Dangerous Dream (4 page)

Ridley hadn’t registered a wager. She hadn’t even considered what to offer if she lost. Based on the looks of this crowd, most of these guys would probably like to have her as their personal genie-in-a-bottle for the day.

Like that’s happening.

The Caster was still addressing the players. “Everyone stripped their powers before they came in, so tonight it’s balls to the walls. The player at the table to get rid of all their cards is the winner and moves to the next round. Last man standing takes it all.”

Ridley wanted to ask exactly what she was going to walk away with at the end of the night, since there was no doubt in her mind that she was going to win, but the dealer was already tossing the Caster cards around her table.

Fine. Let’s do this.

The only differences between Liar’s Trade and the Mortal card game were that they were using a Caster deck and they were betting with TFPs instead of money. In a game this big, players logged their markers at the door. Luckily, Ridley had avoided that sucker move.

The game was simple. Two players per table. The dealer dealt all the cards in the deck, then drew a name. He pulled Floyd’s name, which meant the bassist had to go first and discard an ace. The next player had to discard a two or a king—the card above or below the ace—and any cards that followed, if they were lucky enough to have any of them in their hand. The object of the game was to be the first player to get rid of all your cards.

But there was a catch. The cards were discarded facedown, so players could bluff and toss whatever they wanted—at least until someone called them on it.

Rid handily won her first game without even flexing her powers. She sauntered over to watch Floyd play a Caster wearing a dog chain around his neck. Bike Chain Boy threw in a card that he claimed was a nine.

Floyd took a swig from the beer in front of her. “Liar.”

Now Bike Chain Boy had to show his card. If he’d discarded a nine, then Floyd would have to pick up the entire pile. But if Bike Chain Boy had lied and thrown a different card, he’d have to take the pile.

You didn’t need to be a Sybil to read the Caster’s face. He stood up and grabbed the bottom of his chair, flipping it over.

“Cool your jets.” Floyd leaned back, clearly enjoying herself. “You must’ve wagered a serious TFP.”

“Shut your mouth,” Bike Chain Boy snapped. “Everyone here did.”

Except Ridley.

She played Floyd next, who was her only real competition. Everyone else sucked, even without Ridley’s influence. Rid waited until it was Floyd’s turn before she made her move.

As Floyd studied her cards, Ridley gave her a nudge with her powers.
You want to bluff on this hand and dump as many cards as you can.

Floyd hesitated for a moment, then dropped three cards onto the pile. “Jack. Queen. King.”

Rid stretched her arms over her head, as if she’d just woken up from a long nap. Then she gave Floyd a big smile. “Liar.”

Floyd seemed dazed, and she blinked a few times before responding. “Damn. Guess I won’t be turning myself into Roger Waters again anytime soon.”

Floyd was obviously an Illusionist, like Ridley’s idiot brother, Larkin. Her brother used his powers for ridiculous things like picking up girls. The fact that Floyd used hers to fool people into thinking she was the lead singer of Pink Floyd was even more pathetic. Ridley had never met an Illusionist who actually created illusions worth seeing—unless Lena’s mother, Sarafine, was breathing down their neck.

After another round, Ridley didn’t have a single card left in her hand. Ridley kept tabs on how games were progressing around the room. Grown men were reduced to sobbing babies in her presence as they lost everything from the temporary use of their powers to the permanent loss of talents. She kept a mental record of every loss: a Necromancer who’d be spending a lot more time with the living; a Shifter who wouldn’t be able to change water into ice for at least six months; a Caster poet who was going to need help finding a rhyme in a Dr. Seuss book; and a handful of entirely forgettable losers.

Three players were left: Ridley, Sampson, and the band’s crappy drummer. She hadn’t even bothered to learn his name.

As Ridley approached the table designated for the final games, Sampson pulled out Ridley’s chair. He was playing the winner of the game between Ridley and the drummer, which meant he’d be losing to her next.

