Page 3 of Pride: Kneel Before None

“Hey, I get off in ten minutes. Do you think…” The implication hung in the air between us. He thought he stood a chance with me.

An intrusive vision flashed through my head, making me wince. I saw the same young man, leaving slobbery kisses all over my face and fumbling to get my bra unhooked.

Not cute.

I shuddered before I shut down the imagery like a guillotine severing the connection between one’s body and mind. For a brief moment, my power switched off to avoid seeing any more of that potential future. Maybe I would reconsider stopping here tomorrow after all.

Being a precog—a demon with powers of precognition—took a bit of finesse. Visions typically assumed that you would stay on the path you were considering. Changing my mind resulted in shifting of future paths, avoiding situations like spitswapping with some overzealous twat.

That was why I had issues getting involved with any man. Anytime I thought about making a move, inevitably a premonition popped into my brain, and it was always an insta-kill to my libido. The men were shown to be either terrible lovers or downright horrible people, which ultimately left me quite happy to maintain my V-card for a little longer.

Flashing him a pouty frown, feigning disappointment, I let him down as easily as I could. “Aww. That’s sweet,”—I glanced at his nametag—“Callum. But girls like me and guys like you aren’t even in the same deck.”

Without waiting to see his devastation, I turned on my heel and headed straight for the cashier window.

After cashing in my chips, I left there a few grand richer. At this rate, I would have enough money to bust my brother out of the supernatural prison before the end of the month.

The justice system here —if one could call it that—was…lacking. Tighe was the unfortunate victim of a classic bait-and-switch. He had ended up being the fall guy for hanging around a few demons with extra nasty reputations and even deeper wallets lined with nastier intentions.

Now Tighe’s only option was to pay an exorbitant fee to the Concord—a bunch of self-absorbed elitists who tried to instill a sense of order in a city where chaos reigned. Alternatively, he could serve his time. Somehow, I didn’t think he fancied the idea of spending a half century locked in a paranormal Alcatraz that made the eighth circle of Hell look like an all-inclusive tropical vacation. Our dad used to work as a supervisor in Malebolge—the eighth circle—so trust me. It’s the worst.

The sickly warm, dry air smacked me right in the face the moment I left the comfortably frigid air-conditioned building and stepped outside onto the sidewalk. Daylight burned my retinas after spending an hour inside the dimly lit casino. As if my senses hadn’t already been assaulted, the smell of vomit and piss lingered from the nearby alley. Or it could have been a rotting corpse. I didn’t bother checking to confirm.

Before I decided on which direction to go, a sharp gust of wind pushed at my back, encouraging me to walk by the row of establishments and onto the main drag.

There were a handful of other moderately-sized casinos, shady smoke dens, tattoo parlors, restaurants that catered to any appetite, and even a toy store of the adult monster variety.

Foot traffic this time of day was relatively light, making my stroll down the sidewalk comfortably spaced out away from the peddlers and beggars looking for a handout.

The momentum of the wind at my back finally died down as I approached a colorful sign above the sleek yet boldly overstated entrance of Sevenfold Casino.

My fingers drew a couple of long strands of my pale strawberry-blonde hair away from my face as I took in the sight of the newest casino in town. It had only opened a month ago but was already making waves in our chatty community.

It was a massive building, making me wonder if the owner was compensating for something. The architecture was all sharp angles, smooth reflective surfaces, and as black as most of the souls who inhabited Superbia. As far as branding, there was a single seven above the doorway in pitted metal that looked like it was left over from blades of warriors long laid to rest. I was certain the brownish-red matter marring the surface wasn’t rust. Just below the numeral was the word “FOLD.”

Incorporated into the design was a symbol of the realm. Above the seven was a crown with flames licking at its pointed tips. Built into the actual number was a sword overlaid down the spine of the digit, with the crossbar of the sword hitting at the center to create a European seven.

The resulting emblem was that of the Knights of Hell, demons called upon to become personal protectors to the Princes of Hell. The princes were more symbolic than having any true authority, but as with most archaic beings, we believed in statuses and traditions burned into the bones of time.

At one point in time, Knights were summoned into action to lay their lives down for Superbia’s royal elite. Now? If war were to break out, there was no doubt they’d be a force to be reckoned with. But in reality, the title was more of an honorific than a full-time job, a nod to an era lost to the past.

An LED scroll between the top of the doors and the casino’s logo obnoxiously flashed a message about a blackjack tournament going on this evening. The grand prize was a quarter-million with a rare opportunity to double down. My excitement ramped up at the potential to procure the rest of the funds I required for Tighe’s release. That excitement immediately plummeted when the fine print popped up: “Invitation Only.”

Having heard the pervasive rumors about the house odds being skewed at Sevenfold, my interest was piqued despite myself. House odds didn’t mean shit when you could read the outcome in advance of making the bet. The odds of me beating the house were always one hundred to zero. Precognition, even limited to short range, made me goddamn perfect, unbeatable, and simply an image of excellence at my craft.

Smiling to myself as I stared up at the sign, I knew there was no way this place had a chance against me. After all, I was the beautifully bold and extraordinarily talented Genevieve Bechette. This would be a cakewalk.

Walking inside, the joint didn’t take up the typical nostalgic feel that most casinos seemed to embrace. There was an effort to bring a broody darkness to the establishment with a modern and upscale touch. Black and silver were splashed all over the interior. The tunes and sounds from the slot machines blended into the background noise, the faint scent of sweet cigar smoke lingered in the air, and shimmering fabrics hung from the ceiling, reminding me of rolling storm clouds.

Not even three feet into this place, there was a giant sign posted in the middle of the walkway. It made clear in no uncertain terms that all use of supernatural or paranormal powers was prohibited. Anyone found to be using said abilities would be banned and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Ha! Is the owner really that naive?

Good thing my precognition was untraceable. Who was to say I saw shit? I’d like to see them try to prove it.

Just beyond the warning sign, there were more aesthetically pleasing notices that politely directed patrons toward various parts of the casino. It seemed Sevenfold had everything. In addition to the games on the casino floor, it was a host to nightclubs, restaurants, VIP lounges, and a slew of shops and luxury amenities.

Closest to where I stood at the front, you couldn’t miss the slot machines. Less noticeable were the table games in another section further back, and according to the signage, an exclusive members-only area beyond that, and a Specialty Wager Room somewhere upstairs. That last section was a new one for me. It left me questioning what type of betting transpired in that particular area.