Chapter 3
I collected my winnings from another hand that was oh-so-conveniently in my favor when a casino staff member approached me. Pausing, I got this gut feeling that bordered on paranoia. Were they going to accuse me of card counting or suspect my powers were to blame?
I prepared myself to play the innocent victim; they couldn’t prove shit.
“Excuse me, miss. Could you come with me?” The woman appeared far too serious to be saying ‘excuse me’ in any language. The bland appearance of her boxy pantsuit made a nun’s habit look like a bold new fashion trend.
Lifting a brow and staying comfortably in my seat, I looked directly at her. “Is there a problem?”
She shook her head. “No. No problem, but it has been requested that we extend an invitation to you to take part in our prestigious blackjack tournament being held this evening.”
Well, that was a pleasant surprise compared to the eviction I expected.
About damn time someone recognized true talent.
“Oh?” My voice lilted with feigned surprise while I organized my chips into stacks in front of me. “Count me in.”
The last thing I wanted was to look too eager to jump into the last-minute inclusion.
Clearly she didn’t plan on going away with just my verbal RSVP, this woman loomed like a goddamn plague of the medieval sort.
Ignoring her presence, I turned my attention back to the dealer and waited for him to lay out the next round of cards. A solid minute passed with no movement and all the awkward tension hanging in the air. It appeared this woman’s presence was holding up the entire damn show at my table.
“Miss, I must insist you come with me. To participate in the tournament, there are several formalities we need to complete.” She clasped her hands together in front of her, lips pressed into a thin line.
It reminded me of a strict school teacher standing before an unruly student who refused to play by the rules.
Formalities? Please. It sounded more like an unnecessary inconvenience.
The aggressive tap of my nails against the felt-lined table matched the rhythm of my growing irritation.
Impatience won out, and I decided I had had enough of this.
I huffed out in exasperation and tossed a tip across the table to the dealer.
The tournament had much higher stakes than whatever I was going to win over several hours sitting at this particular table.
Getting up from my seat, I stuffed the chips in my pockets. “Lead the way.”
I followed behind the woman as she moved at a glacial pace, like she was more focused on winning the award for Superbia’s slowest walker. Maybe she was part snail.
Finally, we arrived right outside a ballroom, bustling with activity in advance of this evening’s tournament. Just above the entryway, a sparkling banner stretched across all four open doors. The wide, bold font proudly advertised the exclusive event.
Stretching my neck to peer deeper inside the room, I managed a quick count. There were five seats at each of the ten tables. A man inside the room dragged a sixth seat to the nearest table. Fifty-one players were expected. It looked like I’d have quite the audience when I stole the grand prize.
Glancing back at the no-nonsense woman who escorted me here, she was retrieving a clipboard from a box labeled ‘Registration.’
Without any pleasantries, she thrust it into my hands. “Fill this out,” she demanded as if this whole interaction was nothing but a waste of her time.
Bossy and rude for someone who wants me to participate in this shindig.
Scanning the page, it was most of your typical mundane shit that participatory forms asked for. Name, address, supernatural breed, etc. Quickly, I scribbled my information in each allotted space. When I got to the bottom of the page, I hesitated at the fine print.
A skeptical brow lifted. “What’s this?” I looked up at the woman who was hovering uncomfortably close.
“Standard boilerplate language. Sevenfold Casino is not responsible for any losses, financial or otherwise. You are agreeing to partake in this tournament of your own free will,” she explained. The roll of her eyes suggested I had asked such a burdensome question.
Bitch.
When my pen hesitated above the signature line, she dragged in a deep breath and exhaled it sharply before she finished her summary of what I was about to agree to.
“Should you be the last remaining player at the end of the tournament, you will have the option to double your winnings in one final hand. That shall take place in our Specialty Wager Room.”
Something told me this woman didn’t expect me to make it past the first round. Boy, was she going to be disappointed.
“Specialty Wager Room, huh?” I signed my name in one sweeping movement of my hand below all the legal mumbo-jumbo embedded on the form.
