Heart and Soul by Jackie May (reading list .TXT) 📗

“Is that a bad thing at this point? Do we not require more time anyway? Let me take a turn now and ask all of you a question. Is there yet any one of you ready to join my company? A necromancy ring cannot exist with myself alone. I require acolytes.”

This revelation is enough to pull Hillerman’s eyes away from Tabitha to study the salt-and-pepper good looks of the sorcerer who is not only the ringleader, but East Side’s mysterious necromancer. The final face to complete Hillerman’s case file.

“I’ll name the elephant in the room,” he says. “King Paul. Who knew he would be the first among you to unlock the secret? Many of you must have been in attendance at that party. Surely his demonstration gave you some clue?”

After a long, incriminating silence, the snake mask guy throws his hands up, annoyed. “Or you could just tell us how to do it.”

Tabitha’s psycho-serial-killer look returns. “Maybe he should demonstrate on you.”

“To divulge a secret is to destroy its purpose, by definition. The only way to learn a dark art is in the dark, listening to those whispers from the Deep. You will not hear it with your ears. You will feel it, but only if you are accustomed to the company of the Deep ones.” Seeing uncomfortable glances traded between members of the crowd, the necromancer sighs. “Are there no more King Pauls among you?”

“King Paul was a psychopath,” somebody says.

The necromancer is delighted. “There you have it. A good place to start.” The young vampire revenant with the bowler hat emerges from the crowd to whisper something urgent into his ear. “Ah, very good. My friends, this night promises one or two surprises yet to come. An hour from now, we will have several new developments to discuss. Also, what party would be complete without a fireworks show?”

The crowd fills with intrigued whispers. Hillerman looks at me with concern. Something big appears to be scheduled for tonight. “Fireworks” definitely sounds ominous.

“Until then, sit back, relax, and enjoy,” he says, before leaving with Bowler Hat.

Watching them, my eyes cross the path of Russo’s jester mask. He makes quick jerks with his head, directing my attention across the room, where the pinstriped revenant hastily cuts through the crowd. Following close behind is Jay’s sugar skull. My heart rate spikes. Shit’s about to go down. Time to start working on that miracle.

But dammit, I’m not leaving this table without challenging the high roller. Tabitha Durran has tripled her chip stack by taking cheap shots at easy prey. I feel a moral obligation to spoil her run. Or at least to make her earn my money. The timing is right. She’s already committed to a sizeable bet, assuming that I will continue our pattern of avoiding each other.

I check my cards to find that I have one good card, and a high chance of winning, but the correct way of playing this hand will take too long. Jay is closing in on the revenant. I need to get after him now. This calls for a ballsy move. The table’s gonna love it.

I tweak the corner of one of my cards and toss it—faceup—at the dealer. “This card is bent. I call for a new deck.” Naturally, all eyes go to the card—a pathetic three of spades.

The dealer says, “Yes, ma’am, of course. However, house rules dictate that this hand be played out first. Since you have revealed a card, you are, of course, permitted to fold.”

“Do I have to?”

She seems stunned. “Er…no. But…” She indicates my three of spades, total trash. “You’re at a disadvantage. Surely you would fold.”

I make a show of eagerly checking out the dealer’s faceup cards on the table, which pair beautifully with my one good card, and I say, “No, I’m in.”

For the first time, Tabitha Durran looks directly at me, and she leans forward, fascinated. The dealer says, “You will bet?”

I stand up. “I’ll shove. Here.” I push all my chips into the middle of the table, earning stunned oohs and aahs from the crowd. Tabitha Durran narrows her eyes to slits, focusing on my one hidden card. My play reeks of a huge bluff. Only somebody with a terrible hand would try to scare away challengers with so much money. It works on the others—they all fold at once. Tabitha, however, does not move, doesn’t even blink. Just sits there, paralyzed. The crowd awaits her decision with breathless anticipation.

“I’m sorry, I have to run to the powder room,” I say, gathering my clutch. “I know, terrible timing. My bladder is the size of a peanut. Oh! Here, add these to my bet.” I drop all of Hillerman’s hundred-dollar bills on the table. Heads start spinning. What the hell’s happening? Who would do this? “I’ll be back. Keep my place at the table. Oops, here’s more.” I throw more hundreds at the pile, and then I turn away from the table, and that’s when I come face-to-face with my worst nightmare. The harpy demon had been standing right behind me all this time.

Beyona is strikingly gorgeous, with a luxurious, deep shade of skin, shiny black hair so straight and so long that it perfectly frames both her angular cheekbones and the absurd cleavage of her chest. I whirled so fast, and she was standing so close, that we nearly touch noses before I step back, startled. Her flinty eyes—one brown, one blue—seem to pierce through my mask.

At her shoulder is the silverback werewolf, his blocky face and square jaw riddled with scars from all the times I’ve shot him. His throat rattles with a low growl. Just as I’m about to scream for the others to make a run for it—that we’re busted—Beyona steps aside, dismissing me with an arrogant snarl.

After a mumbled apology and an awkward sort of bow, I hurry off through the crowd in search of Jay. I catch sight of him just as Pinstripes ducks behind a