FATE_________

by Pristine Kathryn Rusch

She held a deck of cards in her left hand and cut it

easily, sliding the top of the deck to the bottom. Her

skin was pale white, her hair even whiter, and she

wore a backless white evening dress. Grif could almost

imagine her in the glassed-in cage on the lower levels,

astride the white tigers.

Around him, the clink, clink of coins echoed from

the slot machines. Occasionally a buzzer would ring

and a red light would flick on and off. The murmur

of conversation almost covered the Christmas muzak.

The casino had stuck mistletoe to the plants running

along the ceiling, but no one noticed. Not even the

hotel patrons who wandered through the casino, fol-

lowing a wide swatch of carpet leading to the eleva-

tors. The rooms above, several thousand of them,

were all done in jarring jungle motifs. Outside a fake

volcano spit fire at sunset, and inside half a dozen

animals paced the basement waiting for their turns in

the glassed-in cages so that bleary eyed patrons could

go to the zoo without leaving the hotel.

She seemed impervious to the bizarre surroundings.

She didn't fit, despite her expertise with the cards.

Grif pushed past an obese man clutching a bucket

full of nickels- She sat on a stool just outside the ring

of blackjack tables, watching the patrons play. The

casino was nearly empty tonight—only the hard-core

229

230 Kristine Kathryn Rusch

gamblers and the loners haunted a casino on Christ-

mas Eve—and would remain so until the New Year's

crowd started to appear on December 27th.

Grif liked to think he didn't belong in either cate-

gory—hard-core gambler or hard-core loner—yet here

he was, on the strip in Vegas, as if it were any other

Friday night.

He tugged the sleeve of his tux over his shirt cuffs,

and rounded a row of one-armed bandits. She was still

sitting there, cutting the deck over and over with her

left hand.

He put his palm on her back, found the skin cooler

than he imagined. "That's a great way to tip off the

guys upstairs that you know your way around cards."

She didn't jump. Instead she looked up at him, a

slow luxurious movement that sent a tingle through

him. Her eyes were pale blue, almost colorless, but

her features had a rounded Mediterranean cast. Her

gaze continued past him to the camera lens hidden in

the plants above him.

"I'm not hiding anything," she said. He half ex-

pected an accent, and was surprised when he didn't

hear it.

"How come you're not playing?" he asked. He

didn't take his hand off her back.

She smiled, revealing an even row of white teeth.

"I'm waiting for someone."

He sighed, touched the nape of her neck,'then re-

moved his hand. She took his wrist between her fin-

gers. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "But he's not

here- Perhaps I could go with you, and be your luck,"

The tingle ran through him again, a wave of desire

so thick he could hardly stand. "Maybe—" he stopped

himself. His apartment was on the other side of town.

He hadn't made the bed in weeks, and dishes filled

the sink. Once it had been an-impressive place to take

FATE 231

women, but since his losing streak this fall, he let

almost all appearances go.

Except the tux. It remained important for him to

play Vegas casinos as if he were in Monte Carlo. It

lent an air of dignity to a life with little dignity left.

"What's the lady's preference?" he asked.

She dropped the deck of cards into the small beaded

clutch purse she was carrying. "Craps," she said.

And that time he did hear it. A faint lilt that spoke

of romance languages and ancient cities beside the

sea, of years gone by when casinos were more than a

hobby, more than a place to spend Friday nights. He

had quit the circuit with two million dollars in several

banks. Investments had built that up to five million,

and last fall's losing streak brought him down to four.

One fifth of all he owned, gone in a heartbeat. That

happened to careless men, not to Grif Petrie.

He touched the wad of bills in his pocket—more

than enough to impress a lady—then extended his

arm. She took it, her touch sending a chill through

him. Maybe after a bit of luck, he would get lucky.

He smiled a little to himself. On Christmas Eve, the

hotel was nearly empty. He would get a high-roller's

suite on the twenty-fifth floor. They were garish too,

but impressive garish with a view of the entire city.

Grif led her to the only operating craps table, where

a tall man wearing a stetson and cowboy boots played

with a row of five-dollar chips, and a woman beside

him hid in a puff of smoke. Occasionally she would

snake an arm out and place a dollar chip on a sucker

bet, swearing as she lost. Grif pulled ten hundred dol-

lar bills from his money clip and tossed them in front

of the dealer. He spread them out, then counted ten

hundred dollar chips, and set them on the table. The

stickman shoved them over to Grif and Grif put one

on the pass line, and placed the others in the groove

232 Kristine KathTyn Rusch

above the table. The boxman gave Grif an odd glance.

