Strange Fates (Nyx Fortuna) (23 page)

“No one in Minneapolis would do that,” Nona said.

She meant no one would do it without her permission.

“What if a necromancer were training an apprentice?” I asked.

Sawyer nearly choked on his pecan pie. He caught me staring. “I forgot the whipped cream,” he said.

“I’ll help,” Nona said grimly.

“Your dad’s a little jumpy,” I commented after they left.

I was glad I had accepted Naomi’s dinner invitation. I’d learned a lot—and maybe the most important thing was that my aunt was an excellent liar.

“There’s some problem in his department,” Naomi replied. “He’s the VP in charge of product development.”

Alex and Sawyer were both in product development. “What kind of problem?”

Naomi shrugged. “Some boring technical thing to do with the water they’re using. No biggie.” She pushed around the pecan pie on her plate.

“What’s the matter?” I asked her. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“So, you think my dad’s a practicing necromancer, is that it?” she asked.

The ability to lie didn’t seem to run in the family, at least not when it came to me lying to my cousin’s face.

“Maybe,” I told her. I didn’t want to tell Naomi that I thought her dad might have something to do with Alex’s disappearance.

Her parents came back, both stony-faced. It was clear they’d been fighting in the kitchen.

After dessert, Nona said, “Nyx, could you help me with the dishes?”

“Of course,” I said. I wondered what she really wanted.

I followed her to her gleaming high-end kitchen. She wrapped an apron around her waist and then handed me one.

“I’m good,” I said. “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“I want you to tell me if you hear any more of a necromancer in Minneapolis,” she said.

“I will,” I promised. I helped her load the dishwasher in silence.

After my first family dinner, I was more bewildered than ever. I thanked them for a lovely evening and drove home. The evening wasn’t what I had been expecting, but nothing in my life was lately.

*  *  *

In the morning, I whistled as I flipped over the
OPEN
sign at Eternity Road for the day.

“You’re in a good mood,” Talbot commented. “What the occasion?”

I’d made it through a family dinner without being recognized or tortured, reason enough for my good mood. Either Gaston believed my story or he hadn’t told my aunts I was in town. I couldn’t figure out why he’d do that. I ignored Talbot’s sarcasm and got to work.

I was trying to sell a tourist a set of early-twentieth-century china, but she dithered about the cost. “I’ll knock off another ten percent,” I said.

The prospect of a bargain decided it for her and I rang up her purchase.

“
Buon fortuna
,” she said.

“
Buon fortuna
,” I replied, but the phrase made me uneasy. It wasn’t common in the United States. Maybe it was a coincidence, but my good mood evaporated.

What if Gaston had figured out I was the son of Fortuna and decided to hurt the people close to me? He’d done it before. I grabbed my phone and called Elizabeth.

“I thought you were working today,” she said.

“I am,” I replied. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” she said. “Why?”

“No reason,” I said. “I’ll see you later. Gotta get back to work.”

By continuing my relationship with Elizabeth, I was putting her in danger. The aunts would not hesitate to use her to get to me, but I wasn’t willing to walk away. My cash reserves were getting dangerously low and I needed money in the bank, just in case I had to run. But I was sick of running, so it was time to fight. At best, I figured I had a week before the Tracker caught up to me again.

“You know any quick ways to make money?” I asked Talbot. I wanted to buy the hex sign from Ambrose. It would take more money than I had to convince him to sell it to me.

He gave me a look. “A legal way? No. A borderline sketchy way for someone of your talents? Yes.”

“How?” I asked. My friend was being suspiciously mealymouthed.

He hesitated. “High-stakes poker. Very hush-hush.”

“A backroom poker game? Sounds perfect,” I replied. I was the son of Lady Fortuna. It didn’t get much luckier than that. At least where gambling was concerned.

“Nyx, I can’t stress this enough. The people who run it are not nice people. They will hurt you.”

I was intrigued. “Who are they? Russian mobsters?”

“Worse,” Talbot replied. “Frat boys.”

“Piece of cake,” I told him. “I am a poker god.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “Ever played tarot poker?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll get the cards,” he replied.

