“Yeah, I do—”
“And how did a child get ahold of zis book?” she says.
The lit candle between the two of us blows out.
Okay, she’s definitely pissed.
“It was her grandmother’s—”
All the anger on her face vanishes and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “Celeste.”
Is that supposed to mean something to me? I don’t know shit about astronomy.
“I—I knew it,” she breathes. “It vasn’t a dream.”
“What’re you talking about?” I ask.
For the first time, Zerachu’s face softens. She reaches for her lip, then extends her arm into the air. What the hell is she doing? She brings her arm back down, closes her eyes, and kisses her fingers.
When she doesn’t respond, I clear my throat.
“I couldn’t confirm because of zhe spells she cast,” she says.
“What spells?” I ask.
I’m guessing Celeste is a person. Or, more specifically, Rachel’s grandmother. But why is Zerachu acting so heartbroken over it? Were they friends?
“Celeste cast cloaking spells to protect zhe book,” she says, “to conceal herself and her family from all shadow dwellers.”
I’m about to ask her what the game plan is. Sure, it’s sad. The woman’s dead, but we aren’t. At least not yet. And the longer we sit around here mourning someone who isn’t coming back, the more time we’re wasting. I’m prepared to tell her to speed things up a bit, but Zerachu’s face changes abruptly, and I’m left speechless.
Her cracked bottom lip quivers and her eyes water.
She reaches for the crystal pendant around her neck and raises it to her lips. “Rest in love and light, my dear sister.”
Chapter 8
──────────
“My great-aunt?” Rachel blurts out.
She’s so loud about it that Drax flinches, sending the TV’s remote hurling through the air.
“This… this is amazing,” she says, now pacing across the hotel room. “I mean, didn’t you say she’s the most powerful witch, like, ever? And how do I have a great-aunt? Grandma never talked about having a sister.”
It’s hard to feel happy about Rachel’s discovery after the verbal beating I received.
“The Great Witch wants you to go see her at midnight,” I say coldly.
“To train me?” she asks.
I’ve never seen Rachel this happy about anything before. Cracking open a bottle of beer, I shrug with one shoulder. “Something like that.”
Although Zerachu agreed to coach Rachel on her magical abilities, the real reason she wants to see her is to get an understanding of what happened and to secure the book. As it turns out, Celeste—Rachel’s grandmother—cast a protective spell so powerful around the book and her home that no one could determine the book’s location for centuries.
I’m the idiot who came along and removed it from their home.
I don’t bother going into detail with Rachel about her grandmother’s real age, because it’s irrelevant. One thing matters—how fast the book’s protection spell is fading. Zerachu described it as a bit like an onion inside a coconut—the magic itself, or the onion, has layers upon layers, while the exterior shell protects the bulk of it.
The combination of Celeste’s death and my removal of the book from their protected home was equivalent to destroying the coconut shell altogether. All that’s left now are layers, and with every passing day, the magic wears off. Unfortunately for Rachel—and for all of us—those layers were damaged even more when Lucius’s goons came looking for me, inadvertently causing Rachel to freak out, summon a griffin, and get the book torn in half.
“Is only a matter of days before zhe entire earthly dimension comes searching for da book,” Zerachu told me moments ago.
At midnight, it’s imperative that Rachel gets her ass down to the Red Lounge to meet her great-aunt.
“Bring your half book with you,” I tell Rachel.
“Is that safe?” she asks, clutching it tight against her chest.
“If Zerachu’s involved, yes, it’s safe.” I chug my beer in one shot and crack open another. “She’d take it from you if she could, but she can’t. Your grandma’s spell somehow connected it to her bloodline. Well, her descendant bloodline, anyway. So that means you.”
“Well, it would have been my mom if she had any interest in magic,” Rachel says.
“Does she even know you do magic?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m careful to hide it from her.”
“If you’re so careful,” I say, “then how the hell are you all the way out here in Vegas? You’re telling me your mom hasn’t realized you’re gone? And what about school?”
Behind her, Riskus lets out a loud squeal, jumps up on the couch, and smacks Drax with a cushion. Drax raises his arms to protect himself, but Riskus keeps beating on him.
I cock an eyebrow.
“Riskus doesn’t like it when people change the channel,” Rachel says.
“Would you chill?” Drax says, now trying to shoulder the little demon off of him.
Rachel lets out a sharp whistle and Riskus stops his cushion swinging midair, his back rounded and his eyes so bulged he looks like an amphibian. Grumbling something, he slouches, crosses his bony arms, and plops himself down beside Drax.
“And how the hell has your mom never seen him?” I add.
“Like I said,” Rachel says. “I’m careful. He always hides. And besides, I took precautions before I left.”
The smirk on her face tells me she played with magic again.
I can’t help but glare at her. “What did you do?”
She shrugs like she’s hiding some big secret, but it’s obvious she’s proud of whatever it is she’s done. “I cloned myself.”
My jaw drops and Riskus claps like he’s at a New York City Broadway show.
“It worked!” he squeals. “Worked well!”
“You’re telling me…” I pause because the idea is so insane that I have to let it sink in. “You’re telling me you have a lookalike walking around to hide the fact that you’re not home?”
