The needle hurt like hell. Chase bit down on the leather of her gag, and tried to ignore the pain in her arm.

“There's no smoke,” her tormentor declared, and someone else grunted.

Then the blindfold was off her face, and Chase was staring up at a tall, middle-aged human in a white suit. He had a flat-brimmed hat on his head, scars on his right cheek, and blue eyes rendered large and outsized by a rimless set of spectacles.

“Hello?” Chase said. “You know, if this is what I've won I think I would have preferred to lose.”

A grunt from off to one side, and Chase turned, angling to see around the humans in the room, until she saw the Muscle Wizaard. He was restrained just as she was, bound to a chair by entirely too many chains, and thrashing about as a man in physician's robes stuck something into his arm.

“No smoke,” the physician declared.

Then pieces clicked into place. “That's a silver needle, isn't it?” Chase asked.

A gloved hand caught her face, turned it up to stare into blue eyes behind glass. “Now why would you ask that?”

“Because half this damn city has made me take a silver test whenever I visit their shops,” Chase said, staring back, trying not to flinch. But she could feel herself shake. This situation had gone poorly ever since they'd let the casino staff take them back into the secret parts of the casino, to talk with the man in charge. Someone had shouted “Stunning Blast,” and it had all gone downhill from there.

At least she thought it had. Her memory got a bit fuzzy after that... spell? Probably a spell, had gone off in her face.

She turned her head to the side, playing at afraid to meet the stranger's eyes... though it wasn't play, not really. This was the smallest she'd ever felt since she left Bothernot. The most helpless.

But as she looked around, she noticed something interesting.

Her pack was lying in one corner.

And Renny wasn't poking out of it any longer.

My hidden weapon.

Suddenly her chances of getting out of there were looking a lot better.

“What is the meaning of this?” The Muscle Wizaard barked.

“Calm down, Wizaard,” Chase said, turning a much-less-fearful face up to meet her silent captor. “They're afraid, that's all.”

The man's eyes narrowed, as she met his stare, unyielding this time.

WILL+1

“You're not wrong,” he spoke again, blinking first. “But we're not afraid of you. Keep that in mind, young lady.” He turned away, whipping his coat back, and striking a match with hands so fast she barely saw them move. Then he was smoking a pipe, his back to her, looking out a long, wide window that angled crookedly.

Chase's vantage point was bad, but she recognized part of a crowd, and the glint of metal machines. That's the casino hall! We're above it, looking down on it.

Which was bizarre. She was pretty sure she would have remembered seeing a window of this size from below. But then again, most of this place was based on misdirection, it could easily have been hidden. In any case, it was the least of her worries right now.

“Leave us,” the white-suited man said.

“Sir?” One of the black-suited staff replied, looking from the Muscle Wizaard to Chase.

“I can handle them. If it comes down to it. It won't, will it?”

“Not if you untie us,” Chase told him.

The white suited man waved his pipe in a commanding gesture, and hands freed Chase and The Muscle Wizaard from their chains. Then the servants withdrew, one by one, closing a thick door behind them.

Now that the crowd was gone, the room stood revealed as an opulent office. A heavy mahogany desk filled the space before the window, and golden sculptures and lanterns dressed the walls. The tapestries and paintings in here were a touch more tasteful than the ones on the floor, and a shag carpet deep enough to go up to Chase's ankles coated the floor.

Well, all except the spot where Chase and The Muscle Wizaard had been deposited. That spot had a cheap rug thrown over it, and Chase's blood ran cold for a second. They did that so they wouldn't stain the good carpet if they had to kill us.

Then her eyes lit on a small table in the corner. It was draped with gold cloth, and held a pair of statuettes holding dice and cards. One was a friendly looking woman, juggling dice, with a set of very thin wires holding them up in the air. The other was a surly looking man slouching at a table, throwing a tiny set of cards down in disgust.

Chase recognized those figures. “That's Rando and RNG, isn't it? That's a shrine to the gods of luck?”

“Yeah,” the white-suited man grunted. “Don't touch it, please. They hate that.”

“Are you an Oracle, then?”

