I correct, “You found me a half an hour from my house in Trumbull, Connecticut.”
“Shhh,” he hisses in my head. Aloud he says, “Though, silly me. I completely forgot. I have this thing tonight.” He checks his bare wrist as though there is a watch to peer at. “I can’t stay. I have to go, uh…rob a convenience store.”
Kit makes to leave, but is halted by Balores laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Stay for the game, Tonkitgrol. You can…‘rob a convenience store’…any day of the week.”
Kit stares in the man’s eyes. They’re dark and empty—and familiar? Why do I know those eyes?
Kit audibly gulps then sinks into his seat. “Sure. I suppose I can reschedule.”
I ask, “Who is this guy? He seems like a real dick.”
In the void, he says, “Be quiet, Lacy.”
“Excuseme? Why?”
Kit doesn’t respond. The demon with the high ponytail deals out the cards. Kit takes his hand and brings it up so we can both see it. His hands are visibly shaking, nerves radiating so hard through him that there is a buzzing in my void.
I don’t know a lot about poker, but I do know what a full house is. He has a six of clubs, a six of diamonds, a queen of hearts, a queen of clubs, and a queen of spades.
“Nice,” I say. “Can you win with that?”
“Shhh,” he hisses again. What is his deal?
I sit back in my chair and cross my arms. They go around the table, playing cards or folding. Kit folds. The hand that wins, Balores’s, is a flush (four of diamonds, six of diamonds, seven of diamonds, eight of diamonds, and ten of diamonds). A full house would have beat that.
I repeat this aloud.
“Lacy, I am begging you to stop talking. Maybe try to get some sleep.”
“What’s with the attitude?” I demand.
“I will tell you when we leave. But for now, pleaseshut the fuck up.”
My jaw drops in outrage, eyes watering from the shock of his tone.Asshole. I slam my mouth shut. Kit has never yelled at me like that before.
He continues to play. I watch but don’t say anything, even when he gets a royal fucking flush and still folds. He’s losing onpurpose. The only times he plays a hand is when he knows there has to be a better one at the table.
This Balores guy freaks him out, that much is obvious. But why? What is he going to do to Kit if he wins?
There’s liquid at my feet—beer filling my void.
I sigh but don’t complain. I don’t need a grumpy demon yelling at me again. I just pick up my feet and sit cross-legged on the chair, my elbows on the ledge before the window, watching.
As soon as the game ends, other demons collecting gold coins and, of course, Balores collecting the witch’s bone, Kit tries to shoot out of there.
Balores catches him by the arm, his grip so tight my arm pinches. “It’s been a while since you were in Hell.”
“Garficious said the same thing. I am planning a visit.” Garficious actually told him to stay away, but I won’t mention that.
He eyes Kit up and down. “I’m disappointed in you. Truly. You are not living up to expectations.”
“I apologize, sir. I will try harder.”
“You were a waste of energy.” He leans closer and growls, “And a thief.”
Balores releases Kit, and we teleport instantly back to my apartment.
Kit folds down onto the cool tile in my entryway, breathing hard. So hard and rapidly, in fact, that I think he’s having a panic attack. Can demons have panic attacks?
