CHAPTER FOUR


The basic education emphasizes angles. When you want something, you gotta
work the angle to get it. Doing cons, you wanted their money. If you ask, beg,
order—it's not coming. Threatening worked, but it wasn't my forte. An angle was
always found to unlock that lock and the money was handed over, gladly and
sometimes in earnest.


You just had to find the angle first.


I didn't do cons anymore, not since I learned the magic of poker. However,
did I con Zara—others would affirm whereas some wouldn't. I wanted to know what
Zara knew, but I needed to get all the information leaked from her before she
closed like a clam. I did that by reading through the lines and worked my own
knowledge of Zara's intellect.


Zara doesn't con and when she tries—she's the one conned.


Zara didn't try to con me just now, but she was curious. She wanted
information why I was searching for Lanser and my guess was that she'd take that
information to her 'boss' for more money.


It didn't bother me because what she guessed wasn't the truth.


The difference between Zara and Taryn Matthews is that Taryn Matthews is
capable of a con. She's capable of reading between the lines and probably has
first-hand knowledge that many don't. She's been there, done that, and left it
behind.


My advantage: Taryn Matthews didn't grow up surviving on the street. She
bounced from foster home to foster home and picked up her own intel, but she was
also protected by both Lansers.


She's smart, gorgeous, a bit deadly to cross, but she's got her heart on her
sleeve. A person just needed to know how to read it.


I read people and I'd been able to read people since I read my brother's
rejection. You might say that I grew up at twelve. When a shattered dream is
imploded, not exploded, the result is a certain amount of inner trauma. When
people emerge a trauma, they're either apart or they're able to see how
everything is a part of everything else.


I was the latter and I saw how everyone connected to everyone.


The rumors flew around Matthews and how she got both Lansers and her latest
squeeze of five years to love her. Most didn't understand it, but I had a few
theories. Then again, I saw people differently. People clicked to me. They just
made sense how their strength became their strength and how their weakness
became their weakness.


When the puzzle didn't align together, that's what intrigued me. My brother
still intrigued me even though the second he started making sense was the second
I realized he'd never be my brother. Jace Lanser was a puzzle to me and he was
why I stood where I stood.


It was a feeling within, but I felt Jace Lanser's puzzle connected to me. I
just didn't know how and that was what propelled me to follow the wind. The wind
stirred something inside of me and I answered.


I'd been led here, standing across Columbia University's athletic club.


And when he came out, a small smirk aligned my features.


I waited until he darted across the street and headed to the subway entrance.
I straightened from that entrance and murmured, just as he was about to pass and
descend the stairs, "Sethlers."
Carter Sethlers was my angle.


Shock stopped him in his tracks, but a curse flashed across his face.


"What do you want?" He asked dully.


"You owe me money. You think I'd forget that?" Like I said, I'd learned the
magic of poker.


"Seriously? That was four years ago."


I shifted on my feet and smirked, "It's been a year. Christmas break and you
wanted a little extra for your girlfriend."


Carter Sethlers was best friends to Tray Evans—Taryn's significant other. He
was known as a partier, a rich rebellious son, and his devotion to Mandy
Matthews—Taryn Matthew's adopted sister. Taryn had been the adoptee and it had
been manufactured by Jace to get her out of his way and out of danger.


Amidst everything else and his connections, Carter Sethlers liked to envision
himself as a gambler.


He wasn't. And that had been proven as I stripped him of his money over and
over and over again until he was forced to write an I.O.U. marker.


I needed to cash that in now.


"Come on, Maya. Seriously." He swore again and readjusted his bookbag over
his shoulder. He was freshly showered and dressed in a formal suit.


"Where you going?" I asked, noting the Bottega Veneta loafers.


"I have an engagement that I can't miss. You don't understand this."


"You owe me money."


"Come on, Maya! Since when did you become a hard-ass?!"


Carter Sethlers owed me 150 thousand. It was enough that wasn't covered by
his still-monthly allowance allotted from his parents. And it was enough that he
couldn't raise from a legit job.


Carter Sethlers was putty in my hand and we both knew it.


Remember how I said I had some commonalities as my brother?


