>GAME NIGHT

And he did leave. Later, you emerged, and went and found Gil. He was shuffling cards.

"For Game Night?" you say.

"Ahh! Uh. Hi, Lottie. Shit." He'd dropped half the stack of cards on the ground, and you kneel to help pick them up. "You're out and about, huh? Did Monty wake you up? I-I-I tried to tell him you were—"

"Growing horns?" You grab his wrist and maneuver his hand onto your head. "You feel them, right? I don't think they're imaginary."

"Uh..." Gil pats your head gingerly, then, when you lean forward, parts your hair just as gingerly. "Oh, shit."

"Okay, good." If you found out everything was a lie, you'd lose it. "So?"

"Uh... I-I-I don't... is this good?"

"I asked for it."

"Oh." Gil relinquishes your scalp. "Then, um, they look really good. Richard did a good job. I-I-Is there a... I guess you can headbutt people?"

"Yes! I can headbutt people! Or maybe they'll just get bigger, and then I can put ribbons on them. Or my tail. Or both? Richard didn't do it, by the way. He started it, but then I think the Wyrm..." (Gil is starting to look seasick.) "Um, it doesn't matter."

"...As long as you're okay with it." He holds his hand out, and you stack cards into his palm.

"Positive thinking. I wish you could get some alterations, Gil. Not horns, but... you should be fireproof! That's your one weakness! If you were fireproof, you'd be invincible, practically. Are you coming to Game Night? Because I want to, but last time was terrible. Are you going to be dealing cards?"

"Dealing? Um, no. I-I, um—" He falters. "I-I-I might've implied to Madrigal that I could play cards, pretty well, and then she said 'I'll see what you got,' sort of... threateningly. So now I-I-I'm seeing if I even remember how to count."

"Count?" Maybe the beetling did more damage than you thought. "Well, that's one, two, three, four, five—"

"No. Ha-ha. Um. Card counting. In blackjack? It's where you..."

Gil spends about ten minutes attempting to explain— then demonstrate— card counting. It slips in one ear and out the other, possibly because Aunt Ruby is swatting it down in the middle. (Gambling isn't permissible for young ladies.) Still, you don't mind listening. Richard lectures at you because he likes to hear himself talk, but Gil hates to talk: he wants you to understand.

You definitely don't, but it's fine: you'll be God soon, and you won't need to memorize any dumb complicated strategies in order to win at cards. You just will.

That's what you keep in mind, later, when you've been roped into playing blackjack yourself: "You've never played?" Madrigal guffaws. "How? Fuck, I knew you lived under a rock, but—"

"I know some card games," you say defensively. "Ones appropriate for a person of my standing."

"Like?"

You haven't foamed at the mouth and collapsed yet tonight. If you answer Madrigal's question and she laughs more, you might consider it. "It— it doesn't matter."

"Uh huh. Well, hit or stand?"

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