As soon as Id taken every last ticket and accepted every last dollar, I slipped into the tent behind an overweight man clutching a sweaty wad of Confederate notes in each fist. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, sawdust, and, of course, blood.
People were milling around us, paying extra money to gawk at the Strongman and the Tattooed Lady, all of whom were hidden behind thick black curtains at various intervals along the perimeter of the tent. But the majority of the crowd was clamoring around Jasper. Large wagers were being placed, with lots of shouting and hand signals and stacks of greasy notes being passed back and forth. Jasper gleefully chomped on his soggy cigar and laughed.
Sailors yanked foreign bills from their billfolds. A few teenagers pooled their coins. Well-dressed men in ties waved gold coins.
"Fight, fight, fight!" one red-faced man began yelling. Instantly, the people standing by him began to chant as well. Three well-dressed women, their hair in curls atop their heads, glanced at each other, giggled, and echoed the cheer, their alto voices contrasting with the mens baritone ones.
Gallagher strode into the tent, his cane tapping a path through the sawdust. People turned and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of him; in the circus tent, he was just as much an attraction as the freaks. After all, this was the man whod caught a vampire.
Be strong, brother, I whispered under my breath, remembering all the times Damon had won fights back in Mystic Falls. Damon had never provoked those battles but had always been a good fighter, always landing a punch fast when a fight broke out. Thats why hed been so respected in the army. But now, in a battle against a mountain lion, especially after not feeding for days I shuddered.
"Brother?" I whispered tentatively, at a decibel I knew only his ears could detect. I was hoping for some sort of reply, even though I wasnt sure whether he could have actually heard me. If he did, he said nothing in response.
"And now, lets introduce our fighters!" Gallaghers voice broke through my reverie. Two animal handlers, their hands in leather gloves and wearing boots that came up past their knees, walked into the ring, leading a mangy mountain lion. The mountain lion had a grayish-yellowish coat and yellow teeth, and, despite its lean body, looked brutal. And hungry. As if on cue, it uttered a roar.
"In one end of your ring, you have the mountain lion. But this is no ordinary cat. This beast is the Alberta Avenger! He came down from Canada to find the hunter that killed his mate. He eviscerated the hunter, his wife, and all of his children except the youngest, whose legs the lion ate before leaving the rest of him alive to tell the story. Since then, you have followed the mountain lion in the newspapers as it has feasted its way on innocents in the Union and Confederacy without prejudice. Tonight, it is here only after we captured it trying to stow away on a boat bound for the Andes Mountains in South America. The mountain lion, ladies and gentlemen!" Gallagher yelled, his showmanship on full display.
The crowd dutifully applauded enthusiastically, and some even cheered.
"Its opponent is a legendary vampire that has been terrifying children and their parents for centuries. Viktor the Cruel was born in 1589 and was heir to the Hapsburg Empire until he first tasted blood--his sisters--and began a three-hundred-year feeding frenzy that has left a trail of drained bodies around the world. At an estimated two victims per day, this brings Viktors kills to one and a half million people, more than double the size of Italy. This unstoppable lust for blood continues tonight."
The applause was more nervous now, but the cheers were louder.
Gallagher spread his hands apart with a flourish, and Damon came into the ring, surrounded by four handlers. His hands and feet were in chains, and his face was partially hidden by a muzzle. His skin was bleeding from the vervain, his eyes were bloodshot, and the expression on his face was one Id never seen.
I could understand the hatred he felt--I was fighting every instinct I had not to kill the people holding him captive. But his imprisonment had changed him. Damon had called me a cold-blooded killer. The look in Damons eyes was not one of sport, or survival. It was pure bloodlust.
A hush filled the tent. The mountain lion strained at his chains, but Damon simply stood in his corner of the ring, as if unaware of what the imminent future held for him.
"And go!" Gallagher yelled. Immediately, the handlers unlocked Damons chains and opened the iron door of the mountain lions cage, then ran off the stage. The lion jumped toward Damon, making contact with his chest. Damon let out an anguished moan and fell backward. Then, just as quickly, he rose to his feet and roared, his face suddenly flushed, his fangs on full display. I knew this was all instinctual: Damons Power rising to the surface as soon as hed felt the attack. I had learned this about our kind in the past few weeks: Our power led us to do things before we even knew we were doing them. Despite Damons external weakness, his Power was still intact.
The lion leaped again, and Damon went low, ducking under the claws and coming up at just the right moment to dig his hands into the lions neck. But the lion tossed Damon free; he rolled to a stop only when he slammed into the gate surrounding the ring.
Damon let out another moan and lay on the ground. The lion began to stalk over to claim his kill.
The crowd went wild, friends hitting one another in the arm and clawing at the air as though they themselves were in the fight.
One of the handlers positioned along the sidelines poked at Damon, clearly to get him moving. Damon swung without looking, knocking the man into the stands. As the handler struggled to get up, two nearby customers kicked him in the gut and then dropped him over the back railing to the dirt below, out of sight.
Damon paid no heed to the scuffle and moved deeper into the ring, letting the lion slowly circle him.