“Your call, Lucas,” the dealer said.
Right. Cards.
“It’s Beck,” I corrected. “And I’ll raise. Let’s make this interesting.”
In a room full of men who didn’t see money as an object, value was assigned to less tangible items. Favors, especially the kind I offered, could endow a personwith things far more valuable than riches. Things not bought with dollars and cents.
“I’m in the mood to make a deal,” I said.
That got their attention. Especially Stefano’s. He’d never approved of my line of work, claiming it was fraught with dishonesty and treachery he couldn’t abide. Gambling with paper and bills was more his speed than wagering souls. He liked his risks visible, his terms enforceable, and his hands clean.
I wagered in broader strokes. Fortunes. Futures. I’d dabbled in life and death more times than I could count. It was a business I’d been steadily backing away from. Not because I’d gone soft, but because I’d stopped needing it.
But tonight, I was putting my cards quite literally on the table.
The other players must have known me or at least knownofme, judging by the ripple of whispers that answered my statement. But my pitch was for the wraith. Tailor-made for Maslow because he was the only one in this room who possessed something worth betting on.
“I can make your dreams come true, gentlemen,” I said, giving the words a bit of flair. A little showmanship never hurt. “One dream fulfilled. One wish granted. Guaranteed. Who’s in?”
Gazing around the table, I watched the other men squirm. I knew what they were thinking, what they were weighing up. Everyone had a list, a few things they believed to be unattainable. I’d been asked for lifesaving medical treatments, extra years of life, the return of a lost love, fame, or a second chance.
I could grant those. At a cost, sure. The universe always took its cut, but I could manipulate that too. Make the price bearable. Almost fair.
Stefano arched a silvery brow. “How could we possibly assign a value to such an offering? Surely you have some strings to attach.”
He was giving me an out, which was better than dismissing me entirely since this was his domain and he could decide that my negotiations weren’t welcome in it.
“Not tonight,” I replied. “I’m feeling generous. Let each of you decide what an equivalent buy-in would be. We’re all honorable fellows; I’m sure the wagers will be fair.”
The Rossetti brats exchanged glances, and one of the human players crossed himself, half joking. None of them trusted me, but they were tempted.
Maslow leaned back in his seat. “Come now, Beckett,” he crooned. “Surely you have something in mind. Unless you’re angling to win back your expenditures from the other day. But I should tell you, I don’t issue refunds. Especially not on used goods.”
My jaw tightened, and I swallowed the retort building in my throat. Bastard.
We both knew what he would ask for. Maybe not here in front of the angels, but later, if he won, he would point me toward Fairmont. He would ask for his second club, his second set of indentured souls, and I would be beholden to his wishes.
I let the pause stretch long enough to give the impression of restraint before I answered. “What’s he worth to you, Maslow?” My nod toward Zephyr might have been unnecessary, but I would leave no room for misinterpretation.
Zephyr slumped in Stefano’s lap, hung by his own hands while his lashes fluttered like he was caught in a dream he couldn’t wake from. Maslow dressed him up forthis. Had Darby paint his face with the makeup that was now streaked with tears.
The wraith gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. “The incubus? He’s… useful. Decorative. Profitable.”
“You’ve told me yourself,” I pressed. “He’s one of thousands of souls. You can replace him or trade him for something you’d rather have. Something only I can give you.”
Diminishing Zephyr felt like carving my own ribs out. Each word sliced deeper than the last, but I couldn’t afford sentiment right now. Not if I wanted to win.
Maslow’s beady eyes glinted. “He’s not as common as you suggest,” he said. “Besides, I have him nearly trained.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper.
“But,” Maslow went on, “I may be willing to part with something… temporary. A loan of sorts.” Breaking eye contact with me, he consulted the rest of the table. “How would you gentlemen like to have this sweet young thing at your disposal for, let’s say, forty-eight uninterrupted hours?”
Zephyr roused with a whimper. The sound barely broke the surface of the room’s quiet, but it cut straight through me.
Stefano cooed and shushed him, and Zephyr settled, so fucking fragile in his depleted state. When Stefano began to sway and rock Zephyr back into that fitful sleep, I felt myself coming unstitched.
I stood too fast, chair legs skittering across the tile. My voice came out rushed, words forced between gritted teeth. “Deal,” I said. “Forty-eight hours. Starting immediately.”
