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cared. Ink had hardly cared. Samson and Apollo were perfect specimens of masculinity while Chaos was thin and plain and uninspiring. In the brawl, the other four zombies had smacked him down and no one groaned in disappointment or shouted for him to get back up. At the post-party for managers later on, the bigwigs couldn’t even remember who Chaos was. Chaos had been standing there on one of the champions’ podiums in the stadium’s clubroom and Ink heard Bayder say to Gorvich wait, which one is this? They knew Samson like the back of their hands, Hades and Maenad and Dionysus, but Chaos . . . whoever had placed the zombies on the podiums around the room had put him on the most unassuming one, the one all the way over in the corner by the generator that would keep the dazzling light on just in case the power to the stadium failed.
    But t he fifth place adult male winner and they couldn’t remember! And that was true of every party, every win that belonged to Chaos. Ink hadn’t planned to take him to the Games. The vet said Chaos needed another month to heal his upper arms, both of which had taken severe injuries that impeded his ability to swing a punch. Ink hadn’t even offered him for rental. Chaos wouldn’t represent Delwich Stables well.
    Ink had to save his reputation. He had to show up at the Games with something besides the kid. If only Medusa was ready! People liked her a lot. But that was beside the point. He had purchased a place for one male in the 20-35 fighting class, and he had to show up with one. If he didn’t, all anyone would talk about was how someone had driven him out of the Games by killing his prize zombie. He had to change their focus, show them that losing one fighter didn’t mean his stables went defunct even if that was true.
    It was about image. Either he showed up with an adult male, or he didn’t show up at all. Showing up with only the kid was not an option. Nadia could have her fun in guiding him down the walkway to the stables and waving his hand to people, but only if Ink and a true contender followed them in. Chaos . . . Ink just couldn’t bring himself to trot out that messed-up, yawner of a zombie who was certain to fall first in the melee.
    He checked the time. If Vasilov didn’t want an early morning call, he’d have turned his phone off. Ink scrolled down to his name and clicked on it. The phone was answered on the first ring, the old man’s warm, rumbling voice a soothing sound. “Ink! I was just about to call to express my condolences.”
    “You heard?” Ink asked.
    “Oh, my boy, everyone has heard. The phones have been ringing all night. Everyone is shocked! Scandals, scandals, we’ve all seen them, yes. But this was audacious. Outrageous! Such poor sportsmanship. Fingers will point, yes, fingers are already pointing at Gareth Hodging, but I don’t believe it for a minute. Are you still there?”
    “Yes, I’m here.”
    “I’ve known Gareth since he was a baby on his mother’s knee. I worked with his father before him, yes. The Hodgings are an honorable family, do you know this? They win some. They lose some. They do not take it personally. Their money, their fame, neither comes from zombie shows! It comes from oil, from investments, from real estate. This is a hobby to them, a very serious hobby, yes, but a hobby nonetheless. They would never stoop to such tactics. Never! So disgraceful. I have told three people this already. Point those fingers elsewhere. The Hodgings are bringing their Athena to the Games, hoping that she will knock Maenad from her throne once and for all, and Hades for men. It is Athena in which they have more interest. Do you know what Gareth said to me when Hades lost to Samson at Filo? It was no shame to take second to such a glory. Yes, Gareth was happy for you. Hades is good, yes, very good, but Samson was special.”
    Yes. Samson had been that. Vasilov cleared his throat and continued. “The Hodgings are shocked. Absolutely appalled,