Chapter Twenty Five
Julia watched the progress of the dark cloud over the city of Belfast as she jogged along the river. Every breath appeared in a fog from her lips but with her blood pumping and her muscles nicely warmed, she could push the sudden drop in temperature to the back of her mind. Her ears stung, her fingers prickled but not having to weave and dodge through pedestrians was a definite advantage to the cold—one she'd factored in when she'd pulled on her running shoes and ducked out of the arena. That and the fact that she liked to run outdoors, it was one of her true pleasures in life, bar blading, hanging with her brother, shopping.
She rounded the corner and followed the footpath onto the bridge, keeping her pace smooth and allowing the podcast playing through her earphones to distract her from the throb of her left knee. Overhead the streetlights lit up in reaction to the darkening sky, the cauldron grey clouds ensnared the sun, turning everything yellow and sickly.
She shivered and pounded her feet faster, fixing her gaze on the end of the bridge. Once she reached it, she'd begin her cool down, and then the arena would be straight ahead, a sanctuary in this suddenly alien city.
She'd travelled before, seen all sorts of worldly wonders and climate feats but this sudden change in the weather didn't sit well with her. Or maybe she'd freaked herself out by listening to one too many crime podcasts. She smiled to herself, for allowing silly thoughts to scare her.
Reaching the bridge, Julia slowed to a walk, concentrating on her breathing and ignoring the pain in her lungs as every breath turned to jagged ice. The arena loomed ahead, a bright orange beacon illuminated with squares of white light and large spotlights that peppered the front lawn and carpark. Blue lights beaded the rooftop as the large billboards dispersed in neon motes to reform into logos announcing the WBBA. She smiled vaguely when she noted the symbol for Team Europe, the blades haphazardly framed within a united circle of golden stars. Some union, she mused.
Arching her back, she pressed her fingers into the tightness around her lower spine and wandered along the fence bordering the weir. The water gushed by, dark and swirling with little caps of froth where the two currents met. Cars with lights burning bright huddled together, bumper to bumper. A cyclist approached with a bell that sounded too cheerful for the rider, his shoulders hunched, gloved hands tight around the handlebars. It was like the ominous grey clouds had sucked the joy out of the atmosphere.
Or maybe that was her own dread creeping in, the idea of going back to the arena to play happy teammates with Eoin made her stomach ache. But, she told herself firmly, someone had to step up and be a good role model and she refused to let it be Enrique.
With that in mind, she squared her shoulders and... stopped. Enrique stood a few feet away, leaning against the railing, staring into the waters below. Clad in a black leather jacket and what looked like a red turtleneck, faded stonewashed jeans and finished off with a black beanie, he looked like he was posing for some kind of fashion magazine. She scanned the street expecting a photographer but no one seemed to notice him, bar the odd passing woman giving him a second look. Typical. She could walk by him, he wouldn't see her but he was her teammate and the only one currently acting like it. She could all but hear Raul telling her to make friends, build strong team bonds. Besides, spending time with Enrique preferable to breathing the same air as Eoin.
With that decision made, she sidled up beside Enrique and leaned her back against the railing, glancing up at him. "I don't think you can see your reflection in that water but maybe you should look closer."
He glanced at her, lips twitching in amusement and that damn dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, but I could get my hair wet." He pouted, all puppy-eyed adorableness. No wonder he had half the female blading fans eating out of his hand.
"Could be an improvement, Giancarlo."
He shook his head and angled his body towards her. "Ah, and what is this?" he asked, gesturing to her outfit. "You know, there is a state of the art gym in the arena."
"Full of the All Starz hooked up to wires and computers. Yes, I saw." It had put her in mind of a sci-fi movie about clones she'd watched once with Raul. She hadn't liked it then, she didn't like it now. It was unnatural and clinical. "I prefer to run, it clears my head."
He inclined his head, facing the river again. "I prefer tennis. I used to play to relax—though Johnny always took it too seriously."
A drop of rain hit her nose and she tilted her head back, wondering if it was a precursor to a sudden downpour. The sky above her remained silent, ominous and dark. "You don't talk about them much. Your teammates. Didn't any of them want to blade in this tournament?"
