How to Lose

“Are we all ready?” he says casually, but there’s a sly grin on his face that…bugs me. Course I can’t stand the man anyway, so maybe it’s a personal thing, I’m not sure.

This is the second award-winning work of Höbin Luckyfeller, and the second book in his Field Guide series. The script is hot and fresh and we also have a new cover for the book!

Enjoy.

When Höbin is contracted to research the popular game of chance, he quickly learns the truth surrounding its history is anything but. Circumstances unfold faster than he can anticipate, pulling Höbin from his assignment and thrusting him into the shadows of intrigue, magic…and murder.

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Chapter 7 — How to Lose

One of the most competitive forms of gambling, Bloodsticks, is a fast-paced game of chance that can suck you in and spit you out before you can blink. Though many things have been used to refer to it, including the simple name "sticks", rumors say that they renamed the game after an incident here in the Black Market. I rarely give much credence to urban legends, but I’ve seen enough to realize that even the strangest stories can have a good foundation, in fact. The story I’ve pieced together mentions trouble between the counter (an Evolu) and an irate Vallen player, who had already lost most of his coin at dice.

Not able to do the low level addition, the Vallen flew into a frenzy, accusing the counter of miscounting his sticks…promptly stabbing one reed into the Evolu’s eye socket.

Easy way to have your day ruined if you ask me.

The bloody event caused such a big stir in the community, they nicknamed the game Bloodsticks, but it stuck.

At Keeley’s mention of Bloodsticks, three stragglers from other tables join us to play. The bartender reappears from the back room, carrying a long wooden box, painted red. He places it in the center of the table and returns to the bar. Mr. Keeley unlatches the lid and pulls out the eye—a key piece to any of the bigger games played. It’s a small stone, about the size of a man’s fist, with a faint green glow to it. It’s magical. The eye is a safety measure to thwart cheaters, turning bright red if they used any magic during the game. Keeley sets it in the center of the table, then gingerly takes out a bundle wrapped in a soft white cloth.

He unwraps a pristine group of decorated sticks, twelve in all. “I hope you don’t mind using these, gentlemen? I rarely get to play…and I love a hint of elegance in a game of chance.”

Without waiting for an answer, he takes each set and hands them around the table.

Keeley holds his own set up to the light, admiring the intricate designs of leaves and flower patterns along the polished wood surface. When he picks up the henki, a solid green stick, he rolls it together with his own game pieces. “For a little luck,” he says with a cheesy smile.

Never would have taken him for the superstitious type, but then again, this game brings out the wacko in many people. He adds the Bloodstick and holds out his hand to the rest of us. Each player turns over their game pieces.

“Are we all ready?” he says casually, but there’s a sly grin on his face that…bugs me. Course I can’t stand the man anyway, so maybe it’s a personal thing, I’m not sure.

Small coin pouches appear along the rim of the table.

I hate being conned into crap like this, but there’s one thing I don’t mess with, and that’s my integrity. Ok, unless I’m lying. Or stealing. Or…breaking and entering.

Whatever. I hate being conned.

With trepidation, I pull out my coin purse. It’s feeling light…and it’s all I have left to live on. This will not end well for me, I can feel it. Maybe I should just fall and walk away from the table? No. That’s exactly what Keeley wants. I can see it in his face. He wants me to give up.

Keeley takes the first turn as a dropper, which makes me the counter.

I’m handed a scroll and a small piece of charcoal. I scratch a grid onto the paper, labeling the players’ names and the rounds into the columns and rows.

Taking the bundle in one hand, Keeley bends his elbow forward.

He tosses a silver coin on the table to start the betting. Cheeky bugger—he’s not wasting any time with chump change. It’s a new game, so no one’s going to be shy about betting. Anything can happen and anyone can win at this point.

Once the money is in the pot, Keeley opens with a High Drop and the pieces of wood fall, bouncing about, scattering across the table. 

Something flashes as the reeds hit the table. A slight flash of light—intense and focused. It sends a shock, like the prick of a needle, through my cybernetic eye, back into my brain. My head reels as if I’ve been slapped.