Chapter 8: Late Night Workout

Bare feet touched down on the cold linoleum floor. Spike hugged his arms close to his chest, stared into the dark, and leaned against his bunk bed ladder. His adjusted his eyes, trying to scope out his pants and shirt that he’d flung down somewhere before crawling into bed and failing to find the comfort of sleep.

Behind him, Kengo—turned to his side—back facing him, orchestrated a symphony of snores. It wasn’t his snoring that had kept Spike up (for once), but the impending trip to Las Vegas in the morning. It would be the first time in a few months that Spike had gone back to the States. It would also mark his next big challenge. If he beat the rock-and-rolling, one-person lightshow known as Iggy Astro, he’d clinch his Silver Star and move up the rankings. If he failed? Well, Iggy would probably snap his spine and use it as the staff for his next guitar.

Moonlight washed over Kengo’s backside, illuminating his impressive tattoo, the sun bear, frozen mid-roar, with eyes of burning fury. Kengo’s familiar, the aggressive and foul-mouthed Minoru, was so unlike his polite master. Then again, Spike recalled how viciously Kengo fought in the ring. Maybe the guardian spirit represented the fighter inside, a contrast to the shy, well-tempered sumo and roommate that Spike adored.

After tossing on a workout shirt and shorts, Spike tip-toed to his desk in an attempt to grab the keys without jingling them and making a racket.

Something a’ matter, cub?

Sleeplessness had turned into insanity. Or at least, that’s what Spike thought to himself as he stood frozen in the dark, with his keys in his hands. I'm hearing things again. I've gone crazy. Surprised it took this long...

Pssst. Look over here, twink.

Spike, more confused than afraid, swivelled his head to his slumbering roommate. Nothing. Or, nothing obvious. Spike narrowed his eyes. A soft, unearthly blue glow surrounded his sleeping roommate. At first, Spike mistook the movement for the natural rise and fall of Kengo’s broad back as he slept. The tattoo was alive. No longer prostrated with its head raised in a roar, the sun bear crawled down closer to Kengo’s spine. It reared up on its back legs and looked over at Spike.

Surprise, kid. It’s me. You know…Minoru.

Spike blinked. “I don’t want to wake up Kengo,” he whispered.

Hah! The kid could sleep through the end of the world, so don’t worry. Just think loudly at me. I can hear you.

Even though Spike had fully come to term with the impossibilities of magick, there were still some aspects of the paranormal that completely threw him for the loop. Case in point: talking tattoos. Knowing my head, if I try to ‘think’ at you, it’s gonna sound like an echo inside an empty warehouse. …Oh, am I doing it?

Yeah, I can hear you, cub. 

Wait, can you like...see into my thoughts?

You mean, can I see this fantasy you're having of Colt and Buck dressed as cowboys, tying you up like a cow and---

MINORU!

HA! I'm kidding. I can't see shit.

Right! Yes. That's definitely not something I've ever actually fantasied before...

What’s wrong, twink? Why are you up so late? Bad burrito at the canteen?

I need some fresh air. Can’t sleep. Too much energy.

The animated tattoo readjusted itself, lying down and cozying up in the curve of Kengo’s oblique. Fight got you spooked, eh? Well, for the record, I still think you’re a little shit for badmouthing my buddy. But he seems to like you, so…I guess I have to look out for you too, huh.

Spike smiled. I like Kengo a lot. I think he’s one of the best guys. But I think I’m a bad influence on him.

Probably. But he needs to grow a little bit of an edge, so you might be the right punk for the job. Hmm. Well, I don’t have to worry about sleep, so maybe I’m not the best spirit to take advice from, but if I had to give my two-cents, I’d say a light workout would tucker you out enough.

It wasn’t a bad idea. At this hour though? Meh. Never mind. Late night gym session. Sounds good to me.

The bear lowered its head, a satisfied reply. You’re a tough little shit, cub. You just need to sharpen your claws more.

These days, Spike would take the encouragement where he got it—even from non-corporeal beings disguised as body art. Spike tip-toed across to the door and touched the handle.

