by Tricia Owens
He smiled gently at me, so obviously aware of what I was going through that it made me feel like a child compared to him.
"Moody," he said in a voice that made me shiver and want to press against him for simple contact. "When it comes down to it, only one of us needs to be available to end this. That needs to be you."
"What's your point?" I retorted, unable to help my anger.
"My point is that you need to be stronger than all of us. Not just in the fighting, but in the decision-making. In the accepting of a truth we can't deny: that we're all expendable except for you." He slid his hand down my arm to my hand, where he laced his fingers with mine. "You'll put the world in danger if you're unable to do this. I know you can do it. The question is will you?"
"No. No, dammit," I said from between clenched teeth, torn by frustration and helplessness and a fury I couldn't unleash.
"Whatever happens, know that I love you." His voice was rough and it made me want to pull him out of Tomes and fly him somewhere far away, someplace where we might be safe.
But if the Devil came to the world no place would be safe. There was no running from this, and no sticking my head in the sand however much I wanted to.
"We'll beat this," I told him, fiercely, "and you will regret your stupidly long lifespan because I'll be there for every day of it, nagging you about doing the laundry and taking out the trash."
He smiled, but I could tell he was only humoring me. "They're counting on you being afraid, Moody. They want to use everything that you hold dear—your friends and family—against you. It's up to you if you allow them to succeed."
"Easy for you to say," I muttered. "You've had decades to come to terms with this."
But his fingers clenched around mine and the look in his eyes assumed an unsettling combination of vulnerability and determination. "No, for me it's different now. I've got you. I've never worried about loss as much as I do now. But this is bigger than us. It's bigger than what I want."
It hurt to swallow. I didn't know what to say. I know I didn't want to agree with him and resign myself to fighting by myself and possibly surviving by myself. That sounded worse than anything.
"Come on," was all I could manage. I tugged him to the door.
As soon as we stepped outside, I knew something was wrong. It was probably the smell of burnt wood and plaster that lingered in the air. It was probably the faint tingle that brushed my senses, indicating that a being or creature had recently used massive amounts of magick or sorcery. It was probably my gut, which sensed that the worst case scenario that I'd been trying like a maniac to prevent had just occurred.
I took off running.
I didn't make it to the sidewalk. There was no point in going farther. Melanie's blue Prius was a mangled mess: its driver side door ripped off the hinges, the broken seatbelt trailing on the sidewalk like something that had been killed.
The front door of Moonlight was open. So was the yard gate. This told me the Oddsmakers hadn't needed to mess with the wards. Uncle James had come outside to them. Maybe to confront them. Maybe to greet Melanie. Why was she here? Had she been lured here? It didn't really matter. The facts were this: my only living relative and my best friend were gone, and the culprits were clear.
Choking on the ache in my throat, I turned my head to look at the shop next door. The front window of Celestina's place, the one painted with the palmist hand, was shattered. Christmas lights drooped like vines around the edges. Smoke drizzled out of the empty frame and dissipated into the night sky.
"Are they dead?" I asked Vale, who had run over to peer cautiously through the broken frame. He jumped inside but then emerged into the yard less than a minute later.
His gaze met mine. "Lev's badly hurt. They left him for dead, but Orlaton may be able to help him. Everyone else is gone, though, which means they've been taken alive, Moody. They're still alive. That's how they're valuable. Alive."
To be used against me. I got that. But all I could think was that the Oddsmakers didn't need all of them alive. Only a few. Only a couple. Only one.
And not for long.
I dropped to my knees in the street.
Chapter 11
I'd lived through plenty of traumatizing events. You'd think I'd become harder after each one, like a piece of grit being encased in layers of pearl.
But I wasn't harder as Vale and I took a ride-sharing service to the south end of the Strip. I was brittle, crumbling where I sat, though I didn't make a sound.