I played Sethlers a year ago and conned his money. This was the side of me
that I shared with Krein because I was able to do that and not care. This was my
hard-ass side that was capable of ruthless wheeling and dealing.


"I don't have the money." Carter shook his head and glanced at his watch.
"I'm supposed to be at a dinner with my friends in an hour. I can't get your
money together in an hour."


"Where's your dinner at?"


"It's a banquet and it's private."


"And how much are those tickets?" I asked and grinned. 150 thousand gave me a
lot of power over Sethlers.


"You're a bitch." Carter said softly.


"How much do they cost?"


He said reluctantly, through gritted teeth, "They cost a thousand."


"So buy me a ticket and we'll call it as insurance. I'm insuring
that I get my money back—I'll even knock your tab down to 149 thousand and
forget about the interest."


"You're so charitable." Carter said sarcastically. "And how am I supposed to
explain to my friends who you are and what you're doing there? What am I
supposed to say to them?"


I patted him on the chest and murmured, lazily, "You're a gambler. You'll
think of something that they'll buy."


"I think that's a salesperson. I don't do sales pitches."


"Of course you do. You threw a great one when you convinced yourself that a
marker wouldn't come back to haunt you. Look who bought that—it wasn't me."


Carter glowered, but remarked, "Marcus knew what he was doing when he hired
you, didn't he?"


I froze and threw back, like whiplash to a pouting puppy, "Marcus is not up
for conversation." And the conversation was closed.


Remember the pawn and the game? I'd been Marcus' pawn, in and out of the
bed.


I was no longer his pawn.


The subway was crowded, but we found two vacant seats together. Carter
watched the train as I watched him. He was tense and pissed, but he was my
angle. His debt had been graciously ignored till now and he knew it. He probably
would've debated that he'd spent every day until today wondering when that
marker would catch up to him.


I wasn't a loanshark and I wasn't Marcus' pawn in my game with Sethlers.
Carter owed me the money. If he had owed Marcus, it would've collected the next
week after the game or Sethlers would've spent six months in the hospital.


"I knew what the money was for." I commented and Carter jerked his head to
me. He waited. I added, "It was for an engagement ring, right? You were going to
propose, weren't you?"


"It's none of your fucking business."


That bounced off my shoulders. I added, "So did you?"


"Did I what?"


Fine. I'd play his game.


"Did you propose to her? Mandy Matthews, right?"


He jerked again and looked away this time.


Touchy.


"So you didn't propose." I mused and I watched. I studied. No, if I were to
read his cards correctly and between the lines, I'd imagine that his IOU marker
might've stirred up some trouble in his love life—that's if he shared his
concerns with her. A lot of the John Doe's don't share their weaknesses, not
unless backed into a corner.


"It's not your business." Sethlers clipped out through gritted teeth. His
fingers tightened around the metal post he had grabbed for balance on the
subway. His knuckles had whitened.


Like I said before, touchy.


Sethlers was my pawn in a game that I was ruthlessly conducting, but my
compassionate side saw right through him. From what I knew of Carter's
reputation, he probably hated that he had a side to keep in secret. He wasn't a
bad guy and he was nearly a good guy except he gave outlandish markers that he
could pay but his secret would no longer be secret.


And he loved his girl. I had seen that during the game and I saw that
now.


"Marcus wasn't playing me to play you, you know." I murmured and relaxed
against our seat. My body weaved naturally along with the train's movement. Some
jerked, some were smooth as silk. And I rode them, not fighting them.


Carter was one of those people who fought them. His knuckles were still
white, but at my words—I saw they had relaxed a bit. Just slightly.


Marcus Mallon was someone who could clench the loosest knuckles to break
circulation. It was an involuntary reaction if you'd heard of Marcus Mallon.
Sethlers had and his reaction just proved my point.


When we switched trains, Carter spoke up, "Look. You're going to need a dress
if you're coming to this thing. It's a formal thing."


I could do that and smiled sweetly, "You can buy my dress."


Sethlers just sighed and clenched his jaw.


I didn't care.


"Fine." He slipped out a credit card and handed it over. "The banquet is at
Broadway and Ninth. It's called the Eastley Grant Park Ballroom."


"What's the banquet for anyway?"


