Casino Infernale Read Online Free PDF Page A

first to arrive on the Island. Certainly not expecting anyone to have got to the house ahead of them. They appeared alarmed, then suspicious, and finally distinctly annoyed. They looked Molly and me over, taking their time. I gave them my best confident, charming, and in no way dangerous smile, and Molly . . . did her best. It wasn’t that she lacked in people skills; it was mostly that she just couldn’t be bothered. The three next-generation leaders glanced at each other, exchanged a quick flurry of smiles, raised eyebrows and shrugs, and then turned back to present Molly and me with a united front. Doing their best to look as though they were in charge, and full of authority. But their lack of experience was against them; neither of them had progressed very far into their twenties, and there was no overlooking the way they stood very close together, for mutual support.
    The young woman suddenly stepped forward. “Hi,” she said, just a bit ungraciously. “I’m Stephanie Troy. I know who both of you are, of course. We’re happy to have you here with us on this auspicious occasion. The rebirth and regeneration of the White Horse Faction! It’s an honour to meet you, Molly Metcalf.”
    Troy barely gave me a second look, but then, that was how it should be. Shaman Bond has a history with most supernatural organisations, usually as a supplier of information, but no reputation at all for getting personally involved in dangerous action. Unlike the infamous Molly Metcalf . . .
    Stephanie Troy was tall and fashionably slender, and positively blazed with nervous energy. She had short-cropped honey blonde hair, flashing eyes, and a tightly pursed mouth. She wore a smart grey suit with sensible shoes, minimal makeup, and no jewellery. I was pretty sure she would consider such things distracting, and frivolous. This was a woman who had given herself to a cause, and everything and everyone else would always come second to that.
    She darted forward and grabbed Molly firmly by the hand. Molly suffered her hand to be shook, and nodded amiably enough.
    “Hi!” I said. “I’m Shaman Bond! Happy to be here; glad to help out.”
    “I know who you are,” said Troy, reluctantly releasing Molly’s hand. “Your reputation precedes you.” She didn’t make that sound like a good thing. And she didn’t offer to shake my hand.
    “I’m Phil Adams,” said the shortest member of the next generation. He stepped forward, shyly and deferentially, and made a point of shaking my hand as well as Molly’s.
    He was barely medium height, far more than medium weight, with a constant little smile and an evasive gaze, wearing a baggy shapeless jersey over grubby blue jeans that looked like they’d been through several wars. His heavy boots were held together with two different-coloured sets of shoe-laces, along with a certain amount of knotted string. He wore his long mousey-coloured hair in untidy dreadlocks, and sported a stubbly and not particularly successful beard. He had a calm, easy manner, but didn’t seem to want to look directly at anyone. I’d seen his kind before. More at home with animals than people, he loved Nature so much there wasn’t a lot left in him for people. He would almost certainly turn out to be the heart and soul of the group, but he’d always leave it to the other two to do the talking.
    The last one to come forward announced himself loudly as Joe Morrison. He was a big one, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, wearing a hooded jacket of indeterminate colour over designer jeans and cowboy boots. Given the way he moved, and the way he held himself, I got the feeling he was probably ex-military. Or at the very least, ex-bouncer. He looked like he would have enjoyed saying
No trainers!
and
Your name’s not on the list.
He was dark and not particularly handsome, and gave every indication of knowing and not giving a damn. He nodded to Molly, clearly pleased to see her, but just as clearly not as impressed by