Just one of them signing up could have saved them the hassle of dealing with Eoin—and maybe she was being unnecessarily harsh about him. He had gone from zero to hero in the eyes of the Irish. That created a lot of pressure but still, she didn't understand people who claimed to love blading but didn't practice. She hadn't understood Brooklyn and she didn't understand Eoin. And that was the crux of the matter. Brooklyn's attitude brought about the levelling of a stadium, what if Eoin did something similar? She couldn't shake the suspicious nagging itch at the back of her mind, a warning voice telling her to be wary, to be watchful. She trusted those instincts, they rarely guided her wrong.
"No, they were busy."
"And they couldn't take some time off to blade?" She'd not had the chance to meet the infamous Majestics during the previous competition, but she'd heard the stories of how powerful they were as individual bladers, had practised enough with Enrique to trust the veracity of those claims.
"Do not misunderstand, they love blading. It's not just a sport for us. But blading in this tournament means an implicit support of the BBA."
Water roared below and goosebumps marched up her arms as she curled her fingers into the cuffs of her sleeves. "And they don't?"
Enrique rubbed the back of his neck, causing the curls peeking under the edge of his black beanie hat to spring up. "Robert and Johnny still haven't forgiven the BBA for not penalising the Barthez Battalion."
"Because of the cheating controversy? The BBA didn't need to. Miguel fired Barthez and he lost all prominence with BEGA's defeat. Surely the Majestics don't still blame the entire team for that?" Her eyes narrowed. "Wait, the rumour about Mathilda refusing to join the team due to your reputation, was that a joke or did you tell them not to join?"
"It was a bit more complex than that." Enrique made a rough sound and closed his fingers around the railings, his knuckles turning white. "We, the Majestics, don't have an issue with Miguel or any of his team. They were victims. Our problem was always with Barthez… and maybe initially with Miguel. Sometimes it's hard to understand why people allow others to treat them a certain way but when we finally saw Miguel stand up to him—"
His eyes glazed as he stared out at the river. "Robert was the first to suspect there was something more sinister going on. We tried to go to Dickinson about it but we had no proof and when asked, they denied it."
"They were kids, they didn't think he was doing anything wrong," Julia muttered, remembering the team she'd met at the start of the tournament. They'd stood so stiffly, the good little soldiers. She'd joked with Raul about their attitude but then she'd begun to see it crumble as the matches continued, the way their blind faith and obedience to Barthez began to disintegrate.
"Why should they have?" Enrique demanded. "He was their coach, he'd brainwashed them to think he was right and doing everything for their benefit. However we could see it; the BBA should have seen it too, but Dickinson refused to act. He needed evidence, he needed them to come forward and the rest of the committee implied that we were bitter because we lost."
Enrique snorted. "Yes, we should have won but we'd lost before. We didn't make any accusations about the Bladebreakers when they beat us. That the BBA could accuse of us such petty tactics pissed us off." Jaw tight, he swallowed hard. "That we could accept but the fact that they allowed Barthez to continue to the next stage of the tournament despite the allegations made, with no investigation and then for Claude to get injured—" He blew out a breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. "If Miguel hadn't stood up to Barthez, how long would he have gotten away with it?"
The cold wind stung her ears as Julia turned into him, pressing a hand to his arm. "But they did stand up to him. It wasn't on your team to stop Barthez. The BBA should have done more, I agree. Maybe we as bladers should do more. We can't always leave it to the committees, the coaches, Dickinson. At some point it may come down to us to do what we know is right, to put aside our rivalries and come together as bladers."
No one had done that for Miguel and his team, and because they hadn't, the European branch remained tarnished. Maybe she should be more grateful to Eoin for at least showing up. Without him, they couldn't compete. No, she wouldn't have chosen him for the team but at least he wasn't evil.
"I guess your teammates felt disillusioned with the sport."
"Hard not to," Enrique mused. "First the Blitzkrieg Boys and then Barthez and then BEGA. It's like this sport is a smorgasbord for the power-hungry elite with delusions of grandeur, intent on corrupting and manipulating innocent kids to do their dirty work."
The bitter edge to his tone suggested that there was more on Enrique's mind than he was saying.
