Blackjack Magic Murder

by Claire Kane

  Lacey raised an eyebrow, but Victor just smiled. “Trade secret. Maybe I’ll explain it later, if I need to.”

  She sighed, then yawned and stretched. Victor was right—she was tired. As the adrenaline began to ebb, she felt herself sagging into the couch, but knew she couldn’t give in to sleep yet. She fought herself up from the cushions and into the bedroom, where she dressed and got ready to greet the cops. The investigator in her woke up, and she put on her game face as she mentally reviewed the night’s trauma with as much detachment as she could. At one point, she kicked herself for not trying to preserve some of the man’s blood from beneath her fingernails; it hadn’t been much, but there should have been enough to get a DNA identity on him. She realized she hadn’t even seen any identifying birthmarks or tattoos, either. She scowled, frustrated, and took up pacing.

  Metro arrived some time later. Lacey gladly showed them into the bathroom, where the frightening attack had taken place. As she gestured toward the still-filled tub, she shivered at the thought of the man taking hold of her. A few strands of her long black hair were swirled together lifelessly by a jet.

  She wished she’d at least seen his face. All she could offer the cops was “Average height, white male, ski mask. Dark, long-sleeved shirt. I’m sorry, it all happened so fast.”

  One detective in particular kept prodding for more information, any seemingly small or insignificant details. “Try and remember, Miss Ling,” he said staring intently at her, his clipboard propped for taking more notes.

  Lacey cast her glance over to the sink’s marble countertop, wishing with all her might that she could will her mind to cooperate. That’s when something strange caught her eye. The empty space between the soap dish and hanging lush hand towel. “My press pass,” she uttered, stepping over. “It’s missing.”

  The detective asked pointedly, “Are you saying it’s been stolen?”

  She nodded, blinking in confusion. “Yes. I’m kind of OCD about some things. I remember where I place everything.”

  Hearing that, Victor appeared by her side, between them. “They stole your press pass?”

  Yes, she mentally responded.

  “Why would someone want to steal your pass?” the detective asked unknowingly in unison with the handsome angel by his shoulder.

  “I have no idea,” Lacey said.

  “Keep searching around,” the man said. “See if anything else was taken. If this is all that we find wound up missing, we can probably rule out the possibility of him being a common thief, and rather profile him as a sexual predator. They like to take home trophy items, like bras or drivers licenses, to remember their conquests.”

  “Las Vegas,” Victor said, crossing his arms in indignation. “The city of perverts.”

  By the time the investigation was through, the only other item that Lacey could find missing was a tube of her red Mac lipstick. Her money, jewelry and Coach purse were all safe, not an inch out of place.

  “Things could have gotten a lot worse,” Victor said later that night while Lacey was getting into bed.

  Lacey knew he meant rape. “Something doesn’t seem quite right about the officers’ conclusion,” she said, pulling her down comforter up to her neck.

  “What’s that?” Victor asked.

  “It’s true that he attacked me while I was naked in the tub, but he didn’t seem interested in me sexually. His hands went for my neck, not… elsewhere.”

  “Who really knows the mind of a sicko?” Victor said, waving that away. “That could have been his method to, you know, subdue you. But you were too much of a fighter for him.”

  “I guess,” Lacey said, still looking like she was in a bit of a daze. She rolled onto her side, feeling pain lingering around her neck.

  “I won’t leave your side at night anymore,” he said, looking down on her beautiful, troubled face.

  Lacey was more than happy to fall back onto the couch and let sleep take her, knowing that Victor—as annoying as he sometimes got—really was good for his word.

  NINE

  Lacey awoke to slightly overcast skies, something she hadn’t expected in the desert. She ordered breakfast up to her room for herself and Nainai, and the two of them ate on the patio. The food, however, lost its taste in the aftermath of the previous night’s attack. Nor could Lacey find much pleasure in the scent of moist, desert air.

