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GEMINI

N o matter the time of day, Pandaemonium is always filled with liars, cheats, and gamblers. The citizens of Pravitia are riddled with vices, desperate to have them seep out inside one of our establishments, like stale sweat from their pores.

But the word vice holds no real meaning in a city like Pravitia, when our gods consume the essence of the word greedily from the hearts of its people, like ambrosia as sweet as an overripe fruit.

I let out a bored sigh, leaning my elbow and upper body on the head and neck of the carousel horse I’m sitting atop. My legs are crossed, swung to one side of the dark-winged horse as it gently gallops up and down. Round and round and round the carousel it goes.

Balancing a full coupe of champagne in my free hand, I idly observe Constantine hang her body halfway off her horse. She’s holding on by only her hands, her blonde ponytails grazing the floor as her crazed giggles drift up and merge with the fanfare of the carousel. Flinging one of her legs straight up, she reveals the hot-pink thong underneath her short, pleated skirt, unbothered and most likely hoping someone is enjoying the free show.

Some might say Constantine is an acquired taste, but at least she doesn’t carry herself like the other heirs. Most of whom have always taken themselves much too seriously, dreadfully focused on acquiring as much power and notoriety as possible inside the walls of our dear city.

I’ve never been interested in that kind of power.

I find it quite a bore actually.

Then again …

Being the gods’ plaything comes with a lot of perks. The ability to manipulate chaos as I please, for one. Collecting everyone’s secrets is another.

It’s the only kind of influence I care for.

Because who are people without their secrets?

There’s a thrill to finding people’s vulnerabilities. A loose thread in their perfectly tailored facade. And after they so freely offer up their secrets, I just need to pull as they unravel, naked before me.

Finally having had enough of the carousel, I hold on to my coupe and jump down, the two long chains hanging on the side of my plaid pants rattling with the force of the movement. Strutting over to an empty poker table, I push the red gossamer hanging from the ceiling to the side and sit down.

The fabric flutters back into place, creating a fleeting sense of privacy and dividing the tables from one another. I have no interest in playing tonight, but I reach for the discarded pack of cards anyhow, snaking a single card over and around my fingers as I take a long sip of champagne with the other hand.

Constantine joins me not long after—Albert, her sentinel, trailing close behind, as usual. She jumps into the velvet seat beside me with a small Oomph . A mojito appears in front of her, brought by one of the staff before her derriere has time to fully connect with the cushion.

“Do you think they’ve fucked yet?” she says out of the blue while signaling Albert to approach.

He steps up to her seat, his square face severe and glowering as he towers over her. Opening his suit jacket, he pulls out a small hunting knife from the inside and hands it to Constantine.

I don’t need her to clarify who they are—she’s obviously referring to our two new co-rulers.

I grin, still fiddling with the one playing card as I shoot her a sideways look, recalling the loaded stare I witnessed between Mercy and Wolfgang at the public execution. “I think they’ve been enjoying their foreplay far too much to have indulged in anything yet.”

Constantine bursts out laughing, her gaze cast down on the table as she repeatedly stabs the knife into the open spaces between her outstretched fingers. “Silly rabbits.”

I let out an amused hum, my eyes sweeping over the casino floor while I take a sip of champagne.

My body grows unnaturally still, like a predator finally catching sight of their prey, when I land on a familiar face across the room. My nape tingles, and I almost laugh in delight.

It’s her.

Waves of brown hair tumble over the back of her gray knitted sweater, the rolled sleeves revealing countless tattoos on her fair skin. By the look of how her jeans hang loosely from her hips, she hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks. I wrinkle my nose at the sight.

My imagination quickly fights to replace the unsavory sight. Of her restrained and me feeding her, like my very own pet. Her curves would fill in nicely if I were the one caring for her. My body heats at the thought, my tongue smoothing over my teeth as I continue to study her from my vantage point.

She’s infested my thoughts ever since I let her escape the maze, unscathed. Naively, I thought the gods would soon lead me back to her. But a month has passed since then, and this is my first sighting of the waif. Luckily, a small inkling told me Pravitia had kept her nice and safe for me. I’m usually not a patient person—but who am I to twist the timing of fate?

She’s here now, isn’t she?

Constantine continues to babble beside me, but I’m no longer listening. Instead, my gaze burns into the profile of the brunette’s heart-shaped face as she settles into a chair at a roulette table. She bends over to speak to whoever is sitting beside her, and I recognize them as Zazel, one of my performers at Animus.

Hearing Constantine chirp a breathy Oops! beside me, I snap my attention back to our table, only to find the blade of the knife jutting out of the thick of her palm.

“Gods be damned,” I mutter as I reach over and yank the knife out of her hand, blood gushing out of the wound as soon as it slides out.

“I could have done that myself,” Constantine says with a pout.

Typical, coming from the servant of the god of torture. She can’t feel pain and has a knack for self-inflicted wounds.

The blood is pooling on the green felt of the table, and I let out a theatrical sigh as I tug on the pink ribbon tied around one of her ponytails and impatiently wrap it around her palm to staunch the bleed.

“Go fix yourself,” I say with a flick of a hand.

Constantine rolls her eyes. “Party pooper.” She slides out of her seat, and with her uninjured hand, snaps her fingers to Albert, who follows her into the back of the casino like a large, bulky shadow.

Quickly swiveling my attention back to the roulette table, I suck in a breath when I realize my sacrifice is gone. I deliberate if I should go find her; she’s most likely still somewhere inside the walls of my casino. I decide to bide my time instead.

I’ve been known to play with my dinner before. I’m sure toying with her will be as delectable as when I finally sink my teeth into her ripe flesh. Sipping from my coupe, I lean into the back of my chair as I continue to flip the playing card between my fingers and slowly devise a plan.

At least now I know how to find her again.