“Cleric. Which is one of the reasons why you're here right now. They told me you were coming.”

“Perhaps you'd better tell us what this is all about,” The Muscle Wizaard said. “We certainly weren't cheating, so this treatment is entirely uncalled for!”

The man turned to face them, his scars sliding into shadow as his hat brim blocked the light from the window. “When the next jackpot rings, the hour of your death is here, Enrico Rossi. That's what they told me when I prayed for guidance.”

“Enrico...” Chase felt her eyes narrow. “You're supposed to be dead!”

He spread his arms. “They tore me up pretty badly a couple of nights ago. I figured it was best to let them think I didn't survive. I've been hiding out here ever since.”

“You faked your death?” The Muscle Wizaard asked. “But why?”

“One last con. For all the good it's doing.” he shot a glare toward the shrine. “But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's no fate but that I make. I can beat the odds. I was just a piddly archer, back when Dona Tarantino called in her favor and brought me along on a werewolf hunt. This time? They're up against a full-fledged Gambler.” He turned toward them, his hand twisting again, and suddenly it was full of shiny-edged playing cards. Shiny SILVER-edged playing cards, Chase realized.

“We're after the werewolves too,” Chase said, speaking quickly. “We can help you—”

“Maybe. Either way we'll see. Here's how this is going to go,” he said, making the cards vanish as quickly as they'd appeared. “Your winnings are in your pack. I threw in an extra ten percent to pay for your time. You're going to spend an hour with me. At the end of the hour, if nothing happens, then you'll walk out of here with your pack and complimentary buffet tickets. It's all-you-can-eat, you halvens go nuts for that sort of thing.”

Chase blinked. She'd never been in a situation where she'd ever had all she could eat. Then she shook her head. “And if the werewolves come?”

The Gambler puffed on his pipe, and smiled. “You'll be in the same room as their target. I figure one way or another you'll improve my odds.”

“I don't work for free,” said the Muscle Wizaard. “And I certainly don't appreciate this sort of treatment.”

“Check the pack,” Enrico said, pointing with his pipe stem. “And tell me if you don't think that's enough for your time.”

The large man did so, and his eyebrows climbed into his hair. Then they narrowed. “Wait. Where's Ren—”

“You drew blood from us without our permission, though,” Chase said hastily. “Was that really necessary?”

“Oh yeah. A werewolf with enough cool can ignore the pain of touching silver. But silver that breaks skin? The blood gives it away. Learned that one when we hunted their matriarch, all those years back.” Enrico took a seat behind the desk, the leather of his massive chair creaking as he settled in.

But he was sharp, and his eyes lingered on the Muscle Wizaard. “Is something missing from your pack, sir? It's possible it might have fallen out in the scuffle. I can have my people check.”

“It's my pack, and I'll see if anything's missing later. Is the gold fair enough, Bastien?”

“It's quite a bit more than I've seen in a long time. Very heavy, I'll have to carry it for a bit, I think.”

“Then, since we're here for an hour or so, maybe we could focus on more important matters?” She smiled at the not-so-dead Rossi patron. “We came here looking for clues, ways to investigate that would let us tell our employer where the werewolves might be. Can you help us with that?”

“I wish I could. My family is working like hell to track them down. Me? I'm what they want. I'm hiding, out of touch, minimizing contact with the rest of my family. But if Rando's prophecy is true, then I've been wasting my time.” His lips thinned.

I wish I could size him up. But he's used to dealing with Grifters. I'm not practiced enough with silent activations... ah, this is frustrating. I need to get better at this, get better at the subtle skills. She made a mental note to train up once she got out of here. She couldn't risk conversational foresight, not even when his back was turned. He might catch her reflection in the window's glass.

So instead Chase asked “Is there anything you can tell us? Anything that might help? Maybe something about the night of the attack?”

Enrico shrugged. “They evidently came right over the manor wall. I woke up when my door got broken down. We always sleep with it locked and that saved me. My lover... not so much. Poor Federico never had much luck.” His eyes went misty behind his glasses.

