Blackjack Magic Murder

by Claire Kane

  Shuddering, she logged onto the suite’s computer, then immediately began searching for Fredrik Neiburg, grateful she’d asked Ross to spell the name. In mere minutes, she had the man-child’s details on the screen before her. He was posing gleefully beside various animals, in some pictures. In other pictures, he was pointing guns at people’s backs. One video even showed him pretending to shoot a safari guide, then laughing about it. As she dug deeper, her heart sank into his stomach. Neiburg had a rap sheet. Attempted kidnapping. Breaking and entering. Bribery. Grand thefts of various types. Inciting riots. Even two counts of manslaughter in an African country. He had contacts with a number of extremist groups focused on over-the-top interpretations of environmentalism.

  Lacey started piecing things together in her mind. With the kind of gems he wore, he certainly had means of convincing someone to let him into places he shouldn’t be, and giving him information he shouldn’t know—including where certain hotel guests were staying. Guests like media personnel he had it out for.

  “The man that attacked me was hiding his face,” she whispered. “Of course Neiburg wouldn’t want to be seen.” Then it hit her: if he could get to her once, he could do it again.

  Her ringing phone made her jump. Before she even knew it, the Magnum was in her hand and she was swinging it back and forth, covering the whole apartment. Nainai merely snored on.

  The phone rang again. Lacey gently set her gun on a glass coffee table and chirped a relieved laugh. “Ling, here,” she answered. “How can I help you?”

  “Fräulein Ling,” a rough voice answered. “I apologize for my abrupt departure.”

  Lacey smiled and relaxed. “Ross, it’s you. You still sound terrible. I thought you’d be resting.”

  “You make it difficult for my mind to rest.” He coughed violently into the phone, and Lacey held it away from her ear as though keeping it close would infect her. “I’m comfortable enough in my room near the stage. I intend to rest here for the remainder of the evening, but I find myself lacking good quality company.”

  Lacey paused and sat on the couch, unsure of what to say.

  “Fräulein?” Ross said. “Lacey?”

  Hesitant, fingers traced strands of hair cascading over a shoulder. “Ah, um, what are you proposing, exactly?”

  “Just talk,” he said. “Nothing more. I still have much to tell you. Please, come down. I’ve already instructed Security to permit you. The hotel has reprogrammed your room card to permit access to the backstage areas.”

  Lacey blinked. She hadn’t even known such a thing was possible, but when she thought about it, her card was just plastic with a magnetic strip. It shouldn’t be all that hard to tell an electronic lock to accept her card’s code, right?

  “Your weapon,” he said, unexpectedly before coughing heartily again. “I should like to examine it again. Show it to Ziggy. He has Opa’s love of guns as well.”

  Lacey froze. Okay, that was a weird request. Even more than earlier, she knew that something was off. She’d been around the block too many times to not know otherwise. The goosebumps on the back of her neck were her witness. “Actually,” she began, “I think I’d better not, tonight. I don’t have anyone to watch Nainai.”

  A disappointed moan was followed by more coughing. “I will send my personal bodyguard to keep her secure,” Ross insisted. “I will personally vouch for his professionalism and skill. Your grandmother will be fine.”

  Lacey drew her tongue across her teeth. “Thank you just the same, but—”

  “I know about Chanel Lockhart’s death,” Ross interrupted. His voice was so rough that she nearly didn’t catch the words at first.

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Fräulein Lockhart’s death was not simply an overdose,” he said. “But it’s not something I wish to discuss over the phone. Perhaps tomorrow morning, then?” Lacey hesitated. She knew she needed this information if she was going to get the job done right.

  “Well, guten nacht, Lacey.”

  “Wait,” she said, picturing him reaching for the “end call” button. “How soon did you need me?”

  He hesitated. “If you hurry, you could be here in, perhaps five minutes,” he answered. “I so look forward to seeing you again.” He gave her some hasty, vague directions to where his room was, and waited for her to reply.

