“And I need a chance to win it back. I’ve got to get a ticket on that new airship to the capital, and this here’s only half of what I need.”

“Not sure that’s on the dealer,” the Fallen man said, eyes cutting in sympathy toward Celeste. “You’ve had poor luck all night, friend.”

“And your luck’s about to be worse if you don’t stay out of this, friend,” he retorted, hand still hovering over his revolver.

Calm everybody down, Celeste thought. That’s what Hypatia would say. And also, don’t kill the customers, especially when they’re lining your coffers.

She lifted her hands. “All right, then, Mister. One more round. Give you a chance to win your money back, and then we’re even.”

Mustache grinned and let his hand drift back up toward his card. “Now, that’s more civilized.” He motioned for Zeke to send over a fresh drink. “And maybe we can get that sister of yours to come on out and show us her lungs.”

The dagger was in her hand before he’d sucked in a breath to laugh—and through his hand before he’d made a sound.

“I said don’t talk about my sister!”

He froze, staring, before he started screaming. Hollering like she’d stuck him in the heart instead of just the hand. He reared back, trying to get free, and his loose arm swept wide, sending drinks and chips flying.

The room dissolved into chaos. Someone was shouting murder, maybe one of Mustache’s companions, and then someone else was throwing a punch, and the blue-veiled woman’s hat tumbled off, revealing alligator scales and a forked tongue.

Celeste scooped the house winnings into a sack, dragged the dealing box in with them, and dropped low to the ground, just in time to miss a bullet flying past to lodge into the wall behind her. She glanced up and spied Hypatia grabbing the shooter by the neck, disarming him with a vicious chop, and dragging him bodily toward the front door. Celeste shifted directions, crawling out the other side. A crowd had gathered to watch the fight, some of the drunker patrons joining in. She kept her head low and worked her way through the rough-and-tumble, dodging the worst of it.

“Zeke!” she shouted over the din once she’d reached the bar. Zeke had a shotgun in hand and was busy guarding the spirits lining the back wall, making people think twice about taking advantage of the ruckus to try to steal what wasn’t theirs. “Have you seen Mariel?”

He grinned, eyes bright, his boyishly handsome face flushed. He was clearly enjoying himself. “Said she wasn’t feeling well,” he yelled back. “She’s lying down in the back for a while. Want me to rouse her?”