Sin City Daemon

by Rick Newberry

  Gwendolyn stood up. “He’s so right; we’re both open books—”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Lucas said. He turned to Gorgeous. “I apologize for my assistant’s lack of social etiquette.” With a venomous glance at Gwendolyn, he said, “Go.”

  She exited the dressing room without another word.

  “She’s such a bother. I only keep her in the act because the humans seem to think her klutziness is part of the show. It amuses them. And besides, it’s so hard to find good help.”

  Gorgeous narrowed her eyes on the magician. “I couldn’t agree more. In any case, we must make do with what we’re given. Still, I would keep an eye on that one if I were you. The other side can be quite cunning. In any case, you impress me, Lucas. You possess the power over life and death, quite an unheard of gift for a Daemon. Indeed, your abilities are reminiscent of the Sangre di Real.”

  Lucas Knight shook his head. “No, my lady, surely you don’t think I could be a part of that abhorrent faction. They were imprisoned behind the Gates of Hell for a reason. I assure you that I—”

  “Calm down, magician.” She extended her hand and uttered, “Imobili.”

  Lucas Knight froze, still as a block of ice.

  “Simple spells have no effect on True Bloods.” She circled him, caressing his cheek and staring into his eyes. “Still, it never hurts to check.” She stroked the side of his head; an act she thought gave the process a personal touch, allowing him to regain movement.

  He tested his limbs and shook his head. “My loyalty is only to you.”

  “Your thoughts are not clear to me, either, and that, too, gives me pause. How you’ve acquired such precious gifts concerns me.”

  Lucas Knight bowed his head. “My queen, I do not know. However, I will prove my allegiance to you tonight.”

  “How?”

  “You’ve told me before about that horrid Daemon Rosalyn Chase. Through a fortuitously placed objet d’art, I managed to acquire two of her human miscreants. They’ll be featured in my next performance. I would consider it a great honor if you’d attend.”

  Gorgeous smirked. “I already have Rosalyn on a red herring hunt far from The Strip. She knows nothing of my plans. Still, your invitation intrigues me. Tell me more.”

  “I arranged a special illusion, just for you. If you have any doubts about my loyalty, your fears will be put to rest. Please allow me to prove my devotion.”

  “Devotion?” Gorgeous stepped to the door. She turned back to Lucas, giving him a sly grin, an even larger smirk than usual. “I do enjoy devotion.” With that, the mask faded for just an instant, a quizzical expression taking its place. A moment later, the Mona Lisa smile returned and Gorgeous evaporated in a blue mist.

  Gwendolyn cracked open the door and tiptoed inside. She waved her hands through the blue vapor Gorgeous left behind. “What did she say?”

  Lucas turned away from her and glanced into the large makeup mirror. He stroked his chin, rubbing at the sides of his face. “You tell me. You were obviously listening at the door.”

  Gwendolyn put her hand on his sleeve. “I would never think to—”

  He tore his gaze from the mirror and glanced at her hand. “That’s the very nature of your problem, sweet Gwen. You never think.”

  “You’re so right, sir, but I would never listen to your private conversations. Honest. Please tell me what she said. Please?”

  “And why would I do that? What makes you think you deserve to know?” He turned back to the mirror. “I can’t even look at you right now. I heard you could follow orders and keep your mouth shut. It seems you have trouble with both. Go away and come back when you’re ready to apologize.”

  “Apologize for what?”

  “For complaining every night when I cut you in half. Your whining infuriates me. You’re a Daemon, for God’s sake, act like it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lucas.”

  He turned from the mirror and grabbed her by the throat, kissing her hard on the mouth as he compressed her windpipe with his thumbs. “You know, that is the one human word I cannot stand—sorry—it’s pathetic and cowardly.”

  Gwendolyn’s eyes widened. She struggled, but Lucas held tight. Through a constricted throat, she squawked, “What are you doing?”

  “You know very well what I’m doing. What I’m thinking is quite a different matter.” He spoke offhanded, as if her struggle for air had nothing to do with him. “I think I need to freshen up the act a bit. Perhaps a nice, slow hanging would thrill the audience; watching your feet kick as you struggle to breathe. Cutting you in half is far too quick.”

