Chapter 5: The Queen of Hearts' Gambit

Brenda Glass didn't gamble on luck. She gambled on information, on patterns, and on her gut. And her gut told her the Queen of Hearts was playing a different game entirely. The sleek black sedan cut through the city's neon-streaked arteries, leaving the hushed glow of her office. Tonight was about pulling a thread, seeing what unraveled.

She pulled the sedan into a shadowed spot a block from the Downtown Dragon Casino. The building glowed like a beacon of vice, its neon dragons spitting digital fire across the rain-slicked pavement. Brenda killed the engine, the sudden silence inside the car a sharp contrast to the distant thrum of the city. Her gaze flicked to the casino's grand entrance, then to the side, to the less conspicuous windows of a forgotten-looking utility entrance. High-stakes casinos were fortresses of security. Metal detectors, bag checks, visible and hidden security personnel. A head-on approach was for amateurs.

Brenda reached for the glove compartment. It clicked open, revealing a small, black pellet handgun, already holstered in a matching leather drop-leg holster. She carefully took out the holster and the box of spare rounds. With practiced efficiency, she attached the holster securely to her right thigh, the straps fastening tightly over her blue bootcut jeans and beneath the hem of her trench coat, the familiar weight a subtle reassurance. She ran a thumb over its cold, smooth grip, then the cool, hard pellets, now easily accessible. This wasn't for the main event, but a backup for sticky situations, a deterrent that left no messy forensics if things went sideways. A tool for the real world, unlike her primary weapon. She tucked the spare magazine into a hidden inner pocket of her trench coat, a silent, almost fluid motion.

Her fingers then grazed the compact mirror in her other pocket. Looking Glass. She could feel her Image stirring, a cool ripple beneath her skin, ready to manifest. This was the key. No metal detectors could stop a reflection.

Brenda exited the car, blending into the ebb and flow of late-night pedestrians. She didn't approach the main entrance. Instead, she veered towards the utility entrance, moving with practiced stealth into the deeper shadows of a recessed loading bay. A grimy, unlit window offered a blurry reflection of the streetlights. Perfect.

With a focused breath, Brenda brought Looking Glass to the forefront of her mind. She extended her right hand towards the cold glass of the window, not touching it but holding it close. Inside the reflection, a translucent, ethereal entity began to coalesce from the distorted light, mirroring Brenda's pose. It was Looking Glass, a silent, poised entity woven from the reflection itself, facing her. As Brenda's right hand reached out, Looking Glass's left hand mirrored the motion, their ethereal fingertips almost touching through the glass.

Then, with a final mental command, Brenda pushed her hand through the rippling surface of the window, a strange, disorienting lurch in her stomach. As her body phased fully into the mirror world, Looking Glass was no longer in the reflection. It had become one with Brenda, an almost imperceptible merging that allowed her to cross the threshold.

The casino's interior stretched before her, but it was eerily silent, devoid of the clatter and hum of the real world. Everything was reversed, a perfect, desolate twin. The slot machines stood dark and quiet, their screens blank. Poker tables gleamed under unlit chandeliers. No guards, no players, no staff. Only the faint, ghostly echo of light from the real world, bleeding through the reflective barrier. It was a realm of pure reflection, a void where no entities could exist, no footsteps echoed. Just her, a solitary figure in a reversed world.

Brenda moved with purpose, her movements precise in the reversed space. She wasn't truly in another dimension; she was in a pocket reality accessed through reflective surfaces, a ghost in the machine. Her goal: the casino restrooms. They were always a labyrinth of mirrors, the easiest way to slip back into the real world without drawing attention.

She navigated the silent, inverted corridors, a stark contrast to the cacophony she knew was just on the other side. Finally, she found the men's room, a sterile, tiled space lined with mirrors. She paused, hovering just inches from one of the large vanity mirrors. Through its surface, she could see the real world: a blurry, distorted glimpse of a lone janitor pushing a mop bucket, humming off-key. Good.

Brenda waited. She watched the janitor finish, listened to the distant flush of a toilet from a stall, then the click of the door. Silence. She checked the mirror again. Empty.

Now.

Brenda extended her left hand towards the mirror. As her fingertips neared the surface, Looking Glass manifested within the reflection, its right hand reaching for hers. With a final mental command, Brenda pushed through the rippling reflection. Her boots landed softly on the tiled floor of the real-world men's room. As she fully entered, she released her Image; Looking Glass shimmered, then dematerialized back into the mirror, leaving only Brenda's own reflection behind. The faint smell of disinfectant and stale cigarettes hit her, a jarring sensory jolt after the clean void of the mirror world.

She adjusted her trench coat, making sure her hidden weapon was still secure. The hum of the casino, muffled by the restroom walls, was a welcome sound. Brenda pushed open the door and stepped out, unnoticed, into the bustling, noisy main floor.

