"My hands are fine," he says, a match for her own in all but the dark tattoos scattered over her skin, more sigil than symbol. That or she went to a shop where she and the artists were drunk, and narrowed in on a theme.

Who knows, with this place. In her world of warlocks and institutes, maybe they mean something. Kira still finds himself asking, "I can't tell what your tattoo artist was trying to bastardize, Arabic or Chinese."

In his world, they do plenty to both. It sets him up for the sigh he gusts out when she shows him the joker. "Yes," he says to the cards, "I know she's new here, and alone--so does she." Lifting his eyes back to her, he instructs, "Pull another, it can take a few with playing cards."