The Cracks in the Labyrinth

Chapter 10 (Part 2)

They both moved on their toes, like caged animals ready to attack. Adam danced forward. A left jab, a parry, another jab, followed by a right hook. Magda ducked and dodged every punch he threw her way.

His mind raced, trying to guess what his opponent intended to do next. If I throw three jabs, she will duck my hook. She knows it's my signature combination, he thought. I'll include an uppercut after the —

Adam didn't see what happened. Pain pierced the left side of his face, and he found himself on the ground.

"Fuck," he said, pretending this had been enough to knock him out.

"Up! You can still fight."

She was right. I'm not dizzy or anything. Adam spat and got back on his feet.

"How did you—?"

"I know you. You're trying to get into my mind."

"Predict your next move."

"Dumb."

Adam closed the gap on Magda and faked an upswing hook. He assumed the upcoming attack would come from —

Magda's lightning jabs stung his face until an uppercut slammed him in the gut, leaving Adam on his knees.

"You're doing it again," she said.

He gasped for air that failed to reach his lungs. What the hell happened to my life? Did I walk under a ladder or something? Adam struggled to get back up. Superstition was never his first recourse, but how else could he explain the last couple of days?

"You're too fast," Adam said.

"No."

"I'm too slow, then."

"What does it say up there?"

He didn't need to look at the banner hanging above her office door. While Magdala might have been a boxer since she came out of her mother's womb, her lifetime hero was no boxer. She loved Bruce Lee.

"I'm in no mood for cheap motivational quotes."

Magda got on her knees to meet Adam's eyes.

"Read it."

He sighed.

"Be like water."

She set him back on his feet.

"You don't need no mints."

"What do I need?"

"To recognize the guy in the mirror."

The gaze of everyone in the gym hardened upon him. Among the people enjoying the show were two kids who had helped Papa Smurf unload the food supplies earlier in the day. Fine, Magda. I'll adapt. Without giving it a second thought, he tried to counter her jabs. If my fists can't get to you, let's see what my tongue can do.

"'Know thyself.' Cliché much?" Magda's gloves grazed Adam's chin as he staggered backward. An inch closer, and he would have ended on the canvas again. Shaken up, he stuck to his plan: "Before speaking like a fortune cookie, practice what you preach."

She slowed down.

"I'm not the one who's lost."

"No. You are the teacher whose students are stealing food."

His next hook landed on her temple, flinging her into the ropes.

Adam meant to deliver a right cross after that. He wasn't so lucky. This time he saw her fist coming in fast but couldn't do anything about it. A flash of white pain sent him back. Falling, he heard the helicopters flying above, casting their lights on the crowd tearing itself apart. And then he smelled the miasma oozing from a long millipede coiling like a spiral staircase that led straight to hell.