The bell over the door tinkled and an elderly woman came in. She wore an ancient trench coat with worn spots on the elbows and a faded dress with thick tights and men’s boots.

Talbot left to fetch the tarot deck while I helped our lone customer, who wanted to pawn something.

She opened a small silk purse and spread out a bunch of jewelry on the counter. “My husband gave it to me. He was quite generous.”

I took a closer look at her stash. Her husband was a cheapskate. Every last piece was costume jewelry. From the looks of her, she hadn’t had a good meal in days, but she didn’t have the permanently windburned look of a street person. Not yet, at least.

“Can you give me anything for it?” she asked. Her hand trembled with the effort not to beg.

“I can give you five hundred for all of it,” I said. It wasn’t worth that, but maybe Naomi or Elizabeth would like the earrings.

I took some money out of my wallet and counted it out into her waiting hand. She tried not to look too eager. “I may have more at home,” she said.

“I’m not sure we can use anything else—” I started, but something in her faded blue eyes stopped me. “But I’ll take a look.”

Her face lit up. “I’m not promising anything,” I said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. But there was a spring in her step as she left.

I stared after her. The money wouldn’t last long and then what would happen to her?

“That was a nice thing you did,” Talbot said.

How long had he been standing there? “I’m already regretting it,” I snapped. “And now I own five hundred dollars’ worth of crap.” I wanted the evidence of my folly out of my sight, so I shoved the jewelry into the pocket of my jacket.

Talbot just smiled. “Let’s play cards.”

Three hours later, I stretched. “I think I’ve got the hang of it,” I said. “Now where is this game?”

“The Red Dragon,” he said.

“Set it up,” I said.

“Already done,” he said. “Tonight at midnight.”

I barked out a laugh. “How gothic of them.” I added, “I’ll have to stop by the bank at lunch. That old lady cleaned me out.”

“Why do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t care,” he said.

“I don’t,” I told him, but his expression told me he wasn’t convinced.

He dealt the cards and stared at me.

“Be careful tonight,” he said.

“Of a bunch of drunken frat boys?”

“I’m serious, Nyx,” he said. “I know you have a death wish, but I would like to live to see another day.”

“You’re coming with me?”

“These guys are suspicious bastards,” he replied. “Don’t let their looks fool you. Besides, they won’t let you in the game if I don’t show up to vouch for you.”

“What should we do until then?” I asked.

“Drink,” he said. “You won’t make it past the door if you don’t have whiskey on your breath.”

At five minutes to nine, we closed up Eternity Road and walked to the Red Dragon.

We slid into a hard wooden booth far away from the dance floor, but it reminded me of Elizabeth.

 “You said you met here. How exactly did you meet?” Talbot asked.

“Her date stabbed me.”

“Doesn’t seem like a promising start to a relationship,” he commented. I knew he didn’t like Elizabeth. He never said anything, but I could tell.

“Tell the truth. You don’t like her,” I said.

He hesitated. “It’s not that I don’t like her,” he said. “I do. I just don’t trust her.”

I sucked in a breath. I’d asked for the truth. It didn’t mean I had to like it.

The silence stretched until the waitress brought another round of shots.

I tossed mine back. The fiery liquid burned going down. “What do you call a group of frat boys?” I asked.

“Is this a joke?”

“No, I mean the grouping. Like a murder of crows?”

Talbot thought about it and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“A cluster fuck,” I said. “A group of frat boys is called a cluster fuck.”

“Don’t be a dick,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “I am what I am.”

“And don’t quote Popeye, either,” he snapped.

I had expected him to laugh, but my poke at the frat boys had irritated him for some reason.

I found out why when two college boys approached our table and greeted Talbot with a complicated handshake.

“Hail, brother,” the taller guy said. They were both good-looking with gleaming white teeth that pegged them as Americans and expensive clothing that told me they could afford it if I cleaned them out.

“Hail, brother,” Talbot replied.

I didn’t try to hide my snort of laughter. Talbot was a frat boy.

He ignored my amusement and made the introductions. “Nyx, this is Kyle and Spenser, two cardsharps you need to watch out for.”

He was buttering them up before we took all their money. I shook their hands and smiled politely. “So how do you guys know each other?” I asked, just to see Talbot squirm.

