by Sarah Fine
Asa had told me to look nice, so I walked out twenty minutes later with the most expensive outfit I’d ever owned, hoping that I hadn’t tapped out my entire share of the commission. After a quick shower, a heavy dose of Advil for my headache, and the application of some expensive product just for curly hair that I’d picked up at the hotel salon, I pulled the dress onto my body and inspected the results in the mirror. The amber material fit like a glove and shimmered when I turned. It had a deep V-neckline that rocked the girls, if you get my drift. The strappy heels elongated my legs and showed off my calves. I slid on some blush, went light on the mascara, and applied some shimmery red gloss, just in time to answer the door when Asa knocked.
Now, I had spent part of the afternoon with a guy who looked like a supermodel, so it was a testament to Asa’s transformation that my breath caught as I swung the door open and saw him standing there. He was wearing slim black slacks and a suit vest that fit him like it had been tailored, clinging to his lean frame and accentuating the breadth of his shoulders. His white dress shirt and black tie were relatively conservative, but the heavy leather belt around his narrow hips sent a very different message. He’d shaved, so his face was all chiseled angles, and . . . had he put gel in his short, dark hair? “Damn,” I said when I found my voice again. “You clean up nice.”
“Same,” he said, though he was busy looking up and down the hall instead of at me, fidgety as usual. “Ready?”
“Can we talk about what we’re doing?” I asked. “Once again, I’m about fifty-seven steps behind you.”
He glanced at my shoes. “And in those, you’ll never catch up.”
I let out a frustrated breath and winced as my head began to pound again. “You told me to look nice!”
He held his hands up. “Sorry.” He took me by the shoulders and guided me back into my room, and I felt a moment of fear as he pushed me onto the bed and knelt in front of me.
He pulled a patch of wire bristles from his pocket, maybe the size of a dime. “Want to give this a try? I made it small. We could fasten it just under your big toe.”
So I could avoid manipulation—as long as I was paying attention. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Asa grunted and tugged my shoe off, then fastened the bristles using superglue he also just happened to be toting. “And in answer to your question—I’m going to play, and you’re going to watch.” He stood up, leaving me to put the shoe back on by myself.
“That’s it?”
His eyes met mine. “That’s it. If you get any weird vibes, tap me on the shoulder.”
“Aren’t vibes more your territory?”
“Just watch my back, okay?” he asked, sounding exasperated. “I need to concentrate while I’m down there.”
I watched him for a moment. His edginess had only increased. He had to be tired, and he was in a place that was reportedly dripping with magic. He probably had a headache, too. Coming here was clearly not pleasant for him.
I just wished I knew he had made the journey for the right reasons. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll watch your back.”
We set out, riding the elevator down to a lounge called Risko. “That’s not a very clever name,” I said as the host ushered us through the door.
“No one comes here just for pun, Mattie,” Asa said, and for a second, he flashed a half smile.
I followed him as he sauntered over to the roulette wheel, where the dealer was costumed in heavily embroidered robes, long black fingernails, and a golden medallion with a dragon on it that swung like a pendulum with every spin of the wheel. Several people were clamoring to place their bets, pushing chips across a board arrayed with numbers, red and black patches, the words “odd” and “even,” and a few other choices. The placard on the table indicated the minimum bet was a hundred, and there was no hint of a maximum.
“Placing a bet, sir?” The dealer looked at Asa, her eyebrows raised.
“Mm,” said Asa. He pulled out his wallet and laid several hundreds on the space between the dealer and the stacks of chips she was doling out. “Let me see what I can do.” He winked at her as he accepted his chips.
I moved close to watch. The table was crowded, so there were chips all over the place, and the players were elbowing each other in an attempt to place their bets—it seemed like they all wanted the same thing at the same time, either red or black, odd or even. The dealer observed the melee, muttering under her breath. I glanced at the chips. I kind of wanted to place a bet, too. And as six people all pushed their chips toward red, I knew that was the best decision ever. Definitely a winner.
But then Asa put all his chips on black. I grabbed for them. “No, put them on red!”