  A muffled cry echoed from the small wardrobe in the corner, seizing his attention. “Lucky for you, my sweet girl, it seems your pretty little neck has been spared just in time.” He released his hold.

  Gwendolyn coughed, gasping for air, her shoulders heaving. She backed away from him and took several deep breaths. “What do you have in the closet?”

  A broad grin crawled its way across his face until his lips formed a thin line from cheek to cheek. “Call it a gift. A little surprise for Gorgeous.”

  “Gorgeous will be in the audience again tonight?”

  “Go now.” He marched toward her, his hand shooing her away. “Prepare yourself for the performance. It will be spectacular. Right now you’re of better use to me alive than dead.” He tapped the closet door. “More than I can say for these two. Hurry and get ready. The show begins in thirty minutes. Tell Sebastian I want to see him. Go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The audience entered the theater by ones, twos, and small groups; the typical Vegas show crowd: excited, boisterous, and enjoying the effects of several cocktails too many. Most would have already called it a night in their own hometowns. Towns with names like Chicago, Miami, or San Francisco, but Las Vegas—Vegas never slept.

  The ten o’clock show at the Lone Mountain Hotel and Casino sold out, as usual for a Lucas Knight performance. The nosebleed seats were snatched up earlier in the afternoon. VIP box seats had been booked weeks in advance, or comped by the hotel to high rollers and guest celebrities.

  The cool air, usually scented with a fresh coconut bouquet, had been replaced tonight with a unique blend of cinnamon and roses. The lights dimmed and the crowd came to life with a rousing chorus of applause.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” a deep voice boomed across the theater, “it’s Knight-time!” A generic rock and roll riff was greeted by applause. “Lucas Knight’s illusions are performed with adult audiences in mind. Those with small children, or those offended by material, which include life and death situations, may wish to leave the theater. The use of cell phones and photography of any kind is strictly prohibited. We hope you enjoy tonight’s performance.” More music, the volume increasing with each beat.

  “And now, he’s been hailed as the world’s pre-eminent magician, the foremost illusionist of our age…ladies and gentlemen, Lucas Knight!”

  Some in the crowd stood, some whistled, but all banged their hands together in wild applause as the black curtain concealing the stage lifted.

  Lucas Knight, caught in a bright, white spotlight, grinned from center stage and bowed. The noise in the theater rose with each bow. He stretched out his hands, asking for quiet. The applause died as the audience obliged, settling into their seats.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Lucas Knight, and I personally want to welcome each and every one of you to the Lucas Knight Theater at the Lone Mountain Hotel and Casino in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada.” Another brisk, but brief, round of applause followed his greeting. He stretched out his hands again then shielded his eyes from the glare of the spotlight. “I’m glad to see most of you have remained after our brief disclaimer about adult themes. We have to do that, you know, for two reasons. One: the lawyers insist.” Quiet laughter came from the crowd. “The other: because this ain’t your momma’s old rabbit out of the hat magic act.” Wild applause followed. “In fact, most of the rabbits we use in the show retir
e after just a single performance.” Nervous laughter greeted his statement. “No need to worry about them, however, their retirement is quite enjoyable…for me. A little salt and pepper; they taste just like chicken.”

  The audience broke into laughter as a snare drum began a slow cadence in the background. The spotlight illuminating Lucas Knight went dark and the drum grew louder. Knight’s voice rolled across the theater. “Tonight, I have something very special planned for you—an illusion so unique, so exceptional, it will leave you breathless.”

  Dark shapes ran back and forth on the stage; workmen carrying flashlights, erecting metal rails and assembling props, their footsteps masked by the drum. The audience sat still, quiet, and focused. In a gush of lights, the stage came to life. Dancers dressed in colorful costumes paraded about in a choreographed routine. The drum never missed a beat during their dance. One by one, the dancers exited. Lights bathed the stage revealing Lucas Knight standing between two guillotines. He smiled at the crowd and gave a quick wink. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…The Execution.”

