Wild Card (Etudes in C# Book 1)

by Jamie Wyman

  “Do not cross him.” Dahlia’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Stay away from him at all costs. This is the only warning I can give you.”

  Stepping back a few paces, her eyes traced up Marius and meandered down the length of my dress. “You look…lovely.”

  I ignored her attempts at civility. She’d long ago lost that right with me. “Why would Puck have plans for me? I’ve never even seen him until tonight.”

  “You are relevant to his interests.”

  “That’s sweet, I suppose, but I’m beholden to Eris, not to the Fae.”

  “Things change,” she enunciated. “One flip of the cards and the world can tilt the other way.”

  My stomach fell. Dahlia’s eyes sparked and crackled with electric intensity as if she could will her thoughts into my head. She didn’t have to. I knew damn well what she meant.

  Shame and fear began to boil at my center. “No,” I said.

  “What?” Marius asked, looking lost as he returned to the conversation. “No, what?”

  “Not again,” I snarled through my teeth.

  Dahlia nodded somberly. “There is a game afoot, Cat.”

  “I love games,” Marius said. “I’m particularly fond of ‘Hide the—’”

  I cut him off with a backhand to the gut. Shoving past him I got right up in Dahlia’s face.

  “Out with it, Faery. What the hell is going on?”

  Her eyes floated around the room as if making sure we wouldn’t be overheard. “The usual game,” she muttered. “Same as always. Your mistress got in deep, apparently, and bet big.” Dahlia’s honey-colored eyes pierced me. “Very big.”

  Sick with fury and terror, my guts rolled and sloshed. Shaking my head I whispered, “No.”

  Dahlia nodded.

  The usual game. A flip of the cards. Eris. She bet big. Piecing it together wasn’t too difficult, but the reality was hard as hell to accept. Voice thick with nausea, I asked, “Eris wagered my soul in a game of poker?”

  Dahlia dipped her chin.

  Blood thundered in my ears like flowing magma. Any moment I might erupt. “How can I stop it?”

  “You can’t. The bet is made. It’s just a matter of who has the winning hand.”

  Without another word, Dahlia spun on her spiked heel and sauntered to the tables of Fae lords.

  “Incredible,” Marius said, drawing out the word. “I haven’t seen an ass that divine since—”

  “Shut up,” I barked. “Just shut up.”

  Hatred sizzled on the back of my tongue, acrid and bitter. I loathed Dahlia with the fire of a thousand constellations. And now? With this news? I was pissed at Marius for thinking her beautiful. Pissed at Eris for…well, where to start? Betting my soul? Sending me here? Any number of bullshit missions she’d sent me on in the name of paying off my debt to her?

  More than anything, though, I was pissed at myself.

  Did I actually think I could put on a nice dress and a little bit of makeup and be someone else? Did I think it changed the fact that I was stuck as a slave to a bitch goddess?

  No. Nothing changed.

  And that’s the problem, I thought. Nothing ever changes. Same shit. Different day.

  Livid, I rounded on Marius. “Call her!” I snapped. “Call Eris. I know you can.”

  Marius took a wary step from me. “Why should I bother her?”

  “Just call her, dammit! This is important.”

  The satyr rolled his eyes and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket to withdraw his phone. With a few deft swipes he dialed the goddess.

  “My Lady,” he purred reverently into the phone. He didn’t get a chance to say more. I snatched the cell from him and brought to my ear.

  “What have you done?” I growled.

  “Cat?” she asked. “Is that you?”

  “What. Have. You. Done?”

  Her laugh was a throaty glissando of schadenfreud. “Trouble at the party, dear?”

  “What have you done with my soul?” I shouted. Red-eyed with rage, I didn’t see the reaction in the room, but my skin prickled with gooseflesh as though every guest turned his or her attentions to me.

  Marius took me by the shoulders and guided me off the dance floor to a quieter, more secluded area of the ballroom. In my ear, his voice murmured, “Why did you just bleed into a pool full of sharks?”