Chase sat there in shock for a second. That's a man's name! Did he just admit to... well, why not? He thinks he's going to die, and who are we to use that to blackmail him? Nobody with any clout, and his family would wreck us. Besides, the man's dead anyway.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” The Muscle Wizaard said.

The fact that he was a lover of men bothered Chase for a few seconds, before she squelched it. That's a remnant of Bothernot. That's a stupid way of thinking that foolish old halvens want me to think. Why should I let it bother me? I'm on an adventure, we're hunting werewolves, and I just got more gold than I've ever dreamed of having.

A little more analysis, and her ears twitched as a new thought occurred to her. He let slip something like this to a pair of strangers. Maybe because we ARE strangers. We're in a weird position. He wants to talk about this, but given the stigma of men loving men, he can't talk about it to just anyone that matters. We don't matter, not really. We could be his confessors, in a way.

That gave her an in.

And... she did feel invested, a bit. He was hurting. She had acted as a confessor, as a safe secret keeper for those who felt as he did, before. This was the right thing to do, regardless of how much information she could milk out of him.

“Please. Tell me about Federico.” Chase said, after a bit.

Enrico considered her, puffing on his pipe, letting smoke curl up to the ceiling in patterns to join stains long set into the wood. Just as she thought she'd overplayed her hand, he nodded. “I met him here, actually. Back when we were just a single basement and some plank tables on boards. Back when the family's fortunes were... not so good.” He tapped the pipe out into an ashtray. “We'd just lost management of the quartiere carne. We'd settled things with the Tarantino famigilia, but the long fight had exhausted our cofffers. Which is why they gave me the go-ahead to set up this place. It actually has a name, you know? Not that most people actually find it out.”

Chase itched to ask what the name was, but her instincts told her it was better to let him talk, get it out of his system.

“He was a bookie. Originally we had numbers games, bets, even the occasional river raft races. I had him in my office every other day, arguing about the numbers. He was the only one who ever stood up to me, ever argued with me.” Enrico smiled, and pulled his glasses off. “Brave, brave man. Idiot sometimes, no real common sense. Smart as a whip, but dumb. Dumb enough to leap in front of a frenzied wolfman.” He closed his eyes. “Idiot.”

“Brave,” she said. “You meant everything to him.”

“A brave idiot, then.” Enrico chuckled. “Yeah. Anyone will stick by you when times are good. When times are bad, you find out what your friends are really worth.” He stared. “A lot of people separate friends and lovers. They say you can't be both. But to me he was always my best friend. I know a lot of people... hell, I'm related to a lot of people, who decided that their lovers were LOVERS, not friends. And it's caused so much grief, messed up so many marriages. A lot of people live in misery, because they think that's how the gods want it, or because it's good for the soul.”

“And how many of those people would stand between their lover and a beast?” Chase asked.

To her surprise, Enrico smiled. “Damn few.” He pushed his spectacles up and rubbed his eyes. “You're all right, kid.”

“Thank you,” Chase said, simply, and though she was bursting with questions, she let the silence work its magic. She let the Gambler piece himself back together.

“Heh. It's funnier because you don't understand,” Enrico said, filling his pipe again.

“Then please tell me, so I can laugh at the joke.”

“Once we grabbed you, I had you two put through every test you could imagine. We keep a scout on staff. I know every bit of your status screen. Hell, I probably know things about you that YOU don't know. And just by looking at your jobs, you'd be the last person in the world I'd trust with a damn thing.”

Chase fought back an angry protest. Her fingers curled around her skirt, at the casual dismissal. Was his mood so fragile that he'd flip-flop so casually?

“Looking at your JOBS you seem untrustworthy,” the Gambler emphasized. “But you haven't fired up a single skill. Haven't tried to get a single edge on me. Jobs are one thing, but they aren't the measure of a person. The status screen shows you some things, but it doesn't tell you what you truly are inside. That's the part that's hidden, that's the part that nobody can see.” He smiled. “My screen? It doesn't show that I like men, or women, or anything of that sort. It doesn't matter to these words, these weird things that rule our lives, and dictate how we can excel. It isn't a limitation, or a condition, or anything. It's just how I am. And that's a special kind of thing. And you have so, so many ways to manipulate me, but you haven't reached for a single one of them. That tells me you're all right. And that's why it's funny... because to you it's a casual compliment. Until you know the context.”