  “What’s wrong, Lacey,” Nainai said after a bite of eggs Benedict. “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time. And that bed—mmm. I didn’t think a woman could ever sleep so well. You must have some tricks up your sleeve to get us a place like this. So why do you look like you just sucked on a whole lemon?”

  Lacey pursed her lips. How much she should tell Nainai? The woman had slept through everything, last night. She knew her grandmother wouldn’t likely freak out, and even if she did she’d probably forget it all within the hour. In which case, why risk giving her a coronary over something she couldn’t do anything about? But was it right to lie to her? Lacey went for the middle ground. “Someone I’d never met dropped by, last night,” she said, “and caught me at a bad time. Our... conversation went really poorly, and it stressed me out. I was up late, and didn’t sleep well. I guess it shows more than I wanted it to.”

  Nainai examined her for a while, suspicion in her eyes. She looked as though she were debating calling Lacey out, but the former reporter pre-empted the attempt by standing and collecting her breakfast tray and utensils. “I’ve got an interview this morning. Mister Ross stopped by last night, too, and said I could speak with him before his shows got underway. We might have this all wrapped up by tonight.”

  “But Lacey,” Nainai protested, “we barely got here. And I haven’t hit my winning streak. We’ve got a hotel room nicer than my old house, and a week to burn. Why the hurry?”

  Lacey shook her head and turned her eyes toward the western mountains and away from the Strip. Somehow it just didn’t call to her as it had twenty-four hours earlier. “I’ve gotten used to Seattle,” she said. It was true enough. “It’s just too hot and dry here.”

  Naina’s stares left no doubt as to the woman’s dubiousness. “Two words, baby girl: air conditioning. Three more words: hot Australian studs.”

  Lacey grunted and waved it away. “Lay off the cougar act, Nainai. It’s getting old.” She picked up her coffee and sipped it.

  Nainai frowned. “Fine. Don’t try telling me nothing’s wrong. I may not remember as much as I used to, but I’m not stupid.”

  The former reporter sighed, wishing she could just forget the incident and let her tourist side come out again. But no. She could still feel her attacker’s hands around her throat; her shame and panicked helplessness. Her investigative instinct wanted to ask a million questions, but somewhere, deep inside, she realized she was terrified.

  The incident, she was certain, had been premeditated. The only people who knew where she was staying were the men who’d put her up, and the hotel staff. No motives came to mind. Her head spun and she set her coffee mug down for fear of dropping it in her distraction. Something needed to be done.

  Standing, Lacey stretched, then made her way around the table to hug her grandma’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Nainai. I shouldn’t take my stress out on you. I’m going to freshen up ahead of this morning’s interview.”

  Nainai nodded her assent and hugged Lacey’s arm.

  Victor, Lacey called mentally.

  “Right here,” he replied, materializing on the balcony, and joining her as she walked back into the suite. “I wish I could have done more to make you feel safer when you slept. Your worry is brighter than the neon on this hotel.”

  Lacey sighed again. “I’m going to get ready for the morning. Please keep an eye on Nainai, and let me know if anyone comes in. I’ll make sure to lock the bathroom door this time.”

  He nodded. “I’ve got things covered here.”

  *

  Victor watched his once-girlfriend disappear into her bedroo
m. He still found it odd, being able to know her heart and mind so clearly. Even in life, he’d had no idea just how complex and amazing she actually was.

  The problem he faced with the casino was that so much of the interior was perpetually dim. Years ago, he’d picked up a trivia bit that casinos carefully regulated the lighting on the gaming floors to help people lose track of time. It was a dirty, but apparently effective, tactic that had the added side effect of making it easier for the dark spirits to congregate.

