“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.
“What cards?” he asked.
“The cards on the table,” I shouted. “Make sure you get all of them.”
I didn’t have time to check on Talbot, because the bartenders, obviously two of Brad’s friends, advanced toward me.
I’d knocked Brad unconscious, but his two friends looked bigger and smarter than he was.
“We’re gonna beat that smart-ass attitude out of you,” one of them muttered. When his fist connected with my ribs, I regretted the generous tip I’d given him earlier. The second man moved to hold my arms while I was doubled over from the punch.
Talbot came to my assistance and hit the second guy with a folding chair.
I looked around and noticed that Kyle had bolted at the first sign of trouble. Spenser ignored the fight; he was too occupied with stuffing my cash into his pockets.
My mouth was bashed and cut. I grinned through the blood as I hit the bartender in the stomach with rapid punches. He fell to the ground. I kicked him in the ribs until he screamed with pain.
“Let’s get out of here,” Talbot said. He pulled me away.
“Did you get the tarot cards?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied, but I didn’t move.
“All of them?” I asked.
“Yes, all seventy-eigh
t of the damned things. Now let’s go!”
The sirens I heard in the distance clued me in about his sudden need to leave.
We ran from the bar and didn’t slow down until we were a block from our building.
“That went well,” Talbot said wryly. “We left most of the money.” He handed me a small wad of bills and the tarot deck.
I grinned at him. “It went better than you think.”
Chapter Thirty
I was going to break into Parsi Enterprises. I didn’t have a key and I knew the place was warded, but it might be my last chance. There had been too many near misses lately, and in my experience that meant the aunties were closing in.
The downstairs lobby was deserted, but I didn’t expect it to be that way for long. I made it to the office without detection, but the big double doors were locked up tight. I’d come prepared, though.
Not with magic, which might set off one of the wards, but with a spare key I’d swiped from Trevor’s desk. It had been helpfully marked FRONT DOOR.
I turned the knob quietly. The place was about as lively as a tomb. I wanted to snoop through Alex’s office.
I fished out a penlight and shone it around. I’d become familiar with the layout in the last few weeks, so I knew exactly where Alex’s office was. It was locked and this time I didn’t have a spare key. I examined the lock and then went back to the reception area for a paper clip.
I was sweating by the time the lock clicked and the handle opened.
I crossed to the desk and rifled through it. Then a switch was flipped on and light flooded the room. Gaston stood there, smirking at me.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Gaston said. “Son of Fortuna. I’ve been looking all over for you and you’ve been right under their noses.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “You attacked me at the magic shop. I was just defending myself.”
I hated the guy, but I had to give him his props. He was a skilled Tracker.
He strode toward me, eyes full of premature triumph. “I knew it was you,” he said. “I see I left you a little souvenir.”
The cut he’d given me at Zora’s had left a small scar. “I cut myself shaving.”
“I finally found you,” he continued to crow, so I let him go on.
I shrugged. “Think what you want.”
“There’s one way to know for sure,” Gaston said. “Sawyer, come on out.”
Sawyer appeared and his normal friendly smile had vanished.
“Sawyer, what’s going on?” I told myself they couldn’t prove anything.
His lips moved, but there was a roaring in my ears, which blocked out what he was saying.
He was removing the occulo spell. It felt like someone was flaying the skin from my body. The medicine woman had warned me removal would be painful, but she’d seriously undersold it.
The agony receded and I met Sawyer’s eyes. He’d be able to see the real me. I’d gotten used to the spell’s protection and I felt naked without it.
“He’s playing you, Sawyer,” I said.
“You’re telling me you’re not the son of Fortuna?” he asked. “You look just like her.”
“I’m not saying that,” I said. “I’m saying not to trust Gaston.”
Gaston’s grin sent a shudder through me. “Don’t listen to him, Sawyer. He hates your wife, your entire family.”
“I know you are behind it all,” I said. “I know you’ve been poisoning Decima, that you tried to poison me. You’re trying to take down the Fates, but what I don’t understand is why.”
With a quick movement, Gaston used a spell and immobilized Sawyer.
“Why was Sawyer helping you?” I asked. “Doesn’t seem like his style.”
“Sawyer Polydoros used to be a badass necromancer,” Gaston said. “But even a badass can be made to do my bidding. I just needed the right leverage. His daughter.”
“Naomi?” I had to force myself not to punch him.
Gaston grinned at me, clearly pleased to know something that I didn’t know. “His other daughter. Wren. The one he didn’t want his wife to know about.”
“Who’s the mother?” I asked.
Gaston laughed. “That’s Sawyer’s dirty little secret, isn’t it? The only person in the world the Fates hate more than the son of Fortuna.”
Sawyer gave me a pleading look, but I ignored it. I couldn’t afford to show any weakness in front of Gaston. “So what’s the plan?”
“Why should I tell you?” he snarled. “You belong to the Wyrd line.”
