Killing (And Other Games)

(Forty Two)

(Forty Two)

"They're called half-nights. They're terrifying." Gray looks down at me with his seaweed coloured eyes, his gaze shifting mechanically. "It must've been a young one."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't be alive if it wasn't young."

I blink and breathe. Blink and breathe. "I don't think I killed it."

"No, you wouldn't have. Where did you stab it?"

"The neck I think."

"Yeah, it's still alive," Gray sighs, "but unless it's been paid a lot it won't come after you. They're only in it for the sport and they get bored quickly."

"Gray, this means that they know. Whoever we're looking for knows that we're looking for them."

"Yeah, it probably means that," Gray agrees. My hands shake uncontrollably, so much so that I can't lift my cup to drink. The featureless face of the half-night just keeps coming back to me.

"Let's go," I announce. "We can't dwell on this."

"Immy," Gray warns, "if you can't do this--"

"There is no can and cannot anymore. We are too deep in this. There is only must and have to."

We leave my house and I'm still shaking. I clutch the wall with my nails, the worn down ends dragging painfully, and bite my lip hard. Flashes of the fight in the lane mix with images of the arena, images of Simon dead, images of Sloane dead and it all goes to my stomach. As we walk I fight the urge to drop to my knees and throw up. The ghost of West's head hangs in front of me in the darkness.

The club is less populated then last last time. The whole area seems to be less dense with people. It is only about six o'clock but to me it seems like the Underworld is a continuous cycle of nighttime. The bouncer with the bear on his head lets us in but he doesn't say anything to Gray. Gray gives me a slightly worried look then seems to take it back when he sees how much I'm shaking.

"All we've gotta do is find a Luna wolf and ask them about Simon. You know, ask if he was trapped on a desert island or something." I just nod and follow Gray through the mostly empty club.

A few booths are occupied and they seem to be our best bet. We hang around the bar, Gray vaguely ordering something, and watch the booths out of the corner of our eyes. A short and muscular man that looks like the 'human' version of a pitbull strides around, shaking hands and slapping people on the back.

"He looks...werewolfy," Gray offers. "The thing is he could be a Night or a Luna and they get real pissed if you don't know which one they are."

"He could know about Simon either way," I suggest. Gray shrugs and indicates for me to follow. He swaggers over to an empty booth and we slide in, watching the pitbull werewolf make his rounds. We he passes us, Gray sticks out a hand and grins from ear to ear.

"Hey there," Gray greets, "man, I haven't seen you in so long." The man gives him a slightly disinterested, slightly confused look. "Oh shit you don't remember me, do you? How are you doing, how's it been?" He's trying to put on an Australian accent and he sounds like a confused pom.

"Who are you?" The man calls over the music. With the only light being an occasional flash of the strobe the man probably has no idea what species he's even talking to.

"You seriously don't remember me? That hurts dude, that hurts." I can't tell if this is Gray's real personality and he's acting around me or if this is him putting on a front. Maybe he's both. "Look, I heard about Simmo."