The boxman usually handled the late-night poker ta-

bles; he had never seen Grif play anything but cards.

The stickman pushed the dice in front of Grif. He

offered them to the lady, but she shook her head.

Then he tossed them at the end of the table. He rolled

three sevens before rolling a ten and placing some of

his winnings on the come line. Then he upped his bet,

rolled five tens, a nine and a six, placing the winnings

beside his original stash.

"You are my luck,'* he said to her, his hands

shaking.

The cowboy at the end of the table was following

Grifs betting strategy. The woman lost her pile of

dollar chips and left. The noise from the table at-

tracted a few other players, and Grif continued his

streak, with the stickman calling him the hottest

shooter of the night.

Finally, after he had turned his thousand dollar

stake into five thousand dollars with only hundred dol-

lar bets, he rolled another seven, and lost the point.

The collective groan around the table echoed through

the casino. The cowboy lost five hundred on the bet,

pocketed the rest of his earnings and left. A young

man with the intensity of a compulsive gambler

plucked the dice off the table. Grif cashed in his chips,

took his lady's arm, and left.

"Quitting so soon?" she asked.

"I don't want to press my luck." Craps were fun,

but not a professional's game. The dice were as fickle

as a woman.

She smiled and shrugged. "Little blackjack?"

"Maybe later." He put his arm around her back.

"First we got some winnings to celebrate."

She seemed to understand his meaning. She accom-

FATE 233

panied him through the lush greenery to the registra-

tion desk.

"This'll only take a minute," he said.

She nodded. He went up to the desk, asked for,

and got a suite. While the registration clerk gathered

all the pertinent information, Grif stared at the aquar-

ium covering the wall behind the desk. Fish moved at

a leisurely pace, not caring that it was Christmas, not

caring that people were making or losing money in

the rooms beyond. He wondered what it was like

working here, with the heat of the fish tanks adding

humidity to the air, and then decided he didn't want

to know. He had never held a real job. His father had

taught him to count cards at the age of ten. By the

time he could legally go into a casino, he was already

an experienced high stakes poker player, and a suc-

cessful card counter. He had gotten out, as his father

had trained him to, when he had enough to live on

for the rest of his life, but the boredom got to him.

And that was why he came to Vegas, why he returned

to the casinos, and probably why he had been losing.

Losing was a treat.

The clerk used a little machine to punch the room

combination in a pair of plastic room cards. Maybe

he thought losing was a treat because he could find

no other rationale for his behavior. He had been away

from the tables for six months, and in that time his

hands shook and nothing interested him- Clarisse,

when she left him, called him a sick fuck and a com-

pulsive gambler, but compulsive gamblers don't earn

and save over five million dollars in the space of ten

years. He had told her that and she had laughed at

him, and continued to move out.

He took back his gold Visa card, and the room

cards the clerk slid to him. Then he turned. His lady

was talking to a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing

234 Kristine Kathryn Rusch

south-of-the-border denim. Grifs shoulders tensed, all

the good feeling from the win disappearing under a

layer of panic.

"Found him," she said.

Grif nodded and was about to step away when she

put her hand on his arm.

"Cal Dooley," the big man said, extending his

hand.

"Grif Petrie." Grif took the man's hand, noting the

firmness of the grip, the calluses on the fingers. Some-

how he couldn't picture this woman with this man.

"Good," she said. "Now that we have introduc-

tions, I'm going to the ladies room. I'll meet you gen-

tlemen in the bar beside the blackjack tables."

Grif slipped the room cards in his pocket beside the

full money clip.

"Some woman, hey?" Cal said. "I told her I always

come here Christmas Eve, and what does she do but

fly across an entire ocean and half a continent to meet

me."

Grif swallowed, and nodded, unable to see the at-

traction. She was slender and aristocratic. He was

rough and crude, an LBJ Texas farmer. Money proba-

bly. Grif had seen enough women over the years hang

onto men with money so that the women could travel

to exotic places, lose lots of cash at sucker craps or

roulette, and wear expensive clothes.

Cal started through the breezeway leading to the

back portion of the casino, "Met her in Italy last sum-

mer. One hell of a drink of woman. Alli's short for

Alcina, did she tell you that? Give you one of those

lines about the fates?"

"She said she'd be my luck," Grif said, trying to

keep the misery from his voice.

"She can be that, too. Damn if I didn't win close

FATE 235

to a million dollars last summer having Alii by my

side."

"We had a good run at the crap table tonight," Grif

said.