“Fraternal brothers of the order,” Kyle replied.

“A frat,” I stated.

“Spense and I went to college together,” Talbot said. “We pledged different frats, though.”

I noticed that Kyle, who was a skater rat type, had an oak leaf pattern on his hand-painted shoes, but Spenser, who wore a custom-made suit, had a tie clip in the shape of a trident, which signified the House of Poseidon.

“Ready?” Spenser said. He was perfectly controlled, except a tiny twitch in his right hand that told me he was a gambling addict.

He led us through a side door that I’d assumed was a janitorial closet, but which turned out to be a back room. It was barely bigger than a supply closet, but it had a fully stocked bar, staffed by two bartenders, and an unpleasant surprise.

Brad, the guy who’d stabbed me, was sitting at a round table, sitting atilt on his folding chair like he owned the place.

He jumped to his feet when he saw me. “You!” he said.

“I don’t know why you’re so pissed off,” I said. “You’re the one who stabbed me, not the other way around.”

“You left with my girl,” he accused.

I smiled at him. “She’s my girl now.”

His friends seemed to agree with him that this was an offense worth attempted murder.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Talbot muttered. In a louder voice, he said, “Gentlemen, are we here to fight over some woman or are we here to play?”

Spenser, he of the shaky hands, lunged for the cards. “Let’s play.”

After a long glare at me, Brad took his seat sullenly. “Deal,” he snapped at Kyle.

Talbot leaned in. “You’re actually going to play a hand of poker with a guy who stabbed you?”

I grinned at him. “I’m going to clean him out,” I said. “Watch.” If the son of Fortuna couldn’t beat a douche bag like Brad at a game of chance, I didn’t deserve to call myself my mother’s son.

They played with a Tarot de Marseille deck. One of the bartenders refreshed our drinks at regular intervals.

I watched the other men as I played. Kyle was there for the free drinks, but Spenser had the gambling bug bad. Brad was the one I really wanted to beat. He played cards like the cocky asshole he was, but he wasn’t stupid.

We played well into the night, by candlelight. I didn’t play to win, not at first. Mostly, I played to wipe the supercilious smile off Brad’s face.

A stack of cash accumulated in front of me. As my stack grew bigger, Brad’s stack dwindled, along with his bucktoothed smile. He stroked his cards nervously. I remembered his hands all over Elizabeth and I wanted to punch his face in.

When I’d trumped him again, he folded his hand very precisely. “How about we use a new deck?”

I glanced at Talbot. Did Brad think I was cheating? But Talbot’s face didn’t betray anything. He didn’t even bother to frown at me, which made me think we were in dire straits.

All thoughts of danger went out of my head when I saw the new deck. It was a traditional Jeu de Tarot deck, the cards gilded and paper-thin with age. I could almost smell the faint scent of freesia that would have clung to it. My mother’s lost tarot deck.

“You’ve seen a deck like this before?” Brad asked.

“Yes,” I said. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

His eyes gleamed at my clipped reply. He knew I wanted it.

We were finally down to the last hand. Everyone else at the table had folded.

Brad’s expression told me if he had anything to say about it, the night would end in my blood being spilled again.

The candles flickered. I pushed the stack of chips to the center of the table. “I’m all in,” I said. “Including the deck of cards.”

“It’s my lucky deck,” Brad protested.

I started to pull the chips back, but he stopped me. “Wait, I’ll take the bet.”

I smiled. Brad was desperate, which meant he was gambling with money he couldn’t afford to lose.

Brad had a dead man’s hand, which in traditional poker was eights and aces, but in tarot poker was the Wheel and the eight of Wands.

I flipped my cards over slowly, watching Brad’s eyes as I did. I fanned out my winning hand: Kings, Queens, Pages, and Knights.

He realized he’d lost and his eyes turned frantic. I moved a split second before he threw the knife. It hit the wall behind me with a dull thud. My head had been in that exact spot a moment before.

Then I was over the table and onto him. I smashed his head into the table before he could react.

“Talbot, get the cards and the money,” I said. I gripped Brad’s hair and gave him another thump for good measure.