Then, he had a thought. Hey, Minoru. Question. This is going to sound weird, but there was another night back before a big gig when I couldn’t sleep either. I thought I heard something talk to me, just like you are now, but figured I was just being crazy. Do…all spirits speak like you do?

Huh? Well, yeah, I guess. It’s not like we really speak to each other, all buddy-buddy, but yeah, I imagine that’s the only way we higher beings can communicate to you stinking piles of animated meat. I guess other thingscould do it too. Gods. Demons. Who knows? It’s a wide, weird world out there. If you had to ask me? Your apartment was probably haunted, and you might just have a sixth sense.

Spike gulped. Great. Not the suggestion I wanted to hear as I’m about to walk out into the deep dark night.

Hehehe. Enjoy your workout!

The GSA's gym was open for 24 hours. It wasn’t usually staffed—especially this side of midnight—but the honor system kept everyone in check. Colt had also insinuated during orientation that he had magi on hand who could track down anybody who messed with his equipment, and that the punishment for breaking the rules would be ‘fitting’.

Spike shuddered to think what that could be. He pushed open the door, transitioning from humid evening and insect symphony to the sweet embrace of air conditioning and bright halogen. In order to not think of all the ghouls lurking in the shadows between here and the dorms, Spike had distracted himself by trying to come up with the tag-lines he was supposed to submit to the announcers for the show...in three days time.

Smells of old sweat and disinfectant hit Spike like an uppercut. The GSA was a modern gym, with state-of-the-art machines and weight racks, and a giant sign above the free weights saying “Those Who Do Not Return Their Weights Will be Piledriven”.

“The Pretty Boy Pinup who Packs a Punch!” Spike said aloud, trying his best to sound like Boomer Harlow. He set his eyes on the treadmill—cardo would help him sleep. “Nah, too many ‘p’ sounds; he’ll spit all over the mic. What about…the Assassin of Ass? Nah, too much ‘ass’.”

THUNK.

Spike looked over his shoulder at the direction of the noise. He assumed he’d be totally alone at this hour. I mean, who was crazy enough to go to the gym this late at night, especially since most of the other guys and gals didn’t have jobs? Those who were employed usually worked overnights, like Victor/El Amante at his bouncer gig. A pit formed in Spike’s stomach—was Cian here? The man for whom every damn day was leg day?

Thankfully no. Spike did not initially recognize the man squatting more than half his weight, and the Sailorboy was more taken by his rippling back and buttocks chiselled out of marble. Hard to put an ass—or a face—to a name. It also didn’t help that the last time Spike ran into the tall man with the white hair tips, he had been dressed in a fantastically tailored suit.

Joseph Haw turned his head to the side, having already noticed Spike before he’d noticed him. “Oh. Hello, old friend.”

As long as Spike had been training with the GSA, he had never once run into Joseph outside the investors gala. It was like running into Bigfoot. “Joseph!” Spike said, in both disbelief and genuine excitement. “What are you doing here so late?”

The tall spellbreaker turned around to face his acquaintance. During the party, Spike had noted his muscles hiding beneath his suit, but now with his arms exposed, they were even more formidable. His muscles were knotted and perfect. If Gio was the GSA’s benchmark for bulky bodybuilders, and Victor the king of all beefy hunks, then Joseph was a god masquerading as an Olympic athlete. Maybe Iggy came close.

The gentlemanly spell breaker patted his head with a towel. “I like to come when nobody is around,” he said softly. “It’s peaceful.”

Goddess, I have never wanted to be a towel more than in this moment. “Oh, sorry,” Spike said, scratching the back of his neck. “I could leave.” Truthfully, he was a bit intimidated by him.

Joseph's smile though, was anything but. “No. Not at my expense, you won’t. Besides, I am flexible. I enjoy company, from time to time.” He picked up his water bottle off the ground and took a chug. “And you have a calming presence.”

Wish I was that water bottle too. “Oh, thanks,” Spike said, trying to not to melt onto the floor. Still, this was still kinda weird. The night was pretty eerie already—with what Minoru, an actual spirit had told Spike. And now, running into Joseph again…

“Uh. Awkward question but…are you…like…a ghost?”

