Page 12 of Snake Eyes & Bad Luck

Holding that book up, he waggled it a little, showing off the loved pages. “Had an inklin’.”

He put the book back, following Grahm into the living area. Callum sat on his large, wooden bench while Rat climbed out from underneath the dwelling. Rat lived in a boat that docked directly underneath Callum’s cabin. He had a special relationship with the water, able to bend it to his will. It allowed him to skitter atop it with his rickety boat at top speeds. That made him perfect for being Callum’s runner.

“Howdy, boss.” Rat knocked the trap door back into place before his wet feet squelched the whole way up to Callum. He handed over a rolled-up parchment then twisted to hold up a poster to Grahm. “Look!”

Callum and Grahm watched with bemusement as he proudly hoisted a wanted poster. Name: Rascal Rat. Wanted for armed robbery, grand theft larceny, and other crimes. Dead or Alive, 300 gold.

“Yer movin’ on up!” Grahm chortled as he slumped down into a chair. “Got yerself a poster and everythin’. Almost worth it to turn yerself in.”

“I know right?!” Rat cackled, turning to marvel at his own poster. Callum snorted but said nothing. He wasn’t one to condemn a kid for having dreams. Once upon a time, he too was proud to find his first wanted poster. Granted, his crimes had been far heftier than theft.

Callum shifted his focus to the parchment. He unrolled it, scanned the contents, then barked out a laugh. The paper rolled up with a snap as he howled. Grahm and Rat eyed him with interest. Callum unrolled it again, reading aloud. “Callum. What is this horseshit I hear about you hittin’ the train? I know you know I called dibs, fucker. Keep it up and I’ll run you through with a stick and have fricassee snake for dinner. Daggertooth.”

“That’s not how you make fricassee,” a soft, hollow voice pulled all three of the cackling men’s attention to the bathroom door. Callum immediately grinned, seeing his little viper in something far more befitting company. A black cotton blouse under a thick leather belt and heavy skirt, but she used the loops on her belt to keep it hoisted so that she walked easier. She wore those new boots of hers and rolled up her sleeves. While she was far too clean to be from Gloomsdale, she looked better than how he found her.

“What’s that, darlin?” he teased.

“Fricassee, it’s a cooking style. Like stew made with pieces of meat that have been browned in butter, then served in a sauce flavored with the cooking stock. You wouldn’t use sticks for that. He probably means kebob. But kebob’s hard to make into a threatening noun.” Avelina stepped further into the room, hands on her hips.

“Yeah! I mean,” Rat chortled, pulling out his dagger and pointing it at Grahm. “I’ll Kebob ya! See, not menacin’ enough!”

Grahm scoffed, putting a fingertip to the edge of the youngin’s blade and pushed him back across the floor. “I’d break that toothpick before you got a toe on it.”

“Bah! Wanna bet?” Rat splashed about in the puddle he’d made on the floor. While the two batted at each other, knocking chairs apart as they wrestled, Callum’s attention was on the woman staring him down. He arched an inquisitive brow and she stepped closer.

“Who is Callum?”

“Me?” He huffed, tossing the paper off to the side.

“Your names not Cottonmouth?” she blurted out with wide eyes.

“Bwahahahaha! She thought! She thought yer momma—AH! HAHAHA! She thought yer momma named ya Cottonmouth?” Grahm and Rat wheezed in muddled unison. The pair hit the floor, laughing and stomping their feet. Damn near pissed themselves, they were so tickled, swiping away tears in their eyes. Avelina gave them both nasty glares but was unable to sway their giggles until Callum thumped his tail. The pair launched themselves off the floor and scrambled out of the room, onto the porch, as if to avoid getting smacked. A learned habit.

“Well, guess I know something about you,” she murmured under her breath.

“Careful,” he warned playfully. Her eyes darted from the floor where the pair of hooting and hollering fools once lay, to his face. There was a steel edge to her gaze. Could this be a spine yer growin’, little viper? He rose up onto his belly scales, looming close to her. She didn’t puff up or challenge him, but she didn’t back down. What wonders a good night’s rest will do to a gal. “Knowin’ me well is a death sentence. Now, are ya ready? We’re burnin’ daylight.”

“What are we doing?” Avelina furrowed her brows.

“We’re gonna go rob the Parandor Vault.”

“What!” she shrieked, but he was already slithering toward the door. Avelina was forced to follow him out into the muggy, unforgiving morning light.

Chapter Eight:

Avelina

“You want to rob Parandor?” she hissed softly under her breath as they marched through the sticky swamp toward the docks. Avelina should have been studying her surroundings, memorizing the maze of trees and haunted looking homes on stilts. She should have had her eyes on an escape route. That kiss was a mistake. He was a monster, a down to the bone, horrendous person and likely going to skin her alive at some point for a nice warlock coat.

Yet it was the best fucking kiss she’d ever had. It awoke something hungry in her. Gnashing teeth that craved scraping over his flesh and supping on the blood that pooled in its wake. That overactive imagination reared its ugly head, and she was left dizzy on the bathroom floor. She turned that kiss into heated, passionate sex against the wall where the wood groaned with each sharp thrust. That image folded her up like a pretzel in his arms, their kiss nasty and sloppy till he left her used and dripping on the floor ‘to clean up’. The thought disgusted and invigorated her. Her skin buzzed still, even as they clambered up moldy wooden steps.

“Sure do!” Callum—she’d now learned his name—tossed over his shoulder.

A wooden raft sat by a lonely dock that stopped her in her furious tracks. All thoughts of heated passion and robberies left her as she finally digested her surroundings. The sun was high in the sky, but its rays barely permeated the swamp. Golden daggers pierced part of the canopy of heavy foliage from woven trees covered in moss and spots of molt. Mushrooms pushed up through parts of the muck along with rocks, all a sickly color. She spun to watch little clouds of gnats fly out of bubbling pockets in the mud, only to be eaten by frogs that were too big. Their croaking mixed with the screaming of insects were a background soundtrack to the horrifying hollow echo of Gloomsdale.

“Come on, Darlin’,” Callum called out.

She skittered across the dock, trying not to jump out of her skin when she hit spots that creaked or bowed beneath her boots. In a matter of seconds, she was sat in one of the boats alone while Callum sank only his tail into the water. The young, murky-haired guy from the house earlier hopped into the boat with her. He was a helfen, horns and all. She hated his toothy grin as he steered the boat with only his hands. The water rippled around them and pushed them steadily across a lake of dark water.