  Jessica’s training the previous night had opened Victor’s eyes to many things. He wasn’t eager to follow Lacey through the bowels of The Illusion, but he sensed there was more to the attack on her than just a crazed man breaking into her room. Jessica had sensed it too, when he’d sought her help after Lacey had gone to sleep. He was stunned at how quickly she’d learned demon hunting, now that she had gotten over herself. Gone was the vapid, overly-fashion-conscious girl who defined “blonde.” In her place was something more solid—more serious. Oddly, he found he rather liked the change.

  She’d checked Lacey’s suite for demonic taints and, amid commenting on the decor and selection of wines, had also remarked that there was, indeed, a generally dark feeling to the room. “Could just be Vegas,” she’d said, offhandedly. “You’ve seen what this place is like.”

  Victor had agreed, but still…

  Some of the demons who’d lifted the street performer had tailed him back to Lacey’s place when he’d first felt her distress. Victor had been furious at himself for not picking up on it earlier. He’d been a fool to let his rage against Legion blind him like that. He’d been too late to help Lacey. That wouldn’t happen a second time.

  His morning’s rounds hadn’t revealed anything unusual. He’d listened in on Lacey’s conversation with the cops, the previous night and, with Rao’s help, had been able to check up on the officers who had responded to the call. Though it was still a struggle, he’d been able to tap into their thoughts and, with a little concentration, get them thinking about Lacey’s case again. Unfortunately, they’d filed it as a low-priority case to be handled largely by the hotel. Victor was pretty sure that wasn’t standard operating procedure, but under the circumstances, he couldn’t say he blamed them; Vegas wasn’t exactly crime-free, and Lacey’s case wasn’t their most pressing.

  So that left him with very little to go on. The best he could do was play bodyguard to Lacey, and train with Jessica when the opportunity presented itself. He grimaced at the thought of sitting around, leaving Lacey as little more than bait for whomever was out to get her. And the whole thing made absolutely no sense.

  A thought came to him fast and out of nowhere, making him wonder if it were inspired. The protesters that stopped Lacey on the way into The Illusion: they’d made no bones about telling her exactly what they thought of her, both for attending the show and for being part of the media. But... attempted homicide? They might be extremists, but he couldn’t see them going that far. “What goes around comes around!” the hippie had threatened. The anger in his voice implied more than just a warning. But how would they have even accessed her room? Security even knew his name. He’d never make it up here, right?”

  He shook his head. Too much about them didn’t make sense. Then again, maybe that made them the perfect suspects. Victor blinked. Should he mention the possibility? Or would that be too far-fetched at this point? Sighing, he stopped second guessing himself. “Gonna have to do some old-fashioned sleuthing, I guess,” he muttered.

  “Oh, nothing. Just… talking to myself.”

  He rubbed his face in exasperation. Lacey wasn’t just getting ready for the day. She was getting ready for another, hopefully final, interview with the strange magicians he didn’t quite trust to be alone with her. He knew, like most men, that they found her more than attractive. And that Ross guy especially had a thing for her. Yes, she’d be going into the lion’s den, so to speak.

  But then, that was the danger that came part and parcel with the job of being an investigative journalist. “Maybe I am just being jealous.”

  Yes, you are, came the feminine voice to his mind.

  He chuckled. I almost forgot you can tap into my thoughts, too.

  There was a light laugh in response. Zigmund is hard to read, but I’m feeling really good about Ross, she said. The way he checked in on me last night and then stationed security on my floor... it made me feel safe.

  Safe enough to want to kiss him? Victor responded, still standing in the living room.

  That’s all I’ll say, Victor, other than the fact that you need to get over your own insecurities. I’m going to be dating and, yes, kissing other men. Nothing’s going to stop that. I’m sorry.

  Victor stared blankly ahead, his blue eyes tinged with a deep sadness that verged on acceptance. You have the right to live your life the way that makes you happy.

  Thank you, Victor.

  If that means making out with a man who wears glittering Spandex while playing with cats…

  The master bedroom’s door edged open. Lacey’s head poked out, white lotion spread over her cheeks. “Dang it, Victor,” she said curtly through a smile. “I’m trying to get ready here. Quit with the distracting quips.” She disappeared into the bedroom.