Joseph lowered his water bottle. He blinked. “Why…would you think that?”

“Well, I’ve never seen anybody else interact with you before! And I’ve only run into you at night time.” Spike heard himself and abruptly decided that if saying stupid shit was baseball, he was batting 300.

Thankfully, Joseph took it in stride. “Hmm. Well, discarnate humans only haunt the boundaries of where they passed on, so…unlikely.” He turned back to his weights. “Of course, I could be a spirit. Or a god.”

His subtle smile suggested a playfulness. “Definitely the later,” Spike gushed. “And wow. You are…buff. And I mean, there’s a lot of guys here who are big and bulky but it looks like you were made and not born. Like some kinda Greek statue!”

Joseph nodded, taking up the bar bell again. “Your flirting needs work, but the effort is commendable.”

With a sharp grunt, he hoisted squatted down and hoisted 300 pounds into the air, holding above his head, before letting it drop to the ground with seismic force.

“That is the other reason I prefer to work out at night,” Joseph said, breathing heavy. He wiped the swept from his brow. “I strongly dislike people who drop weights loudly. Unfortunately, with this set, there’s no other way to go about it.”

Polite and insanely strong? Spike couldn’t imagine ever getting to that level. “I haven’t done squats like that before.”

“Ah! Yours is the glyph of Dynamis, no? I don’t mean to pry, but how does that work in regards to muscle growth? You are quite small of stature, so naturally any muscle you put on will make you look large, and you seem to have quite a bit of it anyway. Still, I was wondering how magick might affect your workout routine.”

Not sure if I’ve just been complicated or torn apart just now. “Hmm. Well, magick like mine kinda' sucks when it comes to weight lifting. If I were to use my glyph, I wouldn’t actually build any muscle, since the magick would be compensating and doing the work. I actually have to…ermm…what’s the word.” He placed one hand over his palm, in a ‘covering’ gesture.

“Suppress?” Joseph offered.

“Yeah, that sounds right! So, it’s hard. LiuLiu is patient with me when she trains. I…can be difficult. I talk back a lot.”

Joseph laughed. “LiuLiu is very patient, isn’t she. She’s been through a lot, so I am sure one brat won’t ruffle her feathers too much.” Joseph bent over—indirectly giving Spike a great view of his jockstrap outlines under his tight workout shorts—and removed some of the plates from the bar. “I can show you this move. Here. Cut in.”

Spike’s first thought was to protest rather than run the risk of embarrassing himself in front of a hot guy, but then he decided to ‘suppress’ the feeling and just go for it. Joseph had offered, after all. He wasn’t acting like Spike was bothering him. And he clearly knew what he was doing. So, Spike took up the position and allowed Joseph to guide his footwork and posture.

“Careful now. Form is is the most important aspect of muscle growth. No ego lifting, here.”

Spike resisted the urge to shoot him a look. “I get that talk a lot from LiuLiu.”

After a few false starts and tests of patience, Spike managed to get the routine down. He dropped the weights with a heavy sigh—nowhere nearly as graceful and poised as Joseph—and sat down on the floor as his legs gave way.

“Wow, I don’t usually nail routines that easily,” Spike said, panting. He was sufficiently exhausted. Missioned accomplished.

Joseph looked like he was just getting started. “It helps to have someone to tell you to relax and step outside of your head, doesn’t it?”

“Huh. Yeah…I guess that is the trick.” Spike tried to stand. Nope. He’d rest a bit longer. “So, are you a teacher here too?”

“I do teach, from time to time.” Joseph put even more plates on the bar and then gave Spike a sly grin. “Hmmm. You still haven’t figured it out yet, have you? That’s…adorable.”

It wasn’t even a mocking ‘adorable’. It was a sincere, ‘I think that’s cute.’ Typically, Spike would seal the deal after a guy expressed interest—he was the ‘pinup prince’ after all. But he found himself so far out of Joseph’s league that he was playing a different sport entirely.

