alliances that had been formed between light and dark in their mutual quest to destroy all Grigori had dissolved, out-in-the-open brawling had become common practice. But the ‘tournaments’, ones like this – premeditated, orderly – were new.
For all the benefits, being an angel and incorporeal had one definite drawback – no blood and guts. Dark and light have an eternal rivalry but as angels they are limited in ways that some cannot accept. In human form their eternal fantasies play out. For exiles, earth and its offerings of life and beauty come a distant second to its promise of pain and death.
I pointed to the top of the scaffolding positioned in the centre of the work site. ‘That’s why we can’t leave them to it.’