Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

deliberate step after another.
    I wait for Chagra to rip into Lor’s body, but it doesn’t. It’s waiting for something.
    Lor stirs and blinks, and then tries to push up from the ground. Chagra lets out another howl, and I’m sure my ears are going to start bleeding. So this was what Chagra was waiting for; it wants Lor to be conscious when it makes the final blow.
    Chagra crouches, preparing to leap at Lor’s prone body. Lor manages to roll over and look at the beast. His fear is gone, and in its place is fury.
    That’s when I notice it. The tattoo. I remember seeing a glimpse of it in the prison, the very edge of the ink poking out from Lor’s shirt. Now, with his shirt gone, I can see it all.
    It starts at his mid-back, swirling around his spine before the black ink snakes over his right shoulder. The tattoo is of flames, and it looks so real, I wonder how Lor isn’t burned.
    My eyes follow the ink-work, trailing along the familiar lines of the tattoo. I look for something different about it, but it’s just the same as I remember it.
    Maybe all Angels have this tattoo. Maybe that’s why Lor also has it.
    Then I remember Ashe’s killer. He didn’t have a tattoo, and neither does Jackal, or any of the other non-humans I’ve seen.
    But Ashe did. And he didn’t just have
a
tattoo. He had
this
one.
    “He lied,” I whisper. It can’t be coincidence that both Ashe and Lor have the same tattoo. What are the chances that Lor shares the mark with a random demon? No, that’s not possible. Lor lied; Ashe wasn’t just a demon. He was an Angel, just like I always believed.
    An Angel somehow connected to Lor.
    I have one moment of sheer excitement. Did Lor personally know Ashe? Can he lead me to Ashe’s killer?
    But none of that matters if Lor dies.
    “Stop the Match,” I say.
    Father doesn’t hear me, so I raise my voice. “Stop the Match!”
    Father waves his hand at me, like he’s trying to flick away a bug. He gazes intently down at the arena, his smile growing as Chagra nears Lor. Lor shakes his head, as if to clear his mind, and drags himself away from Chagra.
    “Father!" I scream. “Stop the Match! Now!”
    Father finally glances over to me, but only for a second. “Calm down, Faye. Don’t make me have to restrain you.”
    His voice is toneless, but the threat is real. I glance over my shoulder at Jolik, hoping he’ll shake his head at me and smile, telling me that he’d go against Father to protect me. But he does none of those things, and just stares blankly out into the arena with his arms crossed over his chest, like he’s warding off my gaze.
    I bite my lip, glaring at him, and then look down at the arena. I don’t have any choice but to watch the rest of the Match. Watch as Lor dies, as Chagra rips his tattoo to shreds. Watch as I lose my last connection to Ashe.
    Lor is still backing away from Chagra. I taste blood in my mouth, but refuse to stop biting my lip. It’s the only way I can keep myself from screaming out directions to Lor.
    He’s still dazed, unable to pull himself to his feet. But he manages to drag himself through the dirt with his arms, away from Chagra.
    But he’s not going the right way. Lor should be going towards the center of the arena, where he can’t be cornered. Instead, he drags himself toward the far corner.
    Chagra increases its pace, slinking forward until it’s only inches from Lor. Lor yells something at it–his words are in a different language, and I can’t tell what he’s saying. But it sounds furious.
    Chagra snarls and bristles, making me wince. Lor should know better than to yell; Chagra likes playing with its victims, but not when they talk back.
    “Father,“ I say. ”
Please.
”
    He doesn’t even look at me.
    Chagra crouches, its tail lashing back and forth, and prepares to leap. Lor desperately grabs at dirt, but a handful of sand won’t stop Chagra. Even another stone probably wouldn’t stop him, now that it’s scented blood and is closing in on the kill.
    Chagra leaps. I want to look away. I should. But then I see Lor’s hand grasp around something and throw it forward. There’s a glint of metal, a shrieking howl, and a second of silence that lasts an eternity.
    Then noise so intense I feel like I’m drowning in it.
    Everyone stands from their seats, clapping, whistling, cheering. They point towards the arena floor, as if all eyes weren’t already on it. Most of the crowd is grinning while they cheer, their eyes wide with