Ryn pool

Ryn finally glanced from the pool table. “Then a wager.”
She screwed out her cigarette in an ashtray. “Loving your confidence. You’ve never shot pool in your life. But all right, if this is your game: I win, I want you. Not for a night—too skittish, you’d need more time. A month. Never further than you can handle, but on your honor, you’d give me a real shot at… teaching you.” Her gaze was too bold. “And I want you on the full moon—want to see how it makes you move underneath me.”
“When I win, you tell me what I want to know.”
“Deal.”
They both crossed their hearts. The bet couldn’t be rescinded.
Ryn glanced back at the table, examining it once more.
“You going to shoot?” Muse asked. “My beer buzz is fading.” She waved her hand for another round and lit a fresh cigarette.
“Soon.” By the time Muse’s drinks came, Ryn had finished studying the table, searching for whatever trick was meant to make this game challenging—it dawned on her there wasn’t one. It was exactly as it appeared, and the fact irritated her. Everything in this realm is clumsy—this game can only be enjoyed by the clumsy. She’d won before she’d even shot and all that remained was to show Muse that truth, so she raised her cue and did so.
She fired the cue ball into a single stripe and knocked it clean to the pocket, shifted to a new table side, and lowered her cue to the precise spot where the white ball coasted to a stop, shooting again. It bounced over two solids, pocketing another stripe. Rounding the table, she sank two stripes with a shot, and finished by sinking three more in one go.
“There.” She pointed at a corner pocket and cracked the eight-ball home. Straightening, she laid her cue on the conquered table. “I win, yes?”
A thick column of ash fell off Muse’s cigarette. “Fuck me.”
“No. Now tell me about Splat and his cabal.”


Chapter 13, Page 203-204