Page 91 of Evil Hearts

His Horns Are Mine To Hold

By A.L. Davidson

The stadium lightswere blinding. The roar of the crowd ricocheted off of the old coliseum walls; the thrum of passion, excitement, and anticipation built with each passing act that the Cirque des Étoiles troupe performed. Diego rolled his shoulders, the fabric of his bolero jacket pulled taut as his muscles rotated. His knuckles cracked when he adjusted his hold on his muleta with one hand, counting the beads of a golden rosary with the other. As he shifted, the sword strapped to his hip pressed against his thigh. Through the slit in the curtain, he could see the seats were nearly full. The troupe had never performed in a venue this size, and the word of mouth advertising seemed to have worked. Rumors of a monstrous myth moving amongst the mortals had risen in the week leading up to the show, and the hushed murmurs had turned into a full conversation piece.

It was all about the spectacle.

And what better spectacle than a ‘beast’ few had ever laid eyes on? Even with the sudden—and shocking—arrival of supernaturals and monsters only a few years prior, some creatures were still shrouded in mystery. The underground world of legendary creatures was vast, and humanity was still in the process of adjusting to dragons soaring alongside planes and vampires working the late shifts at convenience stores. People often lost their minds when a true myth, especially one with fear-striking notoriety behind the name, made itself known. It brought in curiosity, brought in money. So why not give them a show? Tease the terror? Why not lean into the spectacle? Especially if they were having fun in the process.

The fae had finished up their aerial acrobatic performance only moments before, soaring high over the crowds in fluttering costumes full of sequins and ribbons. They twisted and spunon large rings, tumbled through the air only to catch dangling curtains of fabric and avoid the dusty ground with seconds to spare. It was an elevated dance, full of magic and mystique, and all eyes were now on the skies. Which meant he’d need to bring them back down with a thunderous effect for the finale.

Diego finished his prayer and grumbled at how uncomfortable the bolero was. His usual chaquetilla had gotten torn during the last performance and their seamstress was out on maternity leave, so he had to scramble to find something that could at least keep him looking professional. It wasn’t as dashing as his normal suit of lights, but it still sparkled. That was enough for tonight. He was a proud member of the Delgado family, after all; image was everything. Even if he knew deep down that no one would be looking athimonce the show started.

The familiar blast of a trumpet echoing from the loudspeakers pulled him from his thoughts, and he knew it was time to steel himself. As he fixed his posture, a brush of hot breath blew by his ear and a towering presence engulfed him. A smile crept over his face.

“Are you ready?” a low, rumbling voice thrummed.

It raced up and down his spine. Diego felt his heart speed.

“Always,” he replied with confidence.

“Good. Give ’em hell.”

The lights in the stadium shut off in a flash, draping the building in darkness. Collective gasps and a few shouts echoed. Diego raced forward, darting through the stage doors out onto the dirt-covered flooring. He counted down the seconds in time with his footsteps—10, 9, 8, 7…—until he found his mark and the spotlight broke through the pitch black to shine upon him. His golden outfit glistened, peppering the darkness with a barrage of stars as the light caught each and every sequin. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, signaling the band to play. Somewhere in the shadows of the stadium, aviolin squealed with a deathly sound, setting the stage for a dramatic performance. It was a carefully crafted spin on “La Danse Macabre” by Saint-Saëns, one with a slower intro to build anticipation, and a favorite of his. It was the perfect music for a fight to the death.

As the melody slowly amped up, Diego walked deeper into the stadium. The crowd was silenced with anticipation as the spotlight followed him.

Upon reaching the center of the battleground, he turned in time with the aggressive strum of a guitar and faced the door he had entered through. A drumbeat made itself known amongst the strings. Then another. And another. And with it came the resounding noise of heavy hooves entering the scene.

The onlookers gasped and some shuddered in fear at the presence of the minotaur. Towering, intimidating, each fall of his hooves created an earthquake-like rumble that rippled through the stadium. The duo of bailiffs played up the terror, the chains around his wrists were pulled taut to keep him wrangled in as the legend took determined, calculated strides. The myth’s dark brown fur was covered by epaulettes and a skirt made of navy and gold pteruges. The leather strips shifted around his thick hips and thighs as he walked. The golden ring that hung between his nostrils held small spikes that looked like the sun, and his deep-set eyes burned like infernos. His long horns were magnificent, tipped with rings of golden hues that sparkled in the spotlight. He towered over Diego.