The dealer smiled at me, and I smiled back as she set the wheel in motion. But just as she did, Asa put his hand over mine and prevented me from moving his chips. “This is nothing like a game of jacks, am I right?” he asked as he pulled my hand away.
I blinked up at him. “What?”
His eyes widened as he stared at me, and then he put his foot on top of my toe and applied just enough pressure for me to feel the bite of the metal bristles.
“Oh! Oh.” I shook my head. “Nooo. Nothing like jacks.”
Asa had already turned back to the dealer, who was no longer smiling. “I’ve always been a bit of a black sheep,” he told her as the ball settled into number twenty-two, a black notch on the wheel. Everyone except for Asa slumped in defeat.
He cashed in his winnings and moved on to blackjack, where he stared down the bespectacled dealer and walked away with a tall stack of chips, which he in turn carried over to the poker table. Now that I had my toe crimped over those painful little bristles, I could see it all—each dealer must have been either a natural Knedas or wearing a relic full of manipulation magic. They were subtly influencing the players. Not every time, and not enough to clean them out, but enough so that the house had a massive advantage.
Asa requested a glass of water from a willowy waitress and then took a seat. I stood behind him, sipping very slowly on a cucumber gin and tonic he’d ordered for me. Sweat was trickling down Asa’s jaw as he sized up the other players, and I saw his gaze zero in on a fat guy right next to him. He reminded me of a bullfrog with his bulging eyes and double chin. The man was flipping a poker chip across the backs of his knuckles as he waited for his cards.
Asa grinned at the guy and spoke in a low voice. “Look at this table of stoics, eh?” He gestured at the others, who definitely had their game faces on. “They don’t make it easy to spot those tells.”
The bullfrog man grunted. “Easy is for pussies.”
The corner of Asa’s eye twitched. “You can say that again.” He focused on the guy’s fingers as they fiddled with the chip, which was black and inscribed with dark-red runes, same as the chips in one of the stacks in front of Asa.
They played a hand or two, and it was obvious Mr. Bullfrog was good. A small crowd had gathered to spectate, and I looked over each face, remembering Asa’s request for me to watch his back. Whatever his intentions, I felt like I should at least try to do what he’d asked right now. There was something about the slight tremble in his hands as he held his cards that made my stomach hurt. My headache had subsided, and I was feeling loose from the alcohol, but I kept rubbing my toe over the bristles, on the lookout for manipulation. But with this poker game, I wasn’t seeing it. The only thing I was noticing was that Mr. Bullfrog was cleaning up—and Asa’s chips were dwindling.
But then, between hands, as the waitress was refreshing drinks and the dealer was cashing someone out, Asa’s fingers trailed up my arm. It sent a shiver down my spine so sudden that I nearly spilled my drink in his lap. His hand closed around the nape of my neck as he tilted his head back, and then he pulled my face down to his, pausing when our lips were only millimeters apart. “Hi there,” he whispered, giving me a lazy smile.
“Hi,” I managed.
He slid my drink out of my grasp and set it on the table, then caught my hand and ran hi
s thumb along my palm in a slow circle. “What are you doing later? I think I’m going to need some consolation.”
He’s playing, I reminded myself, wishing my heart would stop its mad gallop. So many things were wrong with this—how close he was, the heat of his hand on the back of my neck, the way one sudden move would bring our mouths together. Oh, and how I was bent over him, giving half the people at the table a view straight down the front of my dress. I needed this to stop. “It’s a date,” I said breathlessly. “Just—”
He grinned and let me go, and I stood up, my cheeks on fire, especially when I realized that Mr. Bullfrog was still leering at my chest. “I’d be tempted to lose, too, if I had something like that waiting for me,” he said to Asa.
I scowled at him. “Hey, buddy. I’m a someone. Not a something.”
Asa bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. “Damn straight. Except you are kinda something.” Then he took a deep breath and raised his head, and when I looked down, I saw that he was now flipping a black chip over his knuckles, one just like Mr. Bullfrog’s.