  Lacey gazed at her pistol. Something told her it might not hurt to bring it along, strange requests or not. She found herself wondering whether Victor’s overly-cautious comments may have been right after all. Still, she was Lacey Ling. She’d get the information she needed on Lockhart, and be done by the morning. She’d find a way to record at least some audio, too. Her iPad could handle that, though the sound quality wouldn’t be the best.

  “I’ll be there,” she replied, then hung up the phone before she could change her mind.

  TWELVE

  “So,” Victor said, as he and Jessica soared over Las Vegas that night, “where are we going?”

  Jessica smiled knowingly, and something about the smile reminded Victor of why she’d caught his eye, way back before he knew Lacey and before he knew how crazy Jessica Simcox could be. Of course, she’d always been beautiful, even when she was nuts. The fact that she could make maroon leather jacket look stunning was a testament to that.

  “What are you not telling me?” he asked.

  The demon slayer pivoted in mid-air, still flying in the same direction, as if doing a gliding sidestroke. “We,” she said, “are on assignment.”

  Victor blinked, then looked up at the hazy purple sky, barely able to make out stars for all the light pollution. “Rao?”

  She’s right, Vic, the cat’s voice said in his mind. Just listen to her.

  Jessica smirked triumphantly. “I’m not the girl you used to know,” she said. “I can even spell ‘responsibility’ now.”

  Victor rolled his eyes. “Okay, so lay it on me.”

  Jessica responded by abruptly diving for the earth. Victor stopped, surprised, then followed her down. They landed in front of an apartment complex that Victor didn’t like even before he touched ground. The harsh neon of The Strip was replaced with the usual dead orange of streetlamps. Half a block away was a gray, prison-like structure with a marquis proclaiming it to be a local high school. Victor was grateful he hadn’t had to spend four years trapped in that place.

  He returned his attention to the apartments as Jessica strolled casually through the main gate. On the surface, the red-stuccoed buildings actually looked rather nice, with professional-looking signs on either side of the main entrance, manicured palms, and colorful flags. Yet, beneath the façade—and it was literally that—were tendrils of pain, fear, and loneliness that seemed almost desperate to pull him in so he could share the misery. Victor shuddered and hurried after Jessica, vigilantly scanning the area for demons.

  “Funny how we still walk around so much, isn’t it, Victor?” Jessica said when he caught up to her. “We could have just thought and materialized exactly where we wanted to go.”

  Victor shrugged, not really in the mood for philosophy.

  “Old habits,” Jessica continued lightly, “die harder than people do.” She glanced at him. “Aren’t you just a sourpuss tonight.”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  She stopped and caught his gaze. Victor blinked, and found she was hard to look away from. “Speaking of ‘old habits,’ I know who you’re thinking of. You’ve been an angel long enough to know that there are no secrets in Heaven, but that there’s so much love that there don’t need to be secrets anyway.”

  She stepped forward and embraced him, and he let her. “I know you miss Lacey,” she said. “I know she’s not just your assignment, but your whole reason for coming back. And I know she’s been really distant lately. I appreciate that from her perspective, as a woman, but I can feel how it tears at you. It’s hard when you love someone and they don’t feel the same.”

  Victor pulled away abruptly a
nd turned in a slow circle, arms spread. “So what’s this ‘assignment’ you’ve got us on?”

  Jessica pursed her lips but, thankfully, let the subject drop. “Do you remember that woman at The Illusion? The street performer who had demons levitating her?” Victor nodded. “Well, she lives here.”

  He glanced back. “And?”

  “And we’re going to do something about her problems.”

  “What problems?”

  Jessica gave him a half smile and responded by walking briskly toward the opposite end of the complex.

  Victor blinked himself to her side and matched her stride. “It gets kind of annoying when you do that, you know.”

  “And yet you follow me.”

  He rolled his eyes and kept quiet until they reached a first-floor apartment indistinguishable from the dozens of others in the complex. Jessica literally walked through the door as though she owned the place. Victor followed, but when he reached the door it stopped him as surely as it would have a mortal. He tried again, but with the same results. Jessica’s head poked out through the wall, and she shook her head in disapproval.

