Free The Soulstoy Inheritance by Jane Washington

card—regardless of whose deck it sat upon. The winner of the card then had to complete the rule decided in the previous round before anyone else, as absurd as it was. The winner was the only person spared from their drink that round.
    “Teddy won the last round, so he gets to decide the rule this time,” Sweet explained. “What’ll it be, Teddy?”
    Teddy seemed to consider this with great care, and then declared, “touching the ceiling.”
    I looked up dubiously, but didn’t argue, and soon it was time to flip the middle card. It was an eight.
    “On the count of three,” sang Sweet, “one, two… three!”
    I flipped my card, and found a seven staring back at me. I didn’t even look at the others, merely snapped mine to my chest. This seemed to stun them, but they didn’t cover their own cards quick enough for me to decipher that I did indeed have the closest number. The problem lay with the fact that I really had no idea how I was going to reach the ceiling, and my companions seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Teddy laughed gleefully and jumped onto his chair, launching himself into the air high enough that his fingers scraped the stone. Sweet had also jumped out of his chair, but rolled his eyes and slumped back down when Teddy beat him to it. Quick hadn’t even budged, and was already taking a wincing swig of his drink, gold rings twinkling in the lamp light.
    “Teddy always wins with that rule,” he said, before turning to Teddy, and pointing, “but you didn’t get the winning card, so you still have to drink.”
    Sweet took a drink, scowling, and then they all seemed to turn to me, waiting. I looked down, found myself laughing, and then raised the glass to my lips and took a horrible gulp. When I smacked the glass back onto the table, my new friends had broken into three identical grins. Their height, weight, jewelry and the slight variations in their colouring failed to distinguish them in that instant. Their nature combined them, and it called to something similar in me.
    “Are you all related?” I found myself asking as Sweet turned over the next card. A Two .
    “Quick is my brother, Teddy is our cousin,” he answered me, and then, “What’s the rule going to be for this round, Teddy?”
    “First to pitch…” He leaned back in his chair, craning his neck to look around, and then disappeared beneath the table for a moment, before popping back up with a stone in his hand, setting it onto the center of the table. “…this over the edge of the parapet.”
    “Ready?” asked Sweet. “One, two… three!”
    I flipped my card, took one look at the nine and grabbed the stone, vaulting out of my seat and slipping out to the wall again, vaulting the stone into the air. They all still sat at the table when I returned, mouths hanging open.
    “Man she’s fast,” muttered Sweet.
    “She just hasn’t had as much to drink as we have,” remarked Quick dryly.
    Three rounds later, I assumed that to be no longer the case. I was standing on the table, my finger to my nose—Quick’s last rule—when Harbringer burst into the room. We all seemed too shocked to move, and Harbringer was no better off. His eyes widened, travelling from me to each man in turn and then back to me, before finally noticing the cards and the glasses. He moved all the way into the room and kicked the door shut, folding his arms over his chest.
    “Well,” he said calmly, “this should be interesting.”
    I found myself smiling, which seemed to put the others at ease, and then everything else slid from my mind, because I had just won. I slid off the table, and back into my seat, taking my time to consider the next rule, as Sweet and Teddy cast furtive glances toward Harbringer, and Quick watched me with amusement.
    “The first to convince the infamous Joseph Harbringer to play cards,” I finally decided with a nod.
    Teddy revealed the middle card, another two, and Sweet counted us down again. I revealed a five, and