“Let’s just say we have a mutual goal,” I said. “Why do you think I came to Minneapolis? I came to make the Fates suffer as much as my mother did. So what’s your plan?”
The hatred in my voice must have convinced him, because he started talking.
“I want power,” Gaston said. “I’ve been doing their bidding like a trained monkey. Do you know what that feels like?”
I had an inkling, but I shuddered. Gaston was a twisted version of me.
“I’m going to kill them,” Gaston finally said. “And then I’m going to take over. You got a problem with that?”
Getting rid of the Fates was something I had to do all by myself. I raised an eyebrow. “And if I do?”
“Killing you won’t work,” Gaston said. “I’ve certainly tried enough times. But that pretty little girlfriend of yours is mortal. I’ll enjoy it.” Now I knew where Jenny had gotten all her bruises. Gaston was a demented bully.
“Go ahead,” I lied. “I’m bored with her. Mortals can be so tiresome. Silly little fool believed every lie I told her.”
“You don’t care?” he asked. I’d thrown him off-guard, but despite everything I didn’t want Elizabeth to become another dead person I used to know.
“Of course not,” I said. “Why else did she have to slip me a libido spell?”
He gave me an oily grin. “At least you got something out of it. Maybe I’ll try her out next.”
“Be my guest,” I said. I forced my clenched fists to relax. “Now what do you want me to do?”
“That spell didn’t hold up so well, did it?” Gaston replied. “But I have plans for you.”
I held up a hand. “Tracker, I have a proposition for you. Just don’t kill him.”
“I thought you hated the Fates.”
“I do,” I said. “But Sawyer doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Yes, he does,” Gaston said. With a swift movement, he pulled out a knife and sliced Sawyer across the neck.
I tore off my T-shirt and applied pressure to the wound to try to stem the bleeding. My scar throbbed in sympathy. I started a healing spell, but it wasn’t working. There was blood everywhere and I flashed back to how brightly the red droplets had gleamed on my mother’s snowy pillow.
Sawyer was dying in a pool of his own blood. A bloody knife lay next to him. He’d been stabbed by the same knife Gaston had threatened me with. I picked it up and waved it at Gaston. “I’ll kill you.”
That’s when my aunt and cousin decided to show up. They took in the scene at a glance.
“Do something,” Naomi screamed.
“Naomi, Nona, a little help here,” I snapped. “Healing spell. Now!” They recited the Latin, but it was too late. Sawyer was fading.
Naomi looked like she was going to throw up.
“I found them here,” Gaston said. “Sawyer must have surprised Nyx when he broke in.”
Morta appeared holding her golden shears just as she had when my mother died.
“No,” Nona wailed. “Please, I’m your sister. I love him.”
“She’s just doing her job, darlin’,” Sawyer said weakly.
Morta touched Sawyer’s hand, and a glowing silver thread appeared in the air above him. She cut the thread in one quick motion and he stopped talking. Stopped breathing. His thread of fate had been severed, which had ended his life.
I saw the sheen of tears in Morta’s eyes, but she didn’t speak,
just shook her head.
When Nona turned back to her dead husband, Morta met my eyes and then slowly, deliberately pointed at me before she disappeared.
I stared at the spot where Morta had been. What had she been trying to tell me? And why couldn’t she just spit it out already?
Nobody moved for a second. The silence seemed to stretch all the way to eternity.
Nona let out a long wrenching scream. “Why did you do it, Nyx? Tell me, damn it!”
I realized I was holding the bloody knife and dropped it.
“Revenge,” Gaston said quickly. “He’s the one you’ve been looking for. Your sister’s son. Look at him closely.”
Nona came so close that our noses were almost touching. It made it easy to see the hate in her eyes. “It is you,” she said. “I wish I’d cut your throat in your crib.”
Her pain gave me no satisfaction. The hatred I’d felt for my aunts had been washed away, replaced by pity. At least for Nona.
“Gaston did this,” I said. “Not me. He’s framing me.”
She turned, eyes dazed with pain. “I don’t believe you.”
“He obviously raised a ghost for someone,” I said. “It had to be someone who had a hold on him. So who? That’s Gaston’s knife. He tried to use it on me just the other day.”
Naomi was crying so hard that she couldn’t speak. “Get out,” she finally said. “Don’t come near me again or I swear I’ll find your thread of fate and cut it myself.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Nona said. “He’s not going anywhere. Gaston, grab him.”
I didn’t want to leave them alone with Gaston, but I didn’t have a choice. There was no way Nona would listen to me after what had just happened. I ran.
Chapter Thirty-One
I needed to talk to Talbot, to convince him to keep Naomi and her mom away from the Tracker, but when I stopped by Eternity Road it was locked up tight. Ambrose had given me a key, so I turned the lock in the door and went in.
The air smelled wrong, like mummy dust and a thick layer of decay. The smell of a necromancer.
“Talbot? Ambrose?” There was no response.
“Damn it, Talbot, where are you?” I shouted, but there wasn’t any answer.
Strange Fates Page 19