"It's a fundraiser for something. I don't know. Taryn's gotta go because
she's won Nationals four times. She's being scouted for the Olympic team and her
agent wants her there so we all get to go."


"The agent paid for your tickets?"


"No. That was my favor to Tray. I bought our two tickets and now," He glared.
"I have to buy another one so I'll meet you there."


I smiled and sat back. "So what's my guarantee that you won't leave me out in
the cold?"


"You have one of my credit cards."


"Right." I nodded, knowingly. "Because you're not going to close it and have
me arrested when I try to use it. Be a surefire way to get rid of me, wouldn't
it?"


When the train jerked, I fell into him and my fingers played with magic. I
pulled back and palmed his phone away and into my pocket.


That was my guarantee, but Sethlers wouldn't find out until he needed to.


"I wouldn't do that."


Maybe not, but others would and have tried it.


"So I take it on good grace?" I mocked. "I just told you that Marcus wasn't
playing me, but it doesn't mean I can't call in my own favors. He and I were
real tight."


Sethlers' eyes sparkled in irritation as he studied me. I saw right then and
there that he had intended to leave me in the cold. I'd been compassionate
forgetting his debt for over a year, but it had allotted him to consider
railroading me.


I pressed, sober, "Don't play me, Sethlers. I'm connected in ways that you
can't conceive."


I saw him open his mouth and railroaded him, "And Tray Evans and Taryn
Matthews aren't connections. Matthews was closed out by Lanser and Evans'
connections are to the DEA. I'm thinking Chance Evans isn't that charitable of a
big brother to Tray Evans. You might be able to explain me away to your best
friend, but I'll have other 'explaining' to a DEA agent about yourself. Trust
that."


Carter closed his mouth.


"I don't get played by fools. And right now, you're a fool if you think can
try it."


"You're a bitch."


Yeah. I was.


Sethlers had rescinded. He'd play my game and scramble to get the money. His
biggest concern wasn't how to shake me, but how to shake that money.


"How do you know about my friends?"


"Pedlam and Rawley are neighborly towns."


That was all he was getting and he knew it as he judged my face. It showed
nothing, but an impassive collector. I was willing to sit back and wait until he
got the dues. That was what Sethlers saw from me, but the truth was that I'd
just given him a window. If he read my cards right and if his imagination was
put to good use, he might've been connecting a few dots and realize I was there
for something more.


I'd slipped, but it was necessary when I showed him the information I knew
about Matthews and Evans.


The window hadn't been opened enough. The blinds were still pulled to him, so
I didn't need to worry that much.


Sethlers didn't have what it took to cut off the apprehensive indebted from a
calculated thinker. He wouldn't be able to pull out of his worries enough to
wrap his mind around my presence and what I'd ask in favor.


"And FYI." I murmured. "When we get to the banquet, you're going to have to
be your playful self and amorous boyfriend. If your friends know something's
wrong, they'll connect to me. I'd hate to share your debt as my explanation if
I'm cornered by any of them."


Carter sighed in surrender and said dully, "I'm not worried about Taryn and
Tray. They'd expect this and actually think it's funny. It's Mandy that I'm
worried about. I don't know how I'm going to explain someone like you to
her."


Comments like that still surprised me at times. I knew I was desirable.
Marcus had proven it enough, but deep down the fatgirl still lived on.


A small grin haunted my face as I asked, "What does she like?"


"Huh?"


"What does she hope to be or what are her hobbies?"


"Why?" Suspicion was closely followed by caution.


"I'm trying to help so help me out. What's your girlfriend like?"


"She's great." A grin didn't haunt his features. It transformed into a smile
and radiance quickly controlled his features. It morphed Carter Sethlers'
usually handsome face into a breathtaking beat of the heart. He was known as a
flirt and I gave Mandy Matthews her props for catching this potential lethal
womanizer.


He'd fallen and fallen hard.


He continued, "Mandy's gone through a lot. She always needed to be perfect,
but Taryn's been really good for her. I think Taryn gave her the courage to say
'fuck off' to their parents. Mandy had a problem with drugs for a little bit,
but she's good now. She's even stronger than she was before. That's what she
wants to do. She wants to be a counselor like she had in rehab. She said they
changed her life."