Suddenly he cast her a brief smile. "Maybe I'm old and cynical. That was part of the problem too. The older the others got, the more they could see the underbelly of beyblading, that it wasn't just about the game but everything that went on behind the scenes. It wasn't about the fun of the battle, it started to be more about the politics and the money and the sponsorships."
A movement to her left caught her attention and Julia turned her head, her plait bouncing against her shoulder with the movement. A girl had stopped her friend and had her phone aimed in their direction. With a bemused smile, Julia leaned into Enrique and smiled. "Smile, we're on camera."
He smirked and slid an arm around her waist. "Ah, bene, we should put on a show."
She snorted, relieved to see that his eyes had lightened back into the pale blue, no longer touched by the darkness. "True realism comes from subtly. You should learn that."
He dipped his head, his lips inches from hers. "You are indeed the consummate performer." Her heart began to pound in her chest. Her mouth went dry as she determinedly kept her gaze on his. She refused to let him beat her in this little performance war.
A burst of giggles and Julia's attention snapped to the girls as they walked away, casting glances back in their direction. Enrique relaxed his hand and moved it back to the railing. Julia frowned. Silly to miss something that wasn't real.
"Well, at least we won't incur Ming-Ming's wrath," he mused, "but it made my point. We're spending equal parts training to get better and doing things for the fans and the sponsorships. How long before the fun leaves the sport?"
"The sponsorships do have their benefits. Not everyone's made of money," she said pointedly. After all, without sponsorships getting access to the parts, the equipment and travelling to venues would be next to impossible for most bladers, herself included. The WBBA did a lot of good things but sponsorship was becoming the machine that kept the sport running in a professional capacity.
"Oh without a doubt but how is this any different to what BEGA wanted to do with the league? The more commercialised this sport becomes, the more problems it'll entail."
Julia pursed her lips and turned her head to study the arena, her thick plait sliding with the movement. "Then we'll just have to keep a better eye on things. Like I said, bladers looking out for bladers first and foremost. I do think hiring Ming-Ming was a good move by the WBBA because, unlike the suits BEGA hired, Ming-Ming not only understands the business and publicity aspect, she knows that the core of everything is the sport and the bladers involved."
Which was not something Julia ever thought she'd admit to but Ming-Ming was scarily competent and more so, scarily protective of her bladers. Julia had witnessed her tearing strips off a man in a business suit for daring to suggest one of her bladers destroyed a bench in the changing room. Even Eoin had smirked at that scene.
Enrique pushed back from the railing, lifting his face to the sky. "Come along, peperina, it is going to rain."
She fell into step with him, lip curling in disdain. "Keep your cute little nicknames for your adoring fans, Enrique, they do not work on—" Movement at the front of the arena drew her attention and she stilled, reaching for Enrique's arm.
Eoin threw up his hood, chanced a quick look around the crowded entrance before he skipped down the stairs. Julia watched as he headed towards the pedestrian crossing over the river and she hissed out a breath.
"Where is he going?"
"Think he's forgotten something?" Enrique wondered, coming to stand beside her, his own brow furrowed. "Maybe we should follow him."
She checked her phone. "It's nearly time for registering our blades, we don't have time. He's going to get us disqualified."
But he didn't cross the bridge, instead, he stood at the wall staring across the water to the city. He looked lost and a little lonely, drawing out his beyblade to study it before he heaved a sigh. He was nervous, she realised.
"Guess he just needed some air."
"Yeah," Julia agreed, then nudged Enrique. "Alright, let's get inside. I need to shower and then we can go register our blades. Keep an eye on him—"
"I won't let him out of my sight, I swear." Enrique crossed his fingers over his heart.
She shook her head at his theatrics and stalked ahead. But she couldn't completely stomp out the giddy flicker of excitement in her stomach or she had to force herself not to look back at him. Dammit if she wasn't beginning to like him as a person.
The ground careened up to meet her and Amber woke with a start, heart pounding in her ears, breath coming in ragged gasps. She lay on her side, eyes closed as she waited for her body to adjust to the sensation of not falling. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she shifted onto her back and nudged the suffocating blanket away from her face with her chin.