  “Lotta darkness in here. Your sulking is letting it get the better of you. It’s not the door that’s keeping you out; it’s yourself and your insecurities and doubts. Now shape up and get in here. I could use a hand.”

  Victor grimaced and used the calming techniques Rao and Jessica had taught him. He was amazed at how easy they were to forget. After all, he’d had to force himself to be the image of “Zen” when he’d fought the devil that had possessed Jack Beals, not a few months ago. And here he was, acting like a newbie. He tried again, and when he finally felt the clear ray of Heaven’s light shining in him, he walked forward. There was still stiff resistance, but this time he managed to push through and into what seemed more like a den of dark ones than an apartment.

  Jessica stood near the doorway, eyes shut, head bowed, and surrounded by a bubble of light. Victor leapt into it, and immediately felt release from the tension that had tried keeping him out. His eyes panned across the room and he shivered. The whole room was choked with thick darkness as a whirlwind of cankered souls of every kind twisted and swirled.

  Through the thick mists, he could barely make out a figure that appeared to be passed out on a couch that had somehow escaped from the dump. The figure jerked and spasmed, occasionally muttering harsh, unintelligible phrases. A coffee table in equally bad shape crouched nearby, sagging in the middle, and covered with trash, cat feces, and drug paraphernalia. Victor trembled again, not daring to think more on it.

  “I need you to calm down, Victor,” Jessica said quietly. A level of serenity he wasn’t aware Jessica was capable of radiated from the blond angel and she looked as truly angelic as he had ever seen. It was clear she was keeping the demons at bay.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be slaying these things?” he asked.

  “No violence tonight,” she said softly. “Please. I could use some help. Tune in to me.”

  Victor took a deep breath out of habit, then imitated Jessica’s posture and focused on her thoughts and aura. He felt peace like a river, flowing gently but steadily through his whole being. The fear he’d been entertaining was cleansed, replaced by a sense of love. He could feel the bubble of light expanding, brushing back the darkness without force or drama. Without opening his eyes, he could also feel Jessica walking forward toward the figure on the couch. He followed and knelt next to the couch when he felt his former girlfriend do the same.

  “We’ve come to help you,” Jessica said to the unconscious person.

  Victor opened his eyes, then gasped. It was the street performer. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t expected it, especially the way she’d been so caught up with the dark ones during her sidewalk show, but here, lying on the couch, she looked like a cracked corn husk. Stripped of her makeup and trappings, she seemed barely alive, like a balloon with a pinprick hole that hadn’t yet lost all its air. Inky vapor flowed in and out of her with every breath.

  “Focus, Victor,” Jessica cautioned, and he noticed that the bubble of light had contracted noticeably in the few seconds he’d turned his attention away from it. He readjusted his thoughts, and helped the warm light expand again.

  “We’ve come,” Jessica repeated, “to help cleanse you.”

  “What have you to do with us?” the woman barked in a voice clearly not her own. Victor recognized that voice—no, those voices—but managed to fight off the chill it sent through him.

  Jessica opened her eyes and peered at the woman without touching her. “Our business is our own,” she said calmly. “This woman is being held captive against her will, and we are here to offer her a chance to be free.”

  The voices laughed, causing the magician to convulse further. “You really believe this is against her will?” it demanded. “She invited us here. Begged us to come. She is under a pact to our master.”

  Jessica pursed her lips. “One she was deceived into.”

  “The master obeyed the rules of disclosure,” the voices shot back.

  “As well as he ever does,” Jessica said. “Now, I’m going to speak to her spirit, and you will not interfere.”

  The voices growled and complained, but Jessica reached out and placed her hand on the woman’s forehead. “Please maintain our shield, Victor,” she said pleasantly. “It will make this much easier.” Victor nodded, and redoubled his efforts.

  “Spirit of Cindra Fey,” Jessica said to the woman, “Heaven has seen your affliction, and has sent us with authority to liberate you from those that would bind you. In the name of Him who sent me, I ask you: do you wish to be free?”