That surprised me for a bit. Mandy Matthews hadn't been a blip on my radar,
but if she'd gone through rehab—that meant she'd be able to spot the littlest
lies. Druggies were the best manipulators after sex offenders.


I relented and commented, "Tell her you pulled some strings. Tell her that
I'm a counselor from some bigwig rehab and you worked it so that I could sit at
your table. You won't have to worry about how to explain me them."


Sethlers considered me in surprise and thankfulness. His tone was regretful,
"She'll thank me then."


To each his own. He either protected himself and his secret and dupe someone
he loved in order to do it, or he let their radar go off and he'd have to
explain himself to their fury and wrath.


It was in Carter's hands now. I'd given him the right cards.


"Is that what you do?" He asked me.


The question didn't surprise me. I'd almost expected it.


I shrugged and said, "I see a lot of gamblers go through my door. Catching
onto their lies is just part of the field."


The lie that wasn't even a lie satisfied him and he sat back.


"You're from the Hope Center. That's where Mandy wants to get a job. She's
vying for an internship during graduate school."


I could do the Hope Center. I'd even heard of it and had a littlest bit of
personal experience from that place.


Marcus' little sister had been a frequent visitor.


"Done and done." I checked his worries off.


"This sucks." Carter groaned to himself. As I glanced over, he had the look
of dazed and forgetfulness. He wallowed in his guilt while I planned the rest of
the evening. Getting Carter's money was just the angle to get to Matthews.


Sometimes working a con held the temptation to forget the end agenda. Those
cons never ended well, but sometimes that end target needed to be tucked away
while the con was let to unwind naturally. I always trusted my subconscious to
poke and nudge where it was appropriate. Gave me a break at times.


"I'll put your ticket at the front desk." Carter spoke up. "It'll be for Maya
Constance."


"Constance as in 'she's constantly around?'" I teased and nudged his shoulder
with my own.


"Something like that." Carter said tightly and stood up when the train slid
to a stop. "Remember where to go?"


"Got it. See you later." I stood up and watched through the glass as Carter
looked over his shoulder as he weaved through the crowd, all jockeying for a
better position up the stairs and out of the darkness' tunnel.


Carter wasn't in the head of the pack and he didn't even try.


That was his fault.


In that moment, I wondered if Carter actually wanted out of his own darkness'
weakness.


Gambling held a temptation inside for everyone, but it shone brightest for
those hopefuls. Even though he was rich, Carter wanted something else.


And as I watched him push and prod his way past a few, he still held back his
potential.


He actually didn't want to be the first out of the tunnel and that told
me—he'd go clean if that's where it took him, but he'd linger and wait for it to
happen. He wouldn't jockey to be in first position.


He didn't want it that much.


The difference between myself and Carter was that he was drawn to the table.
I'd found myself there because I was good at it. It didn't spark the spark
inside of me and I didn't thirst for that rush of victory.


I played the game because I knew in the end I could detract myself from the
apprehensive loss to the calculated thinker. Any respectable con had that
talent. Gambling was the best con because it was legalized. When it was
organized and the game of chance was no longer the game of chance, that's where
it was illegal and it had lost the integrity of talent and mind outwitting each
other.


I don't think players like Carter Sethlers ever realized that aspect of the
game. They just played because it answered and filled what was needed inside of
them. They didn't study the game and understand the game.


That was their downfall and always would be until that void was no longer
empty inside.


Then they'd start to understand and then their unanswered hopes would be
answered when they weren't hoped for or even necessary.


I rode the train until Soho.


I didn't need Zara for directions to that district. I had more than a few
'friends' who had long left their lives in Pedlam for a life on Soho.


Some people thought Soho was the most magical place on earth. Museums, visual
arts, and imaginations brought to life enhanced that thought.


I begged to differ.


The magic was in their dreams, not the place. They made their reality and
they drew more dreamers to add upon their own dreams to everyone else's.


When I entered The Poets' House, a place with poetry open to the public eye
and a small wager to listen a few read aloud, it's home had been welcomed into
Soho and the artistry lifestyle.


With the classics alongside the newly established, the Poet's House held some
of the best minds and philosophical riddles that had tickled even the most
concrete lifestyle.