  Two figures dressed in black, their heads covered by hoods, hands tied behind their backs, appeared on stage in step to the drum.

  “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, you will witness an execution—Lucas Knight style. Now, we don’t know much about our two…ahem, volunteers. Perhaps, they’re cold-blooded killers and the punishment is deserved. Maybe they work for the IRS and they deserve much worse.” Brief laughter. “In any case, the time has come to pay the piper. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy…The Execution.”

  The audience roared its approval. Lucas Knight stood behind the first criminal, and with the help of his assistants, placed the man on a table, face down, his hooded head hanging over the edge above a basket. Leather restraints held the man in place. Knight rushed around to the other criminal and performed the same operation. The two men struggled, but could not move.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Knight raised his arm, “may I introduce my lovely assistant, the fair-haired Gwendolyn.” A smattering of applause greeted her arrival on stage. Some in the audience chuckled. “Oh, you’ve seen my act before,” Knight deadpanned. “Gwen, there is a rope just to your right. No, your other right. Please reach out and grasp it. On the count of three, pull down on the rope. Don’t be shy—pull hard. That will release the two blades and…” Knight swiped a finger across his throat. “The blades will, in turn, release two souls.”

  “One.” Shadows covered the stage. “Two.” The lights dimmed. “Three.” Gwen pulled the rope and both blades raced free. A crisp “chop-chop” sound filled the theater as the two heads tumbled into baskets. The audience, with one mind, drew in its breath.

  Bright light washed over the theater. Stagehands rushed out and released the restraints from the legs of the criminals who lay motionless on the tables. The two criminals stood, under their own power, and faced the crowd. Gwendolyn appeared as the criminal on the right, Lucas Knight on the left. Both waved their arms and smiled.

  The audience roared in approval. The switch had been seamless, unnoticed by anyone in attendance…except Knight. He peered into the basket at the base of the guillotine. A severed head, mouth gagged, stared back through cold, dead eyes. Not the head he expected. He spun around and glanced into the other basket.

  Lucas Knight stood beside Gwendolyn and grabbed her hand. As they bowed, he shouted above the applause, “Where are they?”

  “Who? What do you mean?”

  One more bow. “You’re the only one who knew about the humans in the closet.” When they stood, Lucas glanced to the rafters at the lighting technician and pointed—the signal to kill the spot. The curtain came down, and Knight grabbed hold of a stagehand. “The Samurai illusion is next.”

  “But, sir, that’s the show closer.”

  Knight turned an evil eye toward Gwendolyn. “Exactly.”

  ****

  “Adam, come here and listen very carefully.” Aunt Rose is so serious; I almost think I’ve done something wrong; broken one of her many rules. I follow her into the kitchen while the others remain in the living room.

  “What is it?”

  “Dixie, you too. Come in here as well. Hurry up, on the double, young lady.”

  Dixie rushes into the kitchen.

  “My dear,” Aunt Rose takes hold of Dixie’s hand, “I’ve put it off far too long and feel like such a ding-dong. You need specific skills before we proceed, of that I am certain; almost guaranteed.” She turns to me. “I want you to go with Dixie to this address.” She hands me a piece of paper. “Dixie, both of you, memorize the address, hurry now.”

  Dixie cozies up next to me and glances at the scribbles on the paper. “Got it,” she says. “But I don’t get it.”

  Aunt Rose takes the paper from me, tears it up, and throws it into the sink. It ignites and burns away in a green flame. She stares at Dixie, lowers her voice, and raises an eyebrow. “The Sufferings. I made a call and arranged it all. You are expected.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’m ready for—”

  “Not ready? My dear there are things you simply must know, and I blame myself for putting the whole thing off far too long.”

  “But—”

  “Enough hesitation. Adam will be with you every step of the way. Now off with you both, and don’t delay. Now then,” she turns away, “Marco, you come with me. We’re going to meet my contact. She’s at the Lone Mountain Hotel on The Strip.”

  “And what of me? Have you forgotten about me?” Charlie Nguyen says.

  “You’re so right. I can’t leave you here. Come with us. Better to know what you’re doing than wonder what you’re up to.”

