by C. C. Mahon
Contenu
CLUB 66
Magical Secrets 1
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Magical Mysteries 1
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Magical Threats 1
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CLUB 66
A Vegas Paranormal Series
C.C. Mahon
Books 1, 2, and 3
Magical Secrets
Magical Mysteries
Magical Threats
Written By C.C. Mahon
Translated by Isabelle Comeau and C.C. Mahon
Copyright © 2019 C. C. Mahon
All rights reserved
Cover Design © 2019 Melody Simmons
Magical Secrets
Club 66 - Book 1
C. C. Mahon
Translated by Isabelle Comeau
Copyright © 2019 C. C. Mahon
All rights reserved
Cover Design © 2019 Melody Simmons
1
Nevada’s tax law was more complicated than some grimoires from the Middle Ages and written in a language more obscure than 5th century English.
I had opened Club 66 only a few months ago, and filing my taxes for the first time was giving me a migraine. I should have hired an accountant. But how would I explain the small fortune paid to the Sorcerers’ Guild before the renovations to the club had even started? What kind of establishment needs seven layers of magical protection on every surface, including the foundation? A nightclub meant to host supernatural creatures and whose owner had no intention of being dragged into local conflicts. The vampires and the metamorphs wielding knives? They had best leave their knives at the door. The wizards on the outs with the ghouls? Not my problem; the seals placed on all the doors forced customers to leave their powers at the threshold or suffer the unpleasant consequences if they tried using them in my bar.
And for the threats that weren’t supernatural, I had Nate, my bouncer. At least his salary I could easily justify. Coming in at over 6′5″, Nate was built like a bear. Incidentally, he would transform into a bear several nights a month to go run in the desert. The next time a drunk swears he came across a grizzly near Vegas, don’t be so quick to mock him; the poor guy dodged a bullet.
Two knocks on the door of my office pulled me from my thoughts, and Nate walked in. With his long blonde hair tied at the base of his neck and his impeccably ironed shirt, he looked like a Viking disguised to go to church. If I wasn’t his boss, I might have been charmed by his big arms and keen sense of dress. If I wasn’t his boss and I hadn’t learned my lesson when it came to men. Believe me, Nate could walk tall and bat his long lashes as much as he wanted to. I was not about to fall into his arms. But right now, he wasn’t batting his eyelashes. His brow was furrowed, his expression was almost as somber as his black suit, and his brown eyes gave away the worry he felt.
“Erica, I’m sorry to bother you. It’s about Agatha.”
Nate was worse than a mother hen. He was always worried about someone.
“What’s going on this time?” I asked. “Don’t tell me she went back to her idiot boyfriend. What’s his name? Eduardo?”
“Ernesto. He says he hasn’t seen her in weeks. She should’ve been here two hours ago to accept the liquor delivery. I can’t reach her. I went by her place, but there was no one there. I took care of the delivery, and I prepared the bar, but it’s not like Agatha to leave us hanging like that.”
I looked over at the clock on the wall. The club opened in half an hour, and without a bartender, we couldn’t serve any customers. Agatha knew that just as well as I did. Ever since I’d hired her, the young dryad had never let me down. Even when her dirtbag boyfriend beat her up, she came to work, bruises and all.
I stood up, grumbling, “If that son of a ghoul touched even one hair on her head…”
Nate shook his head. “I went to see him at work. He says he didn’t do anything, and I believe him. After the beat down I gave him last time, he’s too scared to go near Agatha.”
“Nate, you’re built like a wrestler with a heart of gold. That type of dirtbag thinks he’s smarter than the rest of the humans. How much do you wanna bet that he begged Agatha to give him another chance?”
“I don’t bet anymore. You know that.”
“Good for you, cause you’d be guaranteed to lose,” I said. “I’m gonna go talk to this Ernesto. I want you to see if Barbie can bartend tonight and put her at the bar.”
“Already done. She’s bitching that she doesn’t have enough room to turn around behind the counter with her wings.”
“Of course she’s bitching. What do you expect from a harpy? She’s not trying to quit smoking this week at least? You know how she gets when she doesn’t get her tobacco fix.”
Nate reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small cardboard box of nicotine patches. “I have the situation under control. Do you want me to come with you to see Ernesto? I know you don’t like going out alone.”
I glared at him. “It’s fine. I’m not a dryad. I can take care of myself.”
That’s another reason not to succumb to Nate’s charm. This guy never stopped treating me like a porcelain doll, which always made me feel like hitting him. And violence has no place in a relationship, whether emotional or professional. In fact, that was what I was going to explain to that piece of shit Ernesto. With a shovel to the face, if necessary.