Vale's arm around me was the only thing holding me upright and keeping me functioning. Too much had happened. The straw had finally broken this camel's back. To be reunited with Uncle James and then have him snatched away again…to know that everything my friends were suffering was because of me…
I was at my limit.
"If the Oddsmakers had wanted them dead they would have left their bodies behind to taunt you like they did with Lev. Orlaton says it's touch and go with him but he's cautiously optimistic. That's already one point in our favor."
It was the third time Vale had said a variation of that since we'd discovered what had happened. I doubted that I would ever find comfort from it no matter how many times he repeated it. But a part of me understood that he needed to say it. I didn't have the luxury of being broken, or of hurting. That would have to come later. If there was a 'later.' How ironic that if I wanted the time to grieve, I'd need to kill for it.
His warm hand was on my thigh, another point of connection between us, though he couldn't have gotten any closer without risking our driver kicking us out. Vale was worried. I could feel it radiating off him. He truly believed I was the key to ending this thing and at another time I would have kissed him senseless for having such blind faith in me. Right now, though, I was angry.
I battled down the resentment that tried to aim itself at him. I didn't want to be pushed. I didn't want to be forced into action. But he was my ally. He would pick me up when I inevitably fell. If I lost him, too…
"I'm fine," I forced myself to say, though it was the biggest lie I'd ever told anyone.
"The Oddsmakers are trying to weaken you. Don't give them that power."
I made myself nod, trying to look determined. "They turned the tables on us, but this was what we wanted, right? Confrontation. Well, they're gonna get it."
The Oddsmakers hadn't left a literal message about where to meet them or how to contact them to get Uncle James and my friends back, but Vale and I figured that messing with the casinos would be a good way to get their attention. We just had to make sure it happened when we were ready for it. No more blindsides.
Yet deep down, I knew that surprise wouldn't be what weakened me. It would be the moment the Oddsmakers showed me their hostages. I needed to decide what I would do when the point came that I had to look Melanie and the others in the eye, except my mind flinched away from it, refusing to consider that moment.
"I don't know why you're heading down here," the driver said as he followed Frank Sinatra Drive south. "The whole area is a wreck."
"We're rubberneckers," I mumbled. "We just want to see it."
Much to the driver's surprise, the roads were in such good condition he was able to take us all the way to where we wanted to go. It was worrisome because I remembered seeing this area being completely trashed only a handful of days ago. The Oddsmakers were working quickly.
"Amazing what the city can do when it's motivated," our driver said as he pulled into one of the parking spaces at our destination. "Takes four months to fill in potholes and here they've plugged the street and repaved everything. Incredible."
I didn't think it was incredible at all. His comments proved that people would easily accept the magickal repairs that the Oddsmakers were performing because it restored business and life to Las Vegas. As I got out and looked up at the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, now in perfect condition with no hint of the damage it had suffered, I saw not a city on its way to its former glory; I saw it balanced on the precipice o
verlooking Hell.
This little island in the middle of the street usually teemed with tourists who were eager to have their photos taken with the iconic sign. But with everyone believing the place was nothing but wreckage, the area was completely empty. I drifted without much enthusiasm to the base of the sign and looked up at it.
"I don't know how we're supposed to contact Merry," I began.
Vale stood in front of me. His expression was stony. "Let me call Xaran."
I avoided his eyes. "No."
"You need to use every resource you have, Moody."
"That's why I'm here, okay?" I snapped back. "These guys hate me, but I'm going to drop to my knees if that's what it takes to get them on my side. I want them fighting, not you and Xaran."
He narrowed his eyes, looking dangerous. "Death is death. Why are their lives any more disposable than mine and my brother's?"
"Because they just are! Jesus, just drop it, Vale. Better yet, just go. Leave. I don't want you here!"
"I know you don't," he said quietly, his demeanor softening. "I don't want you here, either. But this is our fate."
I thought of Celestina, who could have seen mine and Vale's fates if I'd asked. Should I have? Would I feel any better about this?