  “Unbelievable. When are you going to accept the fact that I’m—”

  “Well?” Aunt Rose turns to us. “What are you still doing here? Go.”

  We leave the house and venture down the walkway to the street. The others soon come out behind us and pile into Marco’s car. I wave as they drive past.

  Dixie tightens her grip on my hand as we stroll down the sidewalk. She keeps her eye on a red brick house not far from Aunt Rose’s. “That’s where I bought the crystal ball.”

  A young woman steps out of the house leading a small terrier on a leash.

  “Excuse me,” Dixie calls out, “did your mother or grandmother have a yard sale here yesterday?”

  The woman appears caught off guard and pulls back on the leash. “You’ve got the wrong house.” The small Schnauzer starts yapping.

  “No, this was the house. I bought some things here.”

  “No, you’re mistaken. We don’t have yard sales.”

  Dixie tightens her grip on my hand. “This is the house, and I bought—”

  I pull back on Dixie, my arm over her shoulder, and lead her away. “It’s no use. She’ll never admit it. We’d better just go.”

  Dixie relaxes. “You’re right. Evil Daemons probably set up the sale while she was away from the house. I’m so stupid.”

  “Not your fault.” We walk away from the red brick house and cross the street.

  “I’m glad you’re coming with me. I don’t think I could face this alone. The very name, The Sufferings, gives me the creeps.”

  Her anxiety buzzes through her hand and crawls up my arm. “What exactly is The Sufferings?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s something all Daemons go through. Of course, most experience it when they are much younger. Aunt Rose said something about her wanting me to have a normal life, so she never arranged it for me. I guess it’s too late to be normal now. I’m also supposed to get my color.”

  “Color?”

  “Sure, every Daemon has its own color. There are as many Daemons in the world as there are colors. We also get a scent; like Aunt Rose’s is fresh baked bread.”

  “That explains Charlie Nguyen’s funky odor.”

  “I hear some of them are just awful. I hope you don’t hate me if I get a bad one.”

  This makes me smile. “C’mon, are y
ou kidding? I’m a canine; we love to sniff all kinds of stinky stuff.” It’s just a joke, but she doesn’t laugh.

  “You’re not making me feel any better. Anyway, The Sufferings are also where we learn exactly what our skills are and what we can or cannot do, you know? The rules.”

  “Doesn’t sound so bad. I wish something like that existed for me.”

  “I don’t know. You seem pretty good at figuring things out for yourself. At least you were last night.”

  This makes me blush. We walk a couple of blocks. “Where’s your Hummer?”

  “Traded it in for something a little less conspicuous.” She stops and points at a dirty compact car. “Nobody gives this thing a second look, not even me.”

  The address is on the west side of town, near a section of Las Vegas known as The Lakes. Dixie takes her time negotiating downtown traffic until we hit the 95. She stomps on the accelerator and zips along in the fast lane, barreling around slower vehicles. The car complains, but she ignores it. We take the Summerlin Parkway and exit at Durango.

  “I sold my house when I came back to Vegas, to make ends meet. I bought a condo not far from here. I’d like to show it to you after we’re done.”

  “Absolutely.”

  When we stop at a red light, she gives me a quick glance. Her tone is calm, almost hesitant. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  I feel my skin tingle. She’s so serious. “What is it?”

  “Aunt Rose and I have been making inquiries. We think …”

  “Tell me.” Now I don’t know if I want to hear what she has to say. “Just say it.”

  “We think Lucy’s alive.”

  Memories of my sister rush in. “What do you mean? We saw her killed.”

  “No, we didn’t. We heard her fighting with Bane. Her body was never found.”

  My breathing is shallow, my voice weak. “Have you asked Major Ransom? If anyone should know—”

  “Of course, but she doesn’t. Aunt Rose is doing what she can to look into it. She has connections all over town. She says—”

  Dixie keeps talking, but I tune her out. The thought that my sister may be alive drowns out everything. I considered Lucy and Ivan the only real family I ever had, and I know for a fact my brother is dead; he died saving my life.