It took a few seconds to register that she was on the couch in her father's apartment and not in the crumbling arena. There was no swirling vortex, no army of creatures and she wasn't falling. She was safe for the moment. Letting that sink in, she allowed the relief to wash over her. She still had time. She could still stop her world from ending.
Sitting up, Amber glanced out the window. It was still light outside but a thick grey cloud covered the sky, removing all hints of the heatwave. Rain tapped tentatively against the glass, first one fat drop, then another. There ended their summer, she mused rubbing her arms. She would miss the sunshine but at least she wouldn't burn to a crisp the next time she ventured outside.
A clatter of sound drew her attention to the kitchen. Mariam. Right, that was another issue to deal with. Amber kicked off the throw and rose to her feet. She stretched and felt something in her back pop. The scent of frying batter made her mouth water and she shuffled over to Mariam, peering over the older girl's shoulder. "Pancakes. You're making pancakes?"
"Princess Charming awakens," Mariam said, pushing a damp strand of blue hair out of her face. The rest had been twisted up into an elegant knot that Amber would never be able to imitate with her own hair.
She stifled the twinge of envy and perched herself on the counter, studying the array of ingredients. "I think you mixed up your fairy tales." The word curdled on her tongue and she wrinkled her nose, glancing out the window again. "How long was I out?"
"Two hours roughly. I took a shower while you were sleeping but the water's still warm if you want a bath."
Amber shook her head. She didn't do baths anymore. Not since she'd realised she was no longer alone. Baths were for self-reflection and time sat without anything to do often prompted Morrigan's attention. Amber never liked to be naked under Morrigan's scrutiny if she could help it. It was weird enough having her in her head, privy to her every thought and desire.
"I'm good. I'll take a shower later."
"I don't know if you'll be able to stand for a shower," Mariam replied, spooning in a ladle of batter which hissed and sizzled in the hot frying pan.
"I'll sit, I'll figure it out."
"If you say so. How's Morrigan?"
Amber blinked. "She's still out." She narrowed her gaze as she reached for a spoon, playing it over her fingers. "Did you do something to her?"
Mariam thrust a glass of something thick and pink at Amber who took it with a wrinkled nose. "Drink that. Don't ask what's in it," she said sharply when Amber's went to ask and Amber shot her a disgruntled look. How was she supposed to drink something when she didn't even know what it contained? What if it was poison? Mariam arched her a pointed look and Amber made a face. Right. Mariam had saved her life, she wouldn't kill her now.
"And no, I didn't do anything to Morrigan. If I had to guess, she's probably exhausted from piloting your body around. She manifested without being summoned." Mariam flipped the pancake. "I was thinking…"
Amber swallowed the cold liquid and felt it solidify in her stomach. She hated those words. They went right up there with "we need to talk" and "it's not about anything you did". Nothing good ever came from those kinds of conversations. They were the verbal equivalent of sticking a pin in a dream bubble. "What about?"
"About our conversation earlier."
Amber held the glass so tightly it should have cracked. In a movie, it would have cracked. Instead, it anchored her until she could compose her thoughts. "What about it?"
She didn't mean to sound churlish but she could see her one final hope shrivelling up in front of her. It made her stomach churn as she tried to not overreact.
"We need a new plan. A better plan."
"We already have a plan and it's a good plan. We don't need a better one." They would seal the bitbeasts and save the world. What other plan was needed? She'd wracked her brains for weeks trying to come up with an alternative but short of stealing all the beyblades, she'd come up with nothing and stealing beyblades was a temporary plan. Heck, it would probably result in jail time, it's not like she had skills to rival Catwoman. Her first attempt at thievery would probably result in her appearance in front of the judge. No, she needed Mariam's plan to work.
"It won't work."
Amber closed her eyes and squashed down the sudden overwhelming sense of defeat. "Yes, it will." She forced the words out through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing lump in her throat. She wasn't going to cry. She reached out to Morrigan but again the yawning black stretched before her.
"Look," Mariam began.
"No," Amber snapped, setting down the glass. "We have a plan. You can't just decide the plan isn't going to work." She jumped down from the counter and rounded on Mariam, fingers clenched. "If you don't want to be part of this, then fine. I'll find someone else."