I wasn't there to read poetry. Instead, I asked for a volunteer named
Munsinger.


The employee gave me the directions and I went to seek.


As I rounded the last corner and found a hidden conclave of books shelved
atop one another and a few uncomfortable-looking chairs that looked comfortable
tucked in between the shelves of paper—I had found Munsinger.


Newest volunteer and newest slacker as he was engrossed in one of the books,
ignorantly uncomfortable in his plush lounger.


I waited a moment and racked my eyes over my friend. He was a friend and he
was known by my dearest.


Munsinger had once upon hoped to be the proud papa of Gray. When Krein's name
had come to light, a secret shared between myself and a few others, Munsinger
hadn't reacted according to society's rules.


He'd been furious, but detached at the same time.


He'd left and Cherry had taken another year before she met Stephen.


Munsinger had been the dreamer of our group and his heart had been shattered
when Gray's fatherhood had been answered.


"Working hard by studying for your future famous words?" I teased for my
greeting.


Shock and delight entered his brown eyes as his pretty-boyish features looked
my way. Munsinger would look like the eighteen-year old pretty boy until he
turned eighty. Probably longer than that. He'd fool the most wise by always
looking twenty years younger than his age.


Right now, he only looked ten years younger.


"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" He asked slowly and shook his head in fondness
before he stood and wrapped two skinny arms around my own skinny self.


"Hey you." I whispered against his bony shoulder.


"Hey yourself." He whispered against my hair and clasped me tighter.


Warmth engulfed me and chased away the cold that a con always warranted.


Munsinger had been considered family once and I realized that he'd always be
considered family. Time and distance would lessen that bond.


"You look good. Life of a starving poet must agree with you."


It was then that I saw he was choked with emotion. He couldn't speak, but
shook his head again and clasped me to him once more.


Tears didn't threaten me and that saddened me a little. Only slightly, but I
grinned faintly and rode his emotional wave until it crashed onto the sanded
beach and he was able to speak again.


"God." He whispered against my hair. I felt his breath on my skull.


Funny—Krein had said something similar.


I was still neither, but I was further away from envisioning as Him as I had
retorted to my brother in the hopes to scare him further.


I still felt the coldness of reality's air as I sat next to a con that I
weaved.


Munsinger wasn't a con and he'd never be one of mine. He would've argued that
he'd been conned by Cherry into falling in love.


He hadn't, but Cherry hadn't told the truth about Gray's father when
Munsinger had been his thoughts and beliefs clear.


"I can't…" He pulled away and studied me.


I studied him in return and saw the glow that I had referred earlier. He was
still tall, lanky, skinny, with long golden wisps of hair that matched his
just-as-scraggly beard that allowed his chin to peek through.


His eyes pierced as they always had. Poet eyes—that's Cherry had always
called them and I deemed to agree with her.


"You look really really good." He nodded and wiped a tear away. Some had
escaped and moistened his beard.


"Such the poet." I teased.


Munsinger threw his head back and laughed. The sound chased more of the
coldness away inside of me.


I think I loved him even more for that.


"What are you doing here? Did you—are you here here?"


"I don't really know."


I had one bag that allowed easy traveling and I wasn't foolish enough to
consider my personal items would be left untouched in Pedlam.


Cora would work her way through and pawn what she wanted. I'd brought what I
needed and I packed an extra bag inside to be left if I found myself in a
situation of escape.


You always traveled with a second lighter bag that had some items to be left
behind. That was the easiest trick to ensure someone's freedom if the other
person thought you'd come back for it.


You never did.


"What do you mean? Do you need a place to stay?"


I rode the wind so I didn't know.


I shook my head and replied, "If I do, I'll call you."


Munsinger accepted it and nodded. "Same old Maya. You sleep where your head
rests. You always had that habit."


"Now those are poet words."


Munsinger laughed again. He weaved a hand through his beard and asked, "Where
did you come from, Maya? And how did you lighten my doorstep once more?"


The answer: my own con that wasn't rewarded with money at the end.


I shrugged and replied, "I wanted to travel a bit."


His eyes wrinkled as a smile shifted everything upwards. "And the same Maya
once again responds to a poet's lowly requests." He breathed in and out. "Care
to share with me the lowly news of my past?"