They entered the bar and took a table without a

video poker display on top. The chairs were leather

and Grif sank into his as if all the energy had left him.

Usually winning highs stayed with him, but he was

striving for a sexual high—and he knew he'd missed

it by the space of a few minutes.

"Glad to see her here," Cal said. "She'll add a

touch of spice to my holiday. Sure as hell surprised

me."

"She said she was meeting you."

"Hmm." Cal signaled a waitress. "She didn't let me

know. Just appeared here, sure as you please. Always

knew that girl came from money- But between us, I

didn't expect to ever see her again—and especially not

smiling. We didn't part on the best of terms—"

"I see you're making yourselves at home." Alii

slipped into the chair between them. Her skin seemed

fresher, her eyes sparkled more. Grif sank deeper in

the leather. A woman in love.

"You fucked up, hon. You didn't tell poor Grif here

about the fates."

She looked at Grif, then took his hand and played

with his fingers. Cal watched, smile remaining. Grif

felt himself grow hard. He couldn't pull away. "We've

only known each other a short time." She let go of

his hand and put hers on his thigh, her fingers tracing

the sensitive skin. "Cal got sick of me talking about

it. Why do you want me to tell Grif?"

"So I don't have to hear it the rest of the holiday."

Cal got up. "I'll go see what's keeping that waitress."

Alii watched him go. "When I met Cat, I told him

my name was Alcina, like the Fate, but that people

236 Kristine Kathryn Rusch

called me Alii. He thought I meant the Greek fates,

and so one afternoon, he was explaining that to a

group of his friends and I corrected him. He didn't

like that."

"I didn't know there were other fates."

Alii shook her head. "You Americans should really

rebel against your school systems. You get such a poor

education. A fate, in my country, is like a dryad or a

sprite. A wood or water spirit of great beauty and

kindness, who will bestow good fortune on those it

favors. But if someone treats it cruelly, well, the fate

will exact revenge—taking either that person's health,

beauty, or good luck. Cal didn't like hearing that. I

had embarrassed him in front of his friends. He has

quite an ego."

Her fingers had moved up his thigh. Grif caught her

hand in his. "If that's true, you'd better quit."

She smiled. "Oh, no. You'll see just how big soon.

He doesn't mind other men because he believes that

no one can take his place."

"I know that no one can take my place." Cal set

the drinks down—a rum-and-coke for Alii, a beer for

himself, and a martini for Grif. "You didn't look like

a man who went for a brew," Cal said.

Grif nodded, and took the martini. He needed

something strong- The entire evening was making him

feel odd.

"I saw you slip those room cards into your pocket,"

Cal said. "And Alli's got her eye on you. How's about

we take these drinks upstairs, and see if we can keep

the little lady occupied?"

Grif glanced at Alii, but she was already standing,

drink in hand. Grif stood too, feeling wobbly. He

thought he had done everything in his years gambling,

but never had a couple approached him with such ease

and assurance. He didn't want Cal there, but he did

FATE 237

want Alii as bad as he used to want a win. He sus-

pected without Cal, he wouldn't get her at all.

They said nothing as they took the elevator to the

twenty-fifth floor. The suite was at the end of a long

hallway painted in white, with green leaves and orange

accents rising from the floor. The carpet was green

and the room doors were done in a fake white wicker,

giving everything a cool 1940s jungle look.

Grif opened the door to the suite and stepped in-

side. A row of floor to ceiling windows faced him,

giving him a view of the city's lights. Wicker furniture

covered the mirrored floor. To his left, a door opened

to a huge bathroom complete with a Jacuzzi that sat

ten. To his right, he could see into the bedroom. The

bed was jumbo king-sized and rimmed in mirrors.

Not a suite made for sleeping.

Alii came in behind him and put her hand on his

bottom. Desire made Grif dizzy, Cal closed the door

and locked all the locks. "You got style, bud," he

said.

On the table near the windows, a fruit basket sat

with an unopened bottle of champagne beside it. Alii

rubbed her body against Grifs, ran her hands forward

along his hips, and cupped him, feeling his hardness.

She made a small purring noise, then pushed him

away.

"Why don't you turn down the bed, Grif?" she said.

"Cal and I will pour the champagne and join you in

a minute."

They needed their privacy. They hadn't spoken

alone since they linked up. Grif knew that he was

being dismissed and didn't care. He wandered into the

bedroom and Alii closed the door behind him. He

jumped a little but didn't lose the horniness that al-

most consumed him. He tugged off his shoes,

238 Kristvne Kathryn Rusch

FATE

239

cummerbund, and Jacket, then ran a hand along the

satin coverlet.

