Page 12 of A Breath of Life
“Why are you upset?” I asked after a few measly mouthfuls of food.
“I’m not upset.” He stabbed a chicken ball with more force than was necessary before plunging it into sweet and sour sauce and jamming the entire thing into his mouth.
“Diem, you’re upset.”
“I’mnotupset.”Stab. Dunk. Eat.
“You are so. I know you.”
“Tallus—” he snarled with a mouthful of food.
“Diem,” I mocked with a mountain of petulance, arching a brow when he glared up from his plate. “What? Don’t be an ass. Talk to me.”
God, I wasn’t angling to fight, but he was so frustrating sometimes.
Putting his fork down, Diem rubbed his eyes and sat more upright. Glancing around the apartment, he chewed his thoughts before speaking, his tone level and tightly controlled. “I’mnotupset. I’m… processing. I’m… rattled. A man nearly died in front of me tonight, and I didn’t know how to help him.”
“But he didn’t die, and you did help him. You talked to him. I heard you.”
Diem stared at his plate and scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “A lot of good words do for a man who can’t breathe.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t downplay your role. Do you know how much he probably appreciated your effort?”
Diem swiped a hand over his mouth and met my eyes momentarily before refocusing on his food. “I’m uncomfortable dealing with the cops. You know that. As irrational as it sounds, I was convinced I would be blamed for hurting that man. I know that’s stupid, but when bad things happen, it’s somehow always my fault.”
“That’s not true.”
“Tell that to my brain, Tallus. You don’t live inside my head. Stop telling me how to feel. Guilt is a weird thing, and I can’t shake it. I’m in fucking therapy for a reason. My dad used to beat me unconscious and somehow managed to convince me it was my fault. That kind of manipulation doesn’t go away overnight. I know, logically, I had nothing to do with what happened to that guy tonight. I tried to help him, but I did steal from him while he lay dying on the ground.” He indicated the leather pouch.
“You didn’t. He told you to take it.”
“Yeah, and if he changes his mind at the hospital, and the police come back looking for it, I’m fucked.”
“He won’t.” I ran my finger along the drawstring closure. I couldn’t explain the stranger’s reasoning, but something about the man’s determination told me he wouldn’t expose us as thieves.
“Just fucking open it. Allay your curiosity so I can walk down the street to a fucking dumpster and throw it away like he asked me to. I would feel much better if it was gone.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. Diem had only kept the pouch because I’d insisted. Yes, I was curious. Who wouldn’t be? The whole situation was bizarre, and I couldn’t help wondering what had made a dying man panic so badly to insist with his literal last breath that Diem find this drawstring bag and throw it away.
I pushed my dinner aside and drew the pouch forward. The leather was soft and black, the tie secured with a double knot that required persistence and finagling to undo. Once loosened, I wedged two fingers inside and pulled it open.
I wasn’t sure what I expected to find—counterfeit money, a genie, a stolen pocket watch, other pieces of affluent jewelry, illegal drugs, forged ID—but the reality was not something I could have ever guessed.
I withdrew the item and frowned. It was a playing card, but not just any playing card. I highly doubted this one was part of a deck. Its unique craftsmanship was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It seemed to be framed in some type of black iridescent metal, the interior plate had the appearance of gold, and the card’s design seemed to be forged with inlaid silver. Whether authentic or fake, I had no idea.
“The ace of spades,” I said, showing Diem.
Within the silver ace, a finely engraved skull shimmered when the card was tipped at a certain angle. The corner letter As were formed with tiny, black gemstones.
Mouth hanging open, I studied the card and all its intricacies. It had weight but was no thicker than the plastic name badges the clerks wore at the bank. I couldn’t bend it, but that didn’t surprise me.
I flipped it over. The back was intricately patterned in black and inlaid gold. As I processed what the hell I was holding, Diem reached across the table and snatched it from my hand, a deep frown marring his brow.
I let him have it without a fight, and he examined it with the same disbelief etched on his face.
“Do you think that’s real gold?” I asked after he’d looked his fill.
“No.”
