Sinner's Game: Urban Fantasy romance (Black Arcana series Book 1) Page 2

  After lighting the smoke and drawing in a long drag, she was ready to lecture me. Cigarette caught between her scissored fingers, stabbing them my way, she said, “Listen. There’s only one way to play a sinner’s game. And that’s to win. Which means ya must know everything ya can about your opponents.”

  She took another long drag before reaching for her gin and glass. This game was in Bea’s blood. As much as she stressed and worried over each job, when she held that artifact in her hand, her face glowed. Adding to that glow was the thrill she gained by forcing people with more magical ability than herself to squabble amongst themselves as they haggled to be the successful bidder.

  The shot disappeared in one gulp, washing the smoke from her cigarette down her throat. “Let’s run over the plan?”

  “I’m to imitate a pot plant.”

  “Don’t make eye contact. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even scratch your fucking nose. I’m not fucking paying for it. There’ll be plenty bidding, plenty more watching those that bid, and plenty more again just waiting for the auction to end, so they can get their hands on what’s not theirs by force. Once you know who ends up with it, you leave, come straight home, and tell me who it is.”

  “Then we send one of my little pals in.”

  Auntie Bea nodded and stared at the wall, absent-mindedly scratching the side of her chin before taking another drag. “I’ll bet my ass many others will be making their plans to steal it. We’ve gotta move fast, but not so fast as we don’t stay smart. We have one opportunity. Whoever wins it will lock that one away, making it impossible to retrieve.”

  “Why don’t I take it tonight? I could—”

  “Nah way.” She shook her head. “Nah way. It’s too dangerous.”

  The pounding at our door silenced her.

  “Are we expecting anyone?”

  “Shh,” she hissed. She leaned close. “Stay quiet. They’ll think we’re not home.”

  “They probably heard us talking just now.”

  To punctuate my point, more pounding hammered the door. The sort of pounding that meant business.

  “Auntie Bea,” I growled in frustration, still keeping my voice low. “One week. That’s all it’s been.” What mess had she got herself into now? She may be a rummy, but Auntie Bea had a magical gift for ticking off powerful people.

  “I ain’t done nothing.”

  “I’m going to answer the door.”

  She grabbed my arm, manacling her fingers until it hurt. “Don’t you dare. We’ll hide in the bedroom. They’ll go away soon enough.”

  And with that, the door blew off its hinges, spiraling into the faux-leather couch. It felt like the noise blew out my eardrums. Auntie Bea shrieked, dragging me down with her as she dived under the table, our chairs clattering to the floor with us. I didn’t think she could move that fast.

  Two thuggish men stood in the now open doorway. One had ginger hair, a beard that reached down over his rounded belly, and skin so pale it was almost translucent. The other was dark-skinned, half the height of his friend, and at least one hundred pounds lighter.

  Ginger moved through the door first, squeezing out his pal. Big, booted feet ate up the short distance in our cramped, crappy apartment. The skinny guy caught up, coming to stand at the side of his pal. “Which one of yous is Bea Jennings?”

  “The fat, old bitch under the table,” said the fat ginger haired guy.

  “Get up,” the skinny guy barked.

  “We’re here for a chat,” said his pal. I got a waft of fried onion rings as he righted one of the downed chairs and straddled it, his ass hanging over the sides.

  I helped Auntie Bea up as best I could, but she was a large woman. While she huffed and heaved, ginger helped himself to the gin, pouring half a glass and downing it in one long gulp. The sleeve of his leather jacket inched up his arm to reveal the runic symbol of the devourer tattooed on the inside of his right wrist.

  Apostles of Eternal Night. Diviners of the darkest arts.

  “I’ll have something sorted real soon,” Auntie Bea said, with little conviction in her voice, straining to get on her feet. I righted her chair and helped ease her back onto it.

  “Whatever you’re after—”

  “Shut it, kid.”

