Tails.
“Again,” said Fawkes. She’d been idly tamping her pipe, packing it with care as she prepared for a final, late-evening smoke.
Hunter cursed under his breath. They’d been at it for almost two hours. He’d flip the coin until he got heads ten times in a row, or until he got tails – whichever came first. If he got tails, he had to start again from the beginning. The best he’d managed so far was five heads in a row, and he was honestly surprised he’d even made it that far.
“Don’t just flip the coin. Try to use the Ability.”
“Gee, thanks, Fawkes,” he spat back. “I never thought of trying that.”
“Less quipping, more flipping.”
He flipped the coin again, focusing his will as hard as he could.
Heads, heads, let it be heads.
It landed on the blanket heads-up, but that was probably just dumb luck. He flipped it again. The coin spun in the air, reached its zenith, began falling down – and somehow, Hunter just knew it would be tails.
No, no, no! Be heads, be heads, be heads–
Time slowed down to a crawl. Without thinking, he cycled his Essence in a sudden burst and extended a delicate wisp of it toward the coin. His head throbbed with a sharp pain as he felt a tenuous connection take. tried to pull at it, speed it up, slow it down. He tried to tug at the coin, to speed it up, to slow it down, to shift its course even slightly.
Nada.
It didn’t matter how much effort he poured into it, how much he strained. As far as he could tell, the coin remained utterly unaffected.
But it did land heads-up.
“I did it!” he cried out. “Fawkes, did you see that? I did it!”
Fyodor, curled up near the fire, gave a sleepy huff and flicked one ear at the sudden noise. He settled back down with a soft grumble, clearly unimpressed.
“Are you sure it wasn’t just luck?” Fawkes asked.
“No, no, I got a notification and all. I did it!”
“Good.” She lit her pipe, took a slow drag, blew a perfect smoke ring. “Now do it again.”
Hunter spent the rest of the evening flipping the coin and doing his damnedest to control the outcome until his head felt like it’d burst like an overripe tomato. The best he’d managed was eight heads in a row, but the Skill and Ability upgrades he’d gotten weren’t bad for a consolation prize: his Occultism rose to 13 and his Mystical Phenomena to 4. He also got three ranks in Reinforced Channels, to a total of 11 – that’s how straining an exercise that whole coin flip thing had proven to be.
Fawkes had been studying him with great interest. Fyodor, lying with his head on her lap, seemed utterly captivated. The direwolf’s eyes tracked the coin’s every spin through the air as if he found the sight endlessly fascinating.
“So, what’s the grand prize?” Hunter asked, tossing the coin to Fawkes. She snatched it out of the air with ease, then flung it right back at him.
“I said ten heads in a row. Until then, the coin’s the only prize you’re getting.”
“I’ll tell you what. You try to get ten heads in a row. And if it turns out you can’t either, you’ll give me the prize. Deal?”
Fawkes raised an eyebrow.
“And what if I can? What do I win?”
“I’ll be in your debt,” Hunter shrugged.
“You’re already in my debt, fool,” Fawkes scoffed. “But fine, deal. If I get ten heads in a row, you’ll owe me a favor of my choosing – anytime, anywhere.”
“Cool,” Hunter tossed the coin back to her. “Pride comes before the fall. Show me what you got.”
Not bothering to hide a crooked grin, Fawkes caught the coin and rubbed it between her hands, as if warming it up for luck.
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“Behold!” Fawkes declared, holding the coin up theatrically for Hunter to see. “A silver Quortain Crown, minted to honor the illustrious reign of Her Majesty Agnes the Seventh.”
“Save me the stagecraft, Fawkes. Get on with the flipping. I want my prize”
“O, ye of little faith,” she shook her head with a mock sigh and flipped the coin, sending it spinning through the air.
Heads.
“One.”
“Not bad,” Hunter said with a mocking grin. “That was a fifty-fifty chance.”
Without a word, she flipped it again. Another perfect spin, and another steady catch.
Heads.
Hunter’s grin started to falter as she flipped it a third time, then a fourth. Each time, the coin obeyed, landing heads-up without fail.
By the fifth flip, she was barely glancing at the result, her smirk growing with every toss.
“Getting nervous yet?” she asked, flipping it again and catching it effortlessly. She held it out for him to see.
Heads.
Hunter folded his arms, his brow furrowing as she continued.
