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1
STOLAS
Sitri grinned down at his hand across the table. The pot was overflowing with ancient jewels, stacks of money from around the world, and sets of keys to cars and townhomes.
We’d been drinking, smoking, and gambling for hours, and only three of us were left at the table in the private casino room. Ezequiel had taken his leave with a human he had brought for company. Without their constant cooing and flirting, Sitri was more alert and had won the last two hands.
“It looks as if you have run dry, brother,” Orobas balked from beside me, his tell.
He had nothing, but the pot was full of my gold and cash.
Between the three of us, Sitri likely had the best hand but was giving no indication if he would fold or hold out to see what Orobas would wager.
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve, don’t you worry,” I said. “What will you be betting? Your chips are gone, your pockets are bare, and your fingers have been stripped of their adornments.”
I flicked my fingertips over the edges of my straight flush, waiting for the sweat to begin to pool at his temples.
He shuffled through his cards once more, a timid smirk on his lips. “I have something that might be of interest. Especially with Sitri’s new fascination with human women.”
Sitri didn’t look up from his cards or acknowledge the remark. His recent run-in with the human Orobas spoke of was still a fresh wound that not many dared to mention. Our fellow prince of Hell had given his heart too quickly and foolishly, and when the action wasn’t returned, he had been consumed by it. This poker game in Las Vegas was a product of that thwarted love affair. But my brow perked at the item Orobas was betting.
“You have found an ancient being trapped inside of a human as well, brother? Are they a dime a dozen this millennium?” I quipped.
Orobas scowled and flipped me off, bringing a hearty laugh from Sitri. It was the first time I had heard him laugh the entire trip.
“I have had my fair share of human companionship for the next thousand years,” Sitri said, rolling his shoulders and looking between the two of us. “But I would find a place for her at the club. We tend to lose track of our bartenders when they are too pleasing to the eye.”
“She was payment for a favor many years back,” Orobas said, “but her utility is quickly coming to fruition. You likely know her father, Sitri. An elected official who had a dirty past that was partly formed at The Deacon several years back. His only child in exchange for a seat among the country’s most powerful. She could be used for much more than a bargaining chip tonight.” Orobas’ eyes danced over his cards once more.
“Just hers?” I asked as this was unusual in soul bartering.
“He has a way with fine print.” Orobas shrugged, not admitting that he had been outsmarted by the politician.
“All right,” Sitri agreed. “Lay down her soul and let’s get this over with. I want to head down to the bar before it fills with the undesirables of the city.” Sitri sighed.
Orobas held out his hand and a blue flame ignited. He dropped it into an empty whiskey glass and slid it into the pot, knocking over a stack of bills that spilled over a layer of jewelry and gold coins.
Sitri cleared his throat and shifted in his seat before laying his cards down. It was a poor showing, just 5 high.
Orobas burst into laughter and slapped his pair of jacks on the table.
“You are terrible at this game!” he teased and turned to me. “Show me your hand so I can collect your cars and riches.”
He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his neck to cushion the large head he had developed.
I scrubbed my hand down my face, and the three-day stubble scratched at my palm. “Fine.”
He cursed and threw his arms in the air when he realized that his hand had lost the pot.
Sitri and I hooted our laughter at Orobas’ indignation. He was not only the Prince of Gluttony but of counting his chickens before they hatched.
“Fuck the both of you. Cheats. Filthy swindlers, the lot.” He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as I plucked the glass from the pile to examine it.
The puddle of whiskey roaming the bottom of the tumbler moved from side to side as I brought it up to eye level.
“Whose daughter was worth your misfortune?” I asked. The human’s soul captured in Orobas’ flame wiggled and squirmed in its confines. It was as if it knew it was being handled by its new owner.
“Senator Harris Gerhardt of California. On the path for the next national election. Evelyn’s soul was one of three that he offered for my most treasured favor.”
