“I didn’t mean to kill him,” I mocked, “pha! You did so!”

“Shut up, Chess!” Tarot spat. Blood stained the cuffs of her white chiffon shirt and smudged the beds of her manicured nails.

Shut up? Shut up! My gods! If my hands weren’t still trembling or sweating a waterfall, Miss Murderer over there would’ve gotten a slap. Or two.

“Sir,” I said, addressing the third occupant in the room.

The GM massaged his pale forehead, his round, wire glasses slipping down his nose with each swirl. “What?”

The GM sat opposite me, his tall, slim, yet surprisingly muscular frame taut like a bowstring in the loose embrace of the leather armchair.

Over a crisp white shirt, a green tailored waistcoat curled over his shoulders and waist, and a black, silk cravat bulged under his shaven chin.

Always the smartly dressed one, no matter the situation. No matter the hour.

The clock on the mahogany mantelpiece chimed two in the morning, and I suppressed a yawn.

“Permission to flick Tarot’s ear.”

“Denied.”

Tarot kicked the leg of my chair. “Permission to KICK his ear, sir.”

“Denied!” The GM growled. He let his arms fall, resting them in the fold of his lap. His eyes flicked from Tarot to me. “One of you—please—inform me of what happened.”

Leaning back, I turned to Tarot. I crossed my arms over my chest and squeezed. Despite having sat for more than fifteen minutes, my heart still raced, beating a riot.

Tarot twitched in her seat. A strand of black hair slipped from its knot, and she quickly tucked it behind her ear. Silver glitter swept over her brown cheekbones in what she once told me was a statement of ‘fashion’. But in reality, I knew she wore it to hide her scar. Although partly hidden by our uniforms’ masquerade masks, the scar still liked to make its appearance known. Jagged and ragged as it may have been, I thought it made her look cool, but she poured vinegar on my waffles when I told her so.

“We were caught off guard, sir,” Tarot began, and I coughed. “I was caught off guard, sir. The game was away, the saps at my table deep into their cups and even further into their wallets. We were gaining a good profit—”

“Just get on with it!” The GM snapped.

“Yes, get on with it.” I mouthed.

“Right. Well,” Tarot continued, “I thought one of the fellows at my table was cheating, skimming. So I kept an eye on him. But then Rummy fell over carrying the tray of plates; I got…distracted, then suddenly, those Rebels from the papers filled the room. The fellow at my table shot up, and I thought he had a weapon, so I hit him, and he fell.”

“You did more than hit him.”

“Yes, thank you, Chess.”

“You absolutely annihilated him. Then the Rebels started attacking. We managed to get almost everyone out,” I said, and my legs began to shake, so I crossed them. “But the Rebels were brutal. I blame Tarot.”

Tarot ignored my jibe. “Rummy is definitely up to something,” she added, “I swear. They were talking to the fellow before he joined my table.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, don’t you start that again! I told you, Rummy is clean, nothing but a teddy bear. They wouldn’t—”

“You’re only saying that because you fancy them.”

My face flushed. “I do not! How dare—”

“Quiet! Both of you!” The GM rose from his chair with the grace of an angry swan. He grabbed a crystal glass from the table, pouring in the orange liquid from the decanter.

The large fire crackled. The candles flickered, and my stomach rumbled. Tarot glared at me, but I ignored her.

“Sir,” I began.

“How much money did we lose?” The GM whispered.

“We don't—” I glanced at Tarot. “Probably over three thousand in damage alone.”

The GM began to pace, his heeled shoe clicking on the polished wood floor. “You are to find them—these Rebels. Make them compensate for the damage, for the money lost. And if they won't,” His eyes steeled on Tarot, and I could have sworn she flinched. I for sure did. “End them.”

Tarot nodded and rose from her chair, her body already moving towards the door before I had time to uncross my legs.

“But how do we find them, sir? No one knows who they are. Or where they are.”

“Then, Chess, I suggest you make some moves and find out quickly,” A grin cut into his face, and not a happy one of that. “I understand how much this job means to you. To your mother. How is she, may I ask?”

He knew very well how well she was—having her locked in his dungeon. Many moons ago, my Ma—out of desperation—stole from him, The Grand Master, and my working for was the only way to pay off her debt. To help save her life.

The GM gestured to the door, “Best get going, then, shouldn't we.”

I rose from my seat and followed Tarot out, wishing so fiercely that I could slap him.