Hell, no.
I tipped my head back against the sign post. Its surface was perfectly smooth against my scalp, magickally healed in order to bring about Hell. When I heard the familiar chirp, I sighed with relief and ignored Vale to step away from the sign and look up.
"Merry, we need help," I told the yellow canary perched atop the sign. "I'm going after the Oddsmakers, but I can't beat them alone. I need the Rebellion to join me."
The bird gave another chirp that I could only label as questioning.
"I'll do whatever it takes to prove my loyalty," I told it. "Just take me to them."
The canary chirped again and then lifted off the sign. I gave Vale one last look, trying to warn him off, but it was like trying to intimidate a brick wall. Pointless. Shaking my head, I began jogging after the bird, with him right by my side.
Again, we were in for another long run. I didn't care. I'd been burning adrenaline for most of the night, but I had now reached a point where I would have literally cut off my own limbs and used them to beat the Oddsmakers to death. Fortunately, such sacrifice wasn't required; just a four and a half mile jog east to Sunset Park.
Vale and I arrived at the park sweaty and out of breath. Merry left us to fly behind a public restroom. As we recovered, she emerged from behind the building, dressed in another Lolita dress, an ice cream pink one with mint green ruffles. It was ridiculously cute and cheerful and sort of offensive after you got a look at her face which, though also cute as a button, was stark with grimness.
"Turn around," she demanded.
I turned and reflexively jumped back when I found dozens of shapes lurking beneath the trees, deliberately avoiding the park lights. There were shapes of all kind, both humanoid and not. Plenty of horns along with canine and feline ears. Lots of furry outlines and a few angrily rustling wings. The snarling alone was enough to make me itch to call up Lucky.
"Hey," I said as casually as I could. Being slightly breathless helped. "Glad you could make it."
"Dragon," spat a tall, thin man with bushy curls on his head that periodically smoothed out into brown feathers that poured down the back of his head. His nose would shift, too, narrowing into a sharp, pointy hook. He was an eagle shifter, and he was so angry he was having difficulty keeping form. It was kind of intimidating.
"That's me," I replied, pretending I didn't understand what his tone of voice meant. "I'm aware that there's been a lot of misunderstandings and I—"
"Traitor!" someone in the back of the group shouted.
Discontented murmurs followed, as well a few echoing shouts of "traitor." I had my work cut out for me.
I held up my hands to quiet them. It only sort of worked. "Listen," I said, raising my voice above their angry mutterings, "I know what you think, and it's not true. I haven't betrayed anyone."
"You turned in Kleure!"
"We saw your dragon murder Xaran!"
"Murderer!"
"She frickin' ate Xaran!"
I groaned beneath my breath. "I didn't eat—"
"Don't lie! We saw you do it!"
"Anne did that for me."
Merry's voice cut through all the shouting. I felt the animosity aimed toward me shift slightly to her.
"I was there when Kleure was murdered," she told the assembled group in a strong, clear voice. She was a hell of an orator. "Anne had nothing to do with it. The Oddsmakers killed him to force her to act."
"No, she—"
"I was there!" she yelled back, quieting the dissenter. "I saw my beloved tortured to death before my eyes. I saw and heard everything. Don't you dare tell me I don't know what happened that day."
The shocked silence which fell over the park gave me goosebumps.
"She couldn't have saved him," Merry went on, her voice trembling from rage or pain, maybe both. "But she did save me. And Xaran. What you saw at the meeting was a trick to save Xaran."
"But we saw—"
"You saw what Anne needed you to see," Vale spoke up.
He hadn't raised his voice, but I noticed several of the shifters stand up straighter, recognizing a gargoyle.
