“It’s time.” Stuart drew his arm away from Klio but surprised her when he caught her hand in his and lifted her silk-gloved fingers to his lips. “My life is in your hands.”
Crackling anticipation exploded into shouts, roars, and applause as the six champions descended the steps from their sections to take their seats at the round table where the Game would be played: the hooded necromancer, whose robes obscured even his or her sex; the pale vampire woman with flaxen curls piled atop her head; a goblin with chartreuse skin and long bony fingers; a wolf in human guise, hulking and resentful as he glowered at his opponents; the faerie with skin like bark and hair of leaves; and finally Stuart, a warlock who approached the table with the swagger of someone who’d already won.
As the pastimes of each era changed, so changed the Game to mirror the world of the war whose fate was to be decided. Klio knew that the Game had taken many forms: the hunt, a footrace, a match of wits. In 1861 the Game would be poker.
The dealer was a woman called Naomi. Not precisely a woman — a shade, the spirit of a mortal summoned for the sole purpose of serving this role. Her neutrality was guaranteed by the summoning itself, a feat accomplished by the cooperation of a delegate from each faction.
While Naomi expounded upon the rules of the Game, Klio began to sweep the room with her eyes, alert to any sign of danger. The first hand was dealt. Play began.
No visual cue caused Klio alarm. Rather, a subtle prickling along her spine made her turn just in time to catch a figure darting out of her peripheral vision. The furtive quality of movement was enough to compel Klio to investigate. She felt a pang below her ribs as she wished Whitby were with her and could remain to watch the Game.
Keeping her stride casual and her expression diffident, Klio traced a path to the place she’d seen the figure vanish. She briefly considered the door that offered exit, but instead turned her attention to the space beneath the rows of spectators. This deck of the Fortuna had clearly been repurposed to host the tournament. Whether it served as a dining hall or ballroom under normal circumstances, the tiers of seating had been erected for temporary use. Below the rows of spectators was a skeleton of wooden beams that supported the weight of those above.
Klio glanced at the exit once more, then slipped into the darkness beneath. She couldn’t see her prey, but a trail of magic lingered that she could follow. What she sensed at the moment was simply power, the potential for devastating acts but not the execution of such. Whoever she pursued commanded the arcane with prowess.
After loosening each of the fingers of her gloves, Klio slid them off and tucked them into the small silk purse that hung from her wrist. Her skin warmed, and she felt the shifting of her flesh in anticipation of a fight.
Tension hummed in the air as the crowd above vacillated from rapt silence to outbursts of delight and dismay. Klio moved with light steps, taking care to avoid catching her full skirts on the crisscross of wood beams. She ducked, twisted, and shimmied, letting her gaze float freely to spot any sign of her quarry. Parting her lips, she took a breath, hoping to pinpoint the elusive figure, but the mingled odor and taste of so many bodies packed into this enclosed space made it impossible for her to discern anything specific.
The quality of light began to shift as she neared the edge of the Coven’s section. In another few moments she’d emerge from beneath the block of seats and into the walkway that separated the Coven and the sidhe.
Where had the stranger disappeared to?
Klio didn’t know whether to wait for another sign of movement or continue on to the space below the sidhe. She slowed. When she drew her next breath, she tasted ash.
“Whitby?” Had she been tracking her own partner? She’d never made such a foolish mistake in the past.
The crowd erupted into a chaos of sound. Someone had played an astonishing hand or pulled off an incredible bluff. The sound was so great, Klio almost missed the rustling above her.
The heavy weight of a hard masculine body dropped onto her shoulders, knocking her to the ground. Pain flashed through her right shoulder when she fell against a beam, its corner biting into her flesh. Her adversary had the advantage of surprise, but he’d given up control by choosing to fall onto her. Klio seized the opportunity to push off the beam and throw her weight against her attacker, taking them both to the ground.
She pinned her opponent, digging her knees into his chest and stretching her arms toward his throat. Heat radiated from his body, discomfort that promised to become pain. Despite the threat of imminent injury, Klio went still. Cold flooded her limbs even as she felt heat scorching through the satin of her skirt.
Only one creature had this defense.
Silver flashed at Klio in the dark. Silver eyes.
“Whitby.” Klio choked out his name.