XXVI
We exited the arena as soon as Leonidas left the ring. It was the final championship bout, and the crowd would slowly leave as soon as their bets were cashed out, or their losses paid in full. Not everyone left happy, and not everyone left with their spirit beings as whole as they entered.
The arena doors shut behind us with a heavy, echoing thud, and the noise of the crowd faded into a distant, hungry murmur. Mr. Vaude walked ahead with a jaunty swagger, his pocket watch swinging like a pendulum of fate. The hallway beyond was quieter, darker, lit only by thin red lines of neon that pulsed like veins under skin running at the corners of the walls and floor.
We stopped before a massive door framed by two marble pillars.
Each pillar was carved in high relief, the doorway etched with scenes of battle, the shiny brass and wood doors pulled open with shining bronze hammer‑shaped handles, hand forged.
Vaude tapped one of the doors with a knuckle, sending a dull boom down the corridor.
"This is where we're going, pet."
His voice was warm velvet over steel.
Before I could ask what waited beyond, a woman stepped out of the shadows of the hall. She was slender and tall, elegant, dressed in a red velvet bellhop uniform trimmed with gold. Her eyes glowed faintly, the mark of someone who had fed more than she meant to. Her eyes had an eye shine like a predator as she walked toward Mr. Vaude and I. She carried a silver tray, and on it lay a single black card.
She presented it to Vaude with a bow of her head.
"Your guest's balance, sir."
Vaude plucked the card from the tray and turned to me with a grin that could have sold sin to a saint.
"Here," he said, placing it in my hand, "this is your soul‑coin balance."
The card was cool, smooth, heavier than it looked.
Etched into its surface was a soul coin symbol, glowing faintly blue.
And beside it a tilted figure eight, an infinity symbol. The spun as you tilted the card, a hologram that glowed with inner light, shimmering like a moonlit pool.
The bellhop woman swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Special balance. The only one in the entire casino."
Vaude chuckled, delighted.
"The house," he said, "is extending you credit with no limit."
He leaned in, eyes glittering with mischief and something darker as he placed the card in my hand.
"Congratulations."
The black card warmed in my palm, the infinity symbol pulsing brighter, as if recognizing me, or claiming it's owner.
Behind us, the marble pillars groaned as the massive door began to unlock.
And whatever waited inside was meant for someone with infinite credit.
We passed through the doors to the auction floor.
It was nothing like the arena.
This chamber was cathedral‑vast, circular, lit by chandeliers made of suspended soul‑light that drifted like jellyfish. Rows of velvet seats curved around the central stage. It's raised platform of black glass etched with shifting sigils. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, greed, and the faint metallic tang of soul‑energy.
Another woman in a red velvet bellhop uniform approached, her heels silent on the polished floor. She carried a silver tray, and on it lay a black lacquer paddle, its surface glossy as obsidian. The ebony wood was emblazoned with a gilt number that glittered in the light. Vaude showed me to a gaudy purple velvet tufted seat in the front row. In small bowls lay a neat arrangement of snacks on a round carved table to one side, and another matching velvet seat next to it clearly reserved for himself.
"Welcome to the Council's special auction. We can bid on anything here. Souls, time, travel through space. A spare body or two isn't out of the picture."
The chandeliers dimmed.
A spotlight flared on the stage.
The auctioneer stood behind a podium, hammer in hand. Nobody could miss his tall, skeletal figure with a voice like velvet smoke as stepped forward.
Vaude leaned back in his seat, eyes glittering.
"Now," he murmured, "let's see what catches your fancy."
The auctioneer stepped onto the black‑glass stage like a corpse that had learned to walk again. Tall as a light pole, limbs long like a spider's.
His body stretched thin and skeletal. Skin stretched over bones like old parchment.
Eyes sunken so deeply they looked glowing silver shards carved from ice.
He seemed like a whisper of a last breath, and yet when he opened his mouth, his voice boomed, filling the chamber without a microphone, without effort, without stopping for air.
"WELCOME, ESTEEMED GUESTS… TO THE COUNCIL'S SPECIAL AUCTION."
The chandeliers of drifting soul‑light brightened, casting eerie reflections across the velvet seats. Specters in rich finery leaned forward, clutching their paddles, their blue‑lit eyes hungry.
Vaude lounged beside me, one arm draped over the back of his seat, watching the stage like a man settling in for his favorite show.
The auctioneer lifted a long, bony hand.
"Our first item," his long arm motioned to the forward stage.
A pedestal rose from the floor, carrying a lit velvet cushion. On it sat a pair of dice, carved from something that looked like bone but shimmered with blue soul‑light.
"THE LUCKBRINGER DICE," the auctioneer intoned. "GUARANTEED GOOD FORTUNE FOR THE ROLLER… AND MISFORTUNE FOR THEIR ENEMIES."
A ripple of delighted murmurs swept the room.
Vaude leaned toward me, whispering, "Cursed, of course. But very popular."
The bidding began immediately. I could hear the paddles snapping up behind us, numbers called out in booming echoes. The dice sold for a small fortune in soul‑coin.
The pedestal sank as the hammer in the auction's hand fell again.
Another pedestal rose.
"SHRUNKEN ALIEN HEADS," the auctioneer announced, gesturing to three tiny, leathery faces with eyes emitting yellow acrid smoke, mouths sewn shut with leathery sinew. "FROM A WORLD THAT NO LONGER EXISTS."
A specter in the third row shuddered with pleasure and raised his paddle.
"They all come with a blood curdling hex," Vaude murmured. "Naturally."
The heads sold quickly.
Another pedestal rose.
A brass device shaped like a pocket watch but with too many gears and a faint, sickly glow.
"THE DEED TO A TIME MACHINE," the auctioneer declared. "FUNCTIONAL… HALF THE TIME."
A ripple of laughter, dark and knowing, moved through the crowd. Many had heard about this machine, and the remains of its owner as he had smashed into one of the mirrors that dotted the sky in this very vehicle.
"Half the time it works," Vaude whispered. "Half the time it sends you somewhere you never meant to go. Delicious chaos."
The bids flew fast.
Then came more curiosities:
A mirror shard that shows death—but not whose.
A compass that always points to your greatest regret.
A vial of bottled laughter from a child shaped like a glowing fairy.
A cloak woven from the shadows of forgotten gods used in summoning ritual.
Each item more cursed, more tempting, more dangerous than the last.
The auctioneer's voice never faltered, never softened, never warmed. It was the voice of a grave announcing its contents.
Vaude tapped my black lacquer paddle with a gloved finger.
"Anything catch your eye yet, pet? With your balance…"
He smiled, slow and wicked.
"…you could buy the whole room."
The curtains behind the stage shuddered as something large was wheeled out for bid.
And the lights dimmed.
Something important was coming, I could feel it.