Her response was as dry as the center of the desert. “Yes.”
The curt response didn’t tell me jack shit about this mysterious room I expected to be scoping out later tonight.
I handed the clipboard—and potentially my life for all I knew—over to her.
After a brief inspection, she must have found my responses acceptable and returned the clipboard to its home in the box it came from.
She lifted a single finger. “One more thing, Miss Bechette.” A loaded pause as her eyes raked over me with something just shy of disdain. “Wait here.”
I crossed my arms in front of me, impatiently waiting to see what else signing up for this tournament was going to involve. She disappeared around the corner, and when she returned, she had a garment bag hanging from her hand.
The confusion on my face must have said it all because she felt compelled to add snark to her explanation. “It’s a dress and shoes.”
“A dress?” I hesitantly slid the curved metal hook of the hanger off her fingers. Did all invitees get a wardrobe upgrade?
Relinquishing her hold, she spoke very matter-of-factly. “It is complimentary. Given the short notice of your invitation, Mr. Reynard wanted to ensure you had suitable attire.”
Why was it that I found myself asking more questions the longer I stayed here in Sevenfold? Before I could ask who Mr. Reynard was, I felt that odd trickle along my skin from earlier.
I visibly shivered despite initial attempts to ignore the haunting force. When it didn’t cease, I opted for another approach.
Opening my mind’s eye, I attempted to get a glimpse into the future.
The hope was that the connection to whatever this unsettling sensation was would guide the vision.
No sooner had I summoned my ability than I felt a burst of green light in my head.
It metaphysically hit me with such force that I gasped out loud.
My free hand shot out to latch onto the nearest solid structure to steady myself.
My precognition scampered away temporarily, and the sensation that had been pestering me moments ago also retreated. My sapphire eyes wildly searched my surroundings. Looking for what? I didn’t even fucking know.
The erratic behavior earned me an unprecedented look of concern or perhaps a touch of fear from the woman who had less personality than a paperclip. I doubted the way my hand clamped onto her shoulders—fingers digging into the padding of her oversized shoulder pads—had little to do with it.
My pulse jumped chaotically in my throat, my brain remained perplexed about what the hell just happened, and my power recoiled like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.
With obvious reservations about my mental stability, the woman peeled each of my fingers from her shoulder one by one. Then, she slowly extended a glossy card to me.
“All the information you’ll need to get into the tournament is here.” Her words were less authoritative now and more guarded.
Swallowing past the lingering unease, I took the postcard-sized piece of cardstock and looked it over just long enough to note that the tournament began in two hours.
“Thanks. I’ll be back here by six,” I murmured.
I had been prepared to make a hasty retreat, but then I heard the loudest squeal of excitement as a man rushed toward me.
He was a portly chap, but everything about him was pristinely styled.
Not a single grey-blond hair on his head was out of place, and the bright color choices of his shirt and pants stuck out amongst the more subdued color scheme of the casino.
“My gods! You are positively stunning!” The elevated tone of his voice gave me the impression that he had an appreciation for beauty in all its forms, regardless of paranormal breed.
Given that no one else around me damn near compared to the level I was on, I wasn’t surprised when he made a beeline in my direction.
Foregoing modesty, I smiled knowingly before acknowledging the compliment, “I know. Thank you.”
I made the attempt to sidestep him, but he mirrored my movements, blocking my path.
Trying again, he did the same.
Fed up with the childish game, I huffed. “I’m trying to get by.”
“Oh honey, not yet. I have so many things I want to do here.” His hands made some bizarrely wild gesture in front of me that I could only describe as jazz hands having seizures.
He plucked the garment bag out of my possession before linking his other arm through mine.
“I’m Ignatius, and I am responsible for enhancing the natural beauty of all those who seek my services.
My studio is all set up for you. Waxing, a mani-pedi, hair, makeup—the works.
Do you prefer your rosé flat or sparkling?