Still grinning, Rachel nods. “It took fourteen tries, but I finally got it right.”
I’m not sure whether to praise her or slap her. The girl plays with magic spells like they’re nothing more than cool party tricks. I’ve seen a lot of magic mishaps, and some of that shit can’t be undone.
“And is this clone physical, or is it a projection—” Realizing this can’t wait, I wave a hand in front of my face. “You know what, never mind. It doesn’t matter. Go see Zerachu and she’ll give you all the shit you need.”
“I thought you said she was my great-aunt. Why would she give me shit?”
I snort. “You haven’t met the witch.”
She gives me a disgusted look that tells me she’s unconvinced a long-lost family member could be mean to her. We’ll see. Or at least, she will.
Turning away, I toss my empty beer bottle onto one of the couch cushions. “Riskus, clean up my empties.”
Rachel’s brows almost touch each other. “He isn’t your slave—”
“I’m paying for this room, so I make the rules. Everyone in here has to contribute, and I say Riskus is responsible for cleaning up my empties.”
Rachel’s about to protest, so I grab my new leather jacket I stole from a blackjack table, step out, and slam the door shut.
As much as I’d love to be a fly on the wall when Rachel meets her great-aunt, I have something else to do—I need to find Devania. It’s doubtful she’s in Vegas, so I might need to make friends around here to gather intel. If she’s running an underground rebellion, she won’t be easy to find.
With my head held high, I make my way back down to the Red Lounge.
Demons, witches, and vampires walk around like they’ve been friends for centuries. It’s the strangest thing to see, considering the different species have been at war since the da
wn of time. What I like most about the Dark Hall is that pricks like Lucius aren’t welcome.
It isn’t because the dude’s in charge of San Halos. The reason he’s not allowed inside the Dark Hall is that everyone knows how he feels about interspecies friendships—he finds the whole notion appalling. The Dark Hall is like the Switzerland of the world. Everyone wants the same thing—to forget the hatred and corruption in the real world.
If I didn’t have such a problem with managing my money, and if the Dark Hall’s management team hadn’t set a new rule in 1872 disallowing people from staying for more than two weeks, I’d probably spend my life living inside the Dark Hall.
Back then, I didn’t understand why they’d set this rule, but now I do. Too many people were trying to escape their realities by disappearing into the Hall, and while it might have been enjoyable to forget about the magical world’s monstrosities, turning a blind eye doesn’t prevent wars from happening.
Out of nowhere, someone bumps into me so hard that I have to suck in a lungful of air to get rid of the colorful specks in front of my eyes.
“Oh, thoot. I’m tho thorry,” says the fat vampire. He smiles from ear to ear, something I’m not used to seeing a vampire do, and rests two chubby hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay, mith? Can I get you anything? I-I-I can be tho clumthy thometimes.”
The guy’s so huge that I can’t see anything on either side of him. Still a little dazed, I rub my forehead and blink hard. “Um, no, I’m good.”
He smiles again, his eyes forming little black moons, and squeezes my shoulder. I feel something crack and I pull away. It’s like he’s oblivious to how strong he is.
He turns around, a huge waddle in his step, and people clear the way as he moves.
Finally, the lights in front of me fade. “Wait!”
He stops walking, his last step coming down so hard that the slot machine nearest to him trembles and the horned woman playing it jumps off her seat, her wild eyes darting from side to side.
“Did you thay thomething, mith?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, moving in an awkward fashion toward him. Everyone’s staring at us, and I realize he probably isn’t the first person I should be asking, but he seems like a nice guy, so it’s worth a shot. “Do you like spiders?”
He pulls his upper lip over his fangs, revealing a gummy grimace.
Obviously, it’s a no.
“Not even… a black widow?” I say.
He’s still staring at me as if I offered him a bowl of fresh vomit.
I click my fingers and point at him. “Thank you for participating in my private study, buddy.”
I’m about to turn away when he lets out a thunderous laugh. “Oh, wow. A thtudy? I’ve never partithipated in a thtudy before! Do I get thome kind of partithipathion throphy?”
I fight the urge to slap my forehead. Great. Now everyone’s watching us closely.
Flicking my wrist, I force an exaggerated smile. “Oh, no, honey, it’s nothing like that. It’s for my daughter’s science project at school.”
He looks disappointed. Without giving him the time to say anything else, I swing around, my smile disappearing and my eyes rolling up into my head.
“Thomething about thpiders,” I hear behind me. “A thience project or thomething.”
Goddamn it. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I might be a great hit woman, but I sure as hell suck being a detective when I don’t know what I’m looking for. All I can do is hope he doesn’t go around talking about black widow spiders. The whole point of using that term was to be discreet, and this Michelin Man vampire looks to be anything but discreet.
Trying to hide my face, I walk fast with my head bowed. If I can at least get out of Red Lounge, I can sneak into a different casino and start over.
“Drink?” comes a young woman’s voice.
I almost bump into her tray of shot glasses but stop myself in time, the tray hovering inches away from my lips.