I knew what he asked so I said, "She's good. Gray's good. And Stephen loves
her very much."


The emotional wave had moved back to the ocean. I saw it's approach in
Munsinger once more. His mouth tightened and his shoulders tensed, but I didn't
need to wonder what those emotions were. Munsinger was an emotional soul. He
loved where he had once loved.


He loved Cherry and I knew he would always love Cherry. He had loved Gray and
wished he had been his own—he'd be jealous and grateful to any man who had taken
his place of protection and love.


He breathed out a ragged breath and jerked his head up and down. "Good.
That's good."


He took another moment to compose himself before he asked, perhaps seeing me
for the first time, "And you? How are you?"


Munsinger knew I wouldn't really share, but I gave a little bite.


"I'm…footless and fancy free right now."


"Did something happen?" He frowned in earnest concern.


I'd been freed from my brother's strings.


I shrugged and murmured, "Cherry and Kai both moved out. I was feeling the
itch for some traveling."


It satisfied him and he clasped a hand to my shoulder. "I understand,
Maya."


He spoke from his own past and captivating strings. I didn't think he really
understood, but I knew he'd understood what I told him. It's why I had murmured
what I had murmured.


"And you? Do you have someone in your life right now?" I turned the tables on
him and saw his eyes spark in delight that never seemed to completely leave
him.


"I do and she's wonderful. You'll have to meet her. Come for dinner tonight.
I insist."


"How about tomorrow?"


Munsinger's eyes fell at my words and he glanced away.


"Same old Maya. Same old Maya." He chanted to himself, under his breath.


"Tell me about her before I meet her." I requested and saw that he allowed
himself to bite my bait.


"She's beautiful."


Of course.


"She's patient."


She'd have to be with his absent-mindedness.


"And she's the most kindest person I know."


The truest grammatically-incorrect poetry I'd heard.


Munsinger was in love.


"I think she's an angel, Maya. A true angel." He shook his head in disbelief
as mysticism crossed his features. It was outlined in enrapture. "She's so
smart. She's a lawyer, Maya. She's everything that I'm not, but I think it works
for us. I bring to her a youthfulness—or that's what Viiwa says."


"Viiwa?"


"That's her name. She's South African and she's a tribal goddess."


"I'm sure she's inspired many litanies from you."


"Oh she has." Munsinger was lost as he envisioned his goddess, attorney
briefcase and halo.


It didn't take much for Munsinger to leave the room. He's already left three
times as he stood in my presence.


He chuckled to himself. "I'd really like for you to meet her. She's great,
Maya. You'd approve."


"I'd have to. That's my duty and right."


Munsinger hugged me again and breathed in my hair. "I am so glad that you
came to see me."


"How could I come to New York and not see you? That'd be a tragedy."


"It would!" He agreed whole-heartedly and not in jest.


I'd spoken in jest.


"So…how long are you in town for?" He asked, back to business. He really
wanted me to meet Viiwa.


"I'm not sure." It was the truth.


"Okay. Well, I know that you don't like to commit to time and place so—how
about you drop me a line when you're in the neighborhood and I'll arrange for a
quick meeting between you and my love."


That sounded perfect.


"I'd love that." I extended my hand for a joking handshake, but Munsinger
grasped it and lifted it delicately for a tender kiss.


"It would make my year, Maya, if you met my future bride." He kissed my hand
again and hugged me for the seventh time.


As I left an hour later, filled with gossip of my own and from him, I
programmed his number into my own phone.


Munsinger suggested a personal friend that'd give me one for free. It would
be a favor to him and a favor to the designer.


I'd told Munsinger I was attending a ball to find my own prince.


Munsinger had clapped in glee and his naivety hadn't fully fooled me, but I
knew there was enough in his eyes to be real.


There was also a façade that he showed to other's.


I rather forgot that Munsinger had forgotten all the dark times I'd witnessed
his non-naïve skepticism to surface.


And then again, I don't think that I'd been forgotten. I think Munsinger had
forgotten himself in those times.


Munsinger was perhaps one of those that lived in a too-far-off dream. With
his trade, his dream might not prove to be too far-off, of which I genuinely
hoped.


Either way, I slipped his address into my backpocket.