Page 31 of Locked in Wonderland

“Anything?”

“You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“Like if I wanted to murder someone,” I said, mostly to test him, “you’re saying I could?”

Tom’s expression didn’t change. “Do you want to murder this person you’re searching for?”

I sighed. “No. I was merely conjuring up a ridiculous scenario that couldn’t be possible.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, the answer remains the same. Anything is possible here if you know the right doors to open.”

That answer did absolutely nothing for my rapidly deteriorating peace of mind. I gave getting something useful out of him one last shot. “Fine. Is there anywhere crowded? Somewhere people might actually know where someone is?”

Tom rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “The Harts know everything.”

“Not them. Someone else.” Someone less mobster-like.

“The casino, perhaps. The Scarlet Deck is busy at this hour.”

It felt like something of a breakthrough. “Great. Point me in that direction.”

“You’ll need money.”

I slipped my hand instinctively into my pocket, fingertips brushing the coin I’d nearly left behind. “I have money.” How far one gold coin would get me remained to be seen.

“Do you?” Tom seemed surprised. “Well, isn’t that interesting?” He lifted his hand to point. “That way.”

“Any landmarks? Helpful details? A map, maybe.”

The smile returned in full force. “Don’t concern yourself. The Scarlet Deck will find you.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“Nice watch, by the way.”

I instinctively dropped my gaze to it. “Thanks. It was a gift.”

When I lifted my head after what could have only been a few seconds at most, Tom Cheshire was gone.

Not walking away. Not disappearing into the shadows. Gone.

And I hadn’t heard a single footstep.

Chapter Twelve

The Scarlet Deck was exactly where the grinning man had said it would be. More than that, it was the very first building I came across, looming out of the darkness as if it really had found me. Either that, or I was becoming increasingly gullible as the night wore on.

I’d thought the building’s exterior black pillars and carved gargoyles were decadent, but they paled into insignificance the moment I stepped inside. Black remained, though an absurd amount of gold overwhelmed it.

Filigree vines shaped like playing cards, hearts, and spades climbed toward monstrous crystal chandeliers, wrapping every column. Instead of candles, each arm held a glass globe filled with softly glowing smoke, as though they had trapped something luminous inside and forced it to burn forever.

Slow violin and piano drifted through the casino from hidden speakers, while lacquered black gaming tables trimmed in crimson velvet stretched beneath the chandeliers. Gleaming roulette wheels and pristine decks of cards offered a silent invitation.

The dealers matched the room’s extravagance, their embroidered coats threaded with gold and their fingers, ears, and throats heavy with jewelry.

Then there were the gamblers. Beautiful, almost to the point of unreality, they wore impeccably tailored coats and velvet gowns, diamonds and sapphires flashing beneath the lights. It felt less like entering a casino than stepping into another century.

Which, unfortunately, only made me painfully aware of what I was wearing. At least in the nightclub, the leather outfit had blended in. Here, among silk and velvet and diamonds, I stuck out like a sore thumb.