  “Okay,” he said at the closing door. “I promise to zip my lips about Ross, for now.”

  There was no response. Eventually, Lacey emerged from her bedroom looking dazzling and professional. Victor knew perfectly well that Lacey was aware of her beauty. She didn’t flaunt it, but she was very skilled at using it as another tool in her belt. He’d watched how her loveliness disarmed people even before words were exchanged, and he had to say she was very good at what she did.

  “I’m off to my interview,” she said, not looking back. “Please give me some space. And no broadcasting visions to me without my express permission. Just keep guarding Nainai for me.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Victor replied with a mock salute.

  He watched her leave, wondering what had happened to the closeness they had once shared. He could still feel her lingering embarrassment at having him catch her naked, but there was more to it than that. Unable to help himself, he mentally tracked her for several minutes until, at last, he could tell she had reached the magicians’ private suite.

  Hoping she’d be sufficiently distracted by the interview, he teleported to somewhere near her, but—he hoped—out of her line of sight. He found himself standing outside an ornate door marked, “Herrs Zigmund und Ross.” Nodding to himself, he stuck his head through the door just enough to see. When he caught sight of Lacey, she was facing away from the door. Satisfied he wouldn’t be seen, he entered the room.

  His girl was already engrossed in a discussion with the performers, but the conversation was still in the “small talk” stage. For whatever reason, three of their performers sat idly around the room—one drinking something bubbly, another picking her nails, and the last one looking intent and unusually perky. All wore heavy face paint, and were clad in blue, sequined outfits. Two topped off their outfits with audacious headdresses of feathers that tumbled down the sides of their faces.

  Lacey, he said mentally, careful to not alert her to his presence, call me the second you need any help. He noticed Lacey stiffen slightly.

  Victor, she thought in reply, you’re taking the “guardian angel” thing too far. I’m busy. With that, she continued the interview.

  The woman picking her nails yawned and scanned the room briefly, then went back to picking her nails. The one with a drink, set it down with a yawn as well, and Victor wondered what hours showgirls kept. Neither of the two looked eager to be there, and Victor wondered whether they’d been brought in for show, or to put Lacey at ease by having other women in the room. Victor shrugged. Guess it doesn’t matter either way. Still, something felt off.

  The one without her headdress, a pretty blonde, seemed to meet his eye for a long moment, startling him. He scrunched his brow and turned around, notic
ing he stood in front of a grand wall clock. When he looked back at the woman, she was looking away, disinterested.

  Satisfied that Lacey was in no apparent danger, Victor returned to Lacey’s suite with a sigh, and braced himself against his frustration. He still had a job to do.

  Jessica, he mentally called, just to get his mind off his frustration. Were you able to get anything on Chanel Lockhart?

  After a pause, Jessica materialized next to him filing her nails. “Hell doesn’t tend to cooperate well with anyone, especially Heaven. My spirit guide and yours have suggested there are people who know people who know people in low places, but persuading angels and demons to speak—even through intermediaries—can get tricky.”

  “Makes sense. That’s probably why Rao told me about that ‘journal of evil’ thing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you filing your nails? You know you can just will them into any shape you want, perfectly smooth and shiny.”

  Jessica gave him a suffering look. “Call it a ‘therapeutic habit,’” she said. “Anyway, you took lessons from me so you can cut through the demons surrounding The Book of The Damned. That’s where your answers should be. Just be extremely careful when dealing with it. I hope your spirit guide told you what happens when you abuse that book.”

  Victor smiled, but didn’t look up. “How many more lessons before we go see it?”

  “Have you got any plans?” She looked up at him from her nail file, clearly bored. “I was thinking now.” She paused and studied him. “I take that back. I think I should show you just a few more things before we go hunt it down. C’mon.” She turned to leave.

  Victor paused, worried. “What if Lacey needs me again?”