Fingers Double Crossed

The pair of dice clatter to the table. When they come up snake eyes, Tony aims his revolver at me and cocks the hammer. My fingers dig pits into Lilith’s soot-black arm.

“You said these couldn’t lose!” I hiss.

She nods, hellfire crackling in her eyes. “If they’re carved from the bones of someone who loved you, they can’t.”

“But I brought you⁠—”

The demon yanks her arm free. “No family’s perfect, sweetie.”

I gape at the dice.

The pips on mom’s arthritic finger bones look away before Tony’s bullet settles my debt.

Chris Doty-Dunn writes weird, speculative fiction, often with a queer bent.