by Lyn Forester
“The game is played between any number of people. They take turns rolling the die. The closed eye, the Trabo, is worth one point, and the open eye, the Shon, is worth five. You take turns rolling, and everyone guesses what symbol the die will land on. If you guess right, it’s a positive point. If you guess wrong, it’s a negative point. First person to ten wins.”
Reaching into his pocket once more, he pulls out a set of cards and deals them around the table.
Two land in front of me, and I lift them to see one with a closed eye on it and one with an open eye. “So, we select the card we believe will match the die roll?”
March nods.
Restless, Declan shifts next to me. “What does this have to do with the poison?”
“It’s a lesson before we speak further on that subject,” March says calmly.
This feels like the circular lessons Grandmother likes to indulge in, and I pull the cards closer to my chest. He’s testing us for some reason. We just need to play along.
“I’ll roll first.” The die tumbles toward March’s fingers and he catches it between his thumb and forefinger. “Choose your card.”
I place the closed eye, the Trabo, face down on the table.
Once everyone’s cards are down, March snaps and the small die bounces onto the table, landing neatly in the center, Trabo up.
We all flip over our cards, revealing Trabos all around. Unsurprising with a three to one odd of rolling it.
“One point to everyone.” March nudges the die in front of Declan.
He reluctantly picks it up, and we each place new cards on the table.
Declan shakes the die loosely in his hand then drops it to bounce across the table. Trabo up.
We all flip our cards to reveal Trabos.
“One point to everyone.” March flicks the die over to me.
I pick it up, rolling it between my fingers. It’s cool to the touch, with slightly curved sides. Easier for rolling, or worn away from use? The gold paint in the symbols shines bright, the stone polished to a smooth finish, which says the die is new. I roll it a couple times in my palm, but can’t feel any discrepancy in weight on any one side.
I place a Trabo card on the table and let the die roll down my palm gently. It bounces lightly on the table, spinning as it catches on one pointed end, and lands Trabo side up.
We each turn over our cards, once again revealing all Trabos.
“Everyone sits at three points,” March announces as he flicks the die over to Skittles.
Connor frowns. “What happens if everyone hits ten points at the same time?”
“Then it’s a tie and no one wins.” March picks his Trabo card off the table and shuffles it with the other one in his hand. “Usually, there would be something on the line, like money. If everyone hits ten at the same time, then the pot is divided evenly and you get back what you put in. No loss, no gain.”
He sets a card down on the table, and we all follow suit. Statistically, someone should roll a Shon soon, so long as the die isn’t weighted.
Skittles pinches the die between her thumb and forefinger the way March had on his turn and snaps it across the table. It lands Trabo side up.
I flip my card to reveal a Trabo. Declan and Connor both uncover Shons, putting them at negative two, and Felix and March both reveal Trabos, leaving me, Felix, March, and Skittles in the lead.
Connor takes the die without prompting, sets a card on the table, then holds the die between his thumb and forefinger. His snap lacks the skill March and Skittles displayed, and the die bounces toward the edge of the table, stopping just short of the edge, Trabo side up.
Skittles thumps him on the back. “Takes a little practice, but good effort.”
Everyone turns their cards over to reveal Trabos. Looks like Connor and Declan are back to playing it safe after their loss.
Felix lunges across the table to snatch up the die, then pinches it between his fingers in front of Skittles’ face. “Like this?”
“Lengthwise, mate.” She pokes the die into the correct position. “Gives it more spin.”
“Right, thanks.” Felix settles back into his seat and slaps a card on the table.
The rest of us barely get our cards into place before he snaps his fingers. The die rolls perfectly into the center of the table, landing with the open eye staring up.
Cursing, Declan flips his card up to reveal a Trabo, digging himself deeper into the negative.
March smiles faintly as he flips his card to reveal a Trabo as well, losing one point, though still ahead.
Connor flips his to reveal a Shon, bringing him back into the positive.
Felix eyes me. “Sprinkles? What did you bet?”
Sliding my card across the table, I slip the corner under his and flip ours together, revealing two more Shons. “Your acting needs work.”
“Can’t pull off innocent around people who know you,” Skittles agrees as she reveals her Shon card. “Good effort, though.”
Connor nods in agreement. “Super not convincing.”
“Wait, how did you all know Felix would roll a Shon?” Declan demands.
Connor reaches up to adjust his glasses, then drops his hand when he remembers they’re not there. “Traboshon is only a game of luck if you don’t know how to roll the die. Once you know how to force the outcome of how the die lands, it’s a game of knowing your opponent.”
Declan twists to stare at me. “You knew this?”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t sure guaranteeing an outcome in the roll was possible. But I did know Felix was more than passingly familiar with the game by how he acted.”
His thick brows furrow together. “Then why did you risk placing the Shon card on the table?”
I nod to Skittles. “Because she did. I watched where she placed her Trabo card back in her hand, so knew she played the Shon card for Felix.”
“Ah.” Skittles shakes a finger at me. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
I meet Declan’s eyes. “If Skittles was willing to take a negative five, that meant she knew it was possible to guarantee the outcome. Felix pretending not to know how to handle the die just backed that up.”
