The High Priestess’ Game – Chapter 7
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Chapter 7
My chest tightened as the bus pulled away, its red taillights diminishing until they were swallowed by the darkness. The engine’s rumble faded, leaving only the whisper of wind through dead leaves and the thundering of my own pulse in my ears. I was alone.
I closed my eyes and counted backward from ten, a childish ritual that had never quite lost its power. The images remained—the dealer’s fingers splayed across green felt, cards turning with mechanical precision, the tower of chips that had grown before me like something alive and hungry. Then the man in the suit appearing at my shoulder, his voice soft but edged with steel. His hand on my arm. The way the room had seemed to narrow, faces turning toward me with sudden interest.
My hands trembled as I opened them. The night air turned my breath to ghost-shapes that dissolved before my eyes. I needed to think, to plan my next move. The money in my pocket felt impossibly heavy.
Footsteps broke the silence—deliberate and unhurried, coming from the curve in the road. I stiffened, my body primed for flight. A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and narrow-shouldered, face half-hidden beneath the brim of a worn baseball cap.
“Rough night?”
His voice was like gravel wrapped in velvet. I said nothing, measuring the distance between us and calculating how quickly I could disappear.
“The casino can do that to people.” He stopped at the edge of the lamplight, respectfully distant. “Seen it a hundred times.”
My throat dried. “What makes you think I was at the casino?”
He gestured vaguely toward the departing bus. “That route only comes from the casino or the truck stop, and you don’t look like you’ve been loading freight.” A pause. “Plus, you’ve got that look.”
“What look?” The words came out sharper than I intended.
“Like you’ve seen something you weren’t supposed to.” He stepped forward, and light slid across his face. He was older than I’d thought, lines etched deep around his eyes and mouth. Not handsome, but interesting—the face of someone with stories locked behind his teeth. “Name’s Jack.”
I didn’t offer mine in return. “I should go.”
“Where to?”
„Home.“
Jack gestured to the bench. “Mind if I sit? Been on my feet all day.”
I hesitated, then nodded curtly, shifting to the far end. He settled down with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said, staring out at the darkness. “But sometimes it helps to talk to someone who doesn’t matter.”
The simplicity of his statement caught me off guard. He was right—he didn’t matter. Tomorrow, I’d be gone, and he’d just be a strange footnote in this disastrous night. What harm could there be in unloading some of this pressure building in my chest?
“I was winning,” I said finally. “A lot.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “That’ll do it.”
“Have you ever had one of those nights where everything just… works? Where you can see the patterns, feel the rhythm of the game?” My fingers traced circles on the bench between us. “That was tonight. I couldn’t lose if I tried. It was like the cards were speaking to me.”
“And they noticed,” Jack said. Not a question.
“A security guard approached me. Said Ms. Veronica wanted to speak with me in her office.” I swallowed hard. “There was something in her eyes—something cold. I’ve seen that look before. It doesn’t end well.”
“So you ran.”
“The situation was somewhat more complicated, but, essentially, yes.”
Jack was quiet for a moment. “Smart move.”
“Was it?” I looked at him directly now. “I don’t even know what I did wrong. I wasn’t counting cards. I’m not that good.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You were winning too much, too consistently. Casino doesn’t like statistical anomalies. Makes them nervous.”
The wind picked up, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold. “What would they have done? If I’d stayed there?“
Jack didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was fixed on something distant, as though he were seeing beyond the darkness to something only he could perceive. When he looked back at me, his eyes were sharper somehow, more focused.
“Ever hear of a guy named Mark Stevens?“
I shook my head.
“Friend of mine. Few years back. Good guy, bit of a gambling problem.” Jack’s voice had shifted, taking on a rhythmic quality that was almost hypnotic. “Mark wasn’t lucky, not usually. But he had this one night—not unlike yours, from the sound of it. Couldn’t lose. Walked in with a couple hundred bucks, was up almost fifty grand by midnight.”
Something in his tone made my skin prickle. Despite my intentions, I found myself inching closer.
“The place was watching him, of course. Always watching. But they let him play. Let him win. Let him feel invincible.” Jack’s fingers drummed once on his knee, then went still. “Right up until they didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“Security approached him. Very polite. Said the manager wanted to congratulate him personally. Offer him a complimentary suite for the night, a bottle of their best champagne.” Jack’s smile never reached his eyes. “Mark was flying high. Told me he felt like a king. Why wouldn’t he go?”
My mouth had gone dry. “And then?”
“Then nothing.” Jack spread his hands. “A few days later, he disappeared.”
“You mean…?” I couldn’t finish the thought.
