Lord Loss’s face darkens. I throw my head back and rock with laughter.

“You would be well advised not to try my patience,” he hisses.

“To hell with your patience,” I jeer. “This game bores me. You bore me. Take my queen or drag things out—I don’t care anymore.”

“You wish to concede defeat?” Lord Loss asks with undue eagerness.

“Nope,” I chuckle. “You’ll have to come take me. And if you don’t—if you play it coy, like you have been—I’ll chase you. I’ll give you no option but to rid me of my queens, rooks and bishops. And you know what I’ll do then, old friend? I’ll giggle! I’ll guffaw! I’ll positively explode with every last scrap of mirth I can muster!”

“You’ve lost your mind,” he croaks.

“No,” I smile spitefully. “You’ve lost your juicy meal ticket. I won’t play the sad, bewildered victim any longer. You’ll never feed from me again. You can kill me, but you won’t squeeze one further drop of pleasure from me, not if you keep me alive for twenty lifetimes!”

The demon lord’s jaw trembles. His eyes flare with pale red light. The snakes in his chest slide under and over each other in a sudden frenzy. Then he reaches out, pushes his rook forward with a stubby, ill-shaped excuse for a finger, and knocks my elfin queen from the table.

In response, I look him straight in the eye—and laugh.

SPIRAL TO THE HEART OF NOWHERE

Lord Loss surrounds my king on the middle board—checkmate. I giggle as my king melts. While it’s still bubbling, I move a knight forward on the board to my right, then sit back and twiddle my thumbs, whistling tunelessly.

“This show of indifference does not become you,” Lord Loss says stiffly, attacking my knight with a pawn.

“No show,” I smile, switching play to the board on my far left, shoving a rook deep into enemy territory, barely thinking about it, not pausing afterwards to check my opponent’s response.

“This is ridiculous, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss says.

He fakes an encouraging smile. “If you throw the game away, you throw your life away too. You are already two games down. You cannot afford to lose again. You must concentrate. If not, you and your uncle—”

“Chess is dumb,” I interrupt. “Like all games, it’s silly and pointless. People who take it seriously are fools. I’m sorry, but I can’t pretend to respect your foolishness any longer, regardless of what’s at stake.”

The demon master’s lips peel back from his sharp grey teeth. “I could reach across and crush you into a million pieces!” he hisses.

“But that won’t silence my laughter,” I giggle. “Have you moved?” I lean forward to advance a pawn on the board to my left.

“Leave that alone!” he shouts. “I haven’t had my turn yet!”

“Well hurry up,” I tut. “I’ve wasted enough time on this rubbish. Let’s get it over and done with.”

Lord Loss trembles. Starts to say something. Catches himself. Mutters darkly and takes one of my pawns on the far left board. Before he’s placed it on the desk, I push forward the pawn on the board to my near left, and once again fall back to studying my thumbs, twirling them mindlessly, thinking about summer, TV, music—anything except Lord Loss, his familiars and chess.

Lord Loss isn’t smiling any longer. His features are contorted with hatred. He takes long, agonised pauses before each move—not to drag the torment out, but because he’s unsure of himself.

I think about cracking jokes or singing songs, but I don’t want to go overboard. Indifference is infuriating enough. He’s unaccustomed to opponents showing no interest in the match or their fate. He’s had long, delicious decades of pressure contests, feeding off the anxiety of those he faces, growing strong on it. He doesn’t know how to cope with a vacant, yawning teenager.

I don’t play blindly, but I play recklessly, pushing forward on all three boards, taking wild chances, surrendering myself to the random mechanics of chess. I’m presenting Lord Loss with more chances to finish me off than he could have ever dreamt of—but he fails to capitalise on them. He’s too agitated to press for the kill. He fumblingly takes a few of my pieces but doesn’t follow up on the captures.

And then I start taking his pieces.

I capture pawns first, a few on each board. I line them up in neat little rows, toying with them while he contemplates his moves. Then one of his knights falls prey to my queen on the board to my right. On the far left board I take a rook and bishop in quick succession. While he struggles to shore up his defences on that board, I push my queen ahead on the board next to it—straight into the path of a black bishop.

Lord Loss gasps, his face lighting up. He sweeps the bishop forward, giggling intensely, eyes shining evilly.

I snort at the demon master’s pleasure and slip a knight in behind his bishop. “Check.”

He freezes. Stares at the knight, then his king, then the captured queen in the mangled palm of his hand. His jaw quivers, then firms. “A clever strategy,” he commends me with icy politeness.

“Actually, I only saw the opening as you were removing my queen,” I answer honestly. “Lucky, I guess—though luck always plays a part in childish games like these.”

Lord Loss turns his face away in disgust. “You are a disgrace to the game,” he growls.

“So punish me,” I goad him. “Make me pay. Put me in my place.” I adopt a very young child’s challenging tone. “Dare ya!”

He hisses. Fixes his gaze on the boards. Studies them feverishly.

I pick at the nail of my left index finger and wonder if I should start using clippers instead of scissors.

The balance of power lurches wildly between us. Lord Loss works hard to take three of my pawns. I respond by idly chasing his king with my knight on the board to my left, the one on which I lost my queen. He blocks my path, attacks my knight and does all he can to repulse me, but I hang in there, amused by his failure to capture my knight. After a while I start thinking how lonely he looks, a single white knight stranded amidst a sea of black, and to provide him with company, I press forward with a bishop and a rook.

Lord Loss throws everything into smashing the three white irritants. He abandons attack completely and chases my knight, bishop and rook as though they were responsible for some personal insult. After several frenzied twists and cutbacks, he traps my bishop and chuckles fiercely. “Next move—it’s mine!”

“I reckon you’re right,” I sigh, then grin impishly and push a pawn forward. I’m not quite sure how it got there, but it’s now only one space away from the end of the board, where I can exchange it for any piece I like. “But on the move after that, my pawn becomes a queen—much preferable to a bishop, don’t you think?”

Lord Loss stares at the pawn, then the knight, then back at the pawn.

Two of his spare arms unfold around him. He covers his eyes. And moans.

“Checkmate.”

I mutter the word emotionlessly and scratch my left elbow. “Can I make your king melt?” I ask curiously.

Lord Loss doesn’t respond. His eyes are fixed on the trapped king on the board to my left, as though he can spot a way out if he looks at it long enough.

“I asked if I could make your—”

The black king explodes into tiny shards. I duck to avoid the flying bits of crystal. When I look again, Lord Loss’s face is peppered with shiny splinters. Blood trickles from the cuts.

“You should take more pride in your appearance,” I tell him. “You’ll never attract girls with an ugly mug like that.”

“I’ll see you suffer for this,” he says hoarsely, red eyes bulging. “Win or lose, I’ll find a way to pay you back for the insults you’ve dealt me tonight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I smile. “It surely can’t be an insult to show no interest in a game in which I have no interest.”