Devilish Game (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 4)

I was aware of her every movement as we walked toward the bar. The crowd parted easily to let us pass, and I stopped at an open spot at the long expanse of gleaming wood. At the far end, Mac appeared briefly, speaking to someone who looked like the manager. She blended perfectly, her hair darker and her face slightly different, thanks to Eve’s potion. When she found her mark, she’d transform entirely to look like them.

Carrow and I both made a point not to look at her.

I leaned down and spoke at Carrow’s ear, unable to help getting closer. It was unwise, but such a small thing could surely be forgiven by fate.

“What can I get you?” I asked.

“Sparkling water with a lime. In a rocks glass.”

“Clever.” It would look like a vodka soda or gin and tonic when served that way. I couldn’t get away with anything less than an amber colored Scotch—Anton knew my preferences too well—but one drink would hardly affect me.

I withdrew a hundred-pound note from my pocket and made eye contact with the nearest server.

The small, pale man hurried over, a polite smile in his eyes. “May I help you?”

“I have a tab—Devil of Darkvale. My usual and a sparkling water with lime for the lady.” I passed him the hundred-pound note, a not-so-subtle bribe that would encourage him to follow the notations on the valued client drinks list.

He took the note and nodded, hurrying off to the middle of the bar, where he retrieved a small black notebook.

Carrow nodded at him. “What’s all that about?”

“They keep track of the preferences of the wealthiest visitors. I don’t come here to gamble often, but I do come for meetings.”

She raised her brows. “Crime lord meetings?”

I nodded. She winced, reminding me just how different our lives and values were.

Which was good. It would help us keep our distance when it was so vital that we do so.

I watched the bartender with a keen eye as he cracked open a fresh bottle of my preferred Scotch. I didn’t want anything that could be tampered with, and I was satisfied to see the small poof of blue magic that indicated a fresh, un-enchanted bottle. He poured a glass, then fetched a fresh bottle of Perrier and decanted it into a glass for Carrow.

When he’d returned with our drinks, we took them and turned to the room.

The space bustled with movement as people flowed between the tables, stopping to sit or stand at a game of chance.

“Any idea where Anton is?” Carrow asked.

I searched the floor, not spotting him in any of his preferred places. “He’s either at a private table in the back or at the theater on the next floor.”

A server strolled by, a tray of champagne raised high. I caught her gaze as she passed, and she stopped.

“Pardon me.” I kept my voice low. “Where is Anton? I quite fancy a game.”

She smiled widely. “Then it’s your night. He’s in the back. Good luck getting there.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

She hurried on, and Carrow leaned up to speak close to my ear. “What does she mean about getting there?”

“It’s a meritocracy at the back table. You need to earn your way there by winning out here.”

“What game?”

“Poker.”

Carrow grinned. “I’m good at poker.”

“Are you now?”