The smoothness of the fabric made him harder. He

couldn't picture what they would do there, the three

of them, but he knew he would enjoy it, even though

he usually didn't like sharing women. For a moment

he hesitated, then he stretched himself full length on

the bed. He wanted them to hurry. He wanted to feel

her, all of her, naked against him—

A scream echoed from the front room, followed by

a thud, and then another shout. The sounds shot

through the haziness Grif felt. He sat up, heard an-

other bang, and yanked the door open.

Blood coated the mirrored floor. Cal sprawled

against the bar in the far corner, a bar stool toppled

across his lap. His throat was a bloody pulp and his

eyes were open, staring, unseeing.

A white tiger paced the room, blood on its muzzle.

Grits heart stopped for one panicked instant, then he

forced himself to move. He grabbed the edge of the

door and was about to slam it, when the tiger trans-

formed itself into Alii.

She was naked. Her body was slender, perfect, with

melon sized breasts, and long legs that tapered into a

pair of beautiful feet. Grifs desire returned so power-

fully that he nearly dropped everything and went to

her. Then she wiped the blood from her mouth with

the back of her hand, and the moment was gone.

"Sorry," she said. "I owed him."

Grif swallowed. "That? You owed him that?"

"All we ask is a little gratitude," she said. "And all

he did was take."

"We?" Grifs mind was beginning to function again.

He looked for the tiger, didn't see it. His grip on the

door frame tightened.

She smiled and sat on the couch, crossing those deli-

cious legs and giving him a view of her backside. "You

Americans have no appreciation for subtlety. I'm a

Fate, darling. We appreciate a little warmth in return

for our kindness."

"The tiger?" he asked, unwilling to let go of the

door until he knew what happened to the beast.

"What did your eyes tell you?" she asked.

He didn't respond. He had seen the tiger, and then

he had seen her. And he hadn't believed it.

At his blank look, she sighed. "We're shapeshifters.

A white tiger was a bit more useful to me at that

moment than a human woman."

It made some kind of crazy sense: the odd run of

luck at a game he rarely played; the deep desire that

controlled him more than any other he'd ever experi-

enced; her knowledge of Cal*s whereabouts even

though Cal hadn't spoken to her in six months; the

blood on the back of her hand.

Cal's head slumped to the side. A trickle of blood

ran down the stairs leading to the doorway.

Grif didn't move. Shutting the door wouldn't mat-

ter. She could change into some kind of bug and crawl

underneath it. His heart was pounding in his throat-

"What did I do to you?" he asked.

"Took my luck," she said.

He could hardly breathe. He wished he still carried

a gun. She had to be a living creature, something he

could kill. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Depends," she said. "I could leave now and call

security- There's no way you could hide Cal. I wonder

how many men still kill each other over beautiful

women?"

"But I wasn't going to hurt you," he said. His voice

had a whine in it he had never heard before. "I was

going to bring you up here and—"

"Enjoy me, for your own sexual pleasure." She

240 Knstine Kathryn Rusch

stretched out on the couch, her body even more beau-

tiful in repose.

The blood was beating in his head. He was trying

not to move, trying not to go to her. The desire was

back, stronger than ever, but he wouldn't let it swal-

low him. "When I first saw you," he said, "I warned

you about your actions. I was afraid the men upstairs

would throw you out."

Something ran across her face, something that made

her eyes brighter for just an instant. "So you did,"

she said, and sat up. "So you did." She got up and

came over to him. He could smell Cal's blood on her,

but he didn't care. She tilted her face to his, and as

he leaned into the kiss, she caressed his mouth with

her fingers.

"How very unusual," she murmured. "You gave

first."

They made love through that night and into the next

morning. He wanted to continue, but she stopped,

afraid that she would hurt him. "No," she said. "We

have something else to take care of first."

She led him into the living room, and he stopped

when he saw Cal. Grif had forgotten about Cal, for-

gotten, in the depths of his passion, about the strange-

ness of the night before.

His mouth went dry, and all the fear returned.

"We need to clean up," she said.

Grif stood for a moment, and stared at Cal. What

had the man done to deserve a death like this? Did

anyone deserve to die for being insensitive? Grif

wanted to reach out to the other man, to talk to him,

to convince him to change his ways. But it was already

too late.

"Got a razor blade?" Alii asked.

FATE 241

"Hmmm?" Grif turned to her, feeling vulnerable

without clothing.