  I shoved him away and found the first pocket of shadow I could along the outer edge of the ballroom. Over the phone, the goddess sighed.

  “Cat, dear,” Eris said, “you didn’t think our arrangement would last forever, did you?”

  “Fuck no! But I at least thought it would end with me getting what’s mine!”

  “And you may yet.”

  “How? You bet me in a poker game!”

  “Listen closely, Cat, for this is all the aid I will give you. There are four others in the game. Each of them has a token. Procure these, bring them to me, and you may get what the freedom you desire.”

  “How am I supposed to—”

  “Don’t pretend to be inept, you silly girl. Your mind is keen, and I expect you to put it to use. Think. Follow your instincts, call in favors, break a few laws. You’ve done no less for me in the past. I don’t care how you do it, but if you want your soul back you will get the tokens. And don’t dally. Tempus fugit.”

  “But who are the others? What are the tokens?”

  She hung up. I spat an oath and stalked back to where Marius stood. As I thrust the phone back at him, he tossed me a carefree grin.

  “Well, that didn’t sound good,” he observed flippantly.

  I charged across the ballroom and elbowed my way to the bar.

  “What are you doing?” Marius asked from behind.

  “Getting drunk,” I said.

  Marius pushed past me and flattened his palms on the bar. “Whatever this woman wants, make it a double.”

  Chapter Six

  “Taste the Pain”

  Never underestimate the short attention span of a satyr. I’d downed one already, but once he put the second Rusty Nail in my hand and parked me at a table, Marius abandoned me to go salivate on the enhancements of a showgirl. I didn’t mind, really. While he cozied up to her breasts, I nursed my whiskey and Drambuie. Instead of calming down, though, I sank into a melancholic haze.

  My soul was being used as a bet in a poker game. And now I had to find some stupid trinkets and take them to the goddess? Grinding my teeth, I played over all of the things Eris had said and questioned every syllable. Why send me here to this party? What was the point? Why get me all gussied up and send me on a pseudo date with Marius?

  And then there was Dahlia. He has plans for you, she’d said. I know never to trust the Fae or take them at their word, but Dahlia’s cryptic warning piqued my interest. Was Puck playing against Eris to win my soul? It seemed to be the case, but why? What could Puck possibly want with me? Knowing the Fae for the vicious, backstabbing pixies they were, I didn’t think Puck’s designs would be any prettier than Eris’s.

  Regardless of Dahlia’s motives or a faerie’s schemes, this latest “fuck you” from Eris served as yet another reminder that I didn’t belong to myself. I couldn’t live the way I wanted to. She had me trapped in a bell jar until she wanted to let me out to run on her leash. I took another drink, hoping to drown out the sound of my thoughts.

  And now this…

  I let my eyes drift and my mind wander. Before I knew it, my glass was empty.

  “It’s a shame to see a woman sitting by herself,” a man said from behind me.

  Before I even turned around, I’d already begun to wave him off. My hand fell to the table, though, when I got a look at him. He was Native American with deep laugh lines in his leathery skin and silver in braids hanging down past his ribs. His eyes twinkled in a friendly way, reminding me of a loyal dog.

  And he radiated capital-P Power. My brand pulsed with a deep thrum that reminded me of low drums, thunderstorms, and desert rain.

&n
bsp; The man placed a glass in front of me. I could smell whiskey and a sweet, citrus tang. He lifted his own tumbler to plump lips. “May I join you?” he rumbled after a drink.

  I sipped from the new glass and let the cool booze slide through me. “Thank you,” I said, gesturing for him to join me at the table. “You’re welcome to sit, but I don’t know that you’ll want to. I’m not having a very good night.”

  He swallowed his whiskey. “For the drink, you are quite welcome, young lady.” He sighed, and when he spoke again his deep voice reminded me of smooth, supple leather. “I see you wear Discord’s brand. One rarely passes a good night in her company.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “If you were with old man Coyote,” he said, hooking a thumb at himself, “I assure you, you wouldn’t be wasted here, sad and lonely.”

