Upon hearing the demands of the hefty chef, Shade furrowed his brow and glanced over at the man handling the money, known as Mr. Neet. The latter shook his head.
"This is between the two of you. The club won't stop him from leaving, but you'll have to convince Big Jack."
"I'm out of money," Shade said, pulling out his coat pockets, revealing nothing but a keychain and a notebook. His money, of course, was hidden in the inside pocket.
"I didn't expect him to owe so much," he added, casting a quick glance at little Franklin, who had already stood up, his head lowered in shame as he stood beside Shade, silently. Despite being somewhat of a scoundrel, Franklin knew he now had to rely on this man, who looked not much older than himself, to get out of the situation.
"No money?"
The chef grumbled angrily, bending down to pick up four scattered cards from the floor. He held them out for Shade to see: the Sun 1, Sun 8, Star 13, and Emperor.
In the card game known as "Rhodes," which was somewhat similar to the "21" game from Shade's world, the Emperor and Empress were unique cards outside of the four primary suits, akin to jokers. They had special roles in the game.
"Pick one. If you draw the Emperor, you can take him with you. If not, he'll have to leave his clothes behind, and you'll have to leave your coat."
The chef's voice was muffled and gruff as he shuffled the cards behind his back. With his bloodstained, bite-marked hand, he held out the four cards, back facing forward, fanning them out for Shade to choose.
"Don't say I'm being unfair; he's the one who bit me," the chef huffed, motioning for Shade to pick a card.
Shade blinked and gently stopped little Franklin, who had reached out his hand. "If you're lucky enough, I won't have to pay for your release," he said, as the ring of fate in his soul began to turn. The elemental force surged, affecting reality itself. Faint traces of red appeared in Shade's right eye—Blood's Echo, revealing the bloodstains reflected in his vision.
The world around Shade shifted slightly, bathed in a faint, mystical glow. Though Franklin had only splattered a little bit of blood onto the cards, and mostly on the fronts, the curse of Blood's Echo allowed Shade to see the faint traces of red in the air. He could also see the varying red glows around the four cards the chef held, each one surrounded by a faint aura of blood.
From what he observed, the card sprayed with the most blood was the Emperor, so he immediately knew the second card from the left was the one to pick.
"Is this cheating? I've only just become a ring warlock, and already I'm doing this. It doesn't seem right," Shade pondered idly, reflecting on his moral compass.
He reached out, placing his fingers on the rightmost card, but instead of looking at the back of the card, he fixed his gaze on the chef's face. The chef's expression tightened, his chubby face straining as he tried not to give anything away.
Mr. Neet and little Franklin watched intently, captivated by the scene.
"This one's not it," Shade murmured, sliding his fingers over the second card from the right, still locking eyes with the chef for a few more seconds. "This one's not it either."
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he placed his fingers on the correct card, and the chef's face betrayed a look of suppressed surprise. Slowly, Shade pulled the card from the fan.
"This is the one," Shade said, flipping over the card. It was the Emperor.
"That felt like taking advantage of someone," he thought to himself.
"Damn it, I didn't expect you to be such an experienced gambler," the chef said, his initial shock giving way to frustration. He angrily threw the remaining three cards on the ground.
"Take the kid and get out. If he owes money again, he'd better not cross me next time," the chef growled.
Relief spread across the pale face of the accountant's son, while Shade merely nodded. He didn't judge others' behavior; he only knew that being a Blood's Echo had indeed proven useful in his detective work.
Mr. Neet handed Shade a receipt and offered to escort them out, preventing Shade and the dejected little Franklin from wandering around the club. However, as the three of them reached the staircase leading down to the first floor, they were blocked.
It was a woman, dressed in a maid's uniform, appearing to be in her early thirties. While her appearance was plain, she carried herself with notable grace.
She descended from the third floor and addressed Shade, bowing slightly.
"The lady wishes to see you."
Shade glanced over his shoulder, wondering if she was speaking to someone else, but there was no one behind him.
"Me?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Please follow me. Your friend can wait for you on the first floor," the maid said politely.
Shade looked to Mr. Neet for clarification. The man shrugged.
"There's only one esteemed guest on the third floor tonight. If it's her, you'd better go. She's a very important lady. I'll keep an eye on him," he added, patting Franklin's shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him over. Franklin, for his part, didn't dare protest Shade's departure.
"May I ask who this lady is?" Shade asked, his mind racing. Was it the club owner? Or perhaps Lawrence's mistress, Lady Rasoya?
But why would they want to see him? The former detective had no significant connection to this club beyond coming here once to retrieve someone. Shade couldn't think of any other societal ties that would link him to this place.
He was still thinking about the cat back at home, hoping to return quickly before the new arrival made a mess on his bed or desk.
"The lady is a noblewoman of high standing, the most esteemed guest here tonight. For her reputation's sake, I cannot reveal her identity," the maid said, her speech precise and formal in Delaray common tongue.
Shade nodded slightly, realizing he had no choice but to follow.
"Then what does she want with me? I apologize, but I don't think I know anyone of such status," Shade said cautiously.
"Please, follow me," the maid replied, leading him upstairs.
Compared to the relative quiet of the second floor, the third floor was deathly silent. From the decor, Shade might have believed he was in a gallery, not a club.
He followed the maid, admiring the paintings along the walls as they walked down the carpeted hallway. They stopped in front of a large, gold double door. The maid pushed open the left side just enough for Shade to enter.
"The lady is waiting for you inside," the maid said, as Shade nodded once more.
After a brief pause, and without hearing the usual mental warning from the woman's voice about any "element" present, Shade stepped into the room.
The maid closed the door behind him, leaving Shade standing alone in an empty sitting room.
The room's layout reminded Shade of a doctor's office, with bookshelves occupying an entire wall and the floor covered in plush carpeting. The furniture, including the desk, coffee table, and sofa, was all made of dark wood, giving the room a distinct business-like air.
A brass-colored metal box, a strange gear mechanism that required the alignment of six sides to unlock, sat conspicuously on the coffee table.
The gas and steam pipes in the walls blended seamlessly with the pale plaster, while the room was illuminated by soft, warm light from four angel-shaped gas lamps. However, the light wasn't as bright as the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
The three large windows on the wall opposite the door were covered by heavy, red-brown curtains, but Shade didn't suspect anyone was hiding behind them.
The silence was absolute, making the hair on the back of Shade's neck stand on end. He felt as though he was being watched, though he was sure there was no one else in the room