"Shut up and listen," Mariam said and Amber found herself on the wrong end of the fish slice and took a step back. "One, you won't find someone else, there's no one else who can do this. Two, it won't work because it'll make things worse. If we were just sealing one bitbeast then yes, it's a great plan but there are roughly forty bitbeasts in Ireland for this tournament that I'm aware of. There could be more."
Mariam closed her eyes and composed herself, before relaxing with a long exhale as she turned back the frying pan. "To seal a bitbeast, I need to lure it out of its bitchip with my bitbeast. That means for every bitbeast I seal, two bitbeasts must be summoned to fight, it's the only way to cut the tether. Battling a bitbeast into submission can take anywhere from 5 minutes to 40 minutes, maybe more depending on how strong the bitbeast and beyblader are. And every time a bitbeast is summoned, it exudes energy. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She didn't wait for Amber to answer before she continued, "By trying to seal the bitbeasts to stop the fae escaping, we'll be providing the energy for them to return to this realm. So how many bitbeasts will we seal before we inevitably cause their escape?"
Mariam ladled in more batter while Amber digested what she said. Her legs lost strength and she fumbled her way into the chair by the table. She covered her face with her hands and struggled to breathe past the tightness in her chest. They'd already lost. The fluttering feeling of hope dropped to the ground with a visceral splat. "I failed."
"You—" Mariam cut herself off with a sharp sound of disgust. "Stop overreacting. You haven't failed. Not yet. We have a plan, you're right, it's just not a quick fix. Worst case scenario we can seal all the bitbeasts and hope that if we seal enough, the bladers will run scared. And hopefully, that will happen before we release the fae."
"What's the alternative?"
"The alternative is to let the tournament continue." She held up a warning finger when everything Amber rebelled against that idea. "That's only four to six bitbeast battles a night and while that happens, we talk to Dickinson. He's the head of the WBBA."
Amber rolled her eyes. "I know who he is. I tried talking to him but he brushed me off." Because no one believed the deluded Irish girl. Story of her life.
Mariam paused in the middle of lifting a pancake then slid it onto the stack warming on the hot plate. "Well, he doesn't know you."
"Does he know you?"
"Me, personally, I doubt it but he knows of the Saint Shields. And he owes us, so the fact that the Saint Shield clan is making the request will hold some sway."
Amber frowned, wondering about the dark undercurrent of that tone. Had something happened between Dickinson and the Saint Shields? What kind of sordid history did this sport have?
"Why don't we go talk to him now?"
"Because, Miss Impatient, things like this usually go smoother when you have some evidence or proof to back up your claim. Which is probably why he didn't listen to you in the first place."
"So we just sit and wait? That doesn't sound much different to what I was doing before."
Scowling, Mariam passed Amber the plate of pancakes. "Put them on the table and grab some cutlery. And we're not sitting and waiting, we're being proactive. But we either do it this way and possibly prevent the end of Ireland in fourteen days and save your family. Or we go seal all the bitbeasts and risk accelerating the end of Ireland by gorging the fae. Hey, you never know, maybe they'll be too stuffed to come out and play. You choose."
Some choice.
"Fine." Amber rose to collect the cutlery. "We can talk to Dickinson but he doesn't seem like the type to be swayed from his original plan."
The pink city bus pulled up to the stop and Hilary breathed out a sigh of relief as she joined the small queue to get on. Perfectly on time and by her calculations, she was right on schedule to get back to the arena before the registrations were due to take place.
"Told you," Mariah sang under her breath.
Hilary scowled and paid for her ticket, passing the coins through to the driver and snapping off the strip of paper. "You did and I'm going to ignore your smugness and say thank you for coming with me."
Mariah jerked a shoulder, dropping the hood of her blue coat and mittens. "It was either that or hang around the arena feeling sorry for myself because everyone else is getting hyped for the upcoming matches and I am just there." She sucked in a breath, cheeks puffing out, before exhaling loudly. "Being a spectator sucks, how do you do it?"
"I don't know how to be anything else. I was never a blader." Swinging herself into a seat, Hilary set her forms neatly in her lap and basked in the warm air blasting around the bus. She could already feel the blood beginning to swim through her body again. Condensation fogged the windows and a child across the aisle from them drew a smiley face and wrote the words Lucky You. Hilary smiled but it faded into bemusement as the child shifted. No, not an L and no Y.
