Lucky - by Erin Latimer

Lucky

Author's Note: I'm normally as soft and cute as a bunny rabbit, but my story is copyright, so if you steal it and pretend it's yours, I will come down on you like the hammer of Thor. Thanks, have a nice day!

  Note: This INCLUDES people that take the story and say something like "credit to Erin Latimer". Do NOT post any of my stories without permission.

The clatter of dice on the cobblestones was my siren song. I couldn’t resist the pull. I paused in the alleyway, staring at the huddle of dirty figures shooting dice in the gutter, my eyes darting this way and that down the street. There were no sweeper machines or collector automatons to report back to the constable.

Street dice was illegal in New London, but we still found ways, slipping unnoticed into the dark cracks and crannies of the wide streets. It had been days since I’d run into a game, and I could feel my palms itching. Glancing down at my fingers confirmed a thick layer of gold dust over my skin. Too much would be really obvious; there was nothing that would get me killed faster than visibly throwing fairy dust around. My luck would have to appear just that…luck. Nothing more.

Carefully, I wiped most of it off on my dirty pants. The gold flecks didn’t show up on the dark brown material. Straightening my shoulders, I walked towards the game, keeping my pace casual.

The players looked up as I approaching, no doubt hearing the sound of my boots echoing in the alleyway. There were three of them, and they stared at me with wide eyes in their dirty faces, relaxing visibly after a second or two. They had decided I wasn’t a threat.

“Got room for another player?” I kept my voice light, sure to keep the desperate, burning urge out of my tone. I flexed my fingers, already imagining them curling around the bone dice, flicking my wrist to make them roll just right.

            The shooter paused, rolling the dice around his palm, eyeing me with interest. His broad, unattractive face was calculating, and he grinned, stroking his short beard with the other hand. I was careful to keep my face straight, but I would bet he was already formulating new and interesting bets in his mind. But I didn’t play strip dice, so I said loudly, “I have money.”

            One of the other men said shortly, “Fine. Pass or don’t pass.”

            My eyes flicked to his face, mentally assessing him. This one was lean, hunkered down on his haunches like he was ready to spring up any second. His eyes were strange, one was a darker brown than the other, and something clicked inside me. I’d met him before, played dice with him before. In fact, I seemed to remember taking a good deal of his money the last time we played. I fished his name out of my dusty memories.

            “Boxcar, how you been?”

            Boxcar leered at me, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth. I remembered his reaction when he’d lost to me, spitting on the sidewalk bad-temperedly. I shifted slightly, feeling the handle of my pistol dig into my back. He could try something if he wanted.

            “Fine darling, just fine. Cassie, right?”

            “Cassandra will do just fine,” I said coolly.

            “Aw-right. Lucky Cassandra,” Boxcar said, and he narrowed his mismatched eyes at me. There was an alarm going off in the back of my head somewhere. I’d run into men like this before. Gambling men who didn’t loose gracefully. But the urge to roll the dice in my hand was overcoming my common sense.