Please note: this story is a stand alone piece and has nothing to do with the young adult novel, Super Me, or A Super Series whatsoever. Just a little piece written from a writing prompt.

The prompt: Rolling the Dice. Sticking to my 500 word challenge, it is exactly 500 words.

 

-A Roll of the Dice-

It was a routine call…. nothing to be nervous about tonight. I cracked my knuckles looking, again, at the clock.

Five more minutes until midnight. Four.

How much longer would he make me wait? The dice had gone warm in my hands. I rolled them around, careful not to drop them. They clicked together in the otherwise silent house. I moved my shoulders, trying to loosen the grasp tension had on my neck. Two minutes until midnight. Maybe he wasn’t coming. No, he would.

The room was dark. Blinds closed. The room empty. I heard his steps before seeing his face. “You’re here,” he said, sounding almost surprised. Like he didn’t think I would show up. As if I had ever let him down.

“You’re late,” I answered.

“Made it before the bell.” He took this too lightly. If they knew how much he joked…

But he knew I’d never say anything. Anyway, we had a job to do and best get to it.

“Let’s just get this done,” I said, grabbing his gloved hand. Of course he would wear gloves. He was so dramatic. Probably had his cape on as well. I smiled to myself but made sure he didn’t see.

“Do you have the dice?” he asked me.

“What do you take me for, an amateur?” I snapped. Then took a breath. “Sorry, just a stressful week. Here.” I set one of the dice in his gloved palm. “Please don’t drop it.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, set his free hand over his die and closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. Feeling the moment.

I rolled my shoulders again. Blew out a breath and copied his stance, cupping my own die in my hands. I’d never wear gloves. Loved the feel of the dice heating up too much.

The clock struck. Then again. Again. I counted in my head along with the chimes, like I knew Grenaldo was. Ten. Eleven.

Following the twelfth bell, he cleared his throat.

I felt the die glowing in my palm. Yearned to peek but didn’t dare.

“Zanafran,” he said. “Aralduous. Abibulous. Braticine.”

“Zinique Cayan,” I said with him. I couldn’t help it. Almost felt his glare, but I ignored it.

The tingle up and down my forearms told me the spell had worked.

I silently counted to three then opened my eyes to meet his.

Together, we tossed the dice into the air.

When I flipped the light switch, I saw he’d worn not only his cape, but also a mask. I grinned to myself.

He blew out a breath. Brushed his hands together. “Let’s go before we’re found.”

“Agreed,” I answered.

I always stole a glance before leaving. Mine read six. His, a four. “We’ve an interesting year to look forward to,” I mused aloud.

“Ciara, you know it’s bad luck to peek.”

I laughed as we exited, slipping into the shadows of the alley and on to the next location.

A Fortune Keepers’ work is never done.