Mariah smothered a giggle and turned deliberately from the scene as the mother began to berate the child as she quickly wiped the window with her sleeve. "Well, um, yeah." She bit back a smile and tried to compose herself. "That's a good point."
"Why aren't you blading? You could enter the singles tournament. I'm sure there's still time."
Mariah twisted a curl of pink hair around her finger. "I never thought about it. I've always been part of a team. It would be weird to get on stage without the boys and for what? To prove that I'm the best Beyblader?" With a grin that flashed a hint of fang, she said, "I already did that."
Hilary grinned back because that moment was iconic and embedded within her memory, the moment when Mariah had tag teamed with Rick and then proceeded to decimate the other bladers, including Rei and Max. "You did." She sighed. "The singles tournament makes me nervous."
"Why?"
Glancing around, Hilary sat up a little straight in her seat. "What if one of them loses in the early rounds? They all believe they'll inevitably go up against Tyson in the finals—and more than anyone, Tyson believes that too. But you've seen how matches go. There are always surprises. A little humility would do them good." Most especially Tyson. If he got knocked out, she wasn't sure what that would mean for the team.
"They'll get over it. Yes, they will get emotional and lash out, their pride and egos will get bruised, but then they'll suck it up because they have to. Just like Kenny will."
Hilary dropped her face into her hands. "Boys are so annoying. Honestly, did Kenny really think he'd beat Tyson?"
"I doubt it but to be knocked out immediately in both rounds was brutal."
It was. Even Hilary had watched the match from between her fingers, cringing when Tyson repeatedly sent Kenny's green beyblade flying out of the dish immediately after launch. No mercy shown and yet— "Tyson doesn't underestimate Kenny anymore. We've seen what Kenny can do when people underestimate him."
Tala was a prime example in the previous tournament and it nearly cost the Blitzkrieg boys. People just didn't see Kenny as a threat.
"That's what I'm worried about with these single tournaments," she continued as the bus crossed the bridge over the river Lagan. "There're always those bladers that have terrible stats and you think they will be an easy win, so you don't play your best and the next thing you know, you're out of the tournament. "
And all the sponsorships, the fans, everyone turned on you. She didn't want to see that happen to her boys, she definitely didn't want to see that happen to Tyson. He could be so frustratingly obnoxious when he didn't win. He got over it soon enough but those tense few hours or days could be downright unbearable. And when those moments did happen, it was Hilary who had to start knocking heads together.
She would have to do the same with Kenny later. He'd locked himself in his room claiming he needed to do some last minute upgrades to Rei's blade—which was code for sulking until he dealt with his feelings.
"Well, if they're foolish enough to not play their best regardless of who their opponent is then they deserve it. And they know this, so even if they do get angry it will be with themselves more than anyone else. They have this opportunity, it's up to them not to throw it away. Not yours or anyone else's."
"You're right. Thanks, Mariah. I really needed to talk to someone about this."
"You're welcome. It's nice to just talk about Beyblading without worrying that someone is trying to find out my weaknesses."
Silently agreeing, Hilary reached up to press the stop button and the bus slowed with a ding to announce its arrival at the bus stop. Mariah got up and Hilary followed her off the bus, holding her papers close to her chest. The cold slapped at her as she stepped outside and she stomped her feet. Honestly, how did the people in this country deal with the ever-changing weather? She never felt like she dressed appropriately, even her Bladebreakers jacket didn't do anything to ward off the cold.
"Hey, isn't that the Irish blader?"
Hilary nearly stumbled into Mariah when she abruptly stopped. "Oh, yes, that's him."
"I thought he'd be inside getting in some last minute training before he hands over his blade for registration."
Hilary frowned, slipping her forms into her coat as dots of rain began to kiss her cheeks, falling so soft and slow they looked like specks of snow. "What's he waiting for?"
But he didn't look like he was waiting for anything. He didn't lean against the railings, wasn't looking at the water. Instead, he stood straight, with his hands in his pockets and his gaze trained… on the apartment building across the river. Hilary's lips parted, her body turning cold and then hot in a rush that had nothing to do with the weather.