  I was taken aback by being called a kid more than anything else. I had dealt with a long list of men chasing after debts Auntie Bea struggled to pay. After a while, you learned how to speak their lingo. But the debt collectors that usually came to our door were human. Based on the way they opened the door and the tattoo on ginger’s wrist, these guys were anything but human.

  Auntie Bea grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the chair next to her. Pressing her lips together, she gave a gentle shake of her head. Shut the freaking hell up it said.

  “See, the boss wants his payment now. Real soon is not now, is it? And we were told we weren’t to leave, unless we left with cash or your ears.” Ginger’s eyes strayed to me, wandering from my legs in my tight denims up my body. They got lost at my chest before skipping up to my face. “We might take this piece of ass to sweeten the boss’s mood. She may get a little damaged on the way, but the boss ain’t gonna know how she started out, now is he?”

  “We’ve got something big.” I dived across the table, scattering papers as I frantically searched for the pamphlet, avoiding looking at Auntie Bea. “See this?” I shoved the pamphlet toward ginger, who snatched it out of my hand. The skinny guy moved in to read over his shoulder, or rather look. I doubted he could read.

  “That piece of shit?” skinny said.

  I half-stood, so I could lean over enough to point at the image of the blue skull. “That there is valuable beyond measure to people in the know.”

  “How’s a fucking skull worth shit?” ginger said.

  Not only were these guys likely illiterate, but both knew little about magical artifacts. Dumb muscle. The dumb muscle was usually kept out of sacred arts, the more powerful magic. Regardless, they had more magical tricks available to them than Auntie Bea or I. My innate magic extended only to influencing animals. It was enough to elevate me from being a rummy, but it wasn’t a match for warlock power.

  “That piece of shit is why all the powerful paranormals of Davenport will be at Smithson and Row tonight.”

  “What does that mean for us?” ginger asked.

  “Just think what your boss will say if you bring him the skull.”

  They looked between them. “If it’s that important, the boss will be there,” skinny said.

  “We’ve as good as got it.” In my periphery, I saw Bea jerk, but I ignored her. “Your boss will miss out, but not if you let us retrieve it for you.”

  “You got something special inside that skinny little body of yours? ‘Cause I don’t see nothing that’s gonna make me believe what you’re saying,” ginger said.

  “A few men have underestimated me. The ones alive know better now.” Talking like this was something I learned from my dealings with the many debt collectors who’d come before. It was all BS, but spoken with conviction, you could make anyone believe it.

  Ginger death-stared at me until it was beyond comfortable. I stayed with him, matching his eye lock with equal intensity. That’s what you had to do with these sorts of people. Thank god he wasn’t from a pack, or he’d hear the mad rhythm of my heart.

  Ginger burst out laughing, arching his head back to release a bellow that made his belly shake like Jello. As quick as he started, he stopped. “You have twenty-four hours to bring us the skull.”

  What? Hell. “I need more time.”

  “If you’ve as good as got it, you shouldn’t need more time.”

  “Give me four days.”

  “Whadda ya reckon?” Ginger asked skinny.

  “Four days. Then we take some souvenirs. First the fat bitch. And then you.”

  “Fair,” I said.

  The two wasted time eyeballing us some more to make sure we understood the threat and the depth of their commitment before crunching over the remains of the door as they left.

  “The Apostles. What’re you doing getting mixed up with them?”

  “I didn’t know they were involved.”

  I launched from my seat. Pacing was a better idea to cool the steam. “We just arrived. How can you already be causing trouble?”

  “I ain’t done nothing here. It was back in Snowton. They must have put a tracker on me. That concealment spell didn’t work.”

  I was about to say nothing ever worked for her, but Auntie Bea was understandably sensitive about her lack of significant ability. “It’s the Apostles, Auntie Bea, a little spell won’t cut it. I can’t believe you left without settling your debt.”

  “I couldn’t pay. Alright.”

  “You should’ve told me. I would’ve sorted it out.” Like I always did.

  “Not this time, Laz.”

