Too many to remember.

  I’m bleeding from the nose and mouth.

  My left ear is ringing.

  A rib on my right side is bruised at best. Detached, or broken, at worst.

  But my knuckles are fine—

  —because I haven’t landed one goddamn punch.

  The sun had set, the flames throwing eerie, orange shadows over the spectacle of Joan getting beaten up. And also Fabler getting beaten up.

  At least I’m blocking some of Mary’s strikes. Leo seems to be hitting Fabler at will.

  Abe, not getting beaten up, provided occasional and unsolicited color commentary.

  “And Joan of Arc is down again. This is the sixth time. She’s breathing heavy, and bleeding. Bloody Mary is really bringing the blood. Also, and I’m not just sucking up because I’m afraid for my life, but both Mary and Leo look positively spectacular. What a power couple. It’s so exciting to watch that my chubby is getting chills.”

  Though getting pounded on, Joan was oddly calm. Almost Zen.

  Fabler liked the Greek saying molon labe. Joan had heard a similar-sounding maxim from Mary, on the plane, and had dismissed it as being too passive.

  Amor fati.

  Love your fate.

  It was a simple concept. In life, things happen. Even bad things. But facing suffering doesn’t mean you have to suffer. Bad things are inevitable, but without the bad there is no way to distinguish and appreciate the good.

  Which means you should also love the bad things.

  I’ve been waiting for Tom to snap out of his self-pity. Instead I need to appreciate and support the man I love, rather than try to fix his problems. He doesn’t need me to save him.

  I’ve always been envious, and recently jealous, of Catherine. The Late Catherine the Great had played the Hollywood Game better than I had, and she slept with Tom. Apparently several times.

  The Current Catherine the Great, who is actually Bloody Mary Tudor, is an even worse adversary. Catty and backstabbing, fake and duplicitous. More than a rival. She’s an enemy.

  But I shouldn’t let Tom, or Mary, or my own fears and worries and inadequacies, get me down.

  I cannot control what happens in the world. But I can control how I react to it.

  I can love my fate.

  So how can I love getting the shit kicked out of me?

  “And now Fabler has spit out what looks like a molar. Leo, can you pause for a moment so Fabler can find that tooth and put it in a glass of milk?”

  “I’m just getting started,” Leo replied. “When I finish with his ribs, I’ll do the rest of his teeth.”

  “Can you do my ears first?” Fabler rolled his shoulders. “I’m sick of listening your nonstop bullshit. I’ve had indigestion that hits harder than you do. At least give me a challenge.”

  That’s it.

  I know what I can love about this situation.

  I can love the challenge.

  I’m not getting beaten. I’m simply learning.

  Mark Twain said it best. Good decisions come from experience. Experience comes from making bad decisions.

  I’ve made a lot of bad decisions with Mary. I’ve been intimidated by her. Let her get the better of me by conning and lying and cheating.

  Maybe it’s time I did a little cheating of my own.

  “And Joan is back on her feet. We’ll restart the clock, see how long it takes before she’s knocked down for a seventh time.”

  That comment is wrong, Abe.

  There won’t be a seventh time.

  “Are you… smiling?”

  Joan hadn’t been aware of it, but she loved that.

  She also loved Mary’s confusion.

  And that’s the point, isn’t it? To love everything.

  “You’re a good fighter, Mary. If only you were this good a producer. Maybe you would have won an Oscar by now. You must feel like a real imposter, staring at the real Catherine’s Academy Awards, sitting on her shelf. In her house.”

  Mary snapped her hips around for a spin kick, but Joan had seen that move before. She dodged, darted in, and POP!, a solid jab into Mary’s nose.

  “Wow!” Abe cheered. “Joan has landed her first punch, and the crowd would be on its feet if it wasn’t tied up.”

  I can’t stand toe-to-toe with her. She’s too big and strong and experienced.

  I need to make this a fight I can win.

  Mary shook it off. “Even a blind pig finds a truffle every now and—”

  Joan lashed out her left foot, and the side kick clocked Mary in the face. She spun and Joan was on her, pulling her hair.