“Nobody’s that lucky,” he said. “Not for long. Get on with it.”
Sixth, seventh, eighth flip. Each time, the coin landed heads-up, as if it had been enchanted to defy the odds.
“See?” she said. “I’m just as good as you are – even without the fancy Transient magics.”
Hunter said nothing.
She flipped it a ninth time, catching it with a flourish.
Heads.
She held the coin poised for the final toss, letting the moment hang in the air for a beat before sending it spinning one last time. On an impulse, Hunter reached out to the coin with his force of will, cycling his Essence in a quick burst and activating Mystical Phenomena.
Tails. Tails. Tails. God damn it, let it be fucking tails
The coin landed neatly in Fawkes’s hand.
Heads.
“Ten,” she announced. “I win.”
“What?” Hunter gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Impossible!”
It was impossible. Mystical Phenomena had worked, he’d felt it. He’d even gotten a notification.
“Well,” she said, rubbing the coin between her hands again, “looks like you owe me. Here, catch!”
Hunter caught the coin, still stunned. He turned it over in his hands, examined it. It was the same coin.
“There are three lessons to be learned here,” Fawkes said and held up three fingers. “One, never make a bet against me, you dolt.”
He scowled, but said nothing.
“Two,” she said, plucking a second coin out of thin air and flicking it at him, “never let yourself get swindled.”
Hunter caught the second coin out of the air. It landed heads-up again, Her Majesty Agnes the Seventh staring back at him like she was mocking him. Frowning, he turned it over, and his jaw tightened. It was a trick coin – both sides were heads.
“Motherf–”
“And three,” Fawkes cut him off, a lop-sided grin on her face, “never fight fair if you can fight smart instead. Especially if there’s luck involved. I’ll let you know when it’s time to cash in my favor, thank you very much.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why?”
“You cheated!”
“You call that cheating?” Fawkes laughed, the sound rich with amusement. “That was nothing. Reiner once ran a game of thimblerig against three Inquisitors. Three. Now that was a confidence trick for the minstrels’ songs. He had them so thoroughly fooled, he walked away with their symbols of office. Can you imagine? That’s how far gone they were.”
Hunter was still frowning, turning the trick coin over in his hand. Innocent as it might have been, it still stung his ego to be made the butt of the joke. He should have expected it.
“Yeah, okay, congratulations. Are you satisfied with yourself?”
“Very,” she laughed again, clearly enjoying herself. “You should try it sometime – making someone else the fool. Maybe in your next sparring bout with the alderman’s whelp. Which brings us back to training.”
“I’m all ears,” Hunter said, eager to change the subject.
“I’ve been thinking about that Opportunist Ability of yours,” Fawkes said, her tone turning more serious. “Wroth’s teachings are a bit too straightforward for my liking. It might serve you well to learn a thing or two about fighting dirty – both you and the other Aspirants.”
Hunter tried to imagine it – Wroth’s face twisting in disgust as Fawkes showed his prize pupils how to fight dirty, all but shitting on his long-winded tangents about honor and glory and the ways of the Ancestors. The mental image brought a grin to his face.
“Yeah, no, that will go over like a lead zeppelin.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Fawkes replied flatly, “but I have a responsibility to do it. Otherwise, they’ll wind up dead in a ditch the first time some three-penny roadside bandit spits in their eye and stabs them in the kidney. The satisfaction of watching Wroth fume is just the frosting on the cake. And you’ll help me demonstrate that.”
Hunter raised an eyebrow.
“Help you how?”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Her lips pulled in another wicked grin. “You’ll love it.”
“Terrific.” He shook his head, rose to his feet. “I’m going to turn in for the night. Will you be alright on your own out here?”
“When haven’t I? Besides, I won’t be alone. Your little menagerie is company enough. More than I’m used to, really.”
Hunter nodded, squatted next to Fyodor, and scratched him behind the ears, The direwolf pressed his big furry head against Hunter's hand and yawned, content.
“Here,” Hunter said, straightening up as he offered the coins to Fawkes – both the regular one and the trick one. She glanced at the coins in his outstretched hand, then shook her head.
“Keep them,” she said. “They’re yours. Consider them part of the lesson – a reminder not to bet against me and to always check both sides of the coin.”
“And never fight fair if I can fight smart?”
She leaned back on her bedroll, hands laced behind her head, her grin sharp in the firelight.
“And never fight fair if you can fight smart.”
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