Their Vicious Games(39)

Penthesilea picks up a deck and shuffles the fifty-two cards quickly, as if counting them.

“What do you want to play for?” Penthesilea asks instead of answering, in her soft, baby-queen voice. She leans forward as she does one of those complicated shuffles, the kind dealers do in movies set in casinos.

“Play for?” Jacqueline asks.

Penthesilea smiles. “Winners win things, Jacqueline. What do you want to win?”

“Your room, remember,” Jacqueline says firmly. “I hate sharing.”

Penthesilea laughs. “Well, all right,” she agrees. “But… what do I get? If I win?”

Jacqueline rolls her eyes and cuts a glance back at the alliance of girls. They laugh at the very idea of Penthesilea winning. “I don’t know. What do you want?” she asks, humoring her.

Penthesilea shrugs. “I’m not sure yet. We’ll see,” she declares. And Jacqueline is so confident, she doesn’t object.

But then Penthesilea leans forward. “Let’s play War.”

Jacqueline blanches. “I… I don’t know that poker variant.”

“It’s not poker. It’s a card game,” Penthesilea says.

“The kids’ game?” Jacqueline blurts.

“I like War. It’s a game of chance.” Penthesilea drums her fingers against the table. She looks like a Monet.

“If you don’t want to play poker, I know Blackjack or literally—”

“You challenged me, so I pick the game,” Penthesilea practically sings. “And I’ve picked War. Let’s play.” She doesn’t give Jacqueline another breath to push back. She begins to deal the cards, throwing each back and forth. “This game can get long, so let’s not screw around. We throw down the cards. Unseen. A battle. If the value matches, we start a war. Highest valued card wins the lot. We check the unseen declarations for aces. When they’re revealed, put them to the side—they’re out of play. And then we shuffle. Whoever collects the most aces wins.”

“Fine,” Jacqueline says. She gathers her cards to her chest and makes an aborted move to look at her cards, only stopping when she remembers, this isn’t the game she’s used to. She sets them down and stares at Penthesilea with contempt that’s meant to disguise her fear.

“Let’s begin,” Penthesilea says.

Within seconds, it’s clear that while War is a child’s game, the pair don’t play as kids. They slam down cards one after the other. It goes on for five regular hands. Penthesilea seems to be at an advantage at first, having an overwhelming number of the face cards. She does snatch a win by collecting the first ace on the sixth hand, though—the ace of spades, having had it in her own deck. Jacqueline hisses at that.

And then there’s a match.

Two nines. One is a spade. The other is a club.

“I. De. Clare. War,” the pair call together.

And then Jacqueline slaps down a seven of diamonds. And Penthesilea—a six of clubs. Jacqueline pumps her fists, and Esme begins to clap, an applause that’s swiftly joined in by her other lackeys. When I look back, Third looks amused. Pierce does not.

“It’s a game of chance,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “It doesn’t take much skill.”

“Maybe,” Saint says, eyes narrowing on the table, like she’s searching for some hidden clue. “Maybe not.”

“That pile’s yours, then,” Penthesilea sighs. “Check the cards for any aces.”

Jacqueline flips them all overeagerly, and she gasps triumphantly when she finds the second ace. The ace of clubs is from Jacqueline’s own hand.

“Better be careful, Pen. We’re evenly matched now,” Jacqueline crows as she sets it to the side, preening.

Penthesilea’s mouth pulls into a taut smile. “Yes, it seems so. Shuffle your deck. Let’s begin again.”

She shuffles her deck and then there’s only a brief moment before they’re slapping cards down again, going back and forth, until finally—another match.

“I. De. Clare. War.”

On the fourth card, Penthesilea lays down a queen of hearts. Jacqueline only has a four of clubs.

“Guess this round’s mine, then,” Penthesilea muses. She plucks the cards from Jacqueline’s grasp before she can even react, and she shuffles through them, checking for an ace. There are none. “I haven’t played this game since I was a little girl. I forgot how gratifying it is.”

Jacqueline shuffles her deck again, and Penthesilea meets her. “Ready?”

And then they’re slapping down cards fast and hard.

The match comes faster this time.

Two threes.

“Well, then,” Penthesilea hums. “Jacqueline, I do wonder… how did you get here?”

“What?” Jacqueline snaps in frustration. She cracks her neck, a loud rippling sound that makes Hannah G cringe.

“Who nominated you?” Penthesilea asks.

“First, I’m the Northeast junior poker champion, that should earn a nomination by itself,” Jacqueline mutters. “And as for who nominated me—I don’t know for sure, but probably one of Mr. Remington and my father’s mutual associates. My dad works at Goldman. He’s one of the Remingtons’ investment managers.”