“Shucks,” Spike laughed. “Are you coming to Vegas?” It was an innocent question that could extract the right sort of knowledge Spike was looking for, as his thoughts turned more…blue. He seems like a good boy, but I bet he’s a real tiger in the sack…

“I am,” Joseph said. “I look forward to it. I haven’t travelled in some time. And I understand you are to fight Iggy Astro. Heh. They are certainly a fun match.”

Spike made a face. He couldn’t even picture an upstanding warrior like Joseph fighting a groadie, show-off like Astro. “I…wouldn’t use the word ‘fun. I’ve been on a winning streak lately, Joseph. But it’s adding to the pressure. I feel like if I don’t win this one, I don’t have a chance at spellbreaking at all.” Spike sighed. “Thinking the Bronze might have been a fluke.”

“Spellbreaking isn’t all about victories, Spike. The sensation of victory is fleeting.”

Spike frowned and gave him a wary look. “I mean…do you lose often?

“Well, no.” Joseph smiled, almost bashfully. It was irritatingly adorable. “But that’s not where I draw my enjoyment from this sport. Learning a technique or a move to the point of executing it flawlessly? Now, that’s fun.”

“I…yeah.” Spike’s head dropped into his chest. “I don’t know.” Trying not to let the pain show on his face, Spike forced himself off the ground and into a standing position. He’d gotten what he’d needed out of the gym, and then some.

“Who knows?” Joseph offered. “Maybe losing is the medicine you need. Bitter medicine, to be sure, but they say the best medicine always is.”

Though well-meaning, it was easy for guys like Joseph to rattle off tidbits of wisdom like that, Spike decided. He was probably at Gold rank, the top of the tops. Hopefully a top in other departments too...

“I’m not a big of fan of the doubt I’m getting here from you,” Spike said, though he tried to play it off as cheek. “Plus, medicine? Ew. I always hated the cough syrup the nuns gave me.”

“Oh, I have no doubts about you, Spike.” Joseph placed his hand, affectionately, on Spike’s shoulder. “But you are….hmm…young. A young soul. I think if you had your way, you’d avoid every lesson the universe threw at you just to avoid the sting of failure.” He laughed. “Failure. Mistakes. It’s the best invention humanity ever came up with.”

Spike was sure this mentorship would work on more receptive students, but he wasn’t ready to hear it. Doubt crept it. “Ugh, I’m gonna be pissed if Iggy sends me back to New Yawk in a box!”

“New…York?” Joseph tapped his finger to his chin. “So, that’s where your accent is from. I was wondering about.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to shake it.” Spike crossed his arms. “Where’s you from, anyway? Or are you gonna get all suave and secretive again?”

Joseph shook his head, smiling. “I’m from Singapore,” he said, taking up the weights again. “The City of Gardens.”

One of several harbors Spike had not yet ported in. “Well, hopefully I don’t die in this match, and I make it to Singapore someday.” He motioned to the door. “Anyways, thanks for all of this. I think I can sleep now.”

Joseph acknowledged his farewell, and then put even more weight on his dumbbell. “Take care of yourself, Spike. See you in Vegas.”

“Cactus…’nother cactus.”

“That is forty six cactuses so far.”

The GSA's rental bus tore down the dusty, desert road. Spike sat with his face pressed to the half-open windowpane, an attempt at cooling himself off. Goddess knew thethe hot wind from the outdoors wasn't cutting it.

Bus? More like a sauna on wheels. And we can't even take our clothes off...

He tried to distract himself from the miserable heat by counting cacti along the road. Kengo, behind him, kept an accurate tally.

Sitting in the adjacent row alongside Calypso, Rosa was a flower wilting. She tugged on her blouse in the hopes of airing herself out. 

She poked her head up from her seat. “Any more water in the cooler?” she asked Colt. 

Hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep his head cool, the muscular cowboy pressed a paper cup to the one cooler's spigot and twisted the tap. Nothing.

“We’re out.”

Rosa signed and peeped over her shoulder at Sanjay, spread out across two seats, sleeping, and drooling onto the cracked leather. Apparently, the heat didn’t bother him at all.

Rosa turned to her companion, Calypso, fanning herself. “Hey. Can’t you like…just make more water with your magick?”