  Victor watched in awe as the woman’s spirit rose out of her body like a person sitting up in bed. He tried not to shudder at the sight of such a withered soul wrapped in tentacles of tar.

  The spirit blinked, then laid eyes on Jessica. “Free from what?” she asked.

  “Free from deceit, pain, and bondage to darkness.”

  Cindra’s soul looked down at itself, then at the darkness beyond the bubble, squinting at the light. “Free to be like you? Someone who comes to ruin a good party and turn people into stiffs? Who do you think I am?”

  Jessica’s expression didn’t waver. “A precious daughter of a King.”

  Cindra barked a laugh. “Look, I gave up all that long ago when I realized it was just one more way to control me. You come here telling me I can be free? Well I’m already free. Free to do what I want, no matter what someone says the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus tell me to do.”

  The voices chuckled coldly, and Jessica peered intently at the woman. “Your judgment is not final. Your soul can be cleansed.”

  “For Pete’s sake,” Cindra snorted, “you sound like Sister DiMonica from the convent. I’m sorry, but I didn’t like Sunday School as a kid, and I’ve got better things now than to listen to religious drivel.”

  For a moment, her cockiness faltered, and she looked at Jessica with a deep, hidden sadness. “Besides,” she said, more subdued, “I’m not worth what you’re selling. It’s too late for me. And even if it’s not, it will be after tonight.”

  “Why?” Victor blurted.

  Cindra started, and whirled to see him. “Well, well, well. There’s eye candy I could use in my bedroom.”

  Victor rolled his eyes and felt Jessica’s mild reproach for his interruption. “Sorry, lady. You’re not my type. But what do you mean, ‘it will be after tonight’?”

  Cindra smiled. “Let’s just say there will be one more ghost walking the earth soon. People will find out what happens when they cross Cindra Fey.”

  His heart went cold at the raw malice and spite he felt from the woman’s mind.

  “Victor,” Jessica warned, her voice rising slightly.

  “Just tell me,” he insisted. Cindra just laughed. Before he could press the issue, a wave like the ice bucket challenge crashed down on him, stunning him.

  “Victor!”

  He lost si
ght of Jessica in the press of dark ones. He lunged for her, only to be dragged away, kicking and punching. His mind reached for a place of peace, but with every sharp sting of demonic claws, or rending bite, he moved farther from it.

  “Oh no you’re not,” he growled. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to ignore the pain, calling images of Heaven into his mind. Slowly, grudgingly, the dirty thoughts being shoved into his brain were pressed back. A warm hand grabbed his and, instinctively, he clutched it, then plowed forward toward the apartment’s front door. With a last, powerful heave he flung himself out into the night and away from the hellish cage, Jessica in tow. He stood, stunned as he looked back at the apartment.

  “It’s a good thing,” Jessica said, “that those dark ones are pact bound. It seems the pact keeps them locked in a pretty specific radius around her, or we might still have a fight on our hands.”

  He shook his head. “Fighting demons is way past ‘getting old.’ Tangle with Legion, nearly die. Escape. Lather, rinse, repeat. Seems that’s all I’m good for, sometimes.”

  She laughed grimly, casting a wary glance back at the apartment. “You’re still a klutz, but you’re getting better.” She caught his eye and added, “And that’s hardly all you’re good for.”

  Something in her tone made his throat constrict, or would have, were he still mortal. “Let’s just get back to Lacey. Unless you feel like trying Little Miss Sunshine’s funhouse again.”

  Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but stopped mid-word and glared at Cindra’s apartment. Victor spun and caught sight of the haggard woman staggering out the door, obviously hiding something beneath a filthy jacket. He tried scanning her thoughts, but between the host of Legion and other dark spirits, and the fact that her thoughts felt like an explosion, he couldn’t get anything of value. Still, it was clear she wasn’t interested in doing something charitable, the way she slunk toward a covered parking stall and climbed into a worn-out Jetta.