Club 66 Omnibus

by C. C. Mahon

  The blast of the explosion threw my bike to the ground and sent me tumbling several dozen yards away. I finally stopped flat on my back and decided to stay put. My eyes only saw flashes of psychedelic colors, and a too-sharp whistle twisted my ears.

  Vaguely aware that I was lying in the middle of one of the busiest streets in Vegas, I finally sat up. I opened my eyes and noticed that the psychedelic flashes were still there. Worse: they didn’t seem to be due to a head injury. They were real. It looked like northern lights with a Vegas twist, overflowing with glitter and bright colors.

  A little further down the street, the two women in beige suits were also regaining consciousness. They focused their attention on a point behind me, and their jaws dropped. I turned around to find out what shocked them. I was not disappointed. The rubble, the construction site, the abandoned machines…everything had disappeared. There was only one crater left, even larger than the previous one. But something told me that it was not the crater that shocked the two women the most, but the Technicolor show that overshadowed it.

  An energy geyser came out of the ground and headed straight for the Vegas sky. Up there, it was stopped by an invisible dome, a few hundred yards above the city. The energy had begun to accumulate just under the dome, no longer in diffuse fog, but in a large cloud of ever-changing colors. Energy particles fell as rain around us, creating this impression of psychedelic aurora borealis. The smell of magic was so strong that I gagged, and its energy stung my skin like an army of red ants.

  Heat licked my neck, and a metallic noise resounded just behind me. My sword had caught fire and had apparently consumed its case before falling to the ground. I hastily disposed of the smoking remains of the case.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I asked the sword. I carefully advanced my hand towards the pommel. Before my fingers even came into contact with the weapon, I felt it vibrating feverishly. “The ambient magic makes you nervous?”

  It was time to get away.

  I got back on my feet, noticed that I was still in working order, and staggered the distance that separated me from my motorcycle.

  I straightened up the machine and got upset when I noticed that the fall had broken a mirror, cut the brake lever, and dented the tank. I waited a few minutes to see if a leak would appear, found none, and got back on the saddle. I found a way to trap my sword above the speedometers, whose plastic immediately began to melt.

  “Try to calm down,” I grumbled. “I can’t drive and hold your hand.”

  The flames quivered and diminished in intensity but did not go out. It would do.

  I still had the same strident sound in my ears, and I wasn’t totally confident in my sense of balance. So I set off at a slow pace, my feet flush with the asphalt. I joined the two women in beige, stopped, and asked, “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “No, we’re not okay!” replied the closest in a sharp tone. “The ley line has just exploded, we have a vermilion category magic leak, the animometer can no longer even follow….”

  “You forgot to hide your wings,” added the second, “and your sword is on fire. Do you have a license to carry a magic weapon?”

  “Let me guess: you’re from Customs?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “And what are you going to do about this leak?”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions! Move along!”

  “And hide me those wings! We have enough trouble as it is without some idiot calling the press to say he ran into an angel on a motorcycle.”

  I shrugged my shoulders, restored the illusion that was hiding my wings from the world, and set off at a slow pace, not especially impressed by the Customs representatives. Was that really the authority that all the magical creatures in Las Vegas feared? Dour chicks in beige suits?

  The first fire truck crossed my path all sirens screaming, soon followed by a parade of rescue vehicles. I parked on the sidewalk to let them pass, wondering how firefighters, cops, and other rescuers would interpret the sight of the new magical leak.

  Curiosity may kill cats, but that didn’t stop me from giving in to it. I left my bike on the sidewalk and walked back. The geyser still spat out its column of shimmering colors, from fluorescent pink to apple green and all the other neon shades. The rain of magical particles had increased in intensity. It was as if it was snowing multicolored glitter. It crackled as it touched my wings, head, and shoulders.

  The rescue vehicles had parked in an arc a few dozen yards from the crater. Firefighters and police officers were setting up a safety cordon. Several firefighters wearing gas masks were cautiously approaching the edge of the crater, wielding small devices at arm’s length.

  “Another gas leak?” asked a uniformed policeman, a few steps ahead of me.

  The loud whistling was still as loud in my ears as ever, and I could barely hear the conversations around me.

  The policeman’s partner shrugged his shoulders: “Either that or a meteorite fell right in the same spot…”

  “Do you smell gas?”

  The other cop sniffed like a bloodhound then shook his head.

  Further away, the fire brigade did not detect any gas, either. But no one seemed disturbed by the multicolored energy column or the cloud of glitter that surrounded us.

  No, that was not correct. A few people—three or four—gaped at the geyser of energy in silence. Two others looked around with big, bewildered eyes, trying to catch the glitter like snowflakes. Britannicus and Lizzie had explained it to me: some humans were sensitive enough to magic to notice it. The most sensitive could learn to manipulate it and become sorcerers. I was wondering what the few cops and firefighters who were sensitive enough to see the magic geyser but knew nothing about the supernatural might think. I saw them now trying to share their discovery with their colleagues, who shook their heads, frowned, and shot the poor buggers worried looks.