"Some of you know me," he went on, unhurried, commanding. There could be no doubt that he was royalty. "But for those who don't, my name is Vale Morgan. I'm the youngest heir to the Gargoyle Throne. Xaran is my brother. I fought alongside some of you at the Battle of Mont St. Michel when the Oddsmakers first attempted to open the Rift. My father, the king, was killed in that battle along with others who were dear to me." A muscle jumped in his cheek. I wondered whether he was thinking of the woman he had lost. Whether he was doing all this for her, not for me.
That worry bled away when he looked to me, gripping me with his gaze.
"I hold no love for the Oddsmakers," he said quietly. Not a single member of the Rebellion made a sound, each straining to hear him. "Believe me when I tell you that Xaran, the true king, is alive and in Paris. He's ready to come here and join us in this fight. He's ready to join Anne and me. And all of you." He swept a steely eye over the assemblage. "Because now is the time for unity, not for dissent."
Murmurs from the crowd.
"We've been under the thumb of the Oddsmakers for too long," I declared, drawing all eyes back to me. "They've been judge and jury. They've been executioners. Who asked for that? Not me. Not you. They're tyrants. They kidnapped my uncle and all of my friends to use them against me. They murdered my parents. I am motivated to end them. But they're strong. I need your help, and I know you want to give it to me. So help me. Help me end this once and for all. We've had enough."
"How do we know this isn't a trick to draw us out for the Oddsmakers to attack?" demanded a beautiful woman with dark red hair.
"It's not a trick," I responded. "They don't—"
Thank you, Anne Moody. Your mission is complete. You have done well.
I gasped at that familiar, sickly sweet voice. It was startling to hear it out in the open like this. I had always associated it with the creepy lair beneath the desert.
I ran her words quickly through my head but rejected them. "No. You're not tricking them or me into believing you planned this," I said to the sky since I didn't know where she existed. "Your plans are ruined. Everything you've tried has failed. Surrender yourself to us, and we'll give you a fair trial."
"The hell we will!" someone shouted. "They should all fry!"
I cringed, turning back to them. "No, listen—"
Your fate is clear and is well deserved.
With that ominous proclamation, I tensed and braced myself for an attack. Nothing seemed to happen for long seconds. I hated not knowing how or where the Oddsmakers would strike us. Then,
"What the hell is that?" asked the red-haired woman, pointing to the other end of
the park.
Familiar black curtains rushed across the park from the east, swallowing up the trees, the water fountains, the benches…racing toward us like a sorcerous tidal wave. They easily reached fifty feet into the sky.
"The end of the world!" someone screamed.
I couldn't argue that. The Oddsmakers' frightening, spore-breathing curtains appeared to be swallowing everything in a scene straight from The Neverending Story. I couldn't tell if the city to the east still stood or if the Oddsmakers were making their final move and it was a devastating one. A lethal one.
But I had to believe there would be something left saving. That was my rallying cry for everything: fight for what might remain. Fight because the good guys—even if reduced to only one—needed to be the last standing. So I ordered Lucky to blast into coiling existence in the sky above my head, startling some members of the Rebellion, awing a few of them. I didn't care about impressing them. Lucky was here to fight.
The sensation of scales rippled across my body. Simultaneously Lucky and I opened our jaws wide. A tsunami of flame belched forth as Lucky tried to burn off the curtains before they reached us. But just as in the Oddsmakers' lair, the black curtains engulfed the fire and absorbed it, rendering it useless. The curtains continued to race toward us, rising higher into the air, towering over us like a deadly wave that would obliterate us instantly.
Lightning bolts of purple and neon green spidered through the air. I spun to see that a pair of men had separated from the Rebellion group and faced the racing blackness with raised hands. More lightning spat from the palms of their hands and laced across the sky, connecting with the other bolts, forming a thin net of sorcery.
"Help them!" I shouted at the others. They couldn't all be shifters. Some of them had to be warlocks and witches, sorcerers and sorceresses.
A handful of them had run at the first sign of the black spore curtains. Those who remained looked at each with doubt and fear, unsure whether they were ready to make a last stand right here, right now.