Nate raised his hands in surrender and backed up to let me through the door of my office.
I locked the door before crossing the stockroom, the private salons, and the backroom. Violet velvet seats, cleverly placed drapery, subdued lighting: everything was in order
to greet our regulars.
Club 66 wasn’t one of those nightclubs where the music would hit you over the head with a thumping bass. We didn’t feature DJs. The tourists didn’t come here to party. No, I had created this club as a safe haven for supernatural creatures. An oasis of calm in the middle of the most lively city in North America. Because I had come to lose myself in the hustle and bustle of Vegas, but I needed my own little laid-back space.
The sound of shattering glass greeted me in the main room, followed by a string of curses.
Behind the counter, Barbie raised her arms to the sky and turned towards me. Her big red wings (she dyed her feathers) dangerously grazed the glass-lined shelves behind the bar. Some of the bottles displayed there had already succumbed to the presence of the harpy.
“I’m sorry, boss,” she said. “It’s too narrow back here. It’s made for a dryad, not me and my giant wings. Can’t Gertrude work the bar?”
“The troll who doesn’t know the difference between whiskey and bourbon? You want the club to go bankrupt?”
Gertrude was the newest addition to the team. A nice girl determined to do good, but not the sharpest pencil in the box.
Barbie let out a soul-splitting sigh and gestured to the ground beneath her feet. I walked over to lean over the counter. Half a dozen rare bottles laid in pieces on the non-slip carpet.
“Put the bottles in the stockroom,” I said, “and take down the shelves. Just keep the best-selling alcohol, the ones in the cupboards. For tonight, the customers will have to make do without exotic cocktails. We’ll put everything back once Agatha’s back.”
“Break one of Ernesto’s teeth for me, would you?” quipped Barbie.
“I thought you’d taken a vow of non-violence,” Nate interjected.
“Me, yes,” responded Barbie. “But the boss didn’t, did she?”
I assured the harpy of my intention to break several of Ernesto’s teeth, gave Nate a few more instructions, and left Club 66.
2
Even if his overprotectiveness annoyed me, Nate was right about one thing: I didn’t like leaving my home.
I lived above the Club, sheltered behind reinforced walls, magic seals, and the protection of my bouncer. The advantage of living above my workplace was that I rarely had to go outside. The downside was that I rarely had the chance to ride my motorcycle—an Italian 1000cc with a temperamental clutch and an orgasmic roar. This machine was made for the open and winding roads, not for the straight streets of Las Vegas.
“One day, we’ll hit the road again, you and me,” I whispered, caressing the sensual curves of the machine. “But for now, we’ll settle for a short ride.”
The sun had set, and the cold had taken hold of the city. On the coast, April evenings were warm, but in the middle of the desert, spring nights were still cool. Soon the desert would have stored enough heat to make the summer nights crushing. I enjoyed the coolness as much as I could.
Ernesto worked in the depths of a hotel on the Strip, a few minutes from the industrial district where I’d built Club 66.
The Strip was the main drag of Vegas. It’s the avenue along which all the modern casinos were set up. For millions of tourists every year, Las Vegas boiled down to the airport and the Strip. As for me, I avoided it as much as possible. The drunk crowds that spilled out onto it day and night made me nervous. Another reason to blame Ernesto. I added needing to come to this part of town to the list of things to make him pay for. His rap sheet was getting long.
A police barrier blocked my way to the Strip. I assumed one of the bigger casinos was putting on a new show to attract tourists. I took a small detour through the exceptionally congested alleyways before arriving at my destination.
The hotel-casinos offered their customers the colorful façade of an amusement park for adults: loud music and bright lights, luxurious carpets, promises of riches—or at least a distraction. For their employees, behind the decor could be described as a maze of hallways without windows, under harsh neon lights. Ernesto spent his days pushing bins of dirty laundry in this labyrinth, and he spent his nights hitting innocent women, as a way to make himself feel powerful. He was unaware of everything supernatural, and he never knew that Agatha was a dryad. He had just noticed that, despite her shyness, the young woman could handle blows more than others. With Agatha, Ernesto could let go, give it his all, without risking ending up with a dead body in his arms. Until today. Because even dryads had limits. And what if this jackass had gone too far? I paced as I waited, hiding in a dark corner of the parking garage until an employee opened the hotel’s service door. The casino might not be equipped with the same protective enchantments as Club 66, but their security system was so advanced that it could have been mistaken for magic. Luckily for me, I knew just the right bit of magic for this situation…
The service door opened, and a woman walked out. Small and chubby, she must have been around fifty. I observed her clothes made of pastel-colored fleece and her Hispanic features as she walked a few feet from my hiding place. The woman unlocked the door to her car, got in, and left the parking garage.
