by Jane Kindred
Kezef’s eyes narrowed. The odds of two wings in a row within a cast of the deal were astronomical. Belphagor had influenced Kezef’s shuffling. Which seemed only fair, considering Kezef was still using some kind of illegal charm.
As the loser, Kezef dealt the next round as well, and after a few casts, Belphagor won it handily, without tricks. Kezef’s charm seemed only to work when the other player dealt. One round to go, and it was Kezef’s to deal.
The demon took his time and set his hand over the die once he’d dealt so he could examine his cards thoroughly before Belphagor could cast it. Technically, a player wasn’t allowed to touch the die when it wasn’t his turn to cast, but Belphagor sighed and overlooked it. He’d be done with Kezef in a minute. When Kezef moved his hand away, however, and Belphagor cast, he realized his mistake. The charm wasn’t in the dealing, it was in whatever Kezef laid his hands on.
Throughout the round, when Belphagor cast, Kezef called it correctly without fail. It was a risky gamble with so many observers, but it seemed the majority were on Kezef’s side, most of them having been beaten by Belphagor on numerous occasions, and no one questioned his luck. Kezef managed to win the round with a full choir, and Belphagor was back to having three rounds to win.
“What do you say we make this round the definitive one?” Kezef smiled affably. “Whoever wins this hand wins the game. As much as I’m enjoying our time together, I don’t relish playing until one of us dies of old age.” Belphagor knew it would be playing into Kezef’s hands, but the demon was right. This game was never going to end. He had to agree. But he wasn’t about to give Kezef the advantage.
“Fresh deck and a fresh die,” he said, raising his hand to call for the croupier.
Kezef frowned, but he couldn’t very well refuse such a reasonable request. Circumventing Kezef’s move to put his hands on the new set as soon as it was delivered, Belphagor took them from the croupier and murmured a neutralizing spell so no influence or charm would work on them. It meant he’d have to play this hand straight—but so would Kezef.
He passed the cards to the other demon. “Why don’t you deal?”
Kezef smiled and pushed them back. “I’d rather you dealt.” He held out his hand for the die. Belphagor shrugged and placed the glass dodecahedron in his palm. He dealt the cards and looked his over with a neutral expression. It was probably the worst hand he’d ever been dealt. Kezef scrutinized his with an equal lack of concern, but it was an instant or two longer than usual before he cast, which meant he’d likely gotten a shit hand as well. Hoorah for non-magical wingcasting.
“Eel,” Belphagor called as the die tumbled from Kezef’s hand. Rook. He took his time discarding, even though he had nothing, just to give the impression he might have. Kezef picked up his card with the air of a player who’d gotten a stroke of good luck. Which meant he hadn’t. There was no penalty for holding extra cards. It was good strategy to take as many as one reasonably could without alerting the other player to the fact that they might be extraneous.
Belphagor cast, and Kezef’s call also fell short. He ignored Kezef’s discard. He still had nothing, but the card would have given him nothing better, and letting it lie said he had a viable hand. At Belphagor’s side, Vasily shifted nervously at the slow progression of the round.
Kezef had given away a hint of anxiety once again on his discard with the muscle twitch. It was time to take a risk.
“What do you say we make this worthwhile?”
Kezef observed him mild interest. “Meaning?”
“I’ll modify my wager to waive Vasily’s right to veto. If you win, he’s yours for the night regardless of his wishes, and you keep your information.” Heat radiated toward him from the furious exhalation through Vasily’s nostrils. It was like sitting next to a dragon.
“And if you win?”
“You give me everything you have on the missing girls—no omissions, full disclosure. And you agree never to challenge my title—or my boy—again.”
Kezef’s muscle twitch gave away his overwhelming urge to glance at the cards he’d already committed to memory, though he resisted. He transferred his cards to the left hand without looking at them and held out his right. “Agreed.” They shook on it, and Kezef made a movement toward the die.