Mr. Bullfrog had noticed, too, and was looking back and forth from his own chip to Asa’s, his wide mouth drooping into a frown. The frown deepened as he lost the next hand. And the next, and the next.
Asa was on a tear. He systematically knocked three of the players out before Mr. Bullfrog finally gave up. And as soon as he did, Asa announced he’d had enough and was cashing out. He smiled down at the black chip in his palm. “Thanks for the inspiration,” he said, then flipped it onto the swell of Mr. Bullfrog’s round belly as the man pushed away from the table.
As soon as the chip landed, Mr. Bullfrog’s frown turned to a grimace. “You smug son of a bitch!” he barked—just as the dealer waved over a security guard.
Asa took a few steps back from the table and looked around, and it was only then I remembered that I was supposed to be watching his back. I’d been so riveted on the game that I’d lost track, though, and now I realized that there were a few well-dressed men standing at the bar and a nearby table, watching Asa with interest.
One of them was Tavana.
Asa took my hand. “Time to go for a walk, Mattie.” He led me out of the lounge.
“What just happened?” I whispered. “Was that chip a relic?”
Asa nodded as he headed for the front doors of the hotel, walking fast enough that I was nearly jogging to keep up, and with each step, my toe clamped down on those stupid bristles. “It was emotion-sensing magic,” he said. “That guy was using it to read the other players.”
“But how did you end up with it?”
Asa waggled his eyebrows at me. “You helped.”
Of course. Asa had used me to distract the guy, and the rest was simple sleight of hand. “You are so—”
“Oh, I am. I am indeed. Ready to jump into the fire? Not that you have a choice at this point.”
“What?” He was nearly dragging me now, out to the wide plaza at the front of the hotel, where a huge expanse of glittering runes were pressed into the glazed cement. I yanked my hand away, all of Jack’s warnings ringing in my head. “Asa, tell me what we’re—”
“We’re going to stand where half of fucking Vegas can see us. It’s not complicated.”
We’d reached the middle of the plaza, and Asa stopped and spun around abruptly. “I could feel your ooze the moment I hit the parking garage,” he spat out.
My heart was in my throat as I turned to see Tavana standing maybe thirty feet away. He’d come to a stop, too.
Asa’s hand slipped under his vest, and he pulled that black cylindrical handle thing, which I assumed was some sort of weapon, from his belt. “I must have ruffled some feathers if you decided to deal with this yourself.”
Tavana smiled. “Nonsense. I hope you enjoyed the game. You really did a lovely job there. But it seems like it took a lot out of you.”
I glanced up at Asa. Sweat was beaded across his forehead. It was a warm night, to be sure, but he looked like he’d just trekked across the Sahara. “Fuck you, Reza,” he growled.
“He told me his name was Tavana,” I said weakly.
“Tavana’s his fucking last name,” Asa said, looking at me like I’d betrayed him. “You met him earlier? And you didn’t tell me?”
I shrank back. “I thought he was the concierge!”
Asa’s jaw was rigid as he returned his attention to Reza, clutching that black handle thing with a white-knuckled grip. “It would look bad,” Asa said, nodding toward a group of tourists, mostly elderly, who had just gotten off a bus in front of the entrance to Mistika, “if you tried to take me down right here in the middle of this plaza. You really want to do this?”
“Absolutely not. You’re overreacting. Brawling in the plaza is not on our agenda this evening. Creating lasting partnerships, though—”
“Fuck you. You know what I came for.”
Reza’s dark eyes flared with what looked like amusement. “Oh, no. I know what Mattie came for. You? We had to take a leap of faith. But it seems that faith was well-placed.”
Asa cursed again. “I knew it.”
Reza let his eyes drift up Asa’s body, just like he’d done to me this afternoon. And unlike me, he seemed to know exactly why Asa was so pissed. “We’ll be happy to let you see Dr. Ward. He’s a personal guest of Mr. Brindle’s.”
I nearly fell to the ground, the relief was so heavy. “Really?” Tears flooded my eyes. “Is he all right?”
