House Of Cards: A Novel Novels & Stories

My vision was still foggy from the anesthesia's lingering effects as I squinted, attempting to acclimatize to the intense lighting, and moved my gaze about the room. On the bedside table, within arm's reach, just a stretch away, was a newspaper with bold, captivating headlines that instantly grabbed my interest. The words sprang from the page, slicing through my foggy daze with cruel clarity. I was taken aback by the unexpected headline that read: "Mr. Sherman Colton Abandoned by His Second Spouse."

My focus nееdеd to rеmain unwavеring, fixеd on thе gamе that unfoldеd within thе familial confinеs. Anothеr chеss piеcе in thе intricatе match was Johnson. With calculatеd prеcision, I paid off onе of my mеn to carry out a grim task – thе tеrmination of Johnson within thе hospital walls. Thе timing alignеd with thе Wilsons' family dinnеr, a stratеgic movе to еnsurе Mary rеmainеd еntanglеd in our intricatе narrativе.

Hey, it's Michael. I thought about the poetry book in my bag with two notes inside it, brought because evidence mattered, because Michael had told me that knowing something happened and being able to prove it happened were different things. Carlisle's hand was warm at my back and the chandelier scattered its aged light across the marble floor and the portraits of composed women looked down from the walls and the house breathed around me with the slow authority of something that had been breathing for a very long time. I had stepped out of one house and into another.

Forgiven. My ghost hovered in that ice-cold courtyard, nearly frozen through. On New Year's Eve, fireworks cracked and boomed outside, painting the night sky in bursts of blinding gold and various colors. From the manor windows, the display was spectacular. But inside, the holiday dinner was a tomb—silent and stagnant. Father sat at the head of the table. Before him were two place settings. One was for Matthew.

Then he added, “I play blackjack, too. And add all my card winnings, well, maybe half of that was used to build that house.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously?” He gave me a side glance and then he nodded. “Yeah.” “What? You’re smart enough to count cards?” It wasn’t a question. I didn’t expect him to be smart at all. When he didn’t answer, I asked, “Seriously?” He grinned at me. “Unfortunately, that information is classified.” He is. Nicholas Atkins must be dead smart to be able to count cards and actually bring home enough money to build a house as classy as the one he has.

(THE LADY OF THE CARDS) “Now, now, now.” Emie whispers. Counting the seconds while tidying everything and back to where they belong and are hidden. “The books, the cards, and the keys.” She utters, making sure that every little piece and detail is all in the exact place and way where she wanted it and where it all should be. “The time is dwindling. The pieces are being called to complete the board. The pons is being awakened one by one, but the queen is still oblivious to the truth.”

The cell door opened, and one of them came closer, kneeling in front of me. “So, you’re the famous Cardinal everyone keeps talking about.” The person said. Their voice was nasally, but it looked like a man's. His face was ghostly white, and his eyes looked like black spots that would suck my life out. Even though his eyes unsettled me, I kept my own fixed on him and glared, refusing to show fear.

Since then the problem had only gotten worse. Dad had to move all the unnecessary stuffs to the garage when the house could no longer take the load. Now, our garage was fillled floor to ceiling with stuffs. Stacks of plastic bins, filled with old papers and receipts and clothes we no longer used and toys and tangled jewelry and journals and Christmas decorations and old candy bar wrappers and expired makeup and empty shampoo bottles and broken mug pieces in Ziploc bags.

Hence why the journey to the House of the Wolves took a whole day. When we arrived, it was already night. And when we went past the dense woods hiding the werewolves’ race, I finally saw the town proper in its glory. The town looked peaceful at night. Though the streets were empty, the streetlights gave light to the inhabited houses whose people must already be asleep. I observed the houses and streets as the convoy quietly passed the town. We climbed a small hill to reach the House, the familiar obsidian mansion with sharp tower roofs, and that same, deeply unsettling feeling reached the pit of my stomach and made me squirm in my seat. I do think my first obstacle has come—being comfortable