  Not a legal move while sparring in competition. But Mary hadn’t played fair, and Joan learned that lesson the hard way.

  And she loved that lesson.

  Joan swept Mary’s feet out from under her, dropping her to the ground, and straddling the larger woman’s waist.

  Now to really fight dirty.

  The last time Joan had been knocked down, she’d grabbed a fistful of desert sand. She smashed that sand into Mary’s eyes, blinding her, and then began to methodically beat her face into pulp.

  “Wow! What a comeback! Joan is in control now, dishing out the punishment to Bloody Mary! And now she’s really Bloody Mary! Whoop whoop! Sic semper tyrannis!”

  Joan didn’t actually love breaking Mary’s nose or splitting her lips or blackening her eyes. That would have taken amor fati too far.

  But I don’t technically hate doing it, either.

  Mary, with all of her black belts and training, had resorted to covering her face rather than trying to counter-attack or escape. Joan, remembering Tom’s many complaints about his hand pain, wrenched two of Mary’s fingers back, snapping the bones, and when she howled Joan punched her front teeth down her throat.

  “Leo!” Mary choked, gargling on blood and enamel. “Help me!”

  Joan caught movement from the side, coming fast, and then she was being torn off of Mary and thrown through the air. She landed hard, unable to tell up from down.

  “Burn her!” Mary screeched. “I want to see that bitch burn!”

  WEEJY

  Area 57 – New Mexico

  Dust clogged her nostrils and clung to her throat and stuck to her sweaty palms, but Weejy didn’t notice. She keyed-in on staring down through vent grills, hyper-focused on figuring out where they were.

  In her head, Weejy had mapped out all the doors and hallways, and she superimposed another map of the air ducts on top of it as she and SoJo crawled through them.

  For the first few turns, everything seemed to be going well.

  Then security guards started jogging through the corridors beneath them.

  Lots and lots of guards.

  “They know we got out,” SoJo whispered, her voice echoing in the confined, aluminum space.

  “We need to be quieter.” Every time they moved a foot or knee forward, the metal bent and pinged.

  If any of the guards look up, we’re in trouble.

  So as their urgency increased, their speed decreased, and they stayed completely still whenever a guard passed. The eighth time they heard a door open and froze appropriately, it wasn’t security passing by. It was a woman.

  “Hey! Look up!”

  She stopped and locked eyes with Weejy through the vent grating. “Weejy? SoJo?”

  “You came with Bert and Tom.”

  “Yeah. I’m Presley. I’m here to help.”

  “Be careful. There are guards everywhere.”

  “I know. I took out four of them so far.”

  Weejy didn’t know what Presley meant by took out but she was grateful their numbers were thinning.

  “We’re looking for an exit. We think there’s one ahead.”

  Presley frowned. “There’s something ahead, but it’s not an exit. And it isn’t anything you want to mess with. The only exit I know of is behind you, about a hundred meters back.”

  SoJo squirmed up next to Weejy, sticking her head under Weejy’s armpit. “She’s got a gun. We should go with her.”

  “I can’t leave yet,” Presley told them. “I need to find a computer terminal for the other teams.”

  “What do you need it for?”

  “Wi-Fi password. I can set up comms.”

  Weejy considered the problem. “Can you grab a guard’s cell phone?”

  “I’ve grabbed four. All were locked.”

  “Maybe you need to ask for a password before you kill the next one,” SoJo suggested.

  “I’m not killing them.” Presley held up something black. “Stun gun.”

  “I heard those things don’t actually knock people out. Just hurt them.”

  “This one knocks them out.”

  “Three halls behind you, last door on the left, go right, down another hall, and the middle door on the right,” Weejy told her. “Ziggy’s office. He’s got a computer. But it has a password.”

  “I can get around that. You guys should stay put. I’ll come back for you.”

  “We think there’s another exit. About four halls down.”

  “Can you handle yourselves?”

  A fair question. Weejy considered everything she and SoJo had been through over the last forty-eight hours.

  “Yeah,” she answered. “We can.”

