“Care for some wine?”
Jirel shoved away the glass Zorba had extended to him. The best that this earth had to offer was undrinkable compared to what they had tasted. “How can you drink that?”
Zorba rolled her eyes. “Your loving God doesn’t serve Martinis in Hell.”
A grotesque mockery of a smile crossed her face. “So what did you think of my handiwork? Your protégé just robbed a casino of more than $60,000. All that work you put into him and look what he does.”
Jirel stared around the casino. The odor of thousands of sins assaulted his nostrils. The neon lights threatened a headache rather than dazzling. The Spirit had brought him here. Last time this happened, Snyder had been risking his life attempting to break out of boot camp. This time? Gambling his life on abusing his God-given gifts for a woman without natural affection.
Jirel turned to meet the true enemy’s gaze. “You’ll not win in the end. You gloat over every temporary victory, never seeing your final ruination. Train the child in the way he should go, and when he is older, he won’t depart.”
Zorba cackled. “He’s eighteen and just robbed the casino.”
“Some children take longer to grow up than others.”
“And some won’t get the chance.”
Jirel arched his eyebrow. “What are you going to do?”
She sent him another satanic smile. “Nothing at all, sweet thing.”
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