With my head still bowed, I stare at the woman’s apron—a velvet red fabric that wraps around what appears to be her naked body. Her legs, thin and toned, make me want to sink my teeth into them. On either side of the apron, the skin of her bare and perfectly round breasts peaks out, taunting me.
I know I just fed, but I’m always hungry.
Finally, my gaze reaches her face, and I can’t look away. The woman’s gorgeous—model material gorgeous. Her plump red lips curve at one end and she points her eyes at the shot glasses. “They’re free.”
Biting my lower lip, I reach for a glass, tilt it back, and swallow the burning liquid. She has no clue about what’s going on—I’m bringing out my Lure.
“Is there a limit?” I ask.
She lowers her gaze to my lips. “I don’t limit anything… I like to think I’m pretty adventurous.”
Got her.
“I’m all about adventure,” I say. “What’s the point in life if you can’t play?”
Her right brow pops up and she licks her lips. “I love playing. Especially with toys.”
A vivid image flashes in my mind—her lying naked on her back with her legs around my waist, and me, wearing a seven-inch silicone strap-on. A throbbing heat radiates between my legs and I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent grabbing her by the hair and dragging her into the nearest closet.
She reaches for one of her drinks, winks at me, and chugs it back.
I grin. “Why don’t you show me where your room—”
“E-e-excuse me.”
My eyes go huge. Who the fuck is interrupting this intense, heated moment?
Begrudgingly, I turn toward the voice to find a scrawny man with a major slouch in his posture. He wears Coke-bottle glasses that make his black eyes look five times their regular size. His skin, a light—almost white—beige, matches his short, unkempt hair, which looks like it’s been combed forward, causing long, uneven points to hover above his brows. His head twitches from side to side as he stands there, and I can’t tell if he’s nervous or if he has a tic.
I say nothing—I think the look on my face says it all: What the fuck do you want?
“I-I-I heard you’re looking for… for a spider.”
Goddamn it. What kind of freak did I attract?
“I’ll give you two a moment,” the woman says, giving the strange little man a full up-and-down look.
“No,” I blurt, but she turns away, having clearly lost all interest.
No shit. This guy threw me off my game and fucked up my Lure.
Clenching my fists, I breathe out hard, his body almost disappearing as I narrow my eyes.
“Or a black… widow?” he says eerily, his big bug eyes darting from left to right.
Is this guy for real? How could someone like him know anything about an underground rebellion? He looks like someone who used to be a mouse in his past life.
And wow. When did I become so judgmental?
I guess being a thousand years old does that to a person.
“You know about black widows?” I ask.
He scrunches his nose and pulls his upper teeth back to reveal two long yellow front teeth, then nods so fast it looks like another one of his twitches.
A Ratiken demon—of course. And yes, the name is derived from the rodent. These demons are known to look terrified all the time. You sneeze and they squeal. But Ratikens have proven themselves useful for transmitting messages to people across the globe. They’re rats, after all. They travel underground, in the sewers, in ventilation systems… anywhere they can to collect information. Why? Because information pays.
“Tell me what you know,” I say.
He searches the room behind me again and sways his head from side to side, his oversized ears moving in all directions as he takes in the noise around us.
I’ve been so busy analyzing his giant eyes that I didn’t even notice those satellites for ears, which are always a clear indication of this demon’s race. Those, and—
With hands hanging in front of his ches
t like raptor arms, he swings around, and a giant hairless tail sweeps the floor.
Yeah, that.
“Come on,” he says in a sharp whisper. “I’ll show you.”
Chapter 9
──────────
“I-I-I’m Peter, by the way,” says the Ratiken.
He takes me across the Red Lounge and toward the bathroom corridor. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit reluctant to follow a Ratiken into a bathroom. I’m told they have some magical abilities, and for all I know, he’s capable of flushing me down a toilet and sending me to his sewer friends.
We walk down the corridor, passing a male witch and a short hairy demon, and Peter stops in front of a solid steel door that reads, Staff Only.
He makes a weird ticking sound with his mouth, like he’s clicking his teeth together, and reaches into his shirt. Out comes an access card hanging on a lanyard, and with it, he swipes the small electronic box next to the door’s handle.
A soft beep comes from the machine, followed by the clicking sound of something unlocking.
Pushing the door open, he jerks his head sideways, signaling me to follow.
I can’t help but glance down both ends of the corridor before going in. While I don’t often give a shit about rules or the law, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of getting banned from this place or getting sent to Hellfire City.
But I need to find Devania, so I suck in a sharp breath and follow Peter the Ratiken inside the staff room.
To my surprise, no one else is inside. Overhead, the lights are dim, almost like the power’s gone out and the hotel’s being run off a backup generator. One light keeps flickering, making me want to expand one of my wings and smash it with my claw.
It’s creepy as fuck.
Biting my tongue, I do my best to ignore it. Peter leads me through what appears to be a staff kitchen—again, completely empty—and I follow him through another door. There’s something off about this one. It looks like something taken off a castle centuries ago with its orange, wet-looking wood. Running horizontally across the panels are two slabs of black iron, and next to one of them is a long handle made of the same material.
Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) Page 5