Up close, Sampson was even taller than she’d thought, close to seven feet, if Rid had to guess. He had the physically menacing posture of an Incubus without the reflective black eyes, a feature that all Incubuses shared. His eyes weren’t Caster green or gold, either. They were steel gray, ringed in smudged black liner that made him look even more dangerous, as if he hadn’t slept in days and didn’t care. He was obviously wearing colored contacts, which was too hipster for Ridley’s taste.

Link would’ve made fun of this guy.

He held out a tattooed hand. “Sampson.”

This guy looked more like Goliath.

“Ridley.”

He smiled. “I heard.”

“Tonight or previously?” Rid asked, only half-joking.

“I’m Ace.” The drummer, and her opponent, stared at her from across the table like a lion eyeing raw meat. She was going to enjoy kicking his ass.

“Of course you are.” Ridley rolled her eyes.

“Now, if everyone has decided who they’re taking home tonight, we’ve got a game to play,” the dealer said, cutting the cards.

Rid watched him shuffle, the king of blood and the ace of fire flipping through his fingers. Floyd and the pretty-boy punk with the blue faux-hawk stood behind Ace.

For the first few rounds, no one spoke as the two players sized each other up. Ridley was biding her time, waiting for just the right moment to make her move. She was also testing the waters, determining exactly how hard she needed to push Ace. When he hesitated too long after dropping two cards into the pile, Ridley gave him a little nudge.
You can get away with one more. Go ahead and throw it.
He tossed the card within seconds.

It was on his next turn that he made a fatal mistake and blew her a kiss.

“Seven. Eight,” Ridley said, dropping her last two cards facedown on the discard pile.

Ace gave her one of his perverted smiles. “You wouldn’t be lying now, would you, Baby?”

Ridley’s eyes narrowed. She tolerated it when Link called her Babe, because he was Link and things were… complicated between them. But there was no way this scumbag was going to get away with calling her Baby. “Are you calling me a liar, or just asking? I mean, either you have the balls or you don’t.”

The dealer stifled a laugh.

“Someone should teach you how to act like a lady,” Ace snapped.

Ridley leaned over, the edge of a red bra peeking out of her top, and looked the second-rate drummer right in the eye. “I’ll get right on that. As soon as someone teaches you how to act like a man.”

Ace stared at her like he wanted to set her on fire.

Ridley gazed into his gold eyes.
You know I’m lying. Go ahead. Call me a liar.

It only took a second for him to react. “Liar.”

She leaned back in her chair, savoring the moment. “You must’ve bet something major to make it all the way to the big girl table. What are you going to lose if I flip those cards and I’ve got a seven and an eight?”

Floyd was standing behind Ace’s chair. “Shit.”

Sampson glanced up at his bandmate. “What did he bet?”

The color drained from Ace’s face, as if he had just figured out what Floyd seemed to sense. Ridley wasn’t lying.

Floyd shook her head. “His sticks.”

Ridley immediately understood. The crappy drummer had bet his talent—at least, what little he had. If he lost, he wouldn’t be able to play anymore. Which wouldn’t be a huge loss, from Ridley’s point of view.

She flipped the cards over one at a time.

Seven of stars and eight of blades.

Ace sprang out of his chair, and Sampson yanked her from hers before the drummer overturned the table. “You bitch!”

The dealer signaled one of the bouncers lurking along the edges of the room. “Get him outta here.”

Even though Sampson had rescued her, he looked almost as pissed off as Floyd, who was pacing and cussing under her breath. The punk boy with the blue faux-hawk gave her a hard stare and whispered something to Sampson.

“Pull it together, ladies,” the dealer shouted at everyone left in the room. “We’ve got one more game to play.”

Ridley tried to look nervous, but fear wasn’t an emotion she experienced often. The effort was exhausting, and she dropped down into a chair at the black felt table. There was a lot of money on the line, enough to let her hole up in her favorite five-star resort in Barbados for weeks. Close enough to visit a few relatives, and far enough away to get twenty-four-hour room service and cause some serious trouble.

She was trying to remember the name of the hotel with the cabanas—the ones that came with their own private chefs—when the dealer sat down with a fresh deck.

“You know the rules. The winner’s looking at fifty grand and a share of the take.”

A share of the TFPs—that’s what he meant.

Sampson was all business now. “You ready, Pink?”