Declan turns to stare at Connor. “Is that how you knew, too?”
“No.” He sets his cards on the table. “I just know my brother. He was too excited, which meant he knew he was going to win.”
That only makes Declan frown harder. “Then why didn’t Skittles roll a Shon?”
Everyone stares at him for a moment in disbelief, before March finally says slowly, “Because, statistically, that would be the expected roll. Of course, she’d roll a Trabo to wreck as many hands as possible.”
Skittles points at Declan. “You need to stick to disc-bike racing. Gambling isn’t your forte.”
Declan throws his last card on the table. “What was this all about?”
“People who use poison to kill aren’t going to come out waving a flag for your attention. They work in subterfuge, using patience to stalk their prey. They’ll learn your habits, who you interact with, where you go, to know when to strike. You want to present a united front. It makes you stronger, less easy for them to slip in. But right now, you’re out of sync with your team.” March reaches out to gather up the cards, then sets them in front of Felix, along with the die. “But you can fix that.”
“By gambling together?” Declan scoffs.
“By learning how to read each other’s actions before they even happen. These three”—he motions to me, Felix, and Connor—“were all able to predict the last roll because they know their partners. You need to get on board or there’s no point in going further in this game of junior sleuthing. The people who murdered your family aren’t playing around. They will find your weakness and tear you apart.”
“So, you know the poison,” Connor cuts in. “And who has access to it.”
“I do. It’s rare, which is probably why your Rothven physician didn’t recognize it. I only know of three peo
ple with access to it.” He spreads his hands on the table. “I’m one of them, and I know where my supply is, so it didn’t come from me. The other is a Troehan botanist who specializes in rare and unusual plants.” His eyes flick to me, and my heart starts racing, already knowing what he’s going to say before the words slip from his lips. “The other is the Matriarch of House Lonette.”
Beautiful Gore
The buzzing starts up again under my skin. “You’re talking about Mortium, aren’t you?”
He nods. “The very same.”
“What’s Mortium?” Declan demands, his leg pulling away from mine beneath the table.
Pain knifes through me at the silent accusation. Last weekend, I held him in my arms, sharing the pain of his family’s death. How can he think for even a moment that I played a part in their murder? Is he really that out of sync with the rest of us?
Felix frowns. “You said that word before. In the showers after we discovered—” He cuts off before he reveals the secret about Nikola and me. “You said you were poison. Not poisoned, but actual poison. Explain that.”
Declan draws farther back, as much as the booth allows, as if afraid I’ll strike him down by mere contact. It leaves my side cold where we touched, and the pain in my chest grows.
Ignoring him, I focus on Felix and Connor. “It’s a rare plant that grows in the mountains. It has two types of flowers, a white one that can be used in medicine, and an orange one that’s poisonous. It takes twenty years to bloom, and until then, there’s no way to know which one is growing.”
My hands shake, and I tuck them under the table. “My grandmother has one in her solarium. She started growing it when I was born. It has two more years before it will bloom.” I curl my fingers against my palms, my blunt nails digging in hard. “She says it’s a symbol of what I can be to my family.”
“A potentially poisonous plant is what she chooses for your symbol?” Felix asks in disbelief. “Your grandma’s a bitch.”
Connor shushes him, but I smile. “Yeah, she is.” I meet March’s eyes. “But the Mortium I saw was still years away from blooming. Can it be harvested early?”
He shakes his head. “If it were that easy, it wouldn’t be so difficult to come by. Twenty years is a long investment for an uncertain outcome. I got lucky and came by a batch already close to maturity. Cost me a small fortune.”
“The Troehan botanist?” Connor guesses.
“Likely the same one who sold the Lonette Matriarch hers.” March reaches into his pocket and pulls out a palm-port. After typing into the screen for a minute, he presses a button on the side and a data-disc the size of my pinky-nail pops out. He sets it on the table. “He’s a bit of a recluse, and not especially friendly, but his hobby is expensive. For the right credits, he’ll tell you who else he’s sold Mortium to.”
My stomach sinks. This investigation is getting expensive. I need more credits than what I borrowed from Nikola.
Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I turn to stare out over the dance floor. The strobe lights make it difficult to tell, but it looks like the people next to the entrance are fighting. The bouncers at the front start shoving those waiting in line out the door.
A moment later, the curtain swishes to the side, letting in a burst of noise as a man pokes his head inside. A thick scar bisects his left eye, and his pupil expands and contracts with robotic efficiency. “Boss, we got trouble downstairs. Blue Guards are threatening to shut us down if we don’t settle it.”
March thrusts to his feet. “Where’s Japhrey?”
“Safe in his office. Got two guards on the door.”
March presses on the padded panel at the back of the booth and the wall slides sideways to reveal an exit. “Any sign this is more than a scuffle?”
He shakes his head. “Not so far.”
“Turn the lights on. We’ll see if that startles some sense into them. Get the sprinklers ready in case that doesn’t work.” He gestures to us. “Take this way out, just to be safe. Can’t be responsible for you lot getting hurt on our turf.”
