by Pati Nagle
They walked together toward the table to the wild cheering of the crowd. Amber was there, waiting to deal, and they all three sat down to business as Penstemon stepped up in front of a camera.
“Arnold Rothstein has defaulted. Therefore, his chips will be removed from the table.” He waved a hand casually and Rothstein’s stack vanished. “We are down to heads-up play between William Weare and Wild Bill Hickok. Dealer, put ‘em in the air!”
The crowd clapped and hooted, then settled down to watch. For a couple of hands James and Weare folded the blinds, both looking for winners. James watched the Englishman’s eyes, which had a set and determined look to them at odds with his casual smile. Weare was playing for keeps.
Well, so was he. This was it—the final showdown. One of them would live on, and the other would go back.
Back to how it had been before? James chewed his lip as he watched Amber’s pretty purple hands mess the cards around and then gather them up for another deal.
He didn’t figure it would be like before. He’d been half asleep, then, and he doubted he’d forget everything he’d learned in the meantime, even if he did lose. He glanced at Penstemon, then at the hungry crowd in the stands.
His second card spun to a stop on top of the first and he lifted up the corners like they’d all learned to do from Runyon. Poor Runyon, gone back into the loop, he thought fleetingly, then his mind focused in on the cards.
Ace eight of spades.
He looked up at Weare, who had the small blind and the action. Weare shoved a stack of chips forward.
“One hundred thousand.”
James matched the bet. “Call.”
Amber dealt the flop: ace of clubs, queen of hearts, eight of clubs. A tingle went through James, not the cold prickle that meant magic but the ghostly touch of memory.
Aces and eights, queen kicker. He’d held these cards before.
He smiled inside but didn’t let it reach his face. ‘Bout time he found out whether this hand was a winner.
“Two hundred thousand,” said Weare, pushing chips to the pot.
That was most of Weare’s stack. James watched him, looking for signs of the gloat or the bluff. He could have a pair of queens or even aces, or two more clubs for a flush draw.
The Englishman’s green eyes told nothing. Beyond him in the stands, Miss Alma and Miss Joanie were clinging together, and James felt a stab of envy.
Weare had everything to live for. He’d found a new love in this strange new world.
Whereas James had a bunch of what they called screaming fans, but not really any friends to speak of, except maybe Penstemon. He glanced toward the shadows where the sorcerer stood, quietly waiting. They were all waiting.
“Call,” James said, pushing a pile of chips forward.
He only had a few thousand more. This hand would make or break one of them.
Probably he should have gone all in, that would have been the showy thing to do. He’d never been that much of a showman, though. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling tired.
An excited noise from the crowd made him open them again. The turn card was on the board. Nine of diamonds.
James wanted to laugh, remembering the damn nine on the wall at the new No. 10 Saloon, and how he’d argued with the boss about it. He looked up for Weare’s reaction and saw a tiny crease on his brow.
Not the card Weare had wanted, then. It made a straight possible. More than one way to win this one.
“Check,” Weare said, leaning back and watching James.
James felt the elation of a sure win. Weare didn’t have the straight, and James doubted he had a pocket pair to match a card on the board. James’s two pair, the damn dead man’s hand, were the boss cards, he felt sure of it.
He saw himself collecting the win, watching Weare fade to dust while the crowd roared and screamed. All except for Weare’s two lady friends, of course.
Then what the hell would he do? Get a million dollars from Penstemon. Nice bankroll for a new start on life, but what the hell kind of life would it be?
He looked up toward the ceiling, past Jane and the other rowdies, up toward the back. The lights hanging up there made it hard to see, but still the back of his neck prickled as he glimpsed a silhouette that looked familiar. He stood up.
The crowd roared, thinking he was going all in. He hadn’t done that, though. The cards were in his hands, his last few chips still behind the line.
“Fold,” he said softly, and dropped the cards across the line.
He walked toward the audience, who were all staring at him, shocked to silence. He stopped when he reached the stands and turned his head to look back at Penstemon.
“I seen her. Took me a while. You’re still looking, aren’t you?”
The sorcerer gazed at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded.
“Hope yours finds her way here. She must be a hell of a woman.”
Penstemon closed his eyes briefly, a crease of pain on his brow. James would love to know the whole story, but he had a more pressing matter to attend to.
“I’m ready.”
Penstemon inhaled long and slow and reached into his pocket. James looked back toward the ceiling, squinting at the glare of the lights that shifted and softened as he felt the first tickling wave of his body going back to dust. He tried a step into the air and found he could do it, and broke into a grin as he strode up over the heads of the marveling crowd.
She came forward to meet him. She’d been waiting all this time, so patient, just like she had been in life. A solid, sensible woman, not a beauty, but she was beautiful to him.
“Agnes,” he said, taking her hands.
She smiled back at him. “You done fooling around, James?”
He nodded. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”
“Never mind,” she said, and she took his face in her hands and kissed him, right there in front of everybody.
The crowd gave a wild roar. It faded into the crashing of the ocean, just like the hotel and all the lights and the crowd faded away around them as James and Agnes stepped into the sky.
About the Author
Pati Nagle was born and raised in the mountains of northern New Mexico. An avid student of music, history, and humans in general, she loves the outdoors but hides from the sun.
She writes in a variety of genres, but is most often drawn to fantasy or (as P.G. Nagle) historical fiction. Her stories have appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and in various other magazines and anthologies, including Elf Magic, which featured “Kind Hunter,” the story that sparked the ælven world now featured in her Blood of the Kindred and Immortal fantasy series. Her latest novel prior to Dead Man’s Hand is a mystery written as Patrice Greenwood, A Fatal Twist of Lemon (Evennight Books/Book View Café).
Pati Nagle lives in the New Mexico mountains with her husband and lots of wildlife. She loves to walk in the woods and look up at the stars.
patinagle.com
pgnagle.com
Other Books by Pati Nagle
Blood of the Kindred series
The Betrayal
Heart of the Exiled
Swords Over Fireshore
Immortal series
Immortal
Eternal
Many Paths: Stories of the Ælven
Pet Noir
Coyote Ugly and Other Tales
Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries
A Fatal Twist of Lemon
(by Patrice Greenwood)
available at:
evennight.com
bookviewcafe.com
or your favorite bookseller
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