Angelo’s Maxim magazines. Then my stomach heaves when Marty turns into

Layla. The hazel eyes smile down at me. But the thing about

supernatural creatures is that they don’t smell like anything, and I

turn my face to the side.

“I don’t think now’s the time,” Frederik says.

Then Marty is Marty again, messy brown hair beneath his baseball

cap. “On three.” His mouth twitches. “This is gonna hurt.”

I clench my jaw, bracing for the snap.

“One.”

But he doesn’t make it to three, and the next thing I feel is the

arrow sliding through my open palm, leaving a bloody hole.

“Knew you were going to do that.” I nurse my hurt hand on top of

the good one. The blood isn’t pooling anymore, but my whole hand is

numb and swollen.

Rachel, the Red Menace, stands with all her weight on one leg.

“Why are you pissed when you just tried to shoot me in the head?”

She flips her hair over one shoulder and turns away from us. “I’ll

tell Shelly not to worry.”

“I’m going to find something to dress the wound with,” Thalia

says.

Frederik stares at my hand with a possessed look. I retract my

hand, realizing blood plus vampires aren’t a good combination. His

hand clamps down on Thalia’s shoulder. He says, “There’s no need.”

“No need ?” I’m so confused. Unless he means he’s going to lick

the blood off.

“Look.”

And when I look, my hand is changing.

The gouged hole is closing, the skin mending. I stretch my fingers

and flip my hand front to back. It’s like there was never a hole to

begin with. My hand looks like I dipped it in a jar of blood.

“That’s new,” Marty says.

From behind them, a short somebody wrapped in green fabric waddles

over with the help of a walking stick. She gets to eye level, and I

can see the folds of her white-gray face. Her tar black eyes are not

happy to see me. Instead of a welcoming hug, Shelly, the oracle of

Central Park, pokes me in the chest with her cane. “You have much

explaining to do, Tristan Hart.”

***

The poker table is a slab of polished stone.

A mishmash of things is piled high in the center: jars of live

bugs, a golden dagger, black apples, and stacks of regular, old

American cash.

“ This …” I point a finger in Rachel’s disgustingly perfect face.

“This is why you shot me?”

She sits on one of the massive toadstools growing in a circle

around the table. She takes her cards, glares at them, and throws them

down. “I had a good hand. I should shoot you again.”

“Now, now,” Shelly says, taking her seat. “There is no killing in

my neck of the woods. Frederik?”

The vampire looks up to the sky and sighs. “I didn’t know she had

the bow. She’s a demigoddess. She can conjure lightning and puppies

from thin air if she wants to.”

Shelly sucks her teeth. “Well, conjure up some manners while

you’re at it, dear. This is the future Sea King, and he’s got some

answering to do.”

“Me?”

Shelly sets her eyes on me. Her palm-sized fairy maidens flit

about, tugging on my hair and blowing kisses from the trees. Thalia

bats them away, taking a seat beside Marty.

“The last time I saw you,” Shelly says, “You couldn’t regrow your

body parts.”

“I can,” Marty says. “Sort of.”

“Look, I’ll get to that later. Right now I need your help,” I say.

“Gah! Always help.” Shelly throws her hands in the air. “Not just

popping by to say hello?”

“No,” I stutter. “I mean, I wanted to visit you also, but the

championship and all.”

Rachel and Frederik share a smirk at my expense.

“I saw your sister,” I tell Shelly. “The one in the shell that

can’t move. I like you way better, just so you know. And those laria

are lame compared to your fairy girls.” This makes the fairies sigh

and giggle in twinkling chimes.

Shelly tut-tut-tuts and offers me a seat on one of the toadstools.

“What is it you need help with?”

I glance at Marty and Fred and Rachel-

“Come now, Tristan. You’ve already achieved a great thing. You

have the scepter. You do still have it, don’t you?”

I tap my backpack. “I do.”

“Then?” Shelly gives a no-nonsense headshake.

“Don’t worry about Rachel,” Frederik says. “She’s impulsive and

new to our fair city and the Thorne Hill Alliance, but she knows to

keep quiet.” Then he sends a look that I’m not sure is meant to scare

her or turn her on. “Or else.”

“Uhm. Okay.” I unzip my backpack and bring out the paper I need

translated.

As soon as she sees it, Shelly mutters in a strange language. I’m

pretty sure it’s all curses. “That bloodied barnacle.”

“So you know each other?”

Shelly purses her lips. It makes the folds of her face pucker.

“Gregorious,” she says his name like an ex-boyfriend. “Always

searching and searching. Can’t just write things down without raising

too many questions.”

“What is this?” I hold it up. She tries to take it but I pull it

away. “I know this is your language. You’re swearing in it right now.”

“The king wanted no record of that prophecy.”

“Why? What does it say?”

“Give it here, son,” she says, trying to take a motherly tone.

“No.” I yank it away. “Not until you promise to tell me what it

says.”

She crosses her arms and looks away. “My services don’t come for

free.”

“We brought something,” Thalia says, offering an apologetic smile.

Shelly’s ears, wherever they are, perk up. “Let me see.”

Thalia takes out the small box of sea-horse eggs and opens it. I

know how much she loves the eggs. I can’t thank her enough. They gleam

in the moonlight.

“Gah, I’ve no use for eggs that won’t hatch!”

Thalia closes the box, shielding the eggs protectively.

“I have an idea.” Frederik’s voice is like a purr. His eyes glance

down at the deck of cards and then at me. “Tristan, can you play?”

I scratch my throat. “Sort of.”

“How about we let Tristan play this hand?” Frederik offers. “Him

against all of us. Winner takes all. If Tristan wins, Shelly has to

translate his text. Then he will leave and continue his quest.”

“What if Shelly wins?” Thalia asks.

Shelly clears her throat and glances at Marty. He chokes on a fit

of laughter and says, “I think Tristan should put up seven minutes in

heaven.”

“What if any of us win?” Rachel looks as if she could spit on my

shoes. “He’s a bit short for my taste.”

“We’re all playing for Shelly,” Frederick says. “Tristan versus

the table.”

“That’s not fair,” I say.

This makes them all smile, even Rachel, who says, “Sounds like you

haven’t many options.”

Whatever Greg has in that parchment has to be important. I stretch

the fingers of my miracle hand. I set the parchment in the pot, where

it shrinks and turns into a glowing neon poker chip along with

everything else.

“Temporary charm,” Marty says. “Space saver when a game is in

session.”

I smile and cozy into the cushion of my toadstool. Cicadas and

fairies whisper their sounds into the night.

And I say, “Deal.”

My buddy Angelo’s dad plays poker.

He has his own table in their basement, along with a full bar and

a pool table, a jukebox and a collection of NY Jets memorabilia that,

if sold on eBay, could probably buy a Third World country.

Here, under the moonlight, they watch me. Rachel, the newest

demigoddess of crazy to arrive in New York, Marty the shape-shifter,

Frederick the High Vampire of New York, and Shelly, the youngest of