  “Okay. See you on the other side. And watch out for that next hall. Room 33. It’s a bad one.”

  Presley jogged off, following Weejy’s directions.

  Weejy and SoJo pressed onward. Into Presley’s aforementioned bad hallway.

  “WTF is that smell?”

  Weejy knew the answer to her friend’s question.

  This is where they keep Bub.

  She picked up the pace, wanting to get as far away as possible, and just as they reached the halfway point the far door opened and the bad hallway became even worse.

  Weejy froze, and SoJo immediately got the hint and remained still, as Tork walked directly beneath them, under the vent Weejy straddled with her palms—

  —and he stopped.

  “Helloooooooooo, Tork.”

  The voice had a deep, bass timbre, the kind that rattled speakers.

  It clearly wasn’t human.

  “Have two women run past here?” Tork spoke to a large metal door with the number 33 stenciled on it. A steel bar stretched across the door, keeping it shut.

  “I haven’t seeeeeeeeeeeeeen any women. But I am hooooooooooping they drop in.”

  Bub is lying. He must have seen Presley.

  And what does he mean by drop in? Does he know we’re above him?

  I don’t want to face Tork.

  And I really really really don’t want to face Satan.

  Weejy’s hands began to tremble, threatening to make the duct shake.

  I need to calm down. Relax.

  Think of something soothing.

  Think of something sweet.

  Weejy closed her eyes. Pictured Bert’s kind face.

  Her muscles relaxed a notch, and Weejy stopped trembling.

  But she couldn’t stop sweating.

  She felt a rivulet of perspiration trickle its way down her chin and drip off—

  —and her eyes flipped open—

  Don’t let it fall on Tork!

  —and the sweat landed on the vent grating rather than slipped through.

  That was close. And I’m getting sweatier.

  “If you see them, let me know. We’ll give you a reward for helping.”

  “Will you freeeeeeeeeeeeee me, Tork?”

  “That’s up to Charles. You know he’s the boss.”

  Weejy could feel SoJo tense up, and the duct made a faint PING sound.

  Oh no.

  Weejy almost whimpered. But Tork didn’t notice.

  “Do yooooooooou want to beeeeee in charge, Tork? Freeeeeeeee me.”

  “I don’t scare easy, Bub. But you scare me. A lot.”

  “I have maaaaaaaaaaade kings. Yooooooooou could rule.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I like where I’m at. Help us find the women, and I’ll get you an extra sheep for dinner.”

  More sweat collected on Weejy’s chin.

  Please don’t drip please don’t drip…

  “I bet yooooooooou taste better than sheeeeeeeeep.”

  “When you say creepy shit like that, no one wants to be your friend.”

  “When Charles ruuuuuuuuuuuuuules the world, he will let meeeeeeee out. Then I will eat your faaaaaaaaaaaace.”

  Tork laughed, shaking his head in obvious dismissal, then happened to glance upwards—

  —locking eyes with Weejy.

  His mirth became recognition, and he reached onto his belt and unclipped…

  A battle axe! He’s got a freaking medieval battle axe!

  “Back up!” Weejy yelled at SoJo, pushing herself away from the vent.

  Tork swung the axe overhead, smashing the heavy blade into the duct ahead of Weejy. Sparks exploded from metal-on-metal, and it sounded like a gunshot. The entire section of duct they were crawling through broke off and bent downward. The women slid out, face-first, and hit the floor as Tork dodged to the side.

  Weejy banged her chin, her world a swirl of vertigo and ringing ears, and she half-noticed Tork pulling something out from beneath his apron.

  In one hand, the axe.

  In the other…

  The pain wand.

  Weejy got to her feet, the dizziness immediately gone, clarity hitting her with lightning bolt speed.

  I won’t let him touch me with that wand again.

  Tork lunged at Weejy, and she was able to sidestep the wand.

  SoJo, on the floor behind her, wasn’t as spry, and it connected with her chest.

  SoJo froze, her face locked in a rictus of agony, and Weejy stared up at Tork, big and mean and strong and easily twice her weight.

  A week ago, Weejy would have ran from him.

