by Jackie May
The crowd fills with intrigued whispers. Hillerman looks at me with concern. Something big appears to be scheduled for tonight. “Fireworks” definitely sounds ominous.
“Until then, sit back, relax, and enjoy,” he says, before leaving with Bowler Hat.
Watching them, my eyes cross the path of Russo’s jester mask. He makes quick jerks with his head, directing my attention across the room, where the pinstriped revenant hastily cuts through the crowd. Following close behind is Jay’s sugar skull. My heart rate spikes. Shit’s about to go down. Time to start working on that miracle.
But dammit, I’m not leaving this table without challenging the high roller. Tabitha Durran has tripled her chip stack by taking cheap shots at easy prey. I feel a moral obligation to spoil her run. Or at least to make her earn my money. The timing is right. She’s already committed to a sizeable bet, assuming that I will continue our pattern of avoiding each other.
I check my cards to find that I have one good card, and a high chance of winning, but the correct way of playing this hand will take too long. Jay is closing in on the revenant. I need to get after him now. This calls for a ballsy move. The table’s gonna love it.
I tweak the corner of one of my cards and toss it—faceup—at the dealer. “This card is bent. I call for a new deck.” Naturally, all eyes go to the card—a pathetic three of spades.
The dealer says, “Yes, ma’am, of course. However, house rules dictate that this hand be played out first. Since you have revealed a card, you are, of course, permitted to fold.”
“Do I have to?”
She seems stunned. “Er…no. But…” She indicates my three of spades, total trash. “You’re at a disadvantage. Surely you would fold.”
I make a show of eagerly checking out the dealer’s faceup cards on the table, which pair beautifully with my one good card, and I say, “No, I’m in.”
For the first time, Tabitha Durran looks directly at me, and she leans forward, fascinated. The dealer says, “You will bet?”
I stand up. “I’ll shove. Here.” I push all my chips into the middle of the table, earning stunned oohs and aahs from the crowd. Tabitha Durran narrows her eyes to slits, focusing on my one hidden card. My play reeks of a huge bluff. Only somebody with a terrible hand would try to scare away challengers with so much money. It works on the others—they all fold at once. Tabitha, however, does not move, doesn’t even blink. Just sits there, paralyzed. The crowd awaits her decision with breathless anticipation.
“I’m sorry, I have to run to the powder room,” I say, gathering my clutch. “I know, terrible timing. My bladder is the size of a peanut. Oh! Here, add these to my bet.” I drop all of Hillerman’s hundred-dollar bills on the table. Heads start spinning. What the hell’s happening? Who would do this? “I’ll be back. Keep my place at the table. Oops, here’s more.” I throw more hundreds at the pile, and then I turn away from the table, and that’s when I come face-to-face with my worst nightmare. The harpy demon had been standing right behind me all this time.
Beyona is strikingly gorgeous, with a luxurious, deep shade of skin, shiny black hair so straight and so long that it perfectly frames both her angular cheekbones and the absurd cleavage of her chest. I whirled so fast, and she was standing so close, that we nearly touch noses before I step back, startled. Her flinty eyes—one brown, one blue—seem to pierce through my mask.
At her shoulder is the silverback werewolf, his blocky face and square jaw riddled with scars from all the times I’ve shot him. His throat rattles with a low growl. Just as I’m about to scream for the others to make a run for it—that we’re busted—Beyona steps aside, dismissing me with an arrogant snarl.
After a mumbled apology and an awkward sort of bow, I hurry off through the crowd in search of Jay. I catch sight of him just as Pinstripes ducks behind a curtain draped across a doorway. Don’t follow him, Jay. Don’t you dare follow him. But of course he does. Jay stops to look around, making sure nobody’s watching him, and then he slips behind the curtain.
Frantic, I spot the nearest demon at the bar—a pixie-haired succubus. I caress her arm. “Wanna party?”
She licks her lips with a forked tongue. “Lead the way.”
When the bartender sees me eyeing him, he says, “Drinks?”
“You know the ones with the whipped cream on top?”
“Of course.”
“Gimme that, but hold the drink.”
“So…just whipped cream?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
The succubus coos with delight, snaking her tongue up my neck.
