What the hell was quintessence, anyway?
And what did the four triangles represent? I wondered. Two were inverted, and two had horizontal lines near the base.
There was the ability to erect shielding walls, and another that made living things erupt from the earth. Here was a surprise: I could regenerate?
Healing, dumbass. That’s what that means.
And transmogrify? I thought of the way the Tulpa could take on entirely different appearances. That had to be a Shadow strength. Then again, what if my ability to so convincingly take on Olivia’s physical form had more to do with me than Micah’s surgeon’s steel? Did all agents possess that power? Or had I inherited it from the man who’d been imagined into existence?
I was most surprised to see that emotions were represented on the chips, and that they were considered powers. Simple ones too, like love and hate and passion. The simplest, I realized, and the most valuable.
“Oh my God,” I said, feeling all eyes on me. “All this time…”
I looked up, met Tripp’s questioning gaze.
“I had no idea I was good at math.” I smiled. He scowled, and slumped farther in his seat. Boyd snorted, clay pipe wobbling between his lips.
My sarcasm-also represented on a chip, and an apparent strength-hid my panic. How had they known all this? I wondered, looking around. Was there some sort of hidden camera?
Yeah Jo, I thought, turning the caustic strength on myself. A daguerreotype. One to reveal a person’s internal landscape. It’d captured everything differentiating me from other agents, yet at the same time everything that added up to make anyone a fully functioning, healthy human being. And it was all stacked in front of me, ready to be parceled out in quantifiable bits. My hands began to shake.
Other than the full smile again splitting Tripp’s face, a singular question sat in the gaze of every other player, as well as Boyd’s assessing gaze. It was the same one, I thought, looking down at my chips, that I needed to ask myself.
Which power would I sacrifice first?
Boyd doled out the pocket cards, a face card and a nine, then smiled around his pipe. “Ante up.”
At Boyd’s left, Tripp opened the pot. He had dozens of chips stacked before him, indicating his skill.
Next came the black man, who stacked and restacked his chips before matching Tripp’s bet. A soul chip for a soul chip.
My turn, then. So what essential part of me, what vital aspect that made me super, should I wager first? I was sure some people would be happy to see my sarcastic nature gone, but since it was oft-used, I’d rather keep it. What might affect me least? I clinked them in my hand for a good minute, but nobody rushed me.
I chose one of the triangles. I didn’t know what they were, but I had three others left in my stack.
The Asian and the albino-which sounded like a poor title for a spaghetti western-had already chosen their chips and pushed them forward. Boyd presented the flop. Tripp frowned and folded outright, while the black man matched the blind. I didn’t like the ace showing, but one more jack and I could have three of a kind. Not bad for a first hand.
Boyd flipped again. No help. A ten. Again the man to my right raised. The hand could go either way, but I couldn’t win if I didn’t play, right? And that’s why I was there: to heal Jasmine, win freedom for my city, and bring to life the fourth sign of the Zodiac so my troop could get back to their regularly scheduled superhero programming. I threw in a portion of my speed.
The Chinese guy folded, the albino sipped nervously at his drink. I mentally dismissed him and focused on the black man while Boyd flipped the last card. A jack. I began to relax, but caught my opponent smiling as he raised again. Damn. Did he have a jack too?
I curled up the edge of my cards, peeking again at the nine. Fighting the need to swallow hard, I called again, giving another triangle, this one without a line parallel to the base. Boyd snorted as soon as I tossed it in the pot, which had me rethinking the move, but the chip was released. It was too late.
As I’d anticipated, the albino folded. Boyd tapped the table. The black man turned his cards. There was the last jack.
But his other card was a seven.
I had won.
I wiped a hand over the back of my neck, sighing as I raked the chips toward me. I’d won back all that I’d risked, and even had buffer chips for the next round. I took a fortifying sip from my glass, noting thankfully that it seemed to stay cool in the cup. Tripp was watching me hungrily, though whether it was due to my drink or my luck, I didn’t know. I just tilted my cup in his direction before sipping some more.
“Wow. Haven’t had my ass handed to me by a woman since I was on the bayou.”
I shot a sidelong glance at Shaft. “You’re from the South?”
“With this accent, where else? And it’s not like everyone here doesn’t already know that, so y’all can’t barter with it.” His laughter boomed, and the men joined in, so I knew I was missing something. At least their movements and words were a little more up to speed. They’d been obviously messing with me before, a group of friends ganging up on a dupe.
“Well, I didn’t know. I’m from…” I was going to say Vegas, but remembered they might not know that. “A transient town. You could have relocated.”
“Maybe,” he said, as if he couldn’t remember. “Which lantern marks your entrance?”
“That…one…” There were eight lanterns, all evenly spaced across the wall, all with identical frames, powder coat finishes, and evenly burning flames. I know the lantern, Diana had said. But I didn’t.
The black man rattled his chips. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
They all laughed again.
And How do I get out of here? suddenly rose to the top of my question list.
Boyd dealt again. When it came my turn to sweeten the pot, I threw back the albino’s chip. He was annoying me the least.
“You get to ask your question too,” Boyd said, puffing lightly at his pipe, though his eyes were assessing.
I rattled my chips-my strengths-still thinking about that. Discovering a way out of here was clearly important, but I wanted to find Jaden Jacks now. To do that, I’d have to eliminate the men in this room, one by one. So, with a glance at the motionless piano player, I sipped at my drink. “What’s Mackie’s deal?”
Diana had said he might know who Jacks was, so I’d start with him.
The black guy’s eyes went wide as he risked a glance at the pianist. He quickly looked away, though Mackie hadn’t even twitched.
“Mackie ain’t exactly one of us…but he’s not one of them either.” He jerked his head toward the dealer and Bill. Just as I’d thought. Working for the house. Boyd smiled unapologetically, and I wondered if they were tulpas like Skamar and my father. “He’s reportedly the last of the Nez Perce. Hear of them?”
Not in recent years, of course. The Nez Indians had tribal lands north of Nevada, dating back five hundred years, but like most Native Americans, they’d been displaced. Had that resulted in Mackie’s relocation this far south? And when? Because though I’d yet to fully see his face beneath that bowler, it looked like brown parchment had been fisted around his neck. I realized I was looking at a piece of living history.
Well, living-ish.
“He’s been here the longest,” the black man went on, throwing down a chip, still in. I’d have asked his name, but knew he wouldn’t say, so I silently named him Hippie as I added my bet to the pile. “Nobody knows anything about him, beyond not to touch his piano.”
“And that he keeps a knife on him at all times.” This from the Asian, who didn’t seem to have issues with revealing information that wasn’t about himself. He continued play as well. “They say it’s where he keeps the last ounce of his soul, transmogrified in the blade. He’s been hanging onto it by refusing to say anything. Refusing to move unless he has to. Refusing to give up knowledge or energy or anything that will contribute to this world.”