  “My eyes are fine!” protested a fireman. “Captain, can you really not see anything?”

  The captain sent the fireman back in his truck, and I decided I had seen enough. The good news was that the area was deserted at the time of the explosion. There would probably be no casualties to report. The bad news was the amount of raw magic that was spilling into the Vegas atmosphere. And since Customs had put the city under their cordon, the magic was stuck there. What could we expect? What effects could a massive dose of raw magic have on the city’s inhabitants? Were we going to end up drowning in a multicolored stream of energy?

  I needed to talk to my personal experts, Britannicus and Lizzie. I turned around, ambled back to my bike, and took my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans. The screen was destroyed, and the device refused to turn on. I put it back in my pocket thinking of the beautiful smartphone-shaped hematoma that would soon cover my buttock.

  22

  A FURIOUS NATE was waiting for me in front of the club.

  “I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes!” he said without even waiting for me to take off my helmet.

  I took my phone and threw it at him.

  “A troll stepped on your cell phone?”

  “Why have you been calling me for twenty minutes? What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you quit?”

  He pointed to the column of energy that rose at the other end of the city. “What do you think?”

  I let out a deep sigh and slumped a little on my saddle. “I know, I said. I had a front-row seat.”

  “WHAT?”

  Immediately, Nate was on me, his big hands examining me for injuries.

  “It’s okay, Mama Bear,” I said. “I’ll get away with some bruises and a few parts to change on the bike.”

  “Victims?” Nate asked in a dull voice.

  “I don’t think so. The site was deserted. So is the neighborhood, by the way.”

  Nate nodded. “Yes, even humans eventually felt that the place was strange. We hear a lot of rumors. Bookies have opened the bets: is the construction site haunted by the victims of the first explosion?
”

  “Do people really bet on that?”

  Nate spread his hands. “Hey, we’re in Vegas.”

  I led Nate into the club.

  “I immediately tried to call you,” he continued, “but you didn’t answer. I almost took my car to check it out, but…”

  But he preferred to stay and wait for me, like a mother hen. At least he didn’t seem angry with me anymore.

  “Would you make me a coffee?” I said, dropping on a chair.

  Nate coffees were far from good, but the machine was stuck behind the bar, where no winged creature could fit.

  “A double?” Nate asked.

  “Make it a triple,” I said. “And lend me your phone. I need to call Britannicus.”

  “Watson,” the wizard announced as he took my call.

  The phone was spitting like an old radio.

  “Britannicus, it’s Erica. We need to talk.”

  “Who?” asked the wizard. “Hello? Hello?”

  “It’s Erica,” I repeated louder.

  “I am so sorry. The reception is terrible…”

  “Let me guess: you’re at the scene of the explosion.”

  “If you would like to contact me again later…” said Britannicus through the crackles.

  I hung up and started writing a text message. “Need your lights on the explosion this morning. Come to the club ASAP. Tell Lizzie.”

  Nate got his phone back, and I looked at my cup of lousy coffee.

  “What can we do?” I said.

  “About the explosion? Not much of anything. Customs is in charge of these things.”

  I took a sip and tried to repress my grimace. Nate would never be a barista.

  “Not to criticize,” I said, “but Customs doesn’t seem madly competent on this one.”

  “What would you like them to do? A ley line is not a pipe. There’s not a valve to turn to stop everything.”

  “Britannicus says it’s like a high-voltage line…”

  “Except we can’t break the circuit. Magic is one of the forces of nature over which we have no control, no power. It’s like trying to stop the Mississippi because it’s flooding your garden.”

  I finished drinking my coffee while thinking.

  “So what do we do?” I said again. “Should we wait? But what are we waiting for, exactly?”

  Nate shrugged and took my empty cup with him. Before he could to put it in the sink, I said, “Pour me another coffee.”

  “You’d better go to bed.”

  “No, I’m waiting for Britannicus. You go to bed.”

  He shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this. I’m going to stay here.”

  “I hired a gorgon to replace you.”

  He pretended to look in every corner. “I don’t see her right now.”

  “We’re closed; I don’t need a bouncer.”

  A strange expression passed over his face. Anger? Maybe. But not only that.

  I approached to stare at him—I had to tilt my head, since Nate his way taller than me. “What’s the matter with you?” I asked. “Something’s bothering you.”

  “Your club is one of the most protected places in the city, with the Guild headquarters, Customs bunker, and some clan leaders’ residences.”

  “And? Are you afraid?”

  “Ley lines can explode in our faces any moment now…”

  “They just did.”

  “No, that’s nothing. I’m talking about an explosion that could wipe out the city center.”

  “Okay. So you want to stay here safely? All you had to do was say it…”

  “It’s not just about me. A lot of other people are going to want to get to safety.”

  “Let me guess: Customs won’t open its bunker to the public?”

  “Not until it snows in hell. Neither would the Guild, in my opinion. They would be too afraid of running out of caviar.”