“I mean he disappeared. Completely. His car was found in the casino parking lot three days later. His apartment was untouched—dirty dishes still in the sink, half a cup of coffee on the counter. Bank accounts never accessed again.” Jack’s voice had dropped to a near-whisper, forcing me to strain to hear him. “I guess he went back for another fortunate night and that wasn’t the best idea he ever had.”
The night seemed to press closer around us. The yellow lamp buzzed overhead, its light suddenly insufficient against the weight of darkness.
“You reported it to the police,” I said.
“Of course. They investigated. Casino provided security footage showing Mark leaving the building at 2:17 a.m., walking to his car, driving away.“ Jack’s lip curled slightly. “Very helpful, they were. Concerned, even. Offered a reward for information.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“The footage showed him getting into his car and driving away. The same car that was found in their parking lot.” Jack shrugged. “Police said he must have returned later. No cameras caught that, apparently.”
I felt cold all over, a deep chill that had settled into my bones. The money in my pocket seemed to burn against my thigh.
“You think they…what? Killed him for winning?”
Jack didn’t answer directly. “I think the casino doesn’t like losing. And I think they have connections—deep ones—in this county.” He turned to face me fully. “Did you use your real name when you registered to play?”
My stomach lurched. I had. Of course I had. They’d scanned my ID.
“You see my concern,” he said, reading my expression.
The wind whispered through the dead grass beyond the road, a sound like secrets being passed between conspirators. Overhead, clouds slid across the moon, alternately revealing and concealing its pale face.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because you remind me of him.” Jack’s gaze was penetrating, unsettlingly direct. “That same look in your eyes. Like you’ve stumbled into something bigger than yourself and haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Maybe your friend just left,” I said, desperate suddenly to poke holes in his story. “Maybe he took his winnings and started over somewhere. People do that.”
“Maybe.” Jack didn’t sound convinced. „He might have decided to not return to the places he was known to visit on a regular basis, like Lucky’s bar, and never speak to his friends again. To be honest, he only had two friends, Tom and me. But Mark wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye to his wife.“
I had no answer for that. We sat in silence, two strangers at a desolate bus stop, surrounded by night.
“What should I do?” I finally asked, hating the tremor in my voice.
“How much did you win?”
“A lot, and I can’t give it back,” I said, surprised by the fierceness in my voice. “I won fairly.”
“I’m not suggesting you should. That ship has sailed.” He hesitated. “But you should know—they won’t forget. The casino has a long memory and longer reach.”
The implications sank in slowly, like stones dropping through dark water. I’d thought running had ended it—a narrow escape, a story to tell someday. But Jack’s words suggested something else: that the night’s events were not an ending but a beginning.
“You’re saying I should keep running.”
“I’m saying be careful. Watch your back. Maybe stay away from places with too many cameras for a while.” He stood slowly, joints cracking. “And if a sleek black car pulls up beside you, don’t get in.”
A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the night air. The casual way he said it—like a warning about bad weather or a rough part of town—made it all the more terrifying.
“How do you know all this?” I asked. “Why were you even out here tonight?”
Jack looked down at me, his face half in shadow. “Let’s just say Mark wasn’t the first person I knew who had an extraordinary stroke of luck.”
The wind picked up suddenly, sending dead leaves skittering across the pavement between us. The trees at the edge of the road swayed and groaned, branches scraping against each other like arthritic fingers.
I watched Jack walk away, his figure gradually absorbed by the darkness until only the sound of his footsteps remained, and then even those faded to nothing.
I sat alone, my thoughts a turbulent river. Part of me wanted to dismiss Jack’s warnings as the rambling of a conspiracy theorist or perhaps a grieving friend unable to accept a simpler truth. Yet something in his steady gaze, the measured cadence of his words, had struck a chord of truth that resonated within me.
I stood, muscles stiff from sitting in the cold. The night stretched before me, vast and uncertain. A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The air had grown thick with the promise of rain, heavy with portent. I wondered, as the first drops of rain began to fall, if I would ever feel safe again. If this night marked not just a windfall but a watershed—the moment my life diverged permanently from its expected course. The thought should have terrified me, and part of it did. But beneath the fear lurked something else, something I was reluctant to acknowledge even to myself: a thrill. The same electric current I’d felt when the cards had fallen just right, when I’d known, somehow, exactly what would happen next.
The night swallowed me, rain washing away my footprints almost as soon as they formed. Behind me, the bus stop receded into memory, its single light a dim star drowning in the darkness. Before me lay only questions without answers, and the strange, terrible freedom of having nothing left to lose.
