Page 17 of Villains Never Die

I would wait and see whether he or the spirits came back with information first.

***

It turned out I needed both of them—Gray and the phantoms that followed me everywhere I went.

I slept a record eight hours in two days. On the third day, my phone rang the moment my eyes opened, and I answered Gray.

“Austin here.”

“His champion fighter is a guy named Lee Paris. They call him ‘The Death Dealer’ because heaccidentallykilled two of his opponents in the last year.”

“Is that allowed?” I asked.

“From what I hear, anything goes—magic, fists, weapons. He’s lost five fights ever. His rival is Jacob Dodds and Paris won the last three fights against him, but barely. They’re fighting again Saturday night. Last fight of the night.”

I shook the sleepy fog from my head and rubbed my eyes. Saturday. Today was Tuesday. That gave me four days to plan.

The Death Dealer has a weakness.

The whispers came from several spirits at once. I tapped my finger against the back of my phone.

“I’m not going into the office today,” I said. “Keep an eye on Paris and the club. I’ll be in touch.”

I hung up without saying goodbye, but Gray was used to that.

“Care to share?” I asked the dead. “What weakness?”

His magic isn’t very good, and he’s broken his right hand too many times—it holds him back. He always fights with weapons.

“That’s not a weakness. That’s a skill.” I huffed and stood to rummage through my closet for something to wear. I was deciding between a black suit and a pinstriped one when they answered.

Not if the weapons fight him.

I went totally still, their words sinking into my skin. Slowly, I placed the black suit back into the closet. I carried the gray pinstriped one to the bathroom and hung it on the towel bar while I showered and shaved.

Not if the weapons fight him.

I rolled around its possible meanings and how each might fit into my plan.

“What kind of weapons?” I asked as I dried my face. No answer. The dead were so bloody unreliable. I dressed and moved back to the bedroom, where I texted Gray the same question. He’d been to the club, so he’d know.

What kind of weapons do they use?

Gray: Knives, baseball bats, brass knuckles…pretty much anything that doesn’t have a bullet in it.

And Paris fucked up his right hand enough that he couldn’t fight reliably without them. There was a one hundred percent chance he’d have to touch one of them during Saturday’s fight, but which one?

Paris’s preferred weapons?

Gray: From what I’ve seen, all of them, but he’s best with a knife. Big ones. He’s showy.

I could bribe someone to sneak a cursed knife into the fighting ring. It would bring him down easily, but I couldn’t ensure it would be the one he picked up. Whatever I did, it couldn’t be traced back to me, and it couldn’t be detectable before the fight.

I rubbed my fingertips over my eyes, gears shifting in my head until it hurt, and then all at once, the flurry in my brain stopped.

Because I knew exactly who I needed to visit.

***