  “So you think we’re going to be besieged by refugees?”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I can’t be the only one who had the idea.”

  “You should call the others,” I said. “The whole team. Tell them to bring their toothbrush. I posted the gorgon’s number by the phone. Her name is Eupraxie. She’s coming, too.”

  23

  I TOOK REFUGE in my loft, where I made myself a decent coffee. Through the glass ceiling, I could contemplate the geyser of magic at the other end of the city. It still didn’t seem to be weakening, and I thought back to Nate’s analogy: if we were dealing with the equivalent of the flooded Mississippi, what could we do? Pack up and evacuate Las Vegas? Humans could, but supernaturals couldn’t. Not as long as Customs maintained its blockade. And I couldn’t imagine how to convince them to lift it. I left a message for Lola, telling her to come to the club as soon as possible. I had no illusions: my friend was going to stay on the streets and do her job as long as necessary. But I was hoping that when night came, she would come here to rest safely.

  I was thinking about it when thunder rumbled in my loft. I jumped up and shouted out in surprise before I realized that thunder had nothing to do with the sound: someone was pounding—violently—at my door.

  I peered through the peephole to discover Nate on the landing.

  I opened and backed away so I wouldn’t get his big bear paw on my nose.

  “What?” I asked. “Is there a fire?”

  “Lizzie’s here.”

  “What about Brit?”

  Nate shrugged. “Should I seat her downstairs?”

  “No, tell her to come up.”

  Nate gave me a surprised look. I rarely had people come up to my loft. Brit had come once, for professional reasons. Nate had never been allowed in.

  “Don’t be jealous,” I said. “We’ll talk about fashion.”

  “Humph.”

  “Have you been able to reach the others?” I asked.

  “At this time of the day, they are asleep. I left messages.”

  Lizzie climbed the metal stairs, hitching her long bohemian skirts. Her bun was particularly disheveled, her reading glasses askew on her nose.

  “Pretty little nest,” she said as she discovered my loft. “Are the partitions modular?”

  “Yes, in general everything is open.”

  “Claustrophobic?”

  It was the second time I had been asked the question in a few hours.

  “Not really. But I like to have a clear view.”

  “Assault survivor?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I often noticed that assault survivors like to keep an eye on all the entrances to the rooms where they are. If necessary, they move the chairs to install themselves back to the wall and keep the doors in their field of vision.”

  “Do you have a lot of people like that in the library?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t always a librarian. There was a time when I had a psychic practice. I saw many patients who needed their chakras realigned. That was before Customs cleaned up the city a few years ago.”

  “Oh. Um, coffee?”

  “With pleasure. The explosion pulled me out of bed. I was on my way to the site when I received the message from Britannicus.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He is making some measurements on site and will be joining us soon. What can we do for you?”

  “I have so many questions that I don’t know where to start.”

  I served us coffee on the coffee table and invited Lizzie to sit on the couch. I curled up in the chair that was facing her.

  “I guess you want to know the consequences of this new explosion,” said Lizzie. “But we’ll have to wait for Brit.”

  “Didn’t you want to see for yourself? You could have joined him and come here afterward.”

  She moved nervously and tightened her shawl around her shoulders. “I don’t need to go there to feel the power flow. The Guild and Customs measure magic in ‘Anim,’ with devices, like scientists. I feel it in my bones… And actually, I was about to turn around be
fore I even received the message.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “What’s happening here is a supernatural disaster. I’m as curious as any witch, but I’m not suicidal. You have good spells on this building—even if it hurts me to recognize it, the Guild fuddy-duddies know what they’re doing.”

  “Do you think Britannicus is in danger out there?”

  She got up and walked to the corner of the loft, where she got the best view of the magic geyser. “I hope he’s smart enough not to expose himself for too long.”

  “Why? Is it radioactive?”

  “Not in the conventional sense of the word. There were some studies on the subject in the 1950s. No one has ever been able to detect magic with a Geiger counter. But magic itself acts on the human body—on all living beings. It can modify it.”

  “Are you talking about burns or mutations?”

  Lizzie turned away from the geyser to look at me. “Mutations. At least that’s the theory. We only have a few old examples to get our teeth into, and the chroniclers of these different eras were not always very reliable. I mean, the Chinese claim that the explosion of the ley lines in the Wei Valley killed more than eight hundred thousand people, but who counted them? And after that, of course, the survivors told stories of monsters and ghosts. With the trauma, they must have seen a lot of strange things…”

  “Eight hundred thousand? But when was that? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “In the sixteenth century, it made a lot of noise. But people quickly forget.”

  “Do you think that…”

  I made a gesture towards the geyser.

  Lizzie shrugged. “I hope not. But even without a cataclysmic earthquake, we may still have problems due to magic.”

  “We already have those.”

  I told her about my thirty undead people, the new magic drug, and the novice spell dealers.

  “The police will have some nice surprises,” concluded Lizzie.

  “In the meantime, I have to drive the dealers out of the club. I caught a kid, Chloe…”