  “How much did you lose?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. With the back of her other hand, she wiped at her nose, then sniffled. “Just forget it. We need to focus on the skull, now that you’ve handed it over to the fucking warlock high priest.”

  “I would’ve thought you’d welcome keeping your ears.”

  Auntie Bea dived for her packet of cigarettes, tapping one out with trembling fingers. The last cigarette slipped from the packet and fell to the floor. “Curse them fucking Apostles.” She threw the empty packet across the table and collapsed forward, her face buried in her palms.

  “I’ll go change into something more appropriate for Smithson and Row, while you compile a list of the deadlier paranormals expected there tonight. The ones you think I should keep my distance from.”

  “What’s the point? We’ve lost the skull. No way can we keep it from the Apostles now.” br />
  “It will keep us alive.”

  She sat up, wiping her eyes. “You’re right. Where’s my phone?” On finding it, buried under her paperwork, she glanced at the screen. “If you dress quick, we’ll have enough time to go to church.”

  “Really?” I pressed my lips together before I could say anymore.

  Every city we passed through, every time, rejection. But still she tried. But I guess everyone needed a home, somewhere they felt welcomed by their own. Poor Auntie Bea was an outcast, ostracized for something that wasn’t her fault.

  “We’ll need all the divine help we can get,” she said.

  Chapter 2

  One week we’d been here, and I no longer smelled the exotic spies of the Korean food wafting up the stairwell and into our apartment. The fragrance permeated into the walls and gaudy brown carpet in the bedrooms so that I could close my eyes while eating a bacon sandwich at the kitchen table and believe it was Korean barbecue beef or mandoo.

  Auntie Bea found the stairwell an epic journey that could only be done in stages. The two flights of stairs left her feeling like she’d completed the ironman championships. The single bulb, with its dull yellow glow, flickered a few times on our descent, threatening to blink out all together, which may not have been a bad thing. At least we’d be spared seeing the questionable stains smeared along the wall like the bloody hands prints of a dying man.

  I was almost at the bottom when Chong Hyun-woo burst out of the Korean store, skipped the last two steps and collided with me, sending me backward in my lace-up high-heeled sandals onto my butt. Thank the mother I’d changed into a black V-necked jumpsuit and not the silk wrap mini dress, which would’ve flashed my knickers by now.

  “Larnie, so sorry.” He reached for my hand and gently pulled me up.

  Chong Hyun-woo’s family immigrated here with little money when Chong Hyun-woo was ten. Along with the help of the local charity center, their ethic of working hard bought them this building. They rented the space upstairs to help pay the land tax and turned the shop down below into a Korean grocery store and restaurant.

  “I was coming up to see you.”

  “Were you?” I smoothed my braided updo before I could stop myself. Chong Hyun-woo was a really sweet guy. With his gorgeous golden skin, he was easy on the eye, not to mention around my age, single, and obviously interested. It had been like…forever since I dated a guy. It’s kind of hard to do when you’re always on the move. Even harder when you’re not entirely human.

  “My parents saw two men that looked like members of the Turono gang heading up to your apartment, then they heard a loud noise, like a mini explosion. They were too scared to go and see. But they saw the men leave. I would’ve come sooner to check on you, but I was out on a delivery.”

  “We’re fine. As you can see. Who’s the Turono gang?”

  He smiled his perfect white teeth, which looked brilliant white set against his golden skin and black hair. “Yeah, sorry. I forget you’re not from around here. Turono owe Dim Bazaar. I probably don’t need to say anymore.”

  “It wasn’t them. But our front door came off its hinges. Your parents must’ve heard when it hit the floor.”

  “I’ll come take a look.”

  “Not now.” I placed my hand on his left pec to stall him—noting the honed muscle under my palm—as he made to head upstairs. The dossiers Auntie Bea decided weren’t important enough to bring with us, she’d left scattered on the table, along with her photocopied grimoire. She was not normally so careless, but the Apostles had given her adrenaline fever. Life-threatening situations had a habit of doing that.