It was all Belphagor needed to confirm his hunch. He dropped his cards face-up on the table before Kezef could cast. Vasily’s harsh intake of breath was audible. The hand was pathetic: two of a kind and a partial sphere. But with a bet like that, if Kezef had anything at all, he’d have shown his cards immediately, not wanting to wait to give Belphagor a chance to get a last crucial card. All the same, Belphagor’s gut churned with anxiety as he waited for Kezef’s reaction. If he’d guessed wrong…
Kezef displayed his cards. Three of a kind, and a pair of Seraphim. But they were in opposite colored suits. Belphagor’s cards were all in black. He’d won by a hair’s breadth. It was several moments before the uproar of demons bemoaning their lost bets and others demanding their payoffs died down enough for the two players to be able to hear themselves speak.
“Well played, Prince of Tricks.” Kezef reluctantly extended his hand in congratulation. Vasily’s relief was palpable. Kezef’s eyes were on the firespirit as they shook. “It’s a shame I won’t have the opportunity to lay you bare to your authentic self and force you to voice your basest urges before I exploit them.”
Vasily made a move to lunge forward, but Belphagor gripped the firespirit’s thigh firmly while squeezing Kezef’s hand until the compression of the small bones was almost audible and Kezef winced. “You don’t speak to him.”
“That wasn’t a stipulation of the wager.”
“Cross me, demon. See what happens.”
Managing to retain his dignity, Kezef wrested his hand from Belphagor’s. “You’re only demonstrating your own insecurity that you suspect what I say to be true. But no matter. You won. I’ll concede.”
Belphagor ignored his posturing as he gathered the cards. “Pay up.”
Kezef glanced about. Now that the game was over, no one was paying attention to them, but this evidently wasn’t enough. “Not here.”
“Are you trying to renege?”
“Don’t be tiresome. It requires a more private venue.”
“A booth in the taproom, then.” Belphagor rose without waiting for Kezef’s response, and Vasily rose with him. They made their way to a private booth in the adjoining room, but Kezef took his time following, stopping off at the bar to get a pint before he joined them. Belphagor took out a cigar while they waited, and Vasily lit it with the heat concentrated in his tongue. Which meant he wasn’t holding a grudge over Belphagor’s risky gamble.
“So where are the girls?” Belphagor demanded when Kezef sat.
“They’ve gone to the residence of an angel.”
“An angel?” This wasn’t the information he’d expected. “What angel?”
“A member of the nobility who hosts elite affairs that cater to particular tastes—more specifically, to dominants. He’s a Virtue.”
“A Virtue?” Vasily sat up straight. “Are you sure?”
Kezef took a sip of his ale. “Quite sure. His name is Auria. But surely you haven’t made the acquaintance of many Virtues.”
Belphagor answered before Vasily gave away what they’d learned about the conspiracy against the principality. “There have been one or two at the Stone Horse.”
Kezef’s shoulders lifted in a disinterested shrug. “I doubt this Virtue would have been seen there.”
“So where do I find this Auria?”
“He rents a villa on the Left Bank. I’ve never been to it myself. He doesn’t entertain demons. All I know is what I’ve heard from angels who share in our leanings.”
Belphagor bristled at the idea that he shared anything with the sort of individuals, demon or angel, who would traffic in minors. “I think you mistake my leanings.”
“You’re absurdly self-righteous.” Finishing his ale
in one swallow, Kezef stood to leave.
Belphagor’s boot blocked the demon’s path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Kezef stared at the boot for a moment before replying evenly, “I gave you the information.”
“All you’ve said is that some Virtue in the Left Bank purchased the girls for parties.”
“I told you all I know. I even gave you his name.”
“I suggest you plumb the depths of your knowledge and dredge up every little detail you can recall, or we’re going to have a problem.”
“Just what details do you imagine I’ve left out?”
“You implied the girls were in imminent danger.”
