But before I could question him any further, Reyes asked, “And why would you help us?”
“Why else? I want him dead as much as you do.” He leaned in, his mouth twisting into a snarl. “Even more so, I’d wager, and if you want to win this thing, you’ll listen to what I have to say. There’s only one way to bring him down. We can’t risk the reaper because of your pride.”
I started thinking back to when I’d first arrived at the game tonight. The Dealer didn’t seem the least bit surprised when I walked in. Surely he knew who I was the moment I showed up, like he was expecting me.
“Why am I here?” I asked him. “Did you arrange this?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I simply encouraged Mr. Joyce to seek you out through a few connections I have. He was desperate enough to do it.”
I released Zeus, pulling out the knife and holding it toward him as steady as I could. Which wasn’t very steady. I was shaking. And I had to pee.
“You’re still on my turf, stealing the souls of good people. And you stole that body you’re living in.”
“I didn’t steal anything. I was born on Earth, just like the prince.”
I gaped at Reyes. “He can do that?”
After a long hesitation, he nodded. “It’s a complicated process, but yes.”
“Wow, okay, but you’ve still stolen souls.”
He shrugged helplessly. “Man cannot live on bread alone. And I steal nothing. Whatever I take has been handed over to me willingly. I pay a very high price for the souls I take.”
“Not high enough.”
“You forget, they come to me and they are getting what they want in return. It’s a win–win.” When I only glared, he added, “I am not your enemy. We have a similar agenda.”
“I want Mr. Joyce’s soul returned to him.”
He threw his head back and laughed, and I sensed a genuine enjoyment in his reaction, as though I were entertaining to him like a fly might be to a spider. So that was annoying.
“And then,” I continued, letting my mouth lift into a patient smile, “I’m going to take this dagger, push it into your heart, and watch you die.”
“Well, then, that’s not a very good incentive for me to do what you want, now, is it?”
“You need to be brought down. I’m sorry, but it has to be done.”
“I believe you,” he said, surprised. “I think you are sorry, even if just barely. What if I only bargained for the souls of bad people? You know, murderers and child molesters and people who cut in line at the theater snack counter.”
There was a thought I could live with. Well, not the snack-counter thing, but … “You could be like the demonic version of Dexter.”
“Exactly,” he agreed.
“But how many have you taken in the past? How many good souls do you have to compensate for?”
He raised a helpless hand. “I’ve been on this plane in human form for more than two centuries,” he said, surprising me to my core. “If I had to guess, I’d say more than a few. Surely you won’t hold my past indiscretions against me.”
I stepped closer and his chin went up. He watched Zeus carefully, like one would watch a venomous snake poised to strike. “No more,” I said, my tone low and even. “Never again. And I want Mr. Joyce’s soul returned to him. I don’t care what kind of bargain he made, I want it canceled.”
“As you wish, but I want something in return.”
“Do not bargain with him,” Reyes said.
Of course, I ignored him. “What?”
He gestured toward Zeus with a congenial nod of his top hat. “The dagger.”
I snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding. The only way you’re getting this knife is when its blade slides into your chest.”
He shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Then how about you let me help you with this little Twelve problem, and it’s all his.”
“You can do that?”
“Dutch,” Reyes said, but I shushed him with an index finger. A very powerful index finger, it would seem, because he let me continue.
“You can return it to him?” I asked. “Good as new?”
The Dealer winced. “New is a strong word, but once it’s back in place, how it fares is up to him.”
I raised the knife again, but he stood his ground, albeit warily. “And no more, right?”
“No more, right. Only bad people.”
“No snack-counter line-cutters, either. They have to genuinely be bad, as in harmful to the human race.”
“Not a problem. I know a ra**st down the street. I can live off him for weeks.”
“And I want Joyce’s soul returned immediately.”
He snorted. “Do you think me a fool?”
“I think you’re all kinds of a fool. There’s no telling when, or even if, these twelve jokers will show up.”
“Clearly, you have trust issues. I’ll give him back his soul when the favor is returned.”
“I’m returning it now by not burying this blade in your chest.”
He paused in thought, but only for a split second before saying, “You think that a favor?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I deflected. “I think I’m bored. Leave Mr. Joyce’s soul alone.”
With that, I turned and walked out, completely unsure if I’d accomplished anything at all.