I personally prefer the tickle of a good bottle of bubbly, but today isn’t about me. ”
This chatterbox had my head spinning to keep up with him. Before I knew it, I was being guided further into the depths of Sevenfold. Several turns and two sets of doors later, I found myself seated in a salon chair inside a swanky private studio.
Before me was a large mirror with bright fluorescents around it, allowing me to watch the reflection of the eccentric man behind me zipping back and forth, gathering armfuls of beauty supplies.
“I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it’s well deserved, but what am I doing here?” I asked warily.
He abruptly stopped, placing a hand on his chest in shock that I didn’t know. “Didn’t Monica tell you? My gods, that woman some days. She gives you the outfit of a lifetime and doesn’t mention all the goodies that come with it?” Exasperated, he shook his head.
Setting down a palette of shadows on a nearby cart, he stepped up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Mr. Reynard insisted that you get the crème de la crème royal treatment while you are here.”
“Mr. Reynard?” This was the second time today I had heard his name.
“Yes, as in Ace Reynard.” He stared at me, expecting recognition to flit across my face. When it didn’t, he continued to clue me in. “As in the owner of Sevenfold Casino.”
All the pieces connected with startling clarity thanks to Ignatius.
“Sounds like he’s creepy as fuck if he’s coordinated all this and hasn’t even introduced himself.
Probably ancient and covered in boils or something.
” It would be just my luck that I’d have to fend off some obscenely rich and ancient puss demon looking for a sugar baby.
Once again, my track record with men had always been lackluster.
A hearty laugh bubbled up Ignatius’s throat as he tipped his head back. Genuine amusement lit up his eyes, one lavender and the other a burnt orange color. “Oh dear, he is something, but I wouldn’t go that far.”
He glanced to each side before he lowered his voice in a stage whisper. “Between you and me, I would be the first in line if he showed any interest in some double twig and berries action. You get what I mean?” Ignatius waggled his eyebrows.
Double twig?
That was some very personal information that I wasn’t sure I needed to know.
The next hour and a half was spent with Iggy—as I had dubbed him—primping this or styling that. I’d be lying if I said I minded the pampering after a hard day’s work. It wasn’t easy being me.
During my time in the stylist chair, I had learned that Iggy had been Mr. Reynard’s personal stylist for the past thirty years. While I didn’t learn much about the mysterious owner of this establishment, I did learn far too much about the man giving me the goddess treatment I deserved.
Apparently, Ignatius was a glamor demon.
He had a penchant for all things divinely beautiful and could either enhance them or lessen them.
He had a poodle-hellhound mix puppy named Adonis and a sister who cheated him out of his life savings to fund her revenge plot involving hiring some guy who was an envy broker.
He spun my chair around in a grand reveal so I could evaluate all his efforts.
Styled into loose waves past my shoulders, the warm golden tones in my hair blended perfectly with my lighter copper hues.
The application of makeup didn’t overshadow my natural beauty but rather gave it an enhanced and seductive element, appropriate for tonight’s occasion.
Fuck, you may as well crown me Miss Superbia right now.
After taking several moments for my marine blue eyes to appreciate what I saw in the mirror, Iggy came up behind me with a hand on his hip and a larger-than-life smile.
“Perfection, if I do say so myself. An echo of seduction, power, and quite the vision.”
I looked over my shoulder at him and grinned. “I can’t argue with you there.”
Noting the time on the clock mounted on the wall, I needed to get dressed if I was going to show up on time for this tournament.
And by showing up on time, what I really meant was being fashionably late.
I wanted everyone’s eyes on me when I stepped into that ballroom, so they knew who was walking away the grand winner tonight.
Behind a changing vanity, I slipped into the outfit this Ace Reynard had selected for me.
Feeling the silky material against my body, I was a little annoyed that it fit as perfectly as it did along each of my curves.
How the hell did someone I’d never met or even heard of before today manage to nail my size with such precision?
I had a feeling I was going to find out.