Page 51 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucius
I watch Raven pace our hotel balcony here in San Luis Potosi, Mexico. Her animated conversation with Norris is growing increasingly heated. I’m still not sure she needed to reach out to him on the new burner phones we acquired on the hurried drive here.
Though the words are muffled through the glass, her tense posture and sharp gestures tell me enough. My fingers trace the spine of the book on Mexican death rituals I purchased yesterday. Although Raven taught me how to use a translation program through my phone’s camera, my thoughts are far from its pages.
The device has become invaluable since she showed me how to use it—allowing me to read signs, menus, and simple textsindependently. Though I still struggle with complex English prose, the technology bridges gaps that months of language lessons couldn’t fill.
The balcony door slams as she rushes inside, phone clutched in trembling fingers.
“We’ve got trouble,” she says, panic etched across her face as she shows me her screen where notifications appear in rapid succession. “The video has been picked up by major news outlets.”
“Major?” I don’t understand. From the way she was acting earlier this morning, it seemed the worst had already occurred.
“YouTube, Facebook, and the other social media platforms are more for younger people. What they refer to as major news outlets are for basically every other person on the planet. They’re calling you ‘The Pale Stranger’ and speculating about connections to the thawed gladiators.”
Though I can read basic English with my phone’s help, the rapid-fire headlines and complex terminology require Raven’s interpretation. My stomach tightens with a familiar dread—one I’ve known in two vastly different eras.
“It was just supposed to be a private moment,” I say, keeping my voice controlled despite the anger building within me. “A simple connection with someone who had no family at his gravesite.”
Her phone rings again—Norris’s image appearing on the screen. Her fourth call in the last hour. She silences it with a frustrated sigh.
“He’s relentless,” she mutters, pushing her hair back. “Claims this is a ‘fortuitous development’ that we should ‘leverage immediately.’”
“Leverage.” I taste the word, finding it bitter. “As one might leverage a tool or weapon.”
The modern vocabulary may differ, but the sentiment remains unchanged across millennia. In Rome, my value lay in my strange appearance and connection to death. Thelanistawho purchased me from the temple spoke similarly of “utilizing my unique attributes” for arena profit. Different century, same exploitation.
A sharp knock at our door cuts through my thoughts. Raven approaches cautiously, peering through the small viewing hole before turning to me with alarm.
“Three men in suits are on the other side of this door. They look like the types who won’t take no for an answer,” she whispers, fear tightening her features.
I nod grimly, moving silently to gather my few possessions while assessing our options. The balcony offers no escape—three stories up with no fire escape. The bathroom has no external windows. We’re effectively trapped unless we go through them.
“Ms. Vaughn, we know you’re inside.” A man’s deep voice, clinical and impatient, carries through the door. “This is a matter of public health concern. We have reason to believe your companion may be carrying a dangerous pathogen.”
Lies wrapped in scientific terms. In Rome, they were more direct. “The pale one will draw crowds.” At least ancient exploitation lacked modern pretense.
My phone vibrates with a call from the sanctuary. I answer immediately. “We’re cornered. Three agents at our door.”
Laura’s voice carries tension I’ve rarely heard. “I’ll call Miguel and have him at the ready with the motor running?”
“Yes. But getting past these men will be harder. They control the only exit, and I assume they’re armed.”
“Get out any way you can.” This is Varro, who must have taken the phone from Laura. “You’re a gladiator, Lucius. You know the only loss of life will be the three men on the other side of the door.”
“Yes.”
Raven grabs my arm, urgency flashing in her eyes. “The maid’s cart,” she whispers urgently. “I saw housekeeping leave it in the hallway when I got ice earlier. It had cleaning supplies.”
An idea forms. In theludus, we learned that any object could become a weapon with proper application. “Tell Miguel to pulldirectly to the front entrance,” I tell Varro. “Engine running. Immediately.”
The knocking grows more insistent. “Ms. Vaughn, we’re prepared to involve local authorities if you don’t cooperate.”
I move to the door, grateful for the muscle memory that never fades. Arena combat taught essential lessons about timing, leverage, and using environmental advantages.
“Stand behind me,” I tell Raven. “When I open this door, stay low and move fast toward the stairs.”