The water magi gave her friend a tired scowl. “Not if there isn’t any moisture in the air.”

Needless to say, the long ride was wearing down on everyone.

Colt grumbled and pulled the map from the dash, giving their hired driver a respectful tip of the head. “Guys, we’ll be there soon enough. Looks like we got an hour left.”

“Sun’s going down too,” the driver grumbled. “It’ll get cold real fast out here.”

“I wish we had someone with ice magick to cool us off right now,” Spike wined. He kept his face to the glass, tracing the outline left behind by his own nose with his fingertip.

Colt leaned over his chair—more liked loomed. He shot Spike a ‘look’. “Complainin’ is only gonna make you hotter, y'know.”

Spike figured Colt was going for intimidation, but the absurdity of the whole scene outweighed his attempts. Spike laughed. “Colt, it just hit me. You’re like the teacher on the school fieldtrip.”

“I’ll just hit ya, punk!” His eyes smiled, betraying his empty threat. “And yeah, that’s exactly what I am. Y’all look like brats to me, far as I can tell.”

“You know, I’m sure you could conjure up a rain storm…”

“I don’t mess with nature like that, boy.” Outside, a low rumble of thunder invalidated his point. “Er…intentionally, anyway. Law of equivalence.” He stood tall and tried to take on a more professorial affect. “What we take, we must give back, and the forces of magick don’t discriminate on what they take. Could summon rain and land a tornado on Vegas once we get there.”

“Ahhh,” Kengo started up, deep in thought. “Yes. Cian calls that the three-fold return.”

His rival's name hit Spike like a bad smell. “Good thing Little Mr. Celtic Pagan is on the other bus.” He glared over his shoulder at the bus trailing them the dirty highway. Iggy was on that bus too. “The heel bus,” Spike mumbled contemptuously.

Colt sniffed. “O’Rourke knows his magick. The really old stuff. Old World magick is a bit beyond my ken, but…” He trailed off. 

Spike knew Colt wasn’t just one of the greatest spellbreakers to ever tussle in a ring, but a recognized magus as well. Buck had off-handedly mentioned the Institute of Glyphic Studies always reaching out to him for research purposes—but that was mostly because of an associated family-friend who worked there. Seemed Colt was always happy to comply with their research, likely for that exact reason. He was a loyal sort.

The president of the GSA leaned forward against the chair, placing his meaty forearms across the rim and giving Spike a long looking over. "Anyways, sorry I've been ornery lately. It's not the heat."

"Something on your mind, boss man?"

"Ah, shucks. I was gonna announce it after the show, but..." Colt rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was plain to see he was tired. "I been working like hell trying to get the GSA into a world championship of sorts. I don't want to let the jack rabbit out of the bag yet, but if you're wondering what these shadows under my eyes are all about, that's what's going on in cowboy land."

Spike observed Colt's handsome, rugged face. "I don't see anything, sir. But you know...you always look good to me."

"Aw shucks, Spike." Colt grinned.

From somewhere behind, Spike thought he heard Rosa cough. "Ass-kisser."

Spike ignored her. "So, world championships! Weren't you the world champion back in the day?"

"Was gonna be! Hahaha." Colt shrugged, somewhat embarrassed at the question. "I got out before that took off in earnest. The world championships haven't been running that long, in all honesty. Not since the ISC was formed."

Speaking of which, Spike had thought to ask how Mrs. Zorn was doing, ever since that stressful night at the gala.

Colt winced. "She's seen better days. Might not walk again, but she'll live. She's a tough one, Marianne. But, effectively, she's stepped down from her role." With that all said, Colt stared off into the distance. Something troubled him. 

Spike knew better than to dig, however. He changed the subject. "So who's the current global champion? I bet he's really tough!" And super hot. "Or...maybe, 'she'?"

Silence washed over the bus. Eyes darted towards Spike, though they weren't accusatory.

Great. Now what did I do? "What? Are they like...dead? Was there a scandal?"

The grimace painted across Colt's face certainly hinted as much. "Er...it's hard to explain. 'Dead' is...perhaps a good word. We don't really know who they are. Where they are."

