“Your father’s right, Hexe,” Lady Syra nodded. “Believe me; he’s learned the hard way.”
“So what’s this Lucky Fool?” I asked.
“It’s a gambling house operated by the Maladanti—cards, Russian roulette, dice, that kind of thing,” Captain Horn explained. “It’s located down on the river. I’m not surprised Boss Marz is involved in this business.”
“He’s more a part of it than you realize,” Hexe said dourly. “The reason I was wearing the Gauntlet of Nydd in the first place is because Marz kidnapped me the night of the Jubilee and smashed my right hand with one of the Witchfinder instruments stolen from the museum.”
Lady Syra gasped so loudly I thought she was about to scream, while all the color drained from Captain Horn’s face and his eyes narrowed into slits. When the PTU chief finally spoke, his words were as cold and hard as a lead pipe. “I’ll kill him.”
“Not if I get to him first,” Lady Syra said, the deadly calm of her voice belaying the fury in her golden eyes.
“The time has finally come to bring down the Maladanti, once and for all,” Horn said. “But it’s going to take more than the PTU to take them out. We’re going to need a small army.”
“We already have one combing the streets,” Hexe said, holding up his cell. “All you have to do is say the word. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity to strike back at Boss Marz and his croggies.”
“In that case,” I said, “we need to stop by the museum. There’s something there that should come in handy.”
The Lucky Fool was within smelling distance of the East River and looked like a run-of-the-mill gin joint. The only evidence of it being a casino was the neon sign above the door, which depicted the familiar image from the Tarot deck, bindle on his shoulder, blithely strolling off the edge of a cliff, eyes forever skyward.
A Maladanti croggy with magenta hair and a badly fitting tuxedo standing at the door stepped forward to greet Hexe, Lady Syra, and me as we approached. “We’ve been expecting you. Follow me, Your Majesty.”
The interior of The Lucky Fool proved a little more upscale than its exterior, but not by much. A pall of cigarette smoke thick enough to part like a curtain covered the central room, which had the ugliest wall-to-wall carpeting I’d ever seen. The front of the house was full of loud slot machines and video poker, with craps, blackjack, and Pai Gow toward the back. There were plenty of gamblers, most of them human, wagering at the tables. None of them looked up from their bets as we were escorted to the back of the house.
“That’s funny—I don’t see a roulette wheel,” I commented as I glanced at the games on display.
“Oh, we have roulette,” the pit boss said with an unpleasant smile as he opened a door that said LUCKIEST FOOLS ONLY.
As loud and crowded as the gaming floor of the casino was, it was nothing compared to the back room. At each of the numerous tables were seated between two to six players, each and every one of them sweating through their clothes. It wasn’t until I noticed the snub-nosed revolvers sitting on lazy Susans set into the middle of the felt that I realized what the plastic sheeting draped over the chairs and covering the floors was for. Each table was crowded by throngs of men, and some women, shouting and waving fistfuls of money like stock traders trying to corner the market on hog bellies. My stomach tightened as I remembered the crowds screaming for blood at the pit fights, and wondered how many of those same people were now wagering to see who would be the last to blow their brains out. As the pit boss opened yet another door, there came the sound of a single, muffled gunshot from somewhere behind me, immediately followed by a roar of excited voices. I did not turn around to look.
The second door opened onto the stairs that led down to the boiler room. Standing in front of yet another door was Marz’s lieutenant, Gaza, and some nameless croggy.
“I’ll take ’em from here,” Gaza said with a smirk, eyeing where Hexe’s right hand should have been. “Follow me, Your Highnesses.”
The Maladanti opened the door behind him, revealing a low, brick-lined tunnel lit by a chain of witchfire, which cast an eerie blue glow. We walked single file for what seemed like at least two city blocks before reaching the end of the passageway, which led to a wooden stairwell. As we came to the top of the stairs, I recognized our surroundings as the same warehouselike building Hexe and I had been shanghaied to months ago.
“Welcome to the Stronghold, Your Majesties,” Boss Marz’s deep voice boomed out. The crime lord was standing in the middle of the warehouse, surrounded by several dozen of his minions. Next to Marz was an old- fashioned hanging cradle, and perched atop its peaked hood was the familiar, Bonzo, clutching a baby bottle. The sight of the hell-ape so close to my child filled me with a terror that made an attack by a demon seem like a ride on a roller coaster. “You do me great honor,” the crime lord said.
“There is no honor in this place,” Lady Syra retorted. “And I thought you said no familiars.”
“The instructions were that
“You are much changed since last I saw you, Esau.”
“So you recognize me in this form?”
“Of course; who else would be walking around in your dead wife’s body?”
Erys turned to Marz, speaking to him as she would a servant. “Make sure Her Majesty isn’t wearing an ivory necklace or bracelet.”
Marz nodded his understanding, motioning to one of his men to search Lady Syra. As the Maladanti reached out to frisk her, the Witch Queen drew herself up to her full height, peering down her nose at him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Cowed, the gangster had to satisfy himself with a visual inspection of her wrists and neck.
“She’s clean, Boss.”
Just then the baby started to cry, galvanizing every muscle in my body. I stepped forward, eager to answer his call, only to have Gaza block my way.
“Let me go to him!” I snapped, more command than plea.
Bonzo shrieked and hurled the baby bottle at me, and then began rocking the cradle faster and faster, causing my son’s cries to grow more and more agitated.
“Get that thing away from my child!” I shouted.
“Now, now,” Boss Marz said, clucking his tongue. “Is that any way to talk to your babysitter?”
“You’ll get your brat back, soon enough,” Erys replied, “but not before the abdication decree is signed.” She pointed to the table that had served as a torture rack for Hexe, which now bore an old-fashioned inkstand and blotter, as well as an elaborately calligraphed document written on parchment.
Lady Syra stepped up to the table and took the quill pen from the inkstand and stabbed her forefinger with its sharpened tip, using the blood for her signature, and then helped Hexe by pricking his thumb with the same quill. Hexe’s left hand signature, while nowhere as neat as his old one, was at least legible.
The moment Hexe finished signing his name, I headed for the cradle. Bonzo refused to surrender his perch, and bared his teeth at me. But I refused to back down.
“Get away from my baby, you stupid monkey!”
“Let her have it,” Boss Marz sighed, waving the familiar away with a beringed hand. “Maybe now the damned thing will stop crying.”
The baby was beet red in the face, his eyes screwed shut, and his toothless mouth open wide as he voiced his fear and displeasure to the world, but seemed otherwise unharmed. As I lifted him from the cradle, his shrieks turned into whimpers. It was all I could do to keep from crying along with him as I cradled him in my arms. The terror I had felt from the moment he was taken from me instantly disappeared, but the dread I felt for our lives was still there. I hurried back to Hexe, who pulled us both into the circle of his arms and held us fast.
“Place the Royal Seal upon it, and it shall be official,” Erys said as she dripped black sealing wax onto the bottom of the parchment.
As Lady Syra drove her signet ring into the wax, the ring abruptly dropped from her finger, as if it had suddenly grown too big to stay on. Erys quickly snatched up the piece of jewelry, holding it up like a trophy.
“There. It is done,” Syra said in a flat voice. “You’ve got what you wanted. Now let me and my family
