Page 39 of Licence To Howl
‘Time’s not up,’ O’Brien said. He nodded over towards the announcer who shrugged at them both.
Devereau stared at him. ‘You’ve lost your only advantage. Do you seriously want to keep fighting?’
O’Brien grinned. ‘Nah. Ye got me. I wanted to get in one last shot though.’ He doffed an imaginary cap in Devereau’s direction. ‘Ye cannae blame me for that.’
Hmmm. Devereau folded his arms and eyed him. ‘You’re Irish?’
‘Half Irish. On me mother’s side. Me da’ was Italian. God rest his soul.’
‘And the invisibility trick? What’s that all about?’
O’Brien tapped the side of his nose. ‘Trade secret.’
Devereau’s frown deepened but he didn’t get the chance to probe any further. ‘The fifth bout goes to Signore Webb!’ the announcer called into her microphone. ‘Things are heating up!’
Actually, it was quite the opposite. The night air had taken a turn for the worse. Not only had the temperature dropped by several degrees but some very ominous dark clouds were hovering over their heads. An icy drop fell from the sky and landed on Devereau’s nose. This wasn’t looking good. It wouldn’t be a problem for the werewolves – obviously the various members of clan Lupo could shift and use their natural fur to shield them from the worst that nature could offer. The audience, who Devereau was certain were mostly human, wouldn’t have that advantage. Fortunately, that might work in Devereau’s favour. It was about time something did.
He glanced round. ‘Where’s Moretti?’
The announcer covered her microphone and leaned towards him. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I want to talk to him for a moment.’ He waved at the unforgiving sky as more icy sleet began to fall. ‘I have a proposal.’
She pursed her lips. Then she turned away and spoke to one of the clan Lupo werewolves by her side. As she did so, O’Brien nudged him. ‘I hope ye’re not planning what I think ye are. Hasn’t it occurred to ye that ye’ve had easy opponents so far in order to give ye a false sense of security?’
Devereau looked at him. ‘You’d class yourself as an easy opponent?’ he asked.
O’Brien didn’t smile. ‘Based on what I know is to come, yes, I would.’
Devereau certainly would not give him the satisfaction of asking what the last two fights would be. He knew he wouldn’t get an answer if he did. Instead, he focused on O’Brien himself. ‘What are you?’ he asked. ‘What manner of beastie is Tatton O’Brien?’
The small man’s eyes gleamed. They really were a quite extraordinary shade of green. ‘I’m only half beastie. Me mother’s side.’ He lifted his chin. ‘Look,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘Nicolo Moretti is here to talk to ye. Don’t do anything too stupid, Devereau Webb.’ He winked and wandered off.
Devereau watched him go. Then it hit him. ‘Leprechaun,’ he breathed. ‘That man’s a bloody leprechaun.’
‘Half leprechaun,’ Moretti said, overhearing him. ‘But even that half is rarer than the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow these days.’ He linked his fingers together and smiled disarmingly. ‘You’ve been doing remarkably well, Mr Webb. Why do you want to talk to me? Have you had enough? Are you ready to submit to me and clan Lupo?’
Hardly. Devereau glanced over his shoulder and saw Scarlett watching him, her expression unreadable. ‘No,’ he told the Italian alpha flatly. ‘But time is marching on and, as I said, I have other matters of a pressing nature to concern myself with.’ He nodded towards the audience, many of whom were now clumping together for warmth. ‘As excited as your ticket holders seem to be, it’s late and it’s cold and the weather is not conducive to comfort. This is something of an all weather arena.’
Moretti splayed his hands out. ‘I cannot let you walk away now. Not after only five fights.’
‘That’s not what I’m suggesting.’ Devereau paused. ‘Combine the sixth and seventh fights together. I’ll fight both at the same time. It’ll halve the time and double the thrill.’
Moretti raised an eyebrow. ‘These next opponents are not pushovers. The risk for you will be considerable and I cannot be seen to be giving you a free ride.’
‘I’m not asking for one,’ Devereau replied.
Moretti sucked air in through his teeth. ‘How does the saying go? Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun? It might be closer to midnight but the sentiment still fits. You’re playing a risky game, Signore Webb.’
Devereau could only shrug. ‘These are risky times.’
The Italian hesitated before finally answering. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Very well. We’ll begin the last fight in ten minutes’ time. Is that good enough?’
It would be if he won. Devereau nodded and turned away to prepare.
Chapter Sixteen
‘This is a stupid idea.’