“So I did,” said Kezef. “Perhaps you didn’t understand me, so I’ll put it as plainly as I can. Auria has been training these demonesses as submissives for an affair yet to be held. He’s held such affairs in the past when he had access to a steady influx of girls from the Fletchery to rely upon.” Kezef paused as if to see whether Belphagor was following, sighing when Belphagor continued to scowl at him. “As with the product at the Fletchery, these girls are only good for one use.”
Belphagor’s mind fought against grasping the significance of this, but his stomach seemed to know instinctively, judging by the sick feeling in its pit.
“My understanding,” said Kezef, in case Belphagor still had any doubt, “is that they place wagers on how long each girl will last under the lash.”
Anger choked him, but Vasily voiced his disgust. “Sounds right up your fucking alley.” The growl was so full of fire, the words were difficult to work out, but Kezef seemed to catch the meaning.
“Contrary to what that silk-tongued liar with whom the two of you cavort would have you believe, it has never been my habit to inflict violence for the sake of violence upon the object of my attentions. I find such practices contemptible.”
Vasily’s outraged and humorless laugh shook the booth like a low thunder. “And what do you call what you did to me?”
Kezef’s gaze traveled over the firespirit with unmasked appreciation. “Precisely what you craved and deserved.”
Belphagor leaned in with menace. “I warned you not to speak to him. Another word and you’ll find out how I earned my ink.”
Kezef gave him a dark smile. “Your obsession with your petty glories among a bunch of pathetic humans doesn’t interest me. But perhaps you should consider disciplining your overgrown boy. He does seem determined to engage me. Now if we’re quite through—”
Belphagor jerked his elbow in an involuntary motion as though he meant to take Kezef down, and couldn’t help but take satisfaction in the slight flinch in the larger demon. “Not just yet. I don’t suppose you have any information on when this repulsive affair will be held.”
“All I’m told is that it’s imminent. Which is what I have been telling you for a number of days, and yet you kept putting me off. Since it was imminent when I heard about it, I suggest you stop wasting time needling me about it and go play the hero as you’re so fond of regarding yourself.” Kezef stepped over Belphagor’s boot and took his leave without a backward glance.
While Belphagor stared at the table without seeing it, trying to decide what to do with the information, Vasily’s hand slid across the varnished wood. Belphagor took it gratefully, glancing over at him.
“Kezef is scum.”
Belphagor snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
They were both quiet for a moment, and then Vasily spoke again. “I’m going to have to make up with Gaspard.”
Belphagor jerked his hand back. “What in Heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“In order to get more information on Auria so we can figure out how to get to the girls. We can’t just leave them there.”
“I have no intention of leaving them there. But you are not going anywhere near Gaspard.”
“I can handle him, Beli.”
“Don’t ‘Beli’ me.” Belphagor rose and headed back to the room, too angry to argue about it and too angry to wait to see if Vasily would follow. He arrived at the room alone but was inside for less than five minutes when Vasily entered and slammed the door behind him.
Fire crackled around the hazel eyes. “You don’t just get to walk off because you think you’re right and I’m wrong.”
Belphagor dug his fingers into the back of the vanity chair. “Vasya—”
“You take risks all the time when the payoff is worth it. You risked me in your damned game.”
“And I’m sorry. If I’d had any other choice—”
“I’m not asking you to be sorry, dammit. I’m asking you to trust me for once to be able to do something useful. Do you trust me? Because I trusted you. I let you bet me like a cheap purse full of crystal facets to that vile demon because I believed you when you said you’d never lose me.”
He’d rendered Belphagor speechless for once. There were few things Belphagor hated more than being wrong. And he was plainly wrong. When had his boy gotten to be so smart? It was probably all that damned Dostoevsky he’d been reading.
Vasily crossed his thick arms in front of his chest, waiting for an answer. “I’m going to do it,” he insisted. “It’s all we’ve got. You can do what you like to me, but it’s happening.”
Belphagor’s eyebrow twitched, and he released his grip on the chair. “Oh, can I?” He stepped closer, and Vasily’s face reddened, but he stood his ground, glaring fire. “Anything I like?”