“Text? I see none here,” rumbled the Muscle Wizaard.

Enrico chuckled. “You're all right too, big guy.”

“Thank you!”

“So...” the white-suited man said, sitting down and wiping at a speck on his desk, “I like you. And I have nothing to lose by helping you out. I'll help you as much as I can. You wanted clues? I guarantee I don't have all of the picture, but I can maybe do you a landscape or something.”

“All right. Let me think,” Chase said.

Where to start? Where to even begin?

Well, the basics were a start. “Why are the werewolves hunting you?”

“They're hunting me because two decades ago Dona Tarantino called in a favor with my family. No, I won't go into details on the favor. But I was one of the hunters who teamed up to take down the pair of werewolves that were terrorizing Arretzi.” He sighed. “The doge at the time wasn't as competent as the current guy. The underworld had a bigger reach back then. They tapped us and a few other of the noble families, to lend support.”

“The Bianchis!” Chase burst out. “Is... did their victim survive too?”

Enrico snorted. “No. Well, I mean I don't know for certain, but she wasn't nearly as clever as me. They're usually more goody-goody. Lotsa Paladins come out of that family. They don't work the angles, like we do.”

“And yet they helped out organized crime.” the Muscle Wizaard pointed out.

“For a good cause,” Enrico puffed on his pipe. “And the famiglias know better than to ask the Bianchis for anything that they'd consider personally dishonorable. It's a self-serving line to walk, but the Bianchis manage. They're doing better now that the doge has been cleaning up the place, anyway.”

“So it's revenge?” Chase asked. “That's all?”

“That's all?” Enrico laughed, and cursed gently. “...yeah it's revenge,” he finished. “Cities fall, states crumble, because someone got slighted. Revenge is the most primal of all motives, you know. Even I'm not immune to its call...” he said, picking up a small portrait from his desk, and staring at it. His eyes hardened, magnified behind the spectacles Chase had a clear view as they turned bleak and cold. “Never underestimate vengeance, kiddo. It can drive a man to points where reason bailed out long ago.”

Then he deflated, shrinking back into his chair, his suit wrinkling as he sagged. “Given time to fester, anyway. Me... I'm just hollow. Maybe when I am done mourning. If I live that long. But yeah, it's revenge. We killed the runt's mate. Now the runt's all grown up, and hunting us down. And he brought his pack.”

“You're sure of that?”

“There's at least three,” Enrico said, standing, and moving back to stare out the window. “The survivor, tall and thin and fast. He's the alpha now. A squat one, muscled and beefy, maybe a kid of the old mate. And a small one... a new runt, I'm thinking. We learned that during the attack on our manor. We saw them by firelight, checked their tracks in the blood of our servants and guards.”

“A small one. Halven sized?”

Enrico tilted his head, as he turned back to consider her. “Yeah, maybe. The change makes it hard to tell, but the little one could be a halven when he isn't fuzzy. Why do you ask?”

Chase related the story of the leatherworker and the knife. When she was done, she caught his gaze. “Do you know why one of them would kill a leatherworker?”

“No. But it could be that the little one's new, still learning to control himself. Maybe the guy's daughter cut herself or something, and he smelled blood and lost it.”

“Maybe,” Chase said, remembering the raw stink of the tannery. Would even a werewolf be able to smell blood over that chemical reek? It seemed unlikely. But they were dealing with monsters, when all was said and done. She couldn't say what they couldn't do.

But there's someone here who can help rule out a few things, at least. “You say their blood burns when silver touches it? What other weaknesses do they have?”

“Ah... it's like vampires. There's a few different types so the weaknesses can be different depending on how they ranked up,” the Gambler shrugged. “They have to hunt during the full moon. They regenerate like no one's business. Silver that pierces their flesh burns them. Beyond that?” he raised a hand and opened it, palm up. “Dunno.”

“They still have bones, right?” The Muscle Wizaard asked. “They're flesh and blood, yes?”

