Daniel Abraham - Inside Straight

“You sacrificed all your henchmen.”

“They were expendable.”

“They were your men.”

“They were tools, and I wanted to win.”

“How did you win?” Wild Fox asked, drawn back despite his unease.

“Brains and cunning.”

“So you don’t have any powers?” Wild Fox challenged.

“You’re not listening.”

“He’s saying he beat us because we’re stupid.”

Noel just smiled again at Earth Witch’s bitter remark. Hardhat dropped a broad, heavy hand onto her shoulder and said, “Get the fuck over it, Ana. He knocked our dicks in the dirt fair and square.” Curveball gave him an ironic look. “Uh, boobs…uh?”

“You better quit while you’re ahead, T. T.,” the blonde said. She looked up and saw Drummer Boy bearing down on her determinedly. He had two of his four arms folded across his chest, and the fingers on his other two arms were snapping out a nervous rhythm. “Uh-oh.” It was meant to be under her breath, but Noel heard it. She darted away while Earth Witch tried to intercept the rock-and-roll star.

Noel drifted over to the buffet table, where he grazed and observed. Earth Witch had failed in her attempted block, so Curveball was sprinting around the perimeter of the Warner Brothers restaurant with Drummer Boy stalking after her, taking one step to every two of hers. While Noel languidly consumed an egg roll, they made three complete circuits of the room.

In another corner, sex—rather than determined virginity—was decidedly in the air. Berman leaned against the wall while Jade Blossom, Pop Tart, and Tiffani all preened and vamped. He looked like a man at a buffet, savoring his choices.

“Hey, magician.” The words were strongly accented with the distant echoes of Spain filtered through Mexico and the American barrio. Rosa Loteria stood hip shot in front of him. There was no flirt here; the blue eyes flashed a challenge at him. She clutched her antique deck of loteria cards in a hand.

“My dear.” Noel gave her a bow.

“You can cut the sophisticated European crap,” she said.

Noel found himself smiling. “All right, what can I do for you?”

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the Candle. His multicolored flames waved languidly around his head like a psychedelic halo. “That pendejo motherfucker” (Noel reflected that there seemed to be a lot of pendejos present tonight) “has been giving me rafts of shit because I drew Los Platanos during the challenge.”

The back of Noel’s mind supplied the translation—the Bananas.

“Yes, I can see how that would be rather less than useful.” He reached out and took the deck from her. It was old, probably Napoleonic, and very beautiful. Noel began shuffling the cards. “And you want to learn how to do this—” and after each shuffle he flipped out La Muerta over and over again. The opulently dressed female skeleton looked coy, as if she knew a secret. Noel found his thoughts going back to his conversation with Straight Arrow, and the situation in Egypt.

“Yeah. That’s what I want,” Rosa agreed.

Noel gave her back the cards. “I expect I could teach you, and with practice you could probably become quite proficient, but I foresee some problems. It would be unwieldy to mark all the cards, and you would be tying yourself to the most lethal of your manifestations. Depending on the circumstance, you might want a different power. To pull Death all the time might be coming on a little too strong, don’t you know? Also, this is the crutch on which you hang your power.” Noel tapped the deck of cards with a manicured forefinger. “Would you actually be able to transform if you knew you were cheating? You are Rosa Loteria, the Lottery Rose. If you removed the element of chance …” Noel let his voice trail away and raised his eyebrows.

The girl’s brows snapped together in a ferocious frown. “I can’t risk losing my powers.”

“I would reach the same decision.”

“Well, crap!” She walked away, trailing Spanish like a kite tail of profanity.

Noel fixed on a vapid smile and went strolling. There was a lot of conversation about the concluded Rogue Ace Challenge, but another thread of conversation wove like a line of bright sparks throughout the party.

“… burned to the ground.” Said with breathless excitement by Diver.

“That idiot Bugsy will be behind it.” Said with Southern ice by Tiffani.

“… Peregrine’s fuuurious with Simoon.” Said by Pop Tart, with that tickle of enjoyment at getting to observe anger and not be on the receiving end.

“… didn’t find any bodies.” Said with a thread of disappointment by Jade Blossom.

“… insane with worry.” Said with compassion by the Amazing Bubbles.

“Of course, he’s her itty witty baby boy.” Said with just the right amount of disdain by Rosa Loteria.

Women are always so dependable when you need news . Noel lifted another glass of champagne off a passing tray. He glanced over at Peregrine, and indeed the famous joker’s smile kept jumping back into place as people walked up to talk to her. Otherwise, her eyes glittered with anger, and a strained frown ridged her forehead. Occasionally, she darted a cold glance at Simoon. Noel recalled the girl’s biography: daughter of one of the Egyptian jokers who had sought sanctuary at the Luxor hotel in Las Vegas, she had a second-rate power. Wind powers had always seemed faintly silly to Noel. Of more concern was her connection to Egypt—however tenuous. He decided to find out more.

Noel moved to Peregrine, lifted her hand, and brushed his lips lightly across the back. “Thank you, dear lady. It actually did end up being quite a deal of fun.”

Peregrine’s smile was pinned back in place. “I doubt the Hearts would agree. You defeated them pretty soundly.”

Noel looked over at Simoon. He allowed his expression to shift to grave and disapproving, then nodded sagely. The young woman clasped her hands and stared intently at Noel and Peregrine. High color burned in her cheeks. He inclined his head once more toward Peregrine as she said, “The weather certainly was beastly. Damn Santa Ana.” Noel once again looked over to Simoon and frowned. She came boiling out of the chair and crossed the room with a stiff-legged walk, until she stood directly in front of Peregrine.

Noel hid a smile. Once again the human capacity to assume that everything was about you had kicked in and had the desired result.

“What are you saying about me?” Simoon asked.

“We weren’t talking about you,” Peregrine replied. Her tightly compressed lips allowed the wrinkles around her mouth to escape her careful makeup job. “And feeling the way I do about you right now, it would be better if you weren’t talking to me, either.”

“This is not my fault.”

“You told him about that damn thing!”

“And for all we know the amulet didn’t have anything to do with your house,” Simoon said. “That idiot Bugsy was there, and Lohengrin, and they’d all been drinking.”

“John was not drunk,” Peregrine gritted.

Simoon threw her hands up. “Okay. Fine. Have it your way. Ignore how he felt having to work for his mom, and having DB call him ‘Captain Cruller’ and everybody bossing him around. He was an ace. Now he’s just…ordinary.”

The girl started to walk away. “It was just a necklace. A piece of tourist trash,” Peregrine yelled after her.

Simoon turned around, but kept walking backwards as she yelled back, “If that’s the case, then why are you so pissed? Unless you really are afraid it was magical.”

The room, which had gone very quiet, erupted once again into frenzied conversations. Peregrine turned scarlet, and her eyes filled with tears. Noel pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. He murmured an apology and hurried out of the restaurant.