  Chong Hyun-woo stalled, one foot on the step above, and turned his dark eyes to me. In his expression I could’ve said we were more than acquaintances or neighbors, that the night held a promise both of us were eager to explore.

  Oh, mother, I was eager to explore it…with him.

  The heavy thuds and huffs of Auntie Bea descending behind me scrubbed the moment. I withdrew my hand as he glanced down at my clothes, the understanding glinting in his eyes. “You’re on your way out.”

  A redundant statement, made awkwardly obvious by the fact we’d met him coming down the stairs.

  “What about your door? You’re going out without locking it?”

  “Your parents are diligent at neighborhood watch. We have somewhere important to be. It can’t wait.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll fix your door first thing tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Chong Hyun-woo.”

  “Just call me Hyun-woo.”

  “Okay.”

  We stared at each other for seconds longer than searched for other places to look while Auntie Bea grunted and cursed her way to the bottom of the stairs. “Chong Hyun-woo,” she panted.

  He bowed. “Ee-mo.” I had introduced her by her full name, Beatrice Jennings, but out of respect he used the title Aunt.

  “When’s that lift going in?”

  He laughed nervously, never sure whether she was joking because she only ever used one tone, harsh.

  “We’re outta here,” Auntie Bea snapped, cutting off any further chatter.

  “Sorry.” I shrugged at him. “But we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “What’s happening tomorrow?”

  “Hyun-woo is going to fix the door that fell off its hinges.”

  “And the hinges. Too cheap or really old,” she snapped again, then grabbed my elbow and pulled me to the exit.

  The Chong’s Korean restaurant and store were on the corner of the entrance to Chinatown, demarcated by a red-bannered archway and two stone dragons atop large stone plinths. Outside Chinatown markets, the streets of Dim Bazaar were a bustle at night, more so than during the day. Hawkers hassled pedestrians, selling everything from cheap watches to a hit of crack or tickets to a variety of peep shows, depending on your kink, at the many sex shops lining the street. The shops closed at night, boarding their windows for protection. If it wasn’t for the sex shops and street food vendors with their food carts lit up with a festoon of small lights that turned the carts into insect magnets, Dim Bazaar would resemble a black hole.

  A bus pulled up at the nearest stop, forcing Auntie Bea into a shuffling run, wheezing and huffing the four or so meters to the stop. I fared little better in my high heels. They were impractical, but it wasn’t often I got to wear shoes like these, so I had to make the most of it.

  The bus driver pulled away before we’d found our seats and Auntie Bea dominoed into me. I barely remained standing, sliding into the closest seat to the rear door before I hit the floor.

  Once seated beside me, Auntie Bea said, “watch that boy.”

  I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see a beady eyed kid ready to steal off with someone’s wallet.

  “Chong Hyun-woo,” Auntie Bea said with a heavy sigh.

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You’re being stupid. This ain’t his world.”

  “It’s more his world than ours. We’re the new arrivals.”

  “Ya know what I mean. Don’t drag the kid into our shit mess.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Bullshit, it’s nothing. His eyes gobbled ya up back there.”

  “No, they didn’t.” Did they?

  “Don’t open the door, Laz. He’ll blindly step through. Then what ya gonna do? We don’t have time for regret.”

  “I was being polite. You ought to try it sometime.”

  She snorted. “I don’t have time for polite.” Out of habit, she reached into the pocket of her housedress, the one that looked like a sack and curled her lip when she failed to find her cigarettes.

  “You can’t smoke on public transport, anyway.”

  “Bloody shit rules. I’d hang it out the window.”

  “I gather you know where we’re going.”

  “Pend South is two districts over.” She dove into her satchel and pulled out the stack of dossiers, dumping them in my lap. “Go over those during the ride.”

  She’d reduced the scatter of papers from the table to a mere ten. On the top was a striking-looking man, despite his age of sixty-three. Mega-wealthy didn’t come close to describing the amount of digits that came after the first numbers. He was more a Carlo or a Conrad than a Bernard, which reminded me of a cartoon I loved as a child.