I snatch the data-disc off the table and pocket it before shoving Declan out of the booth so I can stand. “Thank you for the information you provided.”
“It’s not free.” The commotion downstairs rises, but he keeps his gaze focused on me. “Someone is making a move that’s going to shake the city. When the shit hits the fan, remember I took your side.”
Declan pulls on my arm, but I plant my feet. “What do you mean?”
“Mr. Blue’s death, Mr. Black’s, the Arrington House. Count the bodies. There’s only so much the city will accept before drastic measures are taken.” The noise grows louder, and he jerks his chin. “Safe travels and watch your backs.”
“Boy!” Skittles calls, and the kid pops into the booth. “We’re leaving this way.”
“Yes’m.” He darts to her side, facing outward.
Declan yanks me through the exit, followed by Connor and Felix, with Skittles and her boy covering our rears.
Pinpricks of light from the right wall illuminate a narrow hall, which forces us to walk single file. I don’t like the thought of Declan taking the lead. He’s still weak from the poison and without a weapon. Despite his suspicion toward me, I don’t want to see him hurt again.
As we pass another dot of light, I glance at it, then freeze. Walking close on my heels, Connor doesn’t have time to stop and runs into my back, but I ignore him as I press my face to the wall. What I took for an odd lighting method turns out to be actual holes in the wall, and when I put my eye to one, I find myself staring into one of the booths that line the back wall of the balcony. I pull back and stare down the hall. A spy hole for every booth. An archaic form of eavesdropping undetectable by scanners designed to look for electrical devices.
What kind of business does Club Razor front for? It’s obviously not a normal club and sending us out this exit was a show of faith on March’s part, a further reminder that he’s on our side. But on our side against who? And what does he aim to gain in the end?
The distance between me and Declan grows, and I hurry my pace to close the gap, not wanting him to get too far ahead.
At the end of the hall, stairs lead downward, and another peek through a spy hole shows the staircase we walked up on the other side of the wall. The lower we go, the darker the stairway becomes, until it ends in near blackness, which makes sense. People using this exit wouldn’t want to announce its existence with bright lights.
Through the shadows, I make out the outline of a door. When Declan reaches to open it, I catch his arm to stall him.
We have no way of knowing what we’ll be stepping out into, but the club’s designers wouldn’t leave its owners blind. I run my hand over the door, searching until I find a cold metal disk. When I press on one side, it swings in the opposite direction on a hinge to reveal a peephole, but it’s too high for me to see through.
I reach up and grab Declan’s jaw, stubble pricking at my fingertips, and direct him to the peephole.
After a long pause, he pulls back to whisper, “It’s an alley. Looks empty.”
I glance behind to make sure we’re all together. The others wait on the last few steps from the bottom, the space in front of the door too small for all of us to stand together.
With a nod, I press on Declan’s back, and he slowly pushes the door open. Unlike where we came in, no light hangs over this exit. We step out into shadows, the only illumination coming from the strobe lights near the main street. Another alley branches off behind the building, leading away from Central Plaza and deeper into the city.
Felix glances in both directions. “Which way should we go?”
“Fastest path is back the way we came.” Skittles jerks a thumb toward the strobe lights. “The fight’s inside right now. Should be safe enough.”
I pull my palm port out to check the time. “We only have forty minutes before Quarter-Light. We have no idea where the other alley lets out and how much backtra
cking we’ll need to do.”
“Not to mention the higher risk of running into other Night Pirates. Or worse”—Skittles shudders—“gangs.”
“Jaffrey owns this level, Captain,” the kid pipes in. “He won’ send his peeps after us.”
She reaches out to ruffle his mop of dull, black hair. “Never underestimate enterprising gangsters.”
He ducks away from the affection. “Yes’m.”
“Pick up your feet, then.” Skittles spins on one heel and marches for the main street. More people flood the street than were there when we entered, most likely the overflow of those the bouncers pushed out. The Blue Guards now hold their batons, the edges sparking with electricity as they keep a wary eye on things from the outside. They go mostly ignored as the displaced try to peer over their neighbor’s shoulders to see inside the open door.
We make a wide circle around the crowd, aiming for the opposite sidewalk that lays mostly empty.
“Hey, you lot over there!” a strident voice calls.
My pulse spikes. We can’t let them read our dat-bands. They’ll notify our families and then all this sneaking around will be for nothing.
“Keep walking,” Skittles says without looking back. “Don’t look at them. We aren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Hey!” The voice comes closer. “I’d like to see your identification. We had a report of some suspicious people causing a ruckus inside!”
Ahead of me, Declan’s head turns, as if unable to stop himself.
The guard’s eyes narrow. “That’s them.” Heavy boots pound against the street, more than one set. “You lot, stop where you are. We’ll have to take you to the Halls to sort you out.”
In answer, Skittles tilts into a sprint.
Panic spikes through me that she’s abandoning us, then a hand slams into my back, shoving me into a run.
Felix quickly outpaces me, catching my hand as he passes to pull me along faster. Wind bites at my face, the cement sidewalk hard beneath my shoes.