by C. C. Mahon
I sat down at her table, as far away from the giggling retirees as possible, and placed a stack of bills in front of me. Kaiko exchanged them for chips, and I placed my first bet.
Kaiko turned over two cards in front of me. Six of diamonds, seven of spades. I signaled with my hand for a third card.
“I’m looking for a man,” I said quietly.
Kaiko turned over a queen of hearts in front of me, and I lost my bet.
On my left, one of the grandmas just won her round, and they expressed their delight.
I placed another chip on the table.
“His name is Callum Carver,” I said. “Human. Rich.”
The dealer handed us new cards.
Queen of diamonds, ace of spades. With a gesture of the hand, I refused an extra card. The grandmas asked for another.
“I need to know where he’s staying,” I said. “It’s important.”
Kaiko looked up for the first time. My eyes met hers, and I shivered.
Most metamorphs, in their human form, kept a few traits associated with their animal form. The felines benefited from their agility. Nate had the stature of a bear. And I knew an owl who wore black glasses even at night. But Kaiko pushed the envelope a little too far. Her metallic gray eyes, split by a vertical pupil, were devoid of life. Her smooth face didn’t show any emotion. Her lips were full and red, but I knew what horrors were hidden behind them. Kaiko was a meta-shark, and face to face with her, I felt like a sardine.
She lowered her eyes again and flipped her cards. Twenty-one: the house won.
The grandmas decided to pack up. Kaiko let them walk away before saying, “I have no information on this man.”
Her voice was like her eyes, robotic and cold.
I gave her the rest of my chips and followed the grandmas towards the exit.
The sun was getting lower. I started down the street and entered the covered section of Fremont Street. The tourists had gathered along the path, popping out of nowhere like mushrooms after a downpour. The reason for this gathering was soon apparent to me when deafening music assaulted my ears and the canopy that overlooked the street lit up. It was time for the first “Fremont Street Experience” show of the night, the biggest useless gathering of lightbulbs in the world, flying in the face of the energy crisis, the depletion of resources, and basic common sense.
I let the tourists enjoy the show presented by the arrangement of lights—flying flamingos, fake fireworks, giant waves—and headed towards the alleyway where I’d parked my bike.
The trip was short. Less than a mile to the north of the casino where Kaiko worked, I stopped at the neon museum.
In Las Vegas, if there was one thing more abundant than desert sand, it was tubes of luminous neon. They pierced through the night and created mirages that attracted millions of visitors, like moths to a flame.
But in Las Vegas, everything always needed to be bigger, newer, and brighter, and the neon lights were no exception. They were regularly replaced, the old signs sent to a special scrap yard. The scrap yard had been renamed “museum,” and you could now visit it. You entered it by going through a concrete building that looked like a giant seashell on a huge sandy beach.
I entered the cement dome and approached the front desk. A young, dark-skinned woman greeted me. Her black hair was cut very short, styled into multiple spikes. She was pale, and her nose took over her entire face. But she greeted me with a welcoming smile and said in a shrill voice, “Welcome to the Neon Museum of Las Vegas. Our first nightly visit starts in a few minutes. Did you want a ticket?”
She gave her speech at full speed before cocking her head to the side to examine me with her small, bright black eyes.
“Rosetta isn’t here today?” I asked.
“She doesn’t work here anymore. I’m her replacement.”
“Since when?”
“Last week. Did you want a ticket?”
Again with the head tilt, as if she needed to look at me from another angle to understand my answer.
“Do you know where I can find her? It’s important.”
The young woman blinked several times and shook her head. “Did you want a ticket? At this hour, we’re lighting up part of the collection. Everything is so pretty when it glows!”
I declined the offer and left, thoughtful.
Rosetta could see the future. I’d met her shortly after getting to town. At the time, she ran a tiny fortune-telling boutique that she had not hesitated to sell. Rosetta’s gifts made her particularly paranoid. She regularly changed neighborhoods and jobs on a whim because of her fears. She never left behind an address. Finding her would take time I didn’t have. Not to mention Rosetta didn’t want to be found, and that was a decision I could understand and respect.
I had one person left to question.
His name was Dave, and he managed a gas station in the middle of the desert.
Dave was twenty-five, or maybe fifty. Under his messy hair and brown beard, it was hard to tell.
Dave was always wearing a bath robe and shoes with holes in them. He didn’t like people, and he made that clear. He tolerated customers like they were a cosmic inevitability.
Dave seemed like he was just an eccentric, grumpy old man. But his eyes gave him away.
They were bright blue, almost turquoise, and cut through the courtesies and small talk to reveal the truth. When Dave focused his blue stare on you, it was like he could see into your soul. Maybe that was why Dave didn’t like people and made it clear.
Dave greeted me with the same grunt he greeted all the regulars with.
“I have three gallons on pump two,” I said.
“I know.”
“And I’d like some information.”
“I know that, too.”
“His name is Callum Carver. He’s a collector of magical artifacts. He’s normally based out of Chicago, but I have reason to believe that he recently got to Vegas.”
“Human?”
“I think so. Very rich, with tastes to match.”