The minotaur. What a sight to behold, even in a world rife with creatures more powerful, more beautiful, none could hold a candle tohim. At least, not to Diego.

Diego could hardly hear the music as the build up of emotions pooled in his brain. He found his footing, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself for the fight. When the bow of the violin hung a bit too long on its note, he saw the beast’s nostrilsflare. He hardly had time to take a breath of his own before his opponent snatched up the chain around his right wrist and snapped it with a clench of his hand as if it were made of glass. The handlers screamed and ran back toward the door, leaving the beast free to attack. He charged, trailing the chains behind him.

It was showtime.

Diego waited for the minotaur to get close enough to touch him. From the far-off distance of the crowds, it looked as though the matador had barely leapt out of the way of the beast’s horns with an otherworldly feat of acrobatics—enough that he was able to flip above the charging creature with ease. The applause at his escape from a brutal death by goring rippled through the fabric of his soul. It was hard for the matador to hide a smile as his adversary’s hand extended ever so slightly for him to set his foot in and get the boost he needed to sell the scene, hiding the launch with his cape.

If only the cheering crowds knew.

This was no fight, this was adance.

A calculated choreography.

How fitting the song that echoed around them was in its messaging. His sequined cape fluttered as his body twirled. The magic sigil painted on the heel of his shoe was what really got him airborne, but he liked to tell everyone it was a natural talent and dedication to his craft. The years of strenuous ballet lessons helped. Even if it wasn’texactlyhow he planned on using those skills in his adulthood, he couldn’t have been happier. Performing was his everything, and he was so lucky to have found the right stage to call his own.

As he flipped back around, he unclipped his cape and sent it soaring. He reached out to grab hold of the beast’s horn, but he miscalculated by a small margin. The sharp point sliced into his palm. He fumbled, glad he’d used the cape as a distraction tohide his mess up since this was a potential issue he’d foreseen. With some quick thinking, he was able to adjust and properly finish the maneuver. Hand clamped upon the lowest part of the horn, he planted the heel of his shoe against the beast’s broad shoulder and launched himself off once again to put some distance between them, landing gracefully in a cloud of dust.

Diego shook his palm as he took a few steps back, barely giving himself enough time to look at the damage before he moved on.Can’t lose my place, can’t lose my pacing,can’t lose my footing! Focus, he scolded himself.

Blood trickled down his arm but the cut didn’t appear too deep; he knew the heightened adrenaline was increasing the flow and making it appear worse than it actually was. He’d need to be careful, they still had a ways to go before he couldslaythe beast and end the match; he couldn’t pass out yet. He watched the broad back of the minotaur tense and shift with heavy breaths as the towering creature turned to play up the act of losing him. Diego’s heart fluttered because he knew that it was indeed just an act. That the myth was always aware of where the matador was.Always.

The music picked up again, adding to the hectic feeling of the fight as the minotaur charged. He was a blur, moving faster than anyone could rightly anticipate for a creature of his build and size. The chains whipped behind him like wings. Diego grabbed the hilt of his saber and flipped it around, slinging blood across the ground and the base of the blade. He quickly shot it up just in time to lock it with the myth’s horns. The minotaur let out a frustrated yell as he shook his skull to and fro. The blade traced the curve of the left horn and sent sparks flying from the friction against the metal bands.

Diego jumped back to avoid the wayward swinging of the minotaur’s large first. He spun his sword so the blade rested against his forearm as his opponent rammed his head intothe steel. Diego’s feet sunk into the pliable ground as he was shoved back, kicking dirt up into his shoes and eyes. He locked gazes with his adversary. The glimmer in those large, animalistic golden irises sparkled as they made eye contact.

The dance continued. Blade met horn. Hooves and feet spun. Sparkles of light bounced like starlight as Diego’s traje de luces shifted in the spotlight’s beam. The matador’s ears were pounding from the intensity of the crowd, his heart spun in his ribcage, and he struggled to keep count of his steps. His position. His next move. He was losing himself to the thrill of it all, struggling to keep himself from laughing, from letting his calculated motions become fluid from the freedom he felt in his soul.

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