She gave him a cold stare. “Sure thing, Goliath.”

They didn’t say anything else as the cards slid across the table. Rid hadn’t noticed how well Sampson played until now. He was definitely counting cards, which was a solid strategy if you didn’t have a Siren’s Power of Persuasion at your disposal.

Ridley bluffed a few times, testing her powers on Sampson the same way she had with the loser drummer.

Sampson required a little more encouragement.

You don’t want to call me on that discard. The stakes are too high to screw up.

The huge Caster looked around as if he’d actually heard her voice, then did exactly what she wanted.

The initial rush from sneaking in with her powers had faded, and Ridley was getting bored.
Time to wrap this up
, she thought.

Within a few hands, both Ridley and Sampson were down to one card. Sampson studied her with his steel gray eyes, waiting to take his turn.

“Hold the game,” a deep voice called from behind her.

The dealer put his hand over the discard pile. “Hold your cards.”

What the hell?

When Ridley turned around, the guy from Suffer—the gorgeous stranger she’d caught staring at her from the edge of the stage—stood in the doorway.

“You came in late,” he said to her. “I don’t think we have a record of your marker.”

Her marker.

Ridley hadn’t even considered what to wager, since winning the game was a guarantee. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

The Caster strode toward her. When he reached her seat, he leaned down until Ridley could feel his breath on her neck, and whispered in her ear.

“What?” She must have heard him wrong.

He can’t be serious.

This time, his mouth was so close to her ear that she felt his lips against her skin. There was no mistaking what he said.

Ridley shuddered, and goose bumps crawled up her arms.

“Like I’d ever agree to that,” she tossed off, trying to keep her cool.

“The way I see it, you don’t really have a choice.” He walked over to the wall in front of her and leaned against it. “Everyone has to register their marker before they play, or the house gets to choose.” He didn’t take his eyes off her. “House rules.”

“Tell her, Lennox,” Floyd said.

Ridley tossed her hair nonchalantly. “Well, I didn’t know anything about that. So I’m sure you can make an exception.”

Lennox—whoever he was—gave her a long look. “I can’t do that. You’ll have to play this one out.”

There was something strange about the way he said it, but Ridley couldn’t put her finger on it. “Fine.”

This situation was anything but fine. Even though Ridley knew she could manipulate the outcome of the game, this guy, Lennox, made her antsy. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would risk anything on a card game, especially not one he didn’t already know he would win.

Just like me
, she thought.
So I guess he’s met his match.

“We’re back on play,” the dealer said, lifting his hands off the discard pile.

Rid waited until Sampson’s attention was focused on her before she made her move.
Bluff. She’ll never figure it out.

He hesitated, the way he had the last time she used her powers on him. Then he dropped his card. “King.”

“Liar.” Ridley let the word roll off her tongue slowly.

Lennox moved closer to the tables, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Sampson bit his lip.

Poor baby.

Ridley barely noticed when he flipped his card over—until someone gasped. The Caster card rested on the top of the discard pile.

King of fates.

Ridley couldn’t hide her shock. “No. That can’t be right.”

“Why? Because you used your Siren song on him?” Lennox asked.

It felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath her. How the hell did he know? More importantly, why the hell didn’t it work?

“Don’t worry, Little Siren. You haven’t lost your touch,” Lennox said, as if he could read her mind.

“How did you know?” She choked out the words, still in shock.

“I’ve known all night.” He didn’t answer the question.

Ridley stared across the table at Sampson. “He put some kind of Cast on you, didn’t he? So my powers wouldn’t work on you.”

“He didn’t need to,” Sampson said. He smiled, for the first time all night. “Your powers don’t work on me.”

Ridley’s head was spinning. She wished she had her friend John Breed’s scorpion belt buckle so that she could dematerialize and Travel like an Incubus. “What kind of Caster are you?”

Sampson watched her with those steel gray eyes. “I’m not a Caster.”

He couldn’t be a full-blooded Incubus. There was no way to hide the black eyes of an Incubus behind a pair of gray contacts. “Then what are you? Some kind of hybrid Incubus?”

“No.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. “I’m something else.”