Another robed man appeared from the door. His robes were cut slightly differently from the council’s and somehow sported even more gold embroidery. Rather than a helmet, he wore a headdress more in line with what a priest might have. Indeed, that’s what he seemed to be as Chris and Trey knelt before him. The priest marked their foreheads with oil and said some kind of blessing I couldn’t hear. Then, to my shock, he made the sign against evil on his shoulder—the Alchemist sign against evil.

I think that, more so than any of the spiels about evil vampires or shared usage of ancient symbols, was what really drove home the fact that our two groups had once been related. The sign against evil was a small cross drawn on the shoulder with the right hand. It had survived among the Alchemists since ancient days. A chill ran through me. We really had been one and the same.

When the priest was finished, another man came forward and handed each of the cousins a short, blunt wooden club—kind of like what police sometimes used in crowd control. Trey and Chris turned toward each other, locked in aggressive poses, holding the clubs in striking positions. A buzz of excitement ran through the crowd, as it grew eager for violence. Evening breezes stirred up dust devils around the cousins, but neither of them flinched. I turned to the council incredulously.

“They’re going to attack each other with those clubs?” I asked. “They could be killed!”

“Oh no,” said Master Ortega, far too calmly. “We haven’t had a death in these trials in years. They’ll take injury, sure, but that just toughens our warriors. All of our young men are taught to endure pain and keep on fighting.”

“Young men,” I repeated. My gaze moved down to the bleach blonde girl who’d brought me in. She was standing near our bleachers, holding her gun at her side. “What about your women?”

“Our women are tough, too,” said Master Ortega. “And certainly valued. But we’d never dream of letting them fight in the arenas or actively hunt vampires. Part of the reason we do what we do is to keep them safe. We’re fighting this evil for their good and our future children.”

The man who’d handed out the clubs also announced the rules in a loud, ringing voice that filled the arena. To my relief, the Juarez cousins wouldn’t be beating each other senseless. There was a system to the combat they were about to enter into. They could only hit each other in certain places. Hitting elsewhere would result in penalties. A successful hit would yield a point. The first person to five points was the winner.

As soon as it started, however, it was clear this wasn’t going to be as civilized as I’d hoped. Chris actually landed the first hit right away, nailing Trey so hard on the shoulder that I winced. Animalistic cheers and whoops rang out from the bloodthirsty crowd, echoed by hisses of dismay from Trey’s supporters. Trey didn’t even react and kept trying to hit Chris, but I could tell there’d be a nasty bruise there later. Both of them were pretty fast and alert, able to dodge a majority of the attempted blows. They danced around, trying to get through each other’s guards. More dirt was kicked up, clinging to their sweaty skin. I found myself leaning forward, fists clenched in nervousness. My mouth felt dry, and I couldn’t utter a sound.