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THIRTY-SIX
“There are victors and victims. Decide who you want to be. Or the choice will be made for you, witch. And I doubt you’ll like it.”
I threw my head back and groaned. “It’s a game of scopa, not a battle between life and death. Are you always this dramatic?”
Wrath scowled from behind his hand-painted cards. “Valuable lessons are often learned from games of strategy. Only fools discredit them.”
“And only an ornery creature from Hell gets this serious over a simple card game.”
I plucked another cannoli from the plate Wrath had set on my bed. When I’d come out of the bath wrapped in my new silky robe, he’d been waiting with the dessert and cards. He subtly watched as I devoured another one, seeming pleased he’d done an acceptable job at remembering the sort of human food I loved. I’d mistakenly assumed more relaxation was part of his master plan to restore me to optimum health and well-being.
I had no idea we’d be playing at war games. I suddenly longed for the bath again.
The elemental blessing worked wonders for my emotions. I was ready to get back out, and solve the mystery surrounding my sister’s murder. And find my missing amulet. At least in theory. In reality, I was petrified of running into another prince of Hell. Each one I’d met thus far had been worse than the last.
“How long does it take for a demon prince to restore themselves after they’re—”
“Gutted?”
“I thought you aimed for his heart, actually.”
“I punctured a lung. Maybe broke a few ribs.” His tone was filled with disappointment. “I imagine he’s almost healed already.” He looked me over. “He won’t bother you again.”
“Right. A prince of Hell who delights in tormenting others by removing all happiness and pleasure will suddenly grow a conscience, and never attempt that nasty trick again.”
“Oh, he’ll definitely try again. But you’re going to stop him.”
I gulped down the last bite of my third cannoli, suddenly feeling queasy. “Is there a spell or charm that mitigates demonic influence? Irish carve crosses from rowan wood and wear them to keep fae away. You must have objects that offer protection from you, too.”
He was silent for an uncomfortably long beat. I glanced up, and fought the urge to flinch. It was becoming too easy to forget what he really was. Then, there were glimpses like this, which made me worry about when he might be the one to turn his influence loose on me.
“Me and mine make monsters wary, witch. I do not fear, I am fear. Twigs and berries and iron imprison the weak. Do you think I’m weak?” I shook my head and Wrath bared his teeth in a grin that was downright petrifying. “Are you scared?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
He stared at me for a minute, but didn’t call me on the lie. “My world is broken down into one simple principle: I believe I’m powerful, therefore I am. If I am convinced of my abilities, others will pick up on my confidence. It will give them pause, if only for a second, while they reevaluate a potential threat. Any advantage you can give yourself will be helpful when dealing with my brothers. Their motto will always be ‘know thy enemy.’ Make that difficult. So to answer your question, no, you do not need a spell or charm or trinket of false protection. You need to trust in yourself and your power. Or they will torture and taunt you for eternity.”
Once my heart stopped thrashing, I flashed him a skeptical look. “You think I can achieve all that by playing cards?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, let’s say you’re right. How can a game of scopa prepare me for successfully battling a prince of Hell?”
“Life often deals you a hand you didn’t choose.” Wrath settled back, the tension in the room releasing with him. He studied his cards carefully, then placed one on the table. A sweep. I cursed. It was the third time in a row he’d done that. “It’s how you end up playing it to your advantage that counts.”
I scoffed. “That was luck, not strategy.”
“Both are needed. But it can be argued that luck improves with a well-thought-out strategy.” He glanced up. “You live by archaic notions of light and dark magic when power is neither good nor bad. It’s intent that really matters. By not studying all power, you’ve closed off options. Not honing each weapon in your arsenal is a poor strategy on your part.”
“Nonna would love that advice.”
His gaze hardened. “If your grandmother is against you learning to defend yourself, I’d start asking questions.” Wrath took a steadying breath, his tone turning more pleasant. “If you want to become a real player in this game of murder and deceit, start by studying your opponents. Know who they are, what they want, and watch them closely. Once you’re well acquainted with their habits, you’ll easily spot lies.” One side of his mouth lifted as I lost another hand and cursed the devil. “Work on your emotions. You’re ruled by fire—and are easily angered and excited. Qualities that are not bad in certain instances, but are detrimental when facing your enemy. Do not make it easy for them to read you. They will certainly be doing everything they can to thwart your efforts at uncovering their truth.”
“Have you ever considered teaching classes in Hell? You certainly love to give lessons.”
“Mock me all you like. It doesn’t negate the fact I’m right.”
“And oh so humble about it.”