I closed my eyes to visualize the stranger and murmured the incantation. The tingling started in the tips of my fingers. I urged it to spread to my hands, my forearms, and my arms and to take over the rest of my body. When all my skin, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, felt like it was tingling, I knew I was ready.
From my point of view, nothing had changed; I was still a young white girl with chestnut brown hair flowing over a black leather jacket.
To everyone else, I was now the Hispanic lady in the light pink tracksuit. At least I hoped.
Supernatural creatures used this kind of glamour to go undetected in the mortal world. It’s a basic technique for those who didn’t look like humans—harpies, trolls, gargoyles… But for me, a simple human without even a drop of magic in my blood, it was the result of long and difficult practice. I still wasn’t sure I was good enough.
The service door opened again, this time to let through a young black woman, so tall and thin that she could have been a top model. I headed towards her, my hand stretched out to hold open the door.
“Hey, Rosita,” said the young woman. “Did you forget your keys again?”
I flashed her a smile as a response. I hadn’t heard Rosita’s voice, and besides, I was lousy at impersonations.
The woman burst out in childlike laughter and held the door for me without asking any more questions before heading towards her own vehicle.
I let the door close behind me, and the charm melt away. It was the only magic I was able to do, and I had never managed to maintain the illusion for more than a few minutes at a time. Nevertheless, it was still pretty useful.
It wasn’t the first time I had come to talk to Ernesto at work. I had a pretty good idea where I could find him. I headed to the laundry room, the giant area where they brought all the dirty sheets and towels before loading them in the trucks of a laundry company. Not shockingly, I found Ernesto in a corner of the loading dock with another employee, a cigarette in his mouth. A wad of cash exchanged hands, and the other employee walked off, swaying as he did so.
“It seems like the casino has a million security cameras,” I announced. “And despite that, they still haven’t caught on to your illegal betting business?”
Ernesto jumped when he heard my voice. He recognized me, and his face went white. “I already told your gorilla that I haven’t seen Agatha! I don’t know where she is!”
He took two steps back until he hit the wall. I stepped up to him. “I know what you said. What I’m interested in is what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he stuttered. “Nothing!”
“Don’t lie to me. You know as well as I do that you’re not capable of staying on the straight and narrow. You need to hit someone to feel like a man, and since you have the strength of a kitten and the courage of a potato, you take it out on nice girls like Agatha.”
He waved his
hands in front of him to swat away my accusations. I caught his fingers as they passed by and twisted them unnaturally to flip Ernesto towards the wall and flatten him like a pancake, pressing his nose against it. He started whimpering.
“You know what I promised you,” I said, “if I had to come back to see you. Do you remember? Tell me.”
“To break all my bones and leave me in the desert in the middle of the night,” he murmured between two sobs. “But you’re not allowed to.”
“You know what they say: it’s better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission. And once the coyotes are done with your body, there won’t be anything left to lead the police to me. It’s the coyotes’ job to get rid of garbage.”
“I…I’m gonna yell for help!”
“Go ahead. But don’t forget that I’m waiting for you outside. I know what car you drive. I know in what slum you live. And I know the names of your buddies, betters, dealers, and other rats. It would be so much simpler to tell me what you did to our dear Agatha.”
Footsteps echoed in a nearby hallway.
“Ernesto should be over there,” announced a female voice.
The door through which I came opened to reveal four new people. I didn’t wait for them to step onto the loading dock to let go of Ernesto and back into a shadowy corner.
I called on magic once again to change my appearance. This time, I focused on the gray of the concrete to blend into the background. A few feet from me, Ernesto was massaging his hand, looking all around him. He must have been wondering where I’d gone, maybe hesitating to let them know I was here or ask for help. But behind my illusion, I was perfectly invisible.
A woman dressed in tailored pants pointed to Ernesto. A golden badge on the lapel of her vest indicated that she was a member of casino security. The man accompanying her didn’t need a badge. From his shaved head to the taser on his belt, everything pointed towards him being the muscle.
In comparison, the two other newcomers looked like they’d gotten dressed in the dark. The man was wearing badly tailored suit pants and a faded shirt. His graying hair was a little too long and unkempt. An old scar crossed his eye, from his brow to his cheek.
His partner wore a cheap pantsuit, and her blonde hair was cut very short. She was short, but she moved forward decidedly, and her flats didn’t make a sound against the concrete of the dock.
