Dangerous Dream Read Online Free PDF Page B

rendered her temporarily powerless.
    He nodded at the Mortal. “Take her back.”
    As Ridley slipped past the Sybil, he grabbed her arm. “This isn’t a game, Siren. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
    Ridley twisted a strand of pink hair around her finger. “I always know what I’m doing, sweetheart.”
    If only it were true.

    Rid crossed her fingers as she stood in the ladies’ room, reciting the lines of the counterspell that would restore her powers.
    Come on!
    As she waited, every second felt like an hour.
    Then the familiar buzz that started in her fingers spread through her body like a charge of electricity.
    Power.
    Hello, sugar. Welcome home.
    Rid sauntered out of the ladies room and into the suite, which smelled like whiskey, sweat, and stale cigarettes. It looked like Liberace had decorated it. Ridley hadn’t seen so much white satin in one place since the winter formal in Gatlin. A Devil’s Hangmen song played in the next room, and judging from the cloud of smoke in the doorway, that’s where the liars were trading TFPs.
    Ridley didn’t wait for the roadie to lead the way. First impressions were all about owning it, and no one knew how to own it better than Ridley Duchannes. She strode into the smoke-filled room, her red patent platforms splashing across the white carpet like blood.
    There were five black felt poker tables set up inside, and all eyes were on a Caster standing in the center of the room. The lead singer, Sampson, stopped in midsentence when he saw Ridley.
    “Am I late?” Rid feigned shock, as if she actually cared what time the game started. She sighed and cast the roadie a disapproving glance. “Blue Eyes over here is
so
slow.”
    Sampson looked at the roadie, who stood next to Ridley, fidgeting. “I didn’t know anyone else was playing tonight.”
    But you sure are happy I came, aren’t you?
Ridley stared into his eyes, transferring the thought into his mind.
    For a moment he didn’t respond, and she began to silently calculate the distance to the door.
    Sampson smiled. “But I’m glad you made it.”
    “We’ve got an empty seat over here.” The bassist from the band nodded at the empty seat to her left. Her Pink Floyd T-shirt reminded Ridley of Link, which made her dislike the girl immediately. Thinking about Link was the last thing she needed tonight.
    Ridley walked over and lowered herself into the empty chair.
    “I’m Floyd,” the girl said.
    Ridley glanced at her shirt. “How… clever.” She gave the girl a sticky-sweet smile. “Ridley.”
    “Interesting name.”
    “I’m an interesting girl.”
    The Caster standing in the center of the room rapped on the table in front of him. “Time to get started, boys and girls. The game’s Liar’s Trade. One deck per table, and we’re playing Mortal-style. You’re playing for TFPs—talents, favors, and powers. Everyone registered their bets when they came in. Once you sit down at the table, there are no changes. Whatever you registered is what you lose.”
    Ridley hadn’t registered a wager. She hadn’t even considered what to offer if she lost. Based on the looks of this crowd, most of these guys would probably like to have her as their personal genie-in-a-bottle for the day.
    Like that’s happening.
    The Caster was still addressing the players. “Everyone stripped their powers before they came in, so tonight it’s balls to the walls. The player at the table to get rid of all their cards is the winner and moves to the next round. Last man standing takes it all.”
    Ridley wanted to ask exactly what she was going to walk away with at the end of the night, since there was no doubt in her mind that she was going to win, but the dealer was already tossing the Caster cards around her table.
    Fine. Let’s do this.
    The only differences between Liar’s Trade and the Mortal card game were that they were using a Caster deck and they were betting with TFPs instead of money. In a game this big, players logged their