Dave’s eyes lost their focus. “I haven’t seen anything like that,” he finally said.
“He might have a blonde with him,” I said. “She’s not human.”
“Vampire?”
“No. Something more exotic. Able to handle a harpy.”
Dave let out a whistle and pushed back his brown bangs behind his ear. “I’ll ask around. Expecting trouble?”
“For me, probably,” I said.
I paid for my gas and left, still with nothing to show for it.
It was time for me to get back behind the protective walls of my club.
15
I didn’t have time to ring the doorbell before Nate opened the door for me.
“Did you get my message?” he asked.
“No, I was driving,” I stated. “What’s going on?”
With a closed-off expression, he motioned for me to follow him to the basement.
Gertrude and Matteo were waiting for me. Gertrude was gray. Well, grayer than usual. Matteo’s expression was unreadable. Both were staring at the shoe box sitting on the bar.
“Someone left this on the doorstep,” said Nate. “I was alarmed by the smell of blood.”
“Blood?”
My heart beat fast as I approached to look at the contents of the box. Two scarlet red feathers sat on a bed of white cotton. Flaps of bloody skin still clung to them.
“There was a note,” said Nate.
He handed me a piece of paper.
“Hoover Dam, 3 a.m.
Bring the sword and come alone, or I drown the harpy.”
Matteo examined the feathers and shot me a mischievous smile. He’d heard my conversation with Britannicus. He knew that our enemy had just committed a terrible mistake.
This time, the wizard came to the club.
I hated letting a stranger inside our walls, but if there’s an organization you could trust in Vegas, it’s the Guild.
“Where are these famous feathers?
” he asked as soon as I opened the door.
His accent was still just as British and his suit still impeccable, but his composure had faltered because of all the excitement.
With the old leather handbag he was carrying, he looked like a doctor making a house-call, but classier.
I led him to the bar where the box was sitting with its macabre content.
“No one touched them?” he asked. “Good, that’s good.” He looked at the package as if it was King Tut’s tomb.
“Can you find Barbie with those?” I asked.
“I can try. It will be a first for me, and to my knowledge, none of my colleagues in Nevada have ever attempted it. But I brought my supplies and excellent references.”
I gestured to his doctor’s bag.
“Will it take long?” asked Nate.
“It’ll take as long as it takes, but it’ll go faster if no one bothers me,” Britannicus said.
I guided the wizard to the back room of the club, the one that only regulars had access to. I closed the padded door and whispered, “Britannicus, can I ask you a question?”
“Hmm?” answered the wizard. He was clearly off in his own world, and he only wanted one thing: for me to leave him alone with the feathers.
I stood in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders to force him to look at me. “Have you heard of a human named Callum Carver?”
He blinked several times before answering. “He’s a collector, right? Based out of Chicago, if I remember correctly. Why? Don’t tell me you want to sell him the feathers.”
“Not at all. I’m just wondering if he’s in Vegas right now.”
Britannicus shrugged. “If he is, he’s keeping a low profile. Whatever you want with him, you should think twice about contacting him. No one knows where he came from. He popped up a few years ago with lots of money and even more mystery. And he already has a bad reputation.”
No kidding.
I thanked the wizard and left him alone with Barbie’s feathers. At the bar, my three employees greeted me with hopeful looks.
“And?” asked Gertrude. “Did he find her?”
“He hasn’t started yet,” I said. “Let’s let him work.”
I looked at my team. Matteo continued to bring out food that no one seemed to want. Gertrude was wringing her hands, and Nate was pacing like a caged bear. I had to keep them busy. Otherwise this team was going to blow up in my face.
“So, I said, “don’t think I’m going to pay you to just sit around. Gertrude, this room needs to be scrubbed from top to bottom. Nate, go hang up a sign on the door that says ‘Unplanned closure until further notice.’ After that, come help out Gertrude. Matteo, would you stop cooking? I want you to take inventory: check the stock rooms, throw out anything expired or close to being expired, and clean the cold cellar and the rest of your kitchen. When you’re done, I want a grocery list for the next month. All right, let’s do this!”
I put them to work and retreated to my loft.
My hands were in no shape to go another round against the punching bag, but I was too nervous to stand still. Therefore I threw myself into a kickboxing session using only my feet, my legs, and my knees. Physical activity cleared my head, and the abuse I was putting my poor bag through always gave me the impression of being strong, able to face all the dangers. In the real world, the enemies were more responsive than a bag full of sand. But a little self confidence didn’t hurt.
I’d taken a shower, changed, and fallen asleep when someone knocked on the door to my apartment. The noise jolted me awake, and I brandished the sword before even remembering where I was.
I’d dozed off with the weapon pressed to me, and it had once again destroyed my sheets.
“The wizard found Barbie!” announced Nate’s voice, muffled by the heavy door. “We’re waiting for you downstairs for him to tell us more.”
I checked my alarm clock. It was barely past midnight. It would take me forty-five minutes to get to the rendezvous spot at the Hoover Dam. That left us with two hours to try and get Barbie back before needing to give up my sword. It wasn’t long, but it wasn’t impossible.