  But she’d learned a lot in the past few days.

  About friends. And love.

  About hope. And self-reliance.

  I’ve always wanted to be bold, like SoJo.

  Now is my chance.

  Weejy leapt onto Tork’s back, barely able to get her arms around his massive neck, and she bit his fat, salty ear.

  Tork howled, throwing his body against the wall, pinning Weejy. She released him, slumping to the floor when he stepped away and brought the pain wand around.

  Weejy lashed out instinctively, connecting between his legs, and he doubled over and she grabbed the middle of the wand, refusing to let go no matter what.

  “THAT FUCKING HURT!!!!”

  SoJo had gotten up, enraged, and attacked Tork like a wolverine, her hands and feet a blur as she pummeled his side and face.

  Tork turned to face his attacker, and Weejy tugged at the pain wand, using her whole body, planting her feet on his chest, pulling and pulling and pulling and—

  —the wand came free, and Tork fell onto his ass, his mouth open in shock.

  Weejy thrusted, an in went the pain wand.

  Tork’s eyes bugged out, his teeth locking onto the wand, and Weejy pushed him to the floor, pinning his head down, shocking him while an enraged SoJo stomped on his junk.

  It took a long ninety seconds before the clone of Tomás de Torquemada finally passed out from the pain.

  It must have been the most agonizing minute and a half of his life.

  It must have felt like an eternity.

  And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

  SoJo punted him one last time between the legs, then adjusted her bra.

  “You were right. That shit was the worst.”

  That’s when the door at the end of the hall burst open, revealing six armed security guards.

  The women turned to run in the other direction, and that door also opened, five more guards pointing guns.

  Oh, shit. We’re screwed.

  “Any ideas?” SoJo asked.

  Weejy had zero ideas.

  But someone else did.

  “Weeeeeeeejy. SooooooooooJoooooooo. I can heeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp.”

  The women exchanged a glance, then both turned to look at Bub’s steel door.

  SoJo reached for the handle, and Weejy stopped her as all eleven guards shouted warnings and orders.

  “So we’re gonna make a deal with the devil?” Weejy asked over the din.

  “He’s a prisoner like us. Maybe he’s just misunderstood.”

  “He’s a monster, SoJo.”

  “So is this POS.” SoJo gave Tork a kick. “No way I’m getting strapped to that table. Agreed?”

  There’s no way I’m letting Tork anywhere near me ever again. “Agreed.”

  SoJo knocked on the door to Room 33. “Bub, we let you out, you promise to be a good boy and not slaughter us?”

  “Yessssssssssss.”

  Weejy got chills. “He sounds like the snake in the Garden of Eden.”

  “It’s your call. This friendship is a democracy. We both gotta vote for it before we do it.”

  The guards moved in.

  Tork moaned, beginning to sit up.

  “I guess we give the devil his due!” Weejy yelled above the guards, and then she and SoJo pulled back the bar lock and stepped to the side.

  Bub thrust himself into the hallway, so fast he was hard to see, and all Weejy got were quick impressions. The demon was massive, weighing at least half a ton, covered in deep red fur, with black, rubbery bat wings and claws like a bear, and goat legs with hooves as big as manhole covers. Yellow eyes. Curved horns. A pig snout. Shark teeth.

  The first thing he did was bite off Tork’s head.

  The guards opened fire on both sides, and Weejy dropped to the ground, SoJo beside her, both of them going fetal and covering their faces.

  Bub ripped through the eleven guards like a wet finger through toilet paper, but with a lot more blood. Severed limbs and guts were thrown everywhere, gunfire was quickly replaced by screams, then begging, then eerie silence.

  Bub swallowed someone’s arm, then turned to the women and winked.

  “Thaaaaaaaaaaaank yooooooooooooou.”

  Then he was gone, tearing down the hallway much quicker than a creature his size should have been able to move.

  Around them, an abattoir. Intestines scattered everywhere like New Year’s Eve party streamers. Blood an inch deep. Chunks of flesh that weren’t recognizable as human.

  Someone’s face slowly slid down the wall and plopped onto a shredded rib cage.