The Devils Game (watty awards 2011)

The Devils Game

The Devils Game

Prologue 

"For the life of all flesh is the blood." Levictus 17:14

"Ah, Skylar, you brought friends," he smiled, his eyes roaming her body. Was he pleased with what she was wearing? She'd pieced it together, the black heel and thigh high stocking; a short skirt and a top that meant her flat stomach was on show. She hated the way he liked her to dress; it was cheap.

"Just as you asked," she smiled back, gesturing her hand - slender fingers glittering with silver rings - towards the round table at the centre of the dim room where he was already seated. The three men sat down obediently, keeping their eyes on her as she sashayed past. Her milky skin looked ivory white in the dim lights.

She stopped behind Daniel, he smelt like cigar smoke and whisky as he flipped poker chips in the fingers. She knew he would be watching the men, the new targets of the day. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his skin - warm - where her fingers ventured beneath the collar of his shirt. The suit was new and briefly she wondered who he'd killed to get it. Who'd bet their life against his.

She leant down, pressing a kiss to his neck, the stubble of his face scratched against her cheek - not unpleasantly. One of the men swallowed, wiping his now sweating brown on the back of his hand. She winked at him and through the smoky haze; she saw his pulse beat a little faster against the skin of his throat.

"What are we playing for?" one of the asked in a toneless voice. She hadn't taken the time to learn ask his name - nor the others - there was no point. He looked the same as the others, they always did; a blue of grey suits and greying hair. Their faces, filled with the dips and groves of age.

"Money," another added, through his voice shook, and Skylar smiled. Daniel flipped the chip over against between his fingers. He didn't say anything.

"Don't any of you find it a bit -" The third man paused. He looked younger than the others; full of arrogance too. "-peculiar?" he finished. Skylar put her hand to her thigh - his eyes following - and pulled out a small piece of parchment; Witchpaper. She wet a finger on her tongue before touching it. Black lines leaked across the page like tiny veins from her finger tops, and formed letters;

Laurence Cullingforth, Larry to friends.

Aged thirty seven;

One wife, two mistresses and three children

He bares the Black Mark, Skylar. He killed a man.

The letters uncurled, turning red as they moved across the page before dripping from its edges. It was blood. She smiled. A murdered, sat before her. No wondered he'd been called.

"That none of us have ever heard of this man who asked us to his poker table?" Larry glanced at the other men - who each, in turn, looked away - before looking Daniel in the eye. "Who are you again?" He squared his shoulders, as if in challenge. Having that single murder under his belt had made him brave. But brave men were always stupid.

Skylar pushed her hand further under his open shirt, the flat planed of his muscled chest smooth against them. He flipped the chips again. "Me," he said, "I'm just a man, who...enjoys playing poker." The men shuffled in their seats, all except Larry, who remained still, with his eyes fixed on Daniel. Did he expect to win? Probably. Would he? Never.

"Men who like to play poker," said Larry, "go to casinos or in my case, buy them." Skylar felt Daniels heart beat against his chest, it jumped at the confession. Her lips twitched at the corners, knowing that a casino owner would believe he could win against away. But Daniel wasn't just anyone.