I put the sword back in its case, grabbed my gun and holster, and came out to join Nate and the others.
Britannicus had laid out a map of the city on the counter. “She’s here,” he announced. “In an abandoned drugstore in the northwest of the city.”
“Is this a military map?” I asked, looking over the map.
“Better, a wizard’s map. We update our records every week, more frequently for neighborhoods under construction.”
Nate looked over the map himself. “This building that you’re talking about, when was the last time you looked at it?” he asked.
“An intern did less than a week ago. The city is divided in seven neighborhoods, and our wizards in training patrol one neighborhood every day of the week to update the records. Attention to detail is part of the job.”
“And during the last survey, your intern didn’t notice anything unusual?” continued Nate.
“If they did, it would be on the map. Wait…”
Britannicus waved his hand over the map, mumbled something, and a 3D projection appeared over the paper.
“Whoa!” exclaimed Gertrude. “A hologram? Like in sci-fi movies.”
The hologram was of a random street corner, on which stood a one story building with a sign that read “Drugstore.” The exterior was covered in sheets of plywood, probably to protect the windows from vandals. The boards themselves disappeared under multiple layers of all kinds of flyers. A small amount of garbage had accumulated by the door of the store, and nothing led me to believe that the door had been opened in the past six months.
“You’re sure Barbie’s there?” Matteo asked.
“I’m certain that the harpy to who these two feathers belong is in this building and that she’s still alive. I cannot guarantee her identity. Seeing how harpies are rare, how many could there possibly be in Vegas who dye their feathers red?”
“Well done,” I said. “Send me the bill, but in the meantime, eat something. Matteo cooked enough to feed an army, and the club is closed tonight.”
I took a few steps towards the exit, but Nate stepped in my way. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“To get Barbie.”
“No.”
Excuse me?
“You’re staying here,” he continued. “I’ll bring back Barbie.”
“Okay, okay. ‘You Tarzan, me Jane.’ But Tarzan is going to move over and quick if he wants to keep his family jewels.”
My gun aimed at Nate’s zipper, I wondered if metamorphs were able to heal this type of wound.
“For the love of Gandhi!” cried Matteo. “I got close enough to the blonde to know that it wouldn’t hurt for both of you to go face her. I don’t know exactly what she is, but she’s strong, fast, and completely insane.”
I looked at Matteo, Gertrude, and Britannicus, who had started devouring the feast that Matteo had cooked.
“Nate has to stay here to protect you,” I said.
Britannicus paused between two bites to protest in an outraged tone. “I checked the protections myself when I arrived. My colleagues did excellent work on this place. And you chose the ‘always up to date’ option. I find it very vexing how little confidence you bestow upon us. I don’t see what more Mister here could do. No offense,” he added for Nate’s benefit.
Nate seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. If he took umbrage at what the wizard had just said, that would mean that he could protect the club better than magic spells and therefore would best stay here.
On the other hand, his ego as a man and a bear wasn’t ready to back down in front of a wizard who was clearly very fashionable but not particularly jacked.
Nate solved this dilemma by ignoring Britannicus. He turned his brown teddy bear eyes on me. “Barbie is my friend too,” he said quietly. “I have to help her. Don’t force me to stay behind.”
“All right, all right, don’t look at me like that!” I said. “You can come. But don’t forget who’s the boss.”
16
I opened the hangar door and mounted my bike. I put my foot down in the outdoor parking lot as Nate started his truck.
“Good evening, Miss St. Gilles,” said a voice just behind me.
I jumped and turned, my hand already on the grip of my gun.
Detective Dale looked down at my gun and raised an eyebrow.
I forced myself to let go of it. “I have a permit,” I said.
“I don’t doubt that,” he responded.
Nate joined us. “Something wrong?”
The detective examined Nate from head to toe before holding out his hand with a smile. “Detective Dale,” he said, “Las Vegas police. I was coming to talk to Miss St. Gilles.”
He turned to me and asked, “Miss or Mrs.?”
“What’s it to you?”
The response came out by itself, before I even had a chance to think about it or to tell myself that maybe pissing off a cop wasn’t the best idea. But Dale just smiled. Then he motioned toward the front of the hangar.
“I wasn’t sure I had the right address. Your nightclub doesn’t have a sign?”
“We promote ourselves by word of mouth,” I said. “What brings you here?”
“Agatha Argyris was your employee, right? I have some sad news for you. Miss Argyris has passed away.”
Should I act surprised? Play the grieving boss?
I didn’t have time to waste. Barbie needed to me.
“You don’t seem surprised,” remarked Dale, eyeing us.
“Bad news travels fast,” I said. “Thank you for making the trip.”
“I would like to talk to you, as well as the deceased’s former colleagues.”
“We’re closed. Come back another night.”
“You seem to be in a hurry,” he said. “Is there something else I should know?”
“Inspector,” said Nate.
“Detective,” the cop corrected.
“Detective Dale,” reiterated Nate, “it’s late, and we’re very sad about Agatha’s death. Could we have this conversation some other time?”