"Hilary? You okay?"
Hilary shook herself and nudged Mariah towards the arena. "Let's go." She didn't want to be caught spying on Eoin.
"Sure."
They strode towards the arena and Hilary shot a glance over her shoulder just as Eoin glanced over his. Their gazes met and she jolted. All but pushing Mariah into the arena, she kept up the frantic pace until they'd bypassed the security and found themselves in a quieter corridor.
She released a breath and rubbed her chest where her heart beat frantically against her skin.
"You okay? You look spooked."
"I'm fine." Hilary pulled out her forms from her jacket and brushed her hands over them, uncurling the corners. "Actually, could you do me a favour?"
"Sure."
"Could you cover for me tonight? I have somewhere to go and I don't want the boys to worry about me. You know how they get. It's like the idea of me having a life outside of the team is unfathomable."
And she didn't want to fall out with Tyson again. They'd only just sorted things. She understood his desire to protect but she needed answers and if she could defend her team, then she would do whatever it took.
"Where are you going? Is it dangerous?"
"No." At least she didn't think so. "And I won't be going alone."
"Okay, so who is going with you?"
"Ian."
Mariah grabbed Hilary's arm and pulled her out of the flow of traffic. "Okay, what is going on? You and Ian are very friendly recently and I am not the only one wondering what started this."
"We have a shared interest and common goal."
"Which is? Because you're on two different teams so the only thing in common you should have is a shared rivalry." Mariah straightened, pupils contracting to slits. "Is that it? Are you two spying on another team? You're not sabotaging someone are you, Hilary?"
"No!" Hilary blurted, her fingers tightening on the forms before she forced them to relax. "You think I'd do something like that?"
"You're extremely competitive. And you're teaming up with Ian who is arguably the sneakiest of the Russian team."
"He's not that bad."
Mariah folded her arms and her expression pointedly said that she wasn't going to budge until Hilary told her everything.
Hilary sucked in a breath and released it slowly, rocking back on her heels. "We're not sabotaging anyone and we're not doing anything illegal but we might have uncovered something that does require a little investigating. I haven't told the boys yet because… well, I don't know if it's something to be worried about. I want to have all the facts before I tell them."
"Is it the BEGA boys?"
"The BEGA boys…" Hilary deflated. "The rest of BEGA are here?"
Eyes clouded with trouble, Mariah nodded. "You didn't know?"
"No." So BEGA were here and the Saint Shields... That had to mean something, she just couldn't see how it all linked together. Which was why she needed to talk to Amber again. "No, Ian and I are going to visit that Irish girl we met. There's something about her, she knows things and I want to talk to her but since she's not a blader, it's a bit hard to explain that to Tyson."
"Honestly, Hilary, I don't understand either but if you need to talk to her, I can make up an excuse. When are you planning to go? Now? I can register the Bladebreakers if you want me to."
"No, I was thinking later during the tournament. The boys will be distracted and I can sneak out then. I need to register them first."
"Okay let's go do that and—"
Mariah's words died off and Hilary turned to find Ian storming down the corridor towards them. Jaw tight, a high flush on his cheekbones and murder in his eyes, Hilary should have stepped out of his way but instead, she stepped into his path. He glanced up and opened his mouth only to falter. Some of the initial anger drained before it came back with renewed force.
"Ian!" Spencer came around the corner and stopped at the sight of them. "Stop!"
Ian snapped something harsh in his native tongue to Spencer before turning to Hilary. "I'm going now. You can come or don't. Don't care."
Really? Now? Hilary glanced over his shoulder to Spencer who looked frustrated and a little distressed, and then back to Ian as he stepped around her and continued his march towards the lobby. With an exasperated sound, she shoved her forms at Mariah. "Register the boys, don't let Daichi have any sugar before the tournament, make sure they stay hydrated because the lights on the stage are really warm and—"
"I can do this, Hilary. I take it you won't be back for the tournament tonight?"
Hilary shifted on her feet, then spread her hands helplessly. "I don't think so. I have to go."
So saying, she chased after Ian. It wasn't like she was going to let him get all the answers before her and besides, she needed to let him know about Eoin staring across the river at Amber's apartment!
TBC