Devils Kiss (39 page)

Authors: Zoe Archer

Tags: #Romance, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Devils Kiss

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None of the men within it noticed. They continued on in their play, deep in their games, and entirely unaware that they gambled amidst creatures from the underworld. They had no idea that what they staked was more than money.

The crowds parted and a man appeared, as if summoned by Whit’s thoughts. Even across the room, Whit recognized him. The man was no man, yet it shared Whit’s face, his shape, his gestures. His dark self.

His
geminus
.

“Excellent timing, my lord.” The creature played the affable host, smiling, arms open. “The game is about to begin.”

“What is it to be? Piquet? Vingt-et-un?” The
geminus
guided him forward, offering anything a gambler could want.

“Hazard,” said Whit.

The
geminus
smiled wider. “Of course. I should have known. This way, my lord.”

Whit followed the creature to a corner of the room, near the colossal fireplace. The flames within threw off blistering heat, and as he neared, sweat coated his back and his clothing stuck to him like someone else’s skin.

He and the
geminus
took up their places at a table covered in dark red baize. A bone demon stepped forward and bowed, its body creaking with every movement. It presented Whit with a pair of dice. The carved ivory pieces were almost indistinguishable from the bones of its hand, save for the small black pips marking the dice.

Cold bones brushed Whit’s hand as he took the dice.

“What shall we play for?” The
geminus
maintained its cordiality, and, in a way, Whit was glad, for it meant that the creature suspected nothing.

“A thousand pounds.”

Disquieting, seeing the
geminus
offer the precise expression of careful boredom Whit implemented so often at the tables. “Trivial,” it drawled. “Yet a fitting way to commence.”

“If my lord would be so kind as to call your main.” The hazard table attendant’s voice was a rasping scrape, the disturbing sound of bone against bone.

“Six.” Whit rolled the dice. As he did, he delved into the patterns of probability, knowing he would have to play his strategies carefully.

The dice came up a five. This number would now be his chance. He would have to roll again, and hope for a five.

“A side bet,” said the
geminus
. “Two thousand pounds that your main will come up before your chance.”

“Done.”

He rolled twice more, letting control over the odds go as slack as a cast fishing line before reeling it in. His chance came up.

“Five,” intoned the bone demon. “A nicks. You win, my lord.”

Whit indulged in the briefest pleasure—he still enjoyed winning, no matter the circumstances.

The
geminus
yawned. “These bets are inconsequential. And, I’d wager, not why you came here this evening.”

“Higher stakes would add some piquancy.” He, too, could affect the proper boredom, even as his ribs felt tight and his mind raced.

“Then wager something of significance.”

“If I’m to risk something I value,” Whit said leisurely, “it is only fair that you, too, make a meaningful wager.”

The
geminus
laughed—Whit’s laugh, the same he utilized at the gaming table, the one that showed superficial amusement.

“By all means,” the creature said, smirking, “let us not waste time on the preliminaries. If you win this next round, I shall grant you fifteen more years on top of your original life span.”

Whit was tempted to ask how long he was slated to live, but he did not truly want to know the answer. He did know that fifteen more years merely delayed the inevitable, if Mr. Holliday still possessed his soul.

“And if you lose this next round,” the
geminus
continued, “you shall give me the Gypsy girl.”

Whit’s hands ached as he gripped the edge of the table, struggling to keep from beating the creature senseless. At that very moment, Bram prowled the streets of Manchester in search of Zora. Whit spoke through clenched teeth. “She isn’t mine to wager.”

The
geminus
raised a brow. “The latest intelligence suggests otherwise.”

“Whitston. That is my wager. Unless you have taken it already.”

“My subordinates ran your servants and tenants off, and have made themselves comfortable. You have already met them.”

Whit struggled to keep from choking the life out of the
geminus
, remembering the demon-borne illness that nearly cost Zora her life. He took some comfort in knowing that the staff and tenants had not been truly harmed. As for the house and lands, they were valued but hadn’t the worth of human life.

The estate had belonged to Whit’s family for centuries. It provided the source of their wealth, the foundation of their power. He had other estates, yet none of them carried the significance of Whitston.

The
geminus
knew this. It grinned, an awful parody of himself. “What is left of the house and its lands is still yours. Yet, at this juncture, there is something I must disclose. Only sporting of me.”

“Yes?”

“The gift that Mr. Holliday granted you. Power over probability. It operates differently in this gaming establishment.”

Whit stilled. “Tell me.”

“In here, your mastery over the odds is reversed. The more important the wager is to you, the less control you have over probability.”

Whit took a moment to absorb this. “I will lose,” he said tightly.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is truly
gambling
, not certainty.” The
geminus
gave another ghastly smile. “You remember gambling, don’t you, my lord? There was a time when you lived for nothing else. So, shall we play?”

He stared at the creature. Continue on, or turn back? His gaze moved down to his left hand, covered by the Devil’s mark. He thought of Zora, his vibrant Gypsy, the heat in her eyes and fire in her soul. He wore her ring around his neck. Retreat was impossible when it meant losing her.

“We play.” He scooped up the dice. “Eight.”

