“Aw, hell,” I whispered, having it come out as a thin moan of a squeak. My eyes were open, and I forced them closed. They felt as dry as sandpaper. A few more painful blinks and the tears started to flow again. Slowly the gray wall of my carrier swam into focus.

“Mr. Kalamack!” called a welcoming voice, and the world spun as the carrier turned. “The upstairs told me you were here. I’m so pleased.” The voice got closer. “And with an entry! Wait and see, wait and see,” the man nearly gushed as he pumped Trent’s offered hand up and down. “Having an entry makes the games vastly more entertaining.”

“Good evening, Jim,” Trent said warmly. “Sorry for just dropping in on you.”

The mellow cadence of Trent’s voice was a balm, soothing my headache away. I both loved and hated it. How could something so beautiful belong to someone so foul?

“You’re always welcome here, Mr. Kalamack.” The man smelled like wood chips, and I scrunched back, bracing myself in the corner. “Have you checked in, then? Do you have your placing for the first round?”

“There will be more than one fight?” Jonathan interrupted.

“Indeed sir,” Jim said brightly as he gently turned the grate of the carrier to face him. “You play your rat until it’s dead or you pull it. Oh!” he said as he saw me. “A mink. How very—continental of you. This will change your odds, but no worry. We’ve fought badgers and snakes before. We thrive on individuality, and everyone loves it when an entrant is eaten.”

My pulse quickened. I had to get out of there.

“Are you sure your animal will fight?” Jim asked. “The rats here have been bred for aggression, though we have a street rat making a surprising showing the last three months.”

“I had to sedate her to get her in the carrier,” Trent said, his voice tight.

“Oooh, a feisty one. Here,” Jim offered solicitously as he snagged a notebook from a passing official. “Let me change your first round to one of the later matches so she has a chance to fully shake her sedation. No one wants those slots anyway. There’s not much time for your animal to recover before the next bout.”

I inched to the front of the carrier in helplessness. Jim was a nice-looking man with round cheeks and an ample belly. It would only take a small charm to make him into the mall Santa Claus. What was he doing in Cincinnati’s underground?

The jovial man’s gaze went over Trent’s unseen shoulder and he gave someone a merry wave. “Please keep your animal with you at all times,” he said, his eyes on the new arrival. “You have five minutes to place your entrant in the pit after you’re called or you forfeit.”

Pit, I thought. Swell.

“All I need to know now,” Jim said, “is what you call your animal.”

“Angel.” Trent said it with a mocking sincerity, but Jim wrote it down without a moment of hesitation.