A few hours later, Aria and Hallbjorn were standing over the roulette wheel, watching as it spun around and around. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke, and Aria's brain was starting to go to mush with the maddening sounds of a zillion slot machines all chirping at once.
"I'm telling you, I think number seventeen is jinxed," she whispered when the little ball fell into the double zero slot and the croupier raked everyone's chips away. "We haven't won once. Maybe we should bet on another number."
"But seventeen is lucky," Hallbjorn argued. "My birthday is August seventeenth. My family lives at Seventeen Bergstadastraeti. And the cafe where you and I met? It was at Two Hundred Seventeen Laugavegur. I think it's a sign." He shuffled the remaining chips in his pile. "Just one more bet on seventeen? Please?"
Aria pressed her lips together, staring at the fuzzy green felt on the table. Since there were no windows in this place, she had no concept of what time it was, but she and Hallbjorn had made the rounds of the blackjack, poker, and craps tables, sometimes winning a little, but mostly losing. It had been a lot of fun—Aria had worried about Hallbjorn being opposed to gambling, saying it was wasteful or that the chips were made out of non-biodegradable materials, but he'd seemed just as into it as she was, using his own savings to play the tables. But they were down a hundred dollars—money they couldn't afford to lose.
"Really, we should be done. We need money for our marriage license and your visa." Aria looked again for a clock on the wall before she remembered there wasn't one. "Besides, I bet it's getting late."
"But I have a really good feeling about this." Hallbjorn gathered the remaining chips in his palms. "One more on number seventeen. And if I don't win, I'll figure out how to get the money back. I'll work washing dishes."
He plunked down all of the chips they had left—two hundred dollars' worth—onto number seventeen yet again. Aria shut her eyes, not able to watch the spinning wheel.
"All bets, all bets," the croupier called. Suddenly, Aria's skin began to prickle. She looked over her shoulder, feeling someone's eyes on her back. But everyone was entranced in their own games. Even the obsequious cocktail waitresses were preoccupied.
The wheel made clack sounds as it spun. It began to slow, and Aria heard the ball plunk into a slot. Hallbjorn grabbed her hand. "See! I told you!"
Aria looked down and gasped. The little ball had landed on seventeen.
Everyone at the table began to applaud. "Big winner!" the croupier said. An old lady in a mink stole winked at Hallbjorn from across the roulette table.
The croupier pushed a pile of chips toward Hallbjorn, and then another. Some of the chips were black, one-hundred-dollar denominations, but nine were blue, the likes of which Aria hadn't seen before. She turned one of them over and gasped. One thousand dollars, it said around the perimeter Hallbjorn had won $9,800 in just one spin.
She scooped up Hallbjorn's winnings and raked them into the little plastic bucket that had Borgata emblazoned on the side. "We are done gambling for tonight," she murmured to Hallbjorn. "There's no way we're losing this amount of money."
"How are you going to spend it, honey?" the old lady in the mink stole cooed. "A swanky vacation with your girl? A new motorcycle?"
Aria wondered what they would do with the money, too—since they were getting married, technically it would be theirs. It would certainly pay for quite a few months' rent on an apartment. Maybe it would even solve his legal problems in Iceland.
Hallbjorn grinned at the old lady. "I know exactly what I'm going to spend it on. It's going to a good cause."
He grabbed the bucket from Aria and strode toward the neon-lit cashier's booth in the corner. Aria trudged behind, all of her excitement suddenly drained. He was giving it to a good cause?
She caught up with him just as Hallbjorn was passing the bucket to a diswater0blond cashier. "So, um, you're donating the money to Save the Whales or World Wildlife Fund, huh?" she asked, trying to keep her tone even.
Hallbjorn leaned against the counter as the cashier tallied up the chips. "Not that kind of good cause. I'm buying you an engagement ring."
"What?" Aria stepped back. It felt like she'd just gotten an electric shock. "Why would you do that?"
He smiled. "Because you deserve it. And I'm not taking no for an answer."
Hallbjorn signed the paperwork at the cashier's stand, pocketed the cash, and dragged Aria across the casino floor, zigzagging around a couple of showgirls, dumpy tourists with fanny packs, and a group of skanky-looking girls at the bar until they came to an archway that said Shops in glittering gold letters. The lights in all of the stores blazed brightly, and the shop doors were open wide. After passing a Godiva chocolatier, a place that sold tuxedos and upscale gowns, and a vintage wine boutique that was holding a tasting by the register, Hallbjorn turned into a jewelry store called Hawthorne & Sons that had a lozenge-sized diamond in the window.
"You don't have to get me a ring," Aria insisted.
"Of course I do," Hallbjorn called over his shoulder. "We're getting married. The man has to buy the woman a ring."
"I'm not that traditional," Aria said, but suddenly, a little thrill went through her. It would be nice to have an engagement ring, something to spin around her finger in class. It would make the wedding seem so much more official.
The salesgirl, who barely looked older than Aria, glided over to them. "Looking for something special?"
"We need an engagement ring." Hallbjorn gestures to Aria.
"Certainly," the salesgirl said brightly, and brought out a tray of diamond solitaires. Each was sparklier than the last. Aria was kind of afraid to touch them.
"This one is a good value." The salesgirl pointed to a huge round diamond on a thick white-gold band. "You get maximum bling for minimum price. All girls like bling," she added to Hallbjorn with a tight smile.
Aria held out her finger, and the girl slid on the ring. It had some heft to it. She spread out her fingers and turned her hand this way and that, watching as the diamond threw prisms all over the room. The ring wasn't that much different than the sparkler Jessica DiLaurentis wore. Spencer's mom had a ring that looked just like this, too. But did she really want to look like someone's mom?
Hallbjorn cleared his throat uncomfortably and made a face, like he smelled something bad. "Aria, I don't think we should be supporting the diamond trade."
"Agreed." She wriggled the ring past her knuckle and handed it back to the salesgirl. Then she slid off the stool and peered around the shop, her eyes sweeping over the cultured pearls, sapphire pendants, and pink diamond tennis bracelets. There had to be something in this place that didn't scream I'm Rich, I'm Suburban, and I'm Totally Boring.
And then she saw it.
Sitting in a display case in the corner was a thick white-gold ring carved to look like a coiled snake eating its tail. Sapphires formed its two beady eyes, and bands of onyx made up its striped scales. Aria darted across the room and pressed her face to the glass.
"Can I see this one?" she asked, pointing.
The salesgirl scrunched up her face. "That's not an engagement ring."
"Who cares?" Hallbjorn strolled over to Aria and peered at it, too. "That thing is awesome. And look! The gems were mined according to fair-trade laws!"
It felt like fate. The ring slid on Aria's finger as easily as the glass slipper fit Cinderella's foot. The snakehead peered at her, its sapphire eyes glittering both menacingly and protectively. It seemed like a talisman, a good luck charm. As long as Aria wore this ring, nothing bad would happen to her. This snake would make sure her marriage to Hallbjorn was happy. It would ward off bad luck and evil spirits.
It would make sure A never, ever came back.