He cast the dice, diving into the shifting structures of probability. Just as the
geminus
had predicted, he now found the structures of probability difficult to hold. Like wriggling snakes, they struggled to slip from his grasp. As the pieces of ivory rolled across the table, he fought to hold and shape probability as he needed it.

The dice came to a stop. Two sixes.

“Twelve,” announced the bone demon. “A nicks. You have won again, my lord.”

A thin smile from the
geminus
. Yet Whit did not feel much sense of victory. He was about to take his biggest gamble.

Zora hated this, hated knowing that Whit was out there, alone. His strength and skill were never in doubt, but he faced an enemy that obeyed no rules and had limitless power at its disposal. Even with his fighting ability, his manipulation of probability, he was still at a huge disadvantage. He needed someone at his side, someone to watch his back, face the inevitable treachery with him.

She burned with impatience.
This has to end now.

Yet there was nothing for her to do. For now, all she could do was wait. Her time was coming. Soon.

“Only preliminaries, as you say.” Whit braced his hands on the table. He drew upon his wellsprings of calm, the gambler’s lack of affect that was at one time more familiar to him than open laughter or anger. Zora had dragged him from his self-imposed impassivity, the blank emptiness within giving way to unbridled feeling. True, it was easier to feel nothing, free from true pain or loss, yet that meant living less than half a life.

She had blazed into his world, waking him from cold dormancy. Blood and sensation filled his body. His thawed heart. Because of her.

“My purpose is doubtless clear to you,” he said.

“To gamble for your soul.” Thoughtful, the
geminus
frowned. “Why should I wager my master’s valuable possession? It already belongs to him.”

“Think of the risk. The fortune you tempt, and what
I
am risking.” Whit’s voice was smoothly persuasive. He understood the scrupulous ways in which he essentially manipulated himself, for the
geminus
was fashioned of the selfsame material. The creature and he were not merely similar, but identical, and he played upon that now.

“You have something I want,” he continued. “Very badly. Is it not thrilling to watch me make this desperate gamble? To know that
you
hold the power here? Especially as I have no advantage.”

Dark excitement gleamed in the creature’s eyes. Like any veteran gambler, it quickly hid its emotions. “What stand I to gain by accepting this bet? There is nothing more valuable in your possession.” It added, sulky, “And you will not wager the girl.”

Here, as planned and hoped for, was his moment.

“This.” He pulled the pocket watch from his waistcoat. His fingers curled tightly around the timepiece, instinctively protecting something so precious.

Like a jackal sighting prey, the
geminus
’s pupils widened, its eyes darkening with greed. As Whit’s double, it knew the significance of the pocket watch, what the timepiece truly meant to him. Nothing material in his possession held as much value; it was his only true link with his family and birthright.

“Should I win,” said Whit, “I regain my soul. And should I lose, you put the pocket watch in your vault.”

The
geminus
raised a brow, suspicious. “You know of it?”

“We share most everything. I have seen with your eyes. Felt with your heart. Just as you have seen and felt what I have.”

“Including the Gypsy girl.” A venomous smile followed the
geminus
’s words. “The pocket watch in my vault. I rather like picturing that. The bright token of your soul beside that battered old watch, where no one can see it, no one can touch it. You will spend your remaining days knowing that the last of your legacy is beyond your reach. And you will also lose the chance to ever again reclaim your soul.”

Sharp pain sliced through Whit as he considered this. There was no choice, however.

“Do you agree to the terms of the wager?” His voice was rough.

“I do.”

Whit stuck out his hand. The
geminus
snorted at such a quaint, honorable gesture. Yet it shook Whit’s hand—an uncanny moment for Whit, shaking hands with himself. The creature was cold, so it felt as if he shook hands with his animated corpse.

The
geminus
released Whit’s hand. “Let us commence.”

“Call your main, my lord,” the bone demon creaked after Whit took the dice.

He considered it. “Seven.”

“The main with the greatest probability of winning,” noted the
geminus.

“I
am
a gambler, but I take whatever advantage possible.”

“Naturally,” said the creature.

Whit blocked the sounds of the room from his mind. His sole focus became the dice in his hand. Small cubes of ivory that bore the full weight of his eternity.

This was no game with something as negligible as wealth or property at stake. This was Whit’s soul, and his future. He finally understood how much he wanted that future—with Zora.

For her, then, and himself.

He cast the dice.

As they tumbled, Whit tried once more to plunge into the swirling vortices of probability. Now, when so much depended on the outcome, he found the patterns more complex than ever, impossibly convoluted. This was no mere shifting of the odds, for if one fragile element changed, a tidal wave of unwanted outcome followed. The smallest miscalculation could cause disaster. The lacework of probability covered him, pulsating against his skin and inside his body, his mind.

Nothing would hold in his grasp. He could
see
probability but could effect no change upon it. It simply existed. Independent of him. What it would do, what form it might take, he could not predict or alter. It was true chance.

As Whit’s heart beat thunderously, the dice slowed. Stopped their roll.

“Three,” pronounced the bone demon. “A throw-out.”

The
geminus
smiled its death’s-head grin. “You lose, my lord.”