Spike's head drooped. "What? I'm not following."

"Well, we know there was champion...about four years ago. We have fliers and everything to prove it. But then, suddenly...we all woke up without any memory of them." He sighed. "Yes, I know how nuts that sounds. But that's magick for ya!"

Spike looked around the bus. He felt like he was being made the butt of a joke again. "Okay, hold up. You tellin' me the greatest spellbreaker of the last few years just..." Spike snapped his fingers. "What about the match; had to have been televised right? Fight cards? There's gotta be proof. Nobody just deadass vanishes--"

"Language, young sir!" Colt said. He raised an eyebrow. "Any evidence? Gone. Every single tape is just....static. Blank spaces where images once were--and you bet your sweet pippy my boy was pissed when he saw his work messed with like that. We know it's magick, o' course. But there's magick and then there's....re-writing reality. Whoever did this is powerful."

Just when I thought this life couldn't get any fuckin' weirder. Spike sighed. "So...like, people are concerned about this, right?" 

Colt balanced himself as the bus hit a bump in the road. "Sure as heck. The ISC looked into it, but has swept it under the rug for the most part. Only solace I get is that it's sure as hell of a lot easier to kill someone than it is to erase all trace of them from existence, so it's unlikely to happen again." Colt swallowed. "Hopefully."

That's...not exactly a reassuring thought.

Spike lowered his voice. "Do you think...Firebird?"

"Eh? Nah, Semyon has magick of his own, but it's nothing like that. Plus, he's all talk anyway. More to the point," Colt continued, "the next Global Champion won't have anybody defending the title. Whoever the top two contenders are--they'll duke it out for the belt."

"I intend to be the first lady champion," Rosa cut in, confidently. "Er...maybe not this go around, but someday."

The uncomfortable tension subsided. Spike was glad for it. "I bet you could be! Easily!"

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful. As the bus chugged along the desert road, a dark blue ink spread across the sky. The horizon burned red with the dipping sun. Sure enough, the temperature cooled rapidly. Lights in the distance hailed the bus as it pulled onto a highway. Outside, a passing road signed announced Las Vegas Air Shuttle Station.

Luggage in hand, the spellbreakers were let out into a covered roadside station, complete with gas service and a diner. Colt lead the group towards a dock in the back. Spike made sure to stay behind Kengo and block his view of Cian and Iggy in front.

The blond spellbreaker, unsure of where they were headed, looked out into the city in the desert—an array of plain, blocky skyscrapers, office buildings, and tenements silhouetted against the twilight blue.

“That’s Las Vegas?” Spike asked nobody in particular. “Hm. I pictured it a bit more…flashier? Not what the postcards made it out to be.”

“Boy, that ain’t Vegas,” Colt laughed. He pointed to the opening up ahead, where the roof retracted.

Spike turned his eyes upward and was almost immediately blinded, then disoriented by just what hung in the sky. It was a city, a great, luminous city of dazzling and changing light, at a distance. Only, it was far above them—taller than the largest of Manhattan’s skyscrapers even. The city of Las Vegas hung in the sku, as if the Goddess herself had pinned a glittering jewel to night’s trailing mantle.

“Yep,” Colt laughed, giving Spike a pat on the shoulder to snap him out of his reverie. Colt nodded towards a covered vehicle up ahead, presently loading passengers. It looked like a miniature zeppelin, but with the dual engines of a passenger jet. Spike noticed one or two of these sky shuttles mid flight towards and away from the city in the sky.

Kengo marvelled at the sight, choosing to speak on his stunned roommate’s behalf. “So…this is what happens when magick meets technology.”

“Or principals of atomic energy,” Sanjay, trailing his suitcase, wisely pointed out. “Largest conglomerate of Atomos glyph magi in the world up there. Whole city runs on a big atomic core that helps keep it afloat.”

“You kids wanted one hell of an away show,” Colt said, slinging his arm around Spike and Kengo and pulling them in tight. “Daddy Colt always treats his kids right! Now, let’s check into the hotel and hit the casinos! Viva Las Vegas, baby!”

NEXT CHAPTER!