  I thought about the past, my empty present and dwindling future. “I’d be sad and lonely with anyone,” I muttered.

  We shared silence for a few moments. As he stretched out his legs, his weathered Levi’s hitched up to reveal the pattern of his scuffed, brown, steel-tipped boots. Suit jacket, button-down shirt, and bolo tie heaved as he let out a long breath and relaxed into his chair. While the old man tapped out a rhythm on his glass with a large silver ring, I looked into the shapes of the ice in my drink. Glints of light twinkled from the melting cubes and created a prism in amber. Like finding pictures in the clouds, I named the ever-shifting forms. A mouse. A dragon. An elephant wearing a space suit.

  When I downed the rest of my drink, Coyote smiled. “Not many women enjoy this particular cocktail,” he said.

  “Rusty Nails? They’re my favorite.”

  “I’m fond of a Sloe Comfortable Screw, myself,” he winked then looked around the room. “Where is your mistress?”

  “She couldn’t be here tonight. I’m here in her place.”

  The native’s long face drooped, creases forming between his eyebrows. “What is your name?”

  “Cat. Cat Sharp.”

  “Short for Catherine, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  His laughter began in barks of disbelief, escalated into hearty guffaws, and ended in a lupine howl. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “My luck is good tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Coyote reached into the pocket of his blue jeans and slapped a ruddy hand onto the table. He pulled it away to reveal a black poker chip with a golden apple at its center.

  Through my whiskey haze, I began to remember what the spirit Coyote does in his pantheon. Like Eris, he creates some measure of havoc. The mischief playing at the lines of his mouth made me uncomfortable.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “A promise.”

  “Of what?”

  His parched lips peeled away from his teeth in a lecherous grin. “Your night is about to become considerably more pleasurable. You will be coming home with me.”

  The Native arched his back and let out another howl, this one singing of victory. “Hot damn, I love redheads!” he said.

  As I stared down at that damned golden apple, my blood began to burn with anger and embarrassment.

  “What is it?” I growled.

  Calm and cool, as if he were placating a child, Coyote took my hand and placed the chip in my palm. Curling my fingers over it and patting my fist, he said, “This is our agreement.”

  It took me longer than it should have to suss out, but understanding hit me between the eyes like a ton of bricks. A Trickster spirit with my mistress’s symbol on a poker chip. A token.

  I tried to keep my voice from shaking. Considering I’d had a few of cocktails, though, I don’t think it worked. “Are you part of the game?”

  Waving off my question, he reached into another pocket and handed me a slim, plastic card. “This is my room key. Tell me,” he said leaning forward, “do you like it doggy style?”

  I didn’t answer the naked hunger in his eyes. I threw the key card in his face and scanned the room for Marius. He was over by the bar with yet another woman.

  As I pushed up from the table a little too quickly, the room shifted in a kaleidoscope of divinity. Like a tender lover, the whiskey wrapped itself around me, encasing my mind in a gossamer sheet. The threads Marius used to stitch together his glamour sparkled in the air. His face seemed waxy, almost, glowing with ephemeral light. The longer I stared at him, though, little black holes began show. I could make out the slightest shadow of his horns, and they appeared jagged. Broken.

  A waitress stood beside him, blushing as the air around her twisted like a mirage within the satyr’s spell. I stalked toward him, picking up the last parts of a string of his lies.

  “…think you’d be perfect for it. Shall we set up an audition tomorrow? My place? Dinner?”

  “Marius,” I said, punching him in the arm. “We’re leaving.”

  He tried to wipe me off of his shoulder as if I were little more than lint. “I have no idea who you are,” he snapped. Leaning over the woman’s ample chest, he put on his best leer. “Now where were we?”

  “Dammit, Marius, we’re going.” I grabbed him by the ponytail and dragged him after me toward the door. He spat protests at me the whole time. The other guests stared as we passed, but I didn’t give a shit.