“You always do, Beli.”
Belphagor burst out laughing at the unexpected use of his pet name in the midst of Vasily’s fiery defiance, and Vasily glared harder. “I suppose I’ll have to think up a uniquely appropriate punishment for your being both as stubborn as a mule and smarter than me.” He could see the surprise at this statement warring with the firespirit nature; once kindled, it was difficult to put out. But Vasily’s arousal at the idea of being punished seemed to win out over both.
Belphagor gave an appreciative nod at the swelling beside the firespirit’s fly. He cupped his hand lightly over it, relishing the warm exhalation this provoked. “You go ahead and play the game with Gaspard.” He gave Vasily a light squeeze. “Find out what you can. But do it using this”—he traced his fingers against the fabric over the generous outline—“and nothing more. Just your firespirit allure. You may touch yourself, but you will touch nothing of his and you will not allow him to touch you. Your cock, your mouth, and your ass belong to me.”
Vasily’s arms slowly unfolded, and the glittering eyes looked down into Belphagor’s, an extension of the heat Belphagor cupped in his palm, but they were also questioning.
Belphagor let his hand slip away as he gave Vasily a dark smile. “No, not right now, boy. Your punishment will come later. Now go earn it.”
Vasily stood outside Gaspard’s house in the Merchant Quarter with his hands in his pockets, working up the nerve to ring the bell. He’d come up with his approach, but swallowing his pride in order to execute it was going to take some doing.
Before he’d gotten completely there, the door opened. Vasily stepped back in surprise, and Gaspard stared down at him from the top of the steps with an expression of disbelief, quickly replaced by one of outrage.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize for overreacting the other day.”
Gaspard pulled his collar up around his neck as the wind whipped through the narrow street. “Overreacting. Is that what you call it? You physically assaulted me.”
Vasily bit his tongue on the angry retort that it was Gaspard who had assaulted him. To keep from lashing the demon with fire at his audacity, Vasily forced himself to breathe deep, the way Belphagor had taught him to increase his endurance during discipline. “I think we both had a little too much to drink that afternoon. I said things I didn’t mean. I’m sure you did too.”
Giving the merchant an out for his own behavior seemed to do the trick. His demeanor visibly softened. “I suppose I did h
ave a little more than I’m accustomed to.” He stepped down past Vasily as if to go his way. He’d have to lay it on a little thicker.
“I don’t blame you if you don’t want to engage my services again, but I was hoping…” He let his voice trail off uncertainly, glancing away.
Gaspard paused. “Hoping what?”
“Well… I sort of need a patron. An actual patron, I mean, not a client. You were right about Belphagor.” He growled the name as though he hated the sound in his throat. “He’s worse than a wastrel. He almost lost me in his damned bet. He was going to give me away permanently to be another demon’s slave.”
The demon straightened his lapels as he appeared to give it thought, clearly enjoying the change of fortune that put him in the position of power instead of Vasily. “I did warn you. He’s just the sort of demon who gives the rest of us a bad name among the Host. Demonstrates perfectly the point the Traditionalists have been making that giving demons special rights would only lead to more entitled behavior without accountability.”
Vasily stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded, looking down at his boots. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I think maybe demons like me—demons who don’t make an honest living—ought to be subject to harsher penalties. It might have helped set me on the right path when I was younger if I’d had to consider the consequences.” The hard-luck angle seemed to win him over at last.
“You mustn’t be so hard on yourself.” Gaspard put a hand on his sleeve and stroked it fondly. “All you need is a decent role model. If you really want to become a more productive citizen, perhaps I could help you with that. I’m sure we could come to some kind of arrangement.” Bells tolled the hour in the distance, the clear wintry air carrying the icy notes from Elysium, and Gaspard withdrew his hand. “I have an appointment to keep right now—with the Traditionalists, in fact—but why don’t you come by at dinnertime, and we’ll discuss this further.”