She scanned the room, bypassing the players to zero in on the dealers. There she was. Regina Heart. Her auburn hair, a vibrant splash against the muted casino lights, fell in perfect waves as she dealt cards with a fluid, almost hypnotic grace. Her dark blue eyes, often half-lidded, flickered with an unnering awareness that went beyond reading tells. Brenda watched, unseen, from a discreet distance, leaning against a pillar like a statue carved from shadow.

The cardistry was flawless. Too flawless. A deck would vanish, only to reappear in her hand with a subtle flourish, the kind that made the marks at her table gasp. Brenda's own instincts, sharpened by years of chasing shadows, screamed Image. Standard sleight-of-hand couldn't account for that level of seamless, impossible movement. This woman was a Muser. And she was a master of misdirection, not just with cards, but with reality itself.

Brenda's fingers subtly grazed the compact mirror in her trench coat pocket. She watched, unseen, from a discreet distance.

She waited. Patience was a currency in her line of work. She watched as Regina cleared a table, her movements economical, precise. As the crowd thinned, Brenda pushed off the pillar.

"Fancy trick with those cards, Heart," Brenda's voice cut through the lingering casino hum, flat and unamused.

Regina's head snapped up. Her half-lidded eyes widened infinitesimally, then narrowed. A flicker of something, surprise perhaps, or recognition, crossed her features. She looked Brenda up and down, a faint, predatory smile playing on her lips. "New face. Not much of a gambler, are you, darling? Or are you just here to critique my technique?"

"Private investigator. Brenda Glass," Brenda said, stepping closer. "I'm looking for answers about Reginald Heart. And I have a feeling you're the wild card."

Regina's smile vanished. Her hand, which had been idly shuffling a fresh deck, froze. She scanned the busy casino floor, then Brenda's face. "Let's take this somewhere quieter, darling. My break is in five." She gestured with a subtle flick of her chin towards a section of the casino with fewer tables and more glass-fronted display cases and polished chrome pillars.

Brenda followed, sensing the shift in the air. Regina led her through a less frequented aisle, past rows of inactive slot machines and gleaming display cabinets filled with gaudy prizes. They stopped near a large, ornate mirror that reflected the entire, dimly lit corner of the casino. The polished marble floor shimmered, and chrome railings gleamed under recessed lights. The area offered a semblance of privacy without being fully enclosed.

"Alright, Glass. What's your game?" Regina leaned against a polished chrome pillar, arms crossed, her eyes sharper now.

Brenda didn't waste time. "Your father, Reginald Heart. Vanished eight years ago. My findings show your family, your mother specifically, never filed a missing person report. Not a peep. No investigation. Just... gone. Why?" Brenda stepped closer, her voice dropping, a low, speculative hum. "I've got a hunch, Heart. Just a hypothetical, of course. But Reginald, by all accounts, was rarely around. Neglectful. And then he simply disappears, and no one cares to look. It almost looks like... you killed your own father."

Regina scoffed, a short, sharp laugh devoid of humor. "That's an absurd accusation, darling. Truly. You have quite the imagination." Her posture stiffened, though her eyes remained calm, unreadable.

"Is it?" Brenda's voice was unwavering. "I demand the truth, Heart. What happened to Reginald Heart?"

Regina pushed off the pillar, a new glint in her eyes—a mix of irritation and burgeoning amusement. "Truth, you say? That's a high price." Her gaze sharpened, fixed on Brenda's eyes. "I saw you, Glass. When I was dealing, I saw your reflection moving from window to window, then through the polished chrome of the slot machines—from one glass wall to another. An inverted ripple in the ordinary, a flicker of something that shouldn't be there. The rubes may not be able to see your extraordinary movements, but I can—because I'm a Muser. Only a Muser can perceive another Muser’s movements like that. You're one of us."

A flicker of shock, sharp and instantaneous, crossed Brenda's features, quickly veiled by her practiced, stern expression. Her green eyes, however, held a new, calculating intensity as she processed Regina's revelation.

"Alright," Regina continued, a predatory smile now curving her lips. "Maybe I will tell you my side of the story. Maybe. But only if you can beat it out of me. First, you have to beat me, Muser to Muser. What do you say, Glass? Ready for a new game?"

Regina’s hand, which had been idly shuffling a fresh deck, froze. Her gaze intensified on Brenda. Then, with a theatrical flourish, Regina tossed the deck of cards from her hand high into the air. They exploded into a burst of shimmering scarlet and black, forming a confetti storm that glittered in the dim casino lights. From the heart of this dazzling, chaotic display, a sleek, black, humanoid figure wearing a bunny suit shimmered into existence, high heels clicking almost silently on the polished marble floor. Velveteen. Her long, wavy crimson hair flowed behind her, and two tall, expressive bunny ears on her mask twitched. As quickly as they had appeared, the cards making up the confetti vanished the moment they touched the ground, leaving only Velveteen standing tall.