Page 42 of Snake Eyes & Bad Luck

“Yeah, boss,” Grahm grimaced.

“Good.” Callum pulled back toward the door. “And never fuckin’ question me again.”

Grahm said nothing as Callum pulled the door open and slid out into the night once more. The air was hot and humid, like usual. It made his still damp hair stick to his back more as he moved through the mud. His skin itched but he was too far gone to turn back now. Cottonmouth was going to die tomorrow, and when he was curled up on the Chroma Coast with a new name and a new life, he’d always think about his warlock.

He’d wonder if she made it out alive.

There was no sleep to be had, not with her in bed. He didn’t even enter the room. Merely opened the door to check and see she was spread out on the mattress, then shut it again. Instead, he worked through the night to prepare for his escape. He pulled the bag of gems and coins he stashed in the floorboards out. They fit nicely in one of his holding satchels on his waist. The next was his fake papers, the ones he had made up when he realized one day he was jumping ship. Then finally it was his disguise enchantment. He was taking no chances with this escape.

The disguise only worked for about an hour, so he’d need to time it perfectly with getting on the train and getting settled. Once he was on the docks, it’d be too hectic and packed for anyone to tell him apart from anyone else.

His gaze shifted to the bedroom door again, longing to go through it. One last time, to curl around her and get something to bury their last interaction. She was an addiction and he needed one more taste. He almost fell for his own lure too. Caught himself inches from the door, reaching for the handle.

What will you do? Huh? Slide into bed with her and pretend like you didn’t yell in her face? ‘Oooh, darlin, that’s my bad, let me kiss it better?’ Piss off, ya fuckwit.

He burned that bridge. It was better this way. If she hated him, then he wouldn’t worry about her. If she loathed his existence, thought of him as a rotten bastard, she’d never come looking. If she wanted nothing to do with him, then she wouldn’t cry when she heard he died.

Maybe she’ll spit on my name, say good riddance…and finally make a life for herself. Damned as she is, she could have a good one. A powerful one. People will tremble in her wake.

Callum pulled his hand away from the metal orb that separated him from his warlock and slithered from the room once more. All his stuff in his possession, he dipped down the stairs and back out into the night. He bent over to peek under his porch. Callum spotted the boat floating in the large pond. The roots and reeds had grown up through the water, crafting the boat the perfect nest to rot in. He hissed softly, “Rat!”

“Yeah-huh, boss?” Rat groggily pushed back the tarp he used for a door. The scrawny kid crawled out from his boat and stumbled after Callum.

“Gather the crew at sunrise and meet me at the tavern. I’m goin’ ahead.”

“Oh, okay, everythin’ okay?” He glanced around the inky swamp. Callum considered that maybe Rat heard more than he should from the cabin above his boat. He’d never been quiet. The kid was a little too loyal. Then, Rat returned his gaze to Callum and he knew that the only thing behind those eyes was a need for mischief.

“Everythin’s fine. I’m just tired of traitors casin’ the place. I’m considerin’ all info they gave us bullshit.”

“Fair,” Rat grimaced. “They’re not gonna find it weird, you slithering through the gate?”

“Let me worry about how I get in and out. You get your shit and get the crew up at sunrise. Grab the warlock too.”

“Oh…she not comin’ with you?” Rat’s face fell. So, no, he didn’t hear us earlier. Callum shouldn’t have been surprised. How he loathed his crew to the very center of his core. All of them were fools. Unobservant, unmotivated, unpassionate, they just took their orders and moved on. None of them can run this crew. It would wind up an all-out bloodbath in the end.

“Don’t need her attractin’ attention with the Paladins. She knows her place,” he snarled.

None of them are half as smart and perceptive as Avelina. Gods damnit.

He still felt the sting from the moment she called him a coward. Him? Cottonmouth? The slipperiest bastard in all of Vyrthsalis? The outlaw with a plan? He didn’t get where he was being a coward.

And yet it stung to hear it from her lips.

Callum slapped at the air, ushering Rat from his presence. He needed to find a body. Something to be found, a chunk of ‘him’ they could use to claim the great Cottonmouth was dead. It’d be easy, he’d just give the tavern a visit and take the closest looking, wayward slathair in the place. It just needed to be the tail, and maybe a few fingers just to be sure.

Then he’d be ready…then his exit plan would begin.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Avelina

“Hey! Warlock!”

Avelina opened her eyes, scowling at the adjacent wall. Callum never came to bed. She lay in the middle of the mattress after tossing and turning all night. Between crying her heart out and coming up with perfect arguments to destroy him, she barely got a wink of sleep. Her eyes burned, stomach growled, and back ached all at the same time. The perfect, turbulent storm to make her thrice as irritable as any other morning waking up in that gloomy swamp.

Glaring at the tall, human man in the doorway, she stewed in her rage. A tan skinned man without a single hair on his body except for the patch on his chin. There were magic runes tattooed into his skin, except his face was designed with a skull. Compared to Rat who peaked up from over the lanky, skull-faced man’s shoulder, he was far too intense.

She quirked a brow, not responding.