Card Sharks

the syringe from the IV. 'Tell him to let go or I'm going to have to call security.'

'It's a lie, Hannah. I saw it,' Quasiman said stolidly. His other hand pried her fingers from the syringe; with a cry of pain, the nurse let go. Quasiman glared at the woman, then turned to the bed. 'Hannah, we can't stay here any longer.'

'Go! Now!' Quasiman yelling at Croyd, the explosion just behind them … 'All right,' Hannah said. She threw the covers aside. Grimacing, she ripped off the tape holding the IV and slid the needle out of the vein. 'You can't do that — ' the nurse said in alarm as Hannah stuffed a tissue in the crook of her elbow to stop the bleeding and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

The nurse was very nearly right. The room did a lumbering waltz around Hannah and the stitches in her left shoulder screamed. Hannah gasped, then forced herself to stand. She nearly fell.

The nurse had gone to the wall and slapped a button. A red light flashed above the door and an alarm sounded distantly. Hannah started for the door and realized she wasn't going to make it.

'Hannah — ' Quasiman was talking to her, one hand still holding the syringe. His arms were open wide, as if he wanted to embrace her. 'Come here.'

'No …' Hannah took another step toward the door. The nurse was yelling, and she heard running footsteps from outside.

'Hannah!'

She looked at him. She was sobbing now, in hurt and panic and fright. 'I never let you get near me,' she said.

He simply held his arms wide. Someone appeared at the door and Hannah threw herself toward Quasiman. His arms closed around her. He smelled like anyone else, his skin felt like anyone's skin, and his embrace was strong yet gentle, like a lover's.

'Now, Hannah,' he said. Hannah hugged the joker tightly, one-armed.

And they were gone.

***

Dr. Finn came into the bedroom of Father Squid's apartment. The centaur looked as if he'd had a hard night at the clinic. 'Insulin,' he said Without preamble. 'A nice heavy dose of it.'

'What would have happened?' Hannah asked him.

'You'd have drifted into insulin shock. Considering that you've been shot, the resident's best bet probably would have been that the shock was due to some continuing internal blood loss they'd missed. Because of the shock and supposed loss of blood, the book response would have been to give you fluids — so the first thing they'd've done is crank your IV wide open, giving you even more insulin.'

'And?'

'Convulsions. Then death.' Dr. Finn sniffed. 'In a busy hospital, they might never have figured it out, unless someone knew what to look for.'

Hannah took a deep breath. She looked at Quasiman, sitting next to the bed. She found his hand, squeezed it. 'Thank you again,' she said.

'I should report this.' Dr. Finns tail lashed. 'It makes me sick.'

Hannah shook her head. 'You can't,' she told him. 'We don't have any evidence. None. Anyone in the hospital could put the insulin in a syringe. For all we know, the nurse may have been entirely innocent — someone else could have prepared the syringe and told her to give it to me …'

'Then what can we do?'

'Let me work. Let me figure this out. And …'

'Yes?'

'Could you leave us alone for a minute?'

Dr. Finn glanced at Quasiman. Shrugged. 'Sure.' With a graceful turn of his palomino body, Dr. Finn left the room. Hannah looked at Quasiman. 'What's my name?' she asked.

'Hannah. I remember.'

'I haven't been very nice to you. Do you remember that, too?'

'That wasn't important. I didn't write those parts down, and I never told Father.'

'Quasi — ' She stopped, her voice breaking. 'Come here a second. Yes, that's it. Now, bend down …'

She grasped his head with her good arm. Kissed him. His lips were warm and soft, and they yielded slowly. 'Why?' Quasiman asked when she released him. He remained stooped over her bed, close to her.

'I don't really know,' she answered truthfully. 'Just tell me that you'll remember it, okay?' She smiled at him, stroked his cheek. 'I don't care if you forget the rest.'

'I'll try,' he said earnestly. 'I'll try very hard.'

***

Brandon van Renssaeler … In fact, Brandon's responsible for inviting me….

Van Renssaeler had an interesting history, Hannah discovered, almost as interesting as his father's. In the late sixties and early seventies, a rising young lawyer in a powerful firm, he'd also performed gratis work for the UN and WHO. Now established and well-respected, blessed with his family's wealth, with looks and with a brilliant legal mind, Brandon moved in high circles. Among his friends and companions were senators and representatives, corporate executives, and presidential advisors. He separated from his first wife in the late sixties, though they never officially divorced. He and his current paramour attended all the right functions and appeared regularly in the Society pages of the Times. They looked to be very happy.

Brandon van Renssaeler's marriage had not been so pleasant.

And it seemed his ex-wife lived in Jokertown.

'It's hot, Hannah,' Quasiman said.

'Like Saigon, huh?'

'Have I been there?'

Hannah sighed. 'Yes.' The side parlor of the brownstone was at least 90° inside, though the foyer had been cool enough. The person who escorted them in — an older man who looked perfectly normal — had begun sweating. 'She needs the heat,' he said and smiled. 'You'll see. She's waiting for you in the rear room.'

The man left them. The heat was quickly transforming Hannah's bangs into matted, dripping ringlets. Hannah had Worn a coat against the early October chill; she took it off and loosened the first button on her blouse with her good hand. It didn't do much good; under the sling that held her left arm, her blouse was already soaked. Her pantyhose were sticking to her uncomfortably. 'Let's go in,' she said to Quasiman. He didn't answer. His legs were missing below the knee. Hannah touched his arm softly, squeezing. 'Wait for me,' she told him, even though she knew he couldn't hear, then called out loudly 'Hello? Mrs. van Renssaeler?'

'Come on in, my dear. Don't be shy.' The voice sounded like that of a mature woman — a soft, pleasant alto.

Hannah followed the sound of the voice into the back room.

The room was dominated by a thick oaken branch, as if a tree had jabbed one of its lower limbs into the house from outside. The only other furniture in the room was a small couch with a coffee table on which sat a plate with pastries and a sterling tea service with a cup and saucer set alongside it. The couch was obviously a concession for visitors. Hannah knew that the woman in the room could never use it.

The joker's bald head and upper body was that of a human melded with a cobra. The skin was covered with bright, multi-colored scales, and the folds of a fleshy hood hung on either side of her neck. The arms were human enough in appearance, but scaled like the rest of the body. Even the naked breasts were scaled, the nipples still faintly present as patches of darker color. Below the breasts, she was entirely serpent; the long, thick body coiled around the oaken branch. Hannah estimated that, stretched out, the woman might be fifteen feet long or more.

The head bobbed, swaying back and forth. The eyes were round like a human's and lidded, but with the vertical golden irises of a snake; from her scaled woman's lips, a long forked tongue darted quickly out and back. The hood swelled briefly, then subsided. 'Aah,' she said. 'There you are. My goodness, what happened? Your poor arm, and the scratches on your lovely face.'

'I'm much better than I was a few days ago,' Hannah answered.

'I'm happy to hear that. Father Squid told me that you'd been injured helping find the awful person who