"Never mind." She walked over to her clutch purse

and removed a package of razors from it. Then she

wiped the razor clean, placed it in Cal's fingers and

ran it through the gape in his neck. His hand fell, the

razor blade skittering from it. "Holiday time," she

said to Grif over her shoulder. "Lots of suicides. No

one will think twice."

He watched the deftness with which she moved. All

the desire had fled him, and he was left with a deep

tiredness and growing repulsion. "It's still my room.

They're going to know—"

"No, they're not," she said. She pulled the dress

over her body, then grabbed Cal's wallet from his

jeans. As Grif watched, her body transformed into

his, her clothes becoming his clothes, her skin becom-

ing his. Only her eyes remained unchanged. "See?"

Her voice was deeper—CaTs voice.

Grif began to shiver. He retreated into the bedroom

and pulled on his clothes. He had seen strange things

in casinos, but this was the strangest -

"Hurry," she called from out front.

As he went into the living room, he found her on

the phone requesting that housekeeping skip the

room today. "I'm entertaining and don't want to be

disturbed." Seeing two Cals, the dead one and the

imposter, was almost more than Grif could bear. Alii

put down the phone and took Grif's arm. He resisted

the urge to pull away. He didn't want her angry at

him, too.

"Now," she said, "we need to get you out of this.

Just come with me."

She took his arm and led him out of the room. They

walked side by side, silently, two men leaving a suite

242 Knstine Kathryn Rusch

where they had shared—something. Something horri-

ble. Grif made himself stare ahead.

They took the elevators down, and once they were

in the casino, AUi became completely Cal. She greeted

people she didn't know with loud hellos. She spoke

to stickmen and dealers, promising to return and to

haul off most of the casino's money. She led Grif to

the registration desk, and leaned over it.

"We got a room in my buddy's name," she said,

"and he's leaving. I want to take it over."

The woman behind the desk punched a few num-

bers in the computer, asked Alii questions, and she

answered them all.

"You're Mister Petrie?" she asked Grif.

He nodded.

"And you didn't want maid service today?"

"It was a late night. One of my friends is still

asleep." His voice was rough. He had to struggle to

force it through his throat.

"All right, sir. Whose name will this be under?"

Alii pushed forward one of Cal's credit cards- As

she signed the documentation, Grif started to leave.

She grabbed his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

He remembered the blood on her hand.

"There we go," the registration clerk said. "Thank

you for your patronage, Mr. Petrie, and Merry

Christmas'"

The words startled him. He nodded in response,

then let Alii lead him outside. The volcano was silent.

A group of Japanese tourists took pictures from the

bridge over the small moat around the volcano.

"I frighten you, don't I, Grif?" Alii asked, no

longer speaking in Cal's voice.

He turned. She stood beside him, still wearing Cal's

south-of-the border denim, but in the female body

that had attracted him and started this whole mess.

FATE

243

He didn't know how to answer her. If he lied she

would probably know it, and yet he didn't want to be

rude,

He would never be rude to anyone again.

"I—I don't know what to think about all this."

She smiled, and tucked a loose strand of his hair

behind his ear. "You and I have flirted since you were

ten years old, and you gained a lot from me. But it's

time to let go, Grif."

He blinked, feeling the same confusion he had felt

the night before.

"If you don't let go, you'll start expecting luck, and

then demanding it, and then—" she shrugged, a grace-

ful movement, "—well, look at Cal."

Grif had looked at Cal. He would never forget. "Is

that why you brought me here? To warn me?"

"So human. So egocentric." She smiled. "You

brought yourself here. And you came to me, the at-

traction so deep you would do anything for me.

Doesn't that scare you, Grif? There's a dead man in

your room."

She leaned forward, kissed him, and even through

his exhaustion, he would gladly have carried her back

inside. But she pulled away, slid into Cal's body again,

and disappeared through the revolving door.

Grif started after her, then stopped. If he chased

her, she said, he would end up like Cal, dead on a

mirrored floor in an anonymous hotel, an apparent

suicide, alone for the holidays. Grifs hands were

shaking like those of a man who had gone too long

without a drink.

Behind him, the volcano exploded. He ducked and

covered his head with his hands, then rose slowly,

relieved that no one on the sidewalk had seen his

action. A shower of flame and sparks rose in the

morning sky. He had never seen the volcano go off in

244 Kristine Kathryn Rusch

the daytime before. It must have been a Christmas

thing.

He glanced at the door, then turned away from it.

Maybe next year, he would be on some Hawaiian

beach with some beautiful woman—a real woman—

away from any cards, away from any temptation. He

still had a lot of money. He could do whatever he

wanted—within reason.

He already knew he would never again do anything

that would test his luck.