  “You fucking harpy, let go!” He shoved me off. Looking around as if embarrassed, Marius began smoothing his hair, jacket, and tie. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “We are leaving,” I slurred. “I’ve had it.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “What was your first clue? Come on, Marius. Take me home.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  I staggered toward the door. “Oh no. If you think this means you’ll get me into bed, you’re wrong. I don’t sleep with you non-human types anymore.”

  He caught up with me a few steps away, past the centurion with his pike. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Whiskey,” I said, shrugging off his hand. “Lots of it.”

  “I can smell that, but what I mean is how do you expect the goddess will react if she finds you’ve left before finishing a job?”

  I pawed at the air. “Fuck her.”

  Marius grabbed me by the upper arm and jerked me back. “You hold your tongue, mortal!”

  “Or what? What are you going to do to me? Huh?”

  It’s probably not wise to pick a fight with a magical being. Especially when intoxicated. Oh well. I may be intelligent but wisdom has always been my dump stat.

  “What do you think you could possibly do that is worse than anything already done to me by that bitch?” I spat.

  Whatever he would have said went unspoken. I put too much effort behind trying to throw a punch, tripped, and crashed into him. The poker chip fell to the ground with a heavy, resonant sound. As Marius caught sight of the chip, all mirth drained from his face.

  “Where did you get this?”

  I blew a raspberry and started to stumble toward the valet. “That guy back there gave it to me. You won’t believe what he said. Or maybe you would, you’re both horny bastards. You probably hang out together.”

  A moment later, Marius was in front of me. He took my face in his hands and guided my gaze to his. “Catherine, answer me.” The golden apple flashed in my eyes. “Where did you get this?”

  “I told you. Coyote gave it to me.”

  “You are absolutely certain it was Coyote?”

  “That’s what he said,” I sloshed with a shrug.

  He pursed his lips and regarded me warily. As he shook his head, he gave the valet his claim ticket. When the guy had left, Marius turned back to me. Holding the poker chip between his thumb and forefinger, he asked “Do you know what this is?”

  I pitched my voice low and added a little over-the-top gravitas. “It is the Mighty Poker Chip of Abundant Douchebaggery. He who holds it will inherit the powers of—”

  “Shut up,” he spat. “This is serious. This is
one of Eris’s personal markers.”

  “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  As the car pulled up, he went mute again. I melted into the passenger seat. When Marius had strapped himself into the car he leaned over to make sure he had my full attention.

  “Catherine, if someone else has this chip it means the goddess has struck up a bargain with them. It means Eris may have sold you to Coyote.”

  Despite the fact that every line on his face was stony and sober, I giggled. “Boy, do you have some catching up to do.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Storm in a Tea Cup”

  Marius guided his car up the Strip, past the famous volcano at the Mirage, the sirens of Treasure Island. The lights of the casinos blurred around me, but I noticed nothing in particular. I spent the time rambling to Marius in a drunken slur of profanity and anger.

  “She bet my soul in a fucking game of poker. Can you believe that shit?” I held up the poker chip. “This is all I am now! Little clay tokens that I have to track down if I ever want to be free.”

  “Did she happen to say from whom?” Marius asked.

  “No,” I sneered. “The bitch wouldn’t tell me.” He flinched at my disrespect toward Eris but didn’t bother to reprimand me for it. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

  Without answering my question, he said, “Eris doesn’t have to tell you anything, you know. You are her property.”

  “Bullshit,” I said, my voice filling the car. “I am not something to be bartered!”

  “Actually, you are. Eris has a mortgage on your soul. If she chooses, she can sell it to whomever she wants, and you have to go.”

  The taste of my own blood filled my mouth as I bit down on my lip. “No,” I said. “Not this time. She said we’d be through after tonight.”

  “Funny how that’s still true if someone else wins the game,” Marius said as he made a left turn.

  “I’m not laughing. Besides, she said if I get these stupid chips, I’ll be free.”

  “Did she now? What else did the Lady of Strife and Discord tell you, hmm?”