Her eyes skirted to the board. “His name?”
“Jaden Jacks.” I gave it freely. What did I care if they possessed, and used, the name of a Shadow?
“Don’t know him,” she said, too quickly, snatching her hand away. She held it out. The man rubbed it for her. “Why don’t you ask Mackie?”
I glanced over at the comatose piano player. Yeah. He looked like he was going to be a big help.
“And what’s your name again, honey? I didn’t quite catch it the first time.” She leaned toward me, dragging the man with her, though he only blew errant tendrils from his comb-over in a grateful sigh. Her breath was light, like sugar wafers. “Whisper it in my ear and I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
“Diana,” Bill warned, gaze darting between us as he continued polishing glasses. They were all as elaborate as the one I held, shot through with refracted color now that Diana had gifted us with her presence. Mine was golden with a hint of emerald. As for Bill, Diana’s arrival on the bottom floor had neither enhanced nor diminished him in any way.
“Shut up, Bill,” the gaunt man said, languishing beneath Diana’s arm. She laughed brightly, the sound accompanied by a fresh wave of breathable sugar.
“Yes, Bill. Do shut up,” she said, batting lacquered lashes. “I just want to know her name.”
The rest of the bar was quiet, their interest a tight pressure against my back. Diana’s mouth twitched. I gave her a perfunctory smile. “It’s Olivia.”
She pushed from the bar so quickly the room seemed to tilt with her. The man stumbled, and I stepped away. Diana studied my poster, my face, and the poster again. No name, I realized. Not even the beginnings of one. I was telling the truth, though not the true truth, so the information wasn’t being recorded on the wall. She took another step backward, and because the vitality in my own breast seemed to recede with her, I had no idea whether I preferred that she stay or go.
Or what I preferred less, I mused.
She did go, finally, turning her back amid the groans and pleas of those in the room, the man she’d left next to me looking close to tears. Diana ignored them all. And as soon as one booted heel hit the staircase, the color in the room snapped off like a light. Heat flooded back in. Breathing was instantly laborious. The fans above us started their slow spin once again, and the women giggled behind palms and fringed fans. A heat haze rolled off the red door in invisible waves. What the hell was behind that thing?
“You could have played along. Bought us time.” I glanced over my shoulder. The giant man wearing the black Stetson had resumed his original position, arms folded over his great belly, eyes indistinguishable beneath the low hat brim. He was sweating profusely, beads rolling down his neck to disappear beneath the vest.
“Why don’t you offer up your name, then?”
“I have. Freely. It’s Harlan Tripp.”
I frowned, and because the name was vaguely familiar, asked, “Do you know Jacks?”
Tripp scoffed. “Honey, you want information in the Rest House, you gotta play for it.”
“No,” called a woman from above. She was black, wiry, and tough, and her scent was as heavy and cloying on the air as the drink in my glass. “Don’t waste time with the boys. Come on up here. I promise we won’t bite.”
“I make no promises,” said a blonde with brows plucked so severely she looked permanently surprised. Spicy this time, with a bitter aftertaste.
“Leave her alone, girls. She’ll come when she’s ready.”
This voice was liquid, thick and smooth. A shaft of light split the wall opposite the other women, a door opening enough to allow a single silhouette passage. And this scent, minty rose with a creamy heart, had me nearly lifting to my toes. I tried to inhale more, and glanced around to find every man in the room trying to do the same. Yearning blanketed every face, and most eyes had fallen half shut. The women, though not that far gone, were silent and nodding at one another. The first, smoky-skinned and dark eyes, turned away with a smile. “Yes, she’ll come.”
Don’t be lulled…don’t be intimidated.
Easy for Vanessa to say, I thought, swallowing hard. All she had was a thin myth, and a matriarchal legacy and culture, to guide her. I was suddenly face-to-face with that myth…face-to-face with Bill.
“Can I get a credit limit?” I asked him, pleased when his brows winged in surprise. He’d expected me to follow the voice upstairs. But I needed to find out about Jacks, and the women only seemed interested in playing mental games. At least with poker I knew the rules.
“Boyd?” Bill glanced at Tripp’s dealer, who inclined his head. I picked up my glass and headed to the table.
“Do I need to sign for it?” I asked Boyd, taking the seat across from him. He motioned to the wall with my picture on it. So that was how they kept track of their debtors. “Fine. Deal ’em.”
There were five men at the table, including Boyd, who shuffled cards so worn they’d never have seen a table at Valhalla. An albino with startling black eyes was to his left, while an Asian man, who had yet to look at me, sat between the two of us. To my right was a black man with sideburns that would have made John Shaft, the movie character, proud. Guess I didn’t have to ask how long he’d been there. Tripp sat next to him.
“So what’ll it be? Three-card monte, brag, faro?” I smiled, referring to the games that were popular way back when the West was originally won.
Boyd slipped his clay pipe from his lips, though oddly, his answer still flowed from the left side of his mouth. “A simple game of hold’em.”
“More like strip poker,” the albino said, and the other men chuckled. For a moment I thought they were messing with me, but their looks weren’t lascivious, and everyone was fully clothed. The Asian next to me was the only one who remained unsmiling and serious. His arms were knotted, wiry with muscle as he gripped the edge of the table. “And you only get to ask questions when you win the hand.”
At my surprised expression, Tripp nodded. “You gotta win to get what you want.”
“We all want something…or we did,” the albino said. “Once.”
Boyd began picking at the different chips from his stacked racks, poring over each, which I could see were marked by symbols or words, as he puffed consideringly. The others seemed content to wait, and why not? It didn’t seem they had any place to go. Besides, it was too hot to expend energy in pointless conversation. Like them, I sat back and decided to save it for the game. In fact, everyone other than Tripp was moving so slowly I could probably take a nap between hands.
“Interesting,” the dealer said, still poring over his chips. “Never seen this one before…though this other’s fairly common…now, I don’t know what to think of that…”
A dozen chips filled his hands, and everyone watched as he racked and passed them to me. “That should get you started. And might I add,” he said, with the courtesy shown to a player with loads to lose, “welcome to the Rest House.”
I palmed a chip, wondering what he was so anxious to gain. It didn’t take long to figure it out. As I stilled, gazing at the chips, a chuckle rimmed the table. Now I knew why the albino had said it was like strip poker. But instead of removing clothing when you lost a hand, you gave up something far more valuable.
“My powers?” I couldn’t keep my horror from seeping into the question.
“Only if you lose,” Tripp said, smile widening.
I swallowed hard and glanced back down at my chips. Everything I’d only begun to get used to having and controlling was represented there. Everything that made me special. Including what made me the Kairos.
I could start off small, I saw, biting my lower lip, bartering degrees of speed or strength-there were a number of those chips-though it wouldn’t be too many losing hands before I’d have to wager more costly powers. There were chips for each of the five senses, another for the sixth, which I didn’t even know I had.