“Yep.”

“I can work with that!” The big man slammed a meaty fist into his other palm, and the smack echoed through the office.

“Let's hope so,” the Gambler said, pulling out a metal disc and opening it with a snap. “We got forty-six minutes to see if you need to test that theory.”

“Okay. So everyone but the leatherworker that's been a public death has had ties to the hunting party,” Chase got herself back on track. “Who's left alive?”

“Me. Don Coltello. Don Sangue. Maddalena Verde.” he shrugged. “We all brought some people, some support, but we're the main four left.”

“I'll have to ask Cagna about Don Sangue, and whether or not any of Coltello's people have been targeted. They probably have been, since some of the murders have been in the Outskirts.”

“Not a bad conclusion,” Enrico said. “I think—”

Shouts from below, muffled by the glass, and the Gambler whirled.

Half the room had gone dark, and as they stared, a howl resounded.

High and keening, it reached out to the back part of Chase's mind, the part that constantly reminded her that she was small, squishy, and tasty, and punched it like a boxer on a speed bag.

Chase gasped.

She hadn't felt such fear since Pandora, since that dark prison, with the Butcher's knife at her throat as he whispered threats.

“So it begins!” Enrico snarled, slapping cards down on his desk, silver edges flaring in the lamplight. “Come on then! Ante up or fold!”

“Chase!” Renny called, and everyone jumped. Enrico turned, eyes whipping around the room, cards in his hands faster than she could follow with her eyes. The Muscle Wizaard was up, hefting his chair in one hand.

“Chase! There's a new scent in the room! There's somebody in the room with us—”

And that was all the warning they had before a cloaked figure lunged out of the shadows and carried Enrico's screaming form through the window.

CHASE'S CHARACTER SHEET

Name: Chase Berrymore

Age: 15 Years

Jobs:

Halven level 9, Cook level 4, Archer level 5, Grifter level 6, Medium level 1, Oracle level 8, Painter level 2, Teacher level 2

Attributes / Pools / Defenses

Strength: 55 Constitution: 33 / Hit Points: 88 / Armor: 10

Intelligence: 56 Wisdom: 90 / Sanity: 146 / Mental Fortitude:45

Dexterity: 99 Agility: 58 / Stamina: 157 / Endurance: 0

Charisma: 129 Willpower: 47 / Moxie: 176 / Cool: 51

Perception: 67 Luck: 136 / Fortune: 203 / Fate: 32

Generic Skills

Archery – Level 1

Brawling – Level 8

Climb – Level 15

Dagger – Level 2

Dodge – Level 12

Fishing – Level 14

Ride – Level 10

Stealth – Level 14

Swim – Level 7

Throwing – Level 24

Halven Skills

Fate's Friend – Level N/A

Small in a Good Way – Level N/A

Cook Skills

Cooking - Level 15

Freshen - Level 10

Archer Skills

Aim – Level 6

Demoralizing Shot – Level 1

Far Shot – Level 1

Missile Mastery – Level N/A

Quickdraw – Level N/A

Rapid Fire – Level N/A

Razor Arrow – Level 1

Ricochet Shot – Level 10

Grifter Skills

Fools Gold – Level 1

Forgery – Level 1

Master of Disguise – Level 3

Pickpocket – Level 1

Silent Activation – Level 9

Silver Tongue – Level 7

Size Up – Level 3

Unflappable – Level N/A

Medium Skills

Bad Fortune – Level 1

Crystal Ball – Level 1

Good Fortune – Level 1

Séance – Level N/A

Stack Deck – Level N/A

Oracle Skills

Absorb Condition – Level N/A

Afflict Self – Level 1

Diagnose – Level N/A

Divine Pawn – Level N/A

Foresight – Level 22

Lesser Healing – Level 30

Omens and Portents – Level N/A

Transfer Condition – Level 4

Painter Skills

Fast Dry – Level N/A

Painting – Level 5

Teacher Skills

Lecture – Level 4

Smarty Pants – Level N/A

Unlocked Jobs

Farmer, Herbalist

Gear

The Charlatan's Chapeau

Light Leather Armor – level 5