Reza nodded. “I’ll take you to him, as soon as we settle some business.” His gaze settled on Asa again. “Welcome to Las Vegas, Asa Ward. Mr. Brindle is so looking forward to finally meeting you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It had been about Asa the whole time, and he’d known it.
I wasn’t sure what to think about that as I stood next to him, watching him glare at Reza Tavana with sweat running down his angular face. So many things didn’t make sense.
“Reel it in, asshole,” Asa snapped. “If you can.”
Reza took a step back. “I can hardly help the fact that you are so . . . exquisitely sensitive.” His voice was a caress, but it made me shudder. He was a Strikon, apparently very strong, and from the way he was looking at Asa, I was betting he was enjoying his effect on him. I couldn’t feel a thing—but I did wonder if my headache earlier had come from sitting right next to Reza at the bar. “I’ll try to control myself, though,” he added with a seductive curve of his lips.
Asa let out a shuddery breath. “You guys went to a hell of a lot of trouble on my account.”
Reza shrugged. “We are in great need.” He gestured magnanimously at three men who had joined him. “I promise no harm will come to you, but I am going to have to ask that we take this inside.” He glanced at a group of college-aged girls and guys who were giggling and joking with each other as they passed by, headed for Mistika. “Privacy is required, I think.”
Hatred was etched in the lines around Asa’s mouth. “In an enclosed space with you? No fucking way.”
Reza put his hands up. “I will take my leave of you. My associates will escort you to Mr. Brindle.”
“And Ben?” I asked.
Reza turned his gorgeous smile on me. “Of course, Mattie. As soon as Asa hammers out a few details with us.”
I looked up at Asa to find him staring down at me. I didn’t know whether to apologize to him, thank him, or smack him on the arm for not explaining things to me. “Will you do it?”
He swiped his sleeve across his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly, flipping the handle thing in his palm and sliding it back under his vest.
You love Ben after all, I thought.
Reza clapped his hands, just once, like he was delighted. “Until later, then,” he said to us, then strode down the street, away from the hotel.
The farther away Reza got, the better Asa looked. As we followed Brindle’s men back into Mistika, Asa’s strides became smoother and his shoulders relaxed. He was still grim and pale, but no longer seem
ed a second away from collapsing. Brindle’s agents, or guards, or whatever they were—all of them were sharply dressed young men toting no obvious weapons, but they carried themselves with the same smooth confidence Reza had—led us through the main lobby and down a hallway to a restaurant called Odorajxon.
I squinted up at the sign, and Asa let out a low chuckle. “That one’s not so obvious, is it?”
“I can’t even pronounce it.” I gave him a little smile. It was strangely good to hear him laugh, even if it was at me.
Our procession wound its way past leather booths, the now-familiar runes carved into the borders around the edges of the tables. My stomach growled ferociously, and despite the bustling noise of the restaurant, one of the agents looked over his shoulder at me. “We’ll get you something to eat soon,” he said with a wink.
“He can feel your hunger,” Asa said, leaning down to speak in my ear.
“Wait—can you, too?”
“Nah, I just heard that little monster inside you let out a roar.”
I nodded at the agent’s back. “So he’s a sensor?”
“But not for emotion. For . . . bodily sensations, I guess you’d say.”
“Great. So if I’m feeling gassy, he’ll know.”
Asa snorted and looked away. “Dammit, Mattie,” he muttered.
I craned my neck as we exited the main restaurant and entered a warmly lit hallway. My whole body felt like it had been strung with live wires—was Ben close by? How much longer until I would see him? My hope was increasing by the second.
The agents reached a room with an arched entrance and parted the thick curtains that blocked the view from the hall. Inside was a sumptuously decorated room with gorgeous murals on the walls, lush flowering plants and a fountain in the corner, several doors to places unknown, and one large booth, at which sat an incredibly fat man with bushy brown eyebrows and pitted skin. He was bald, and it looked like a helmet of shiny, peachy skin had been crammed over his skull—but the flesh at his chin and neck hadn’t fit, and it sat all flabby and loose on his round shoulders. He held a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, and when we entered, he held it up, his face brightening.