“In fact, we’ll need the whole can,” I add. With a devilish grin he slides a can of whipped cream across the bar to me. I stuff it in my clutch bag, then I brush my fingertips down the woman’s cheek. “Save room for dessert. Meet me in there. I’ve got to freshen up first.” She purrs like a cat before slinking into the shadows of the back rooms.
Back at the curtain, I make a quick check that nobody is watching me, and then I sidestep behind it. In near total darkness, I can just make out the shape of steps leading up a narrow passage to a door. It’s slightly ajar, letting in moonlight. I know what this is. It’s the roof access.
As I pad up the steps, I hear a man’s voice on the other side of the door. “Yes, sir, on my rounds just now. A guest on the roof, north side. Yes, now. I’m staring right at him.” Peering through the narrow opening, I can see Jay at the edge of the roof, looking down at something, oblivious to the fact that he’s been spotted. I hear the metallic click of a bolt action.”
I throw the door open and swing my clutch in a wide arc to my left, where it connects with a demon guard’s face. The full can of whipped cream makes a cracking sound against his skull. He staggers back.
Now there are rapid footsteps flying up the stairs behind me. I pounce on the guard, locking his head in the crook of my arm, and drop all my weight against him. He crumples to the rooftop. I lift his hand—which is still gripping the assault rifle—aim it at the access door, and pull the trigger just as the silverback wolfman bursts outside. With a deafening rip of shots, he is knocked clear off his feet and over the side of the roof, a three-story drop. Good night. I knock the guard’s head against the tile, and it’s lights out for him, too.
Jay’s gone. Rushing to the roof’s edge, I spot him climbing down to the rooftop of the adjoining building. I want to call down after him, but we’re not alone. I hear voices down on the street directly below us, where two big-rig trucks are parked, their long, white box trailers lined up with the curb. Pinstripes and Bowler Hat are both down there, barking orders at men in the back of the trucks.
“Let’s go, clear outta there,” Bowler Hat says. “We got a thirty-second window to hit. One too many red lights, and we miss our target.”
The men shut and secure the trailer doors as Bowler Hat climbs up behind the wheel of the lead truck. Pinstripes takes the second truck, starting it up with the throaty growl of its massive diesel engine. When they both pull away, my fear is confirmed—Jay leaps off the roof into a tree and climbs down. He’s going after the trucks on foot. I have no idea how, but he’ll find a way.
And he’s right to abandon us. The mission priority just changed. Whatever those revenants are up to with those trucks, it’s something big, it’s something soon, and it’s something out there in the city. My city.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to follow Jay. The others have no idea what’s happening. I’ve got to get them out, and fast. Problem is, the instant I turn back toward the access door, I hear a gaggle of footsteps coming. I scramble up the slope of the roof and dive to the other side just as several men burst from the access door.
“Rocky’s out. Not shot. Just banged up.”
“What about Nash? No way somebody took him down.”
“Oh, he’s down all right. And I mean all the way. Look there, in the alley.”
“You gotta be shitting me. Who the hell bodies a werewolf his size, just like that? W
hat exactly are we dealing with here?”
A voice I recognize—Capra, the golden boy revenant with the black chin—says, “Uninvited guests. Four of them. One obviously went after the trucks. The others must still be inside. Get down there. Look for a court jester mask or a fox. Go!”
Panic threatens to overtake me. They’re on to us, and I’m stuck on the roof with a revenant and no way to communicate with Russo and Hillerman. Can’t climb down through a window—they’re all boarded up. Try my luck with golden boy? Vampires are crazy strong and supernaturally fast. I’d never take one on without a gun and/or a Brenner.
I hear his light footsteps crossing the roof to the edge where Jay descended. From there, he could see me if he turned around. Crawling on all fours—hard to do in this dress—I take up a hiding spot behind a wide brick chimney. There’s a muffled sound of a phone ringing. Peeking around the corner of the chimney, I see him holding a phone to his ear. If I’m going to make a move, it’s got to be now. I can bolt for the—
Hold on.
I take a step back and peer up at the chimney. Chimneys come from somewhere. They come from fireplaces. Down in basements.
Without another thought, I high jump, gripping the top lip of the chimney, and pull myself up. The opening is plenty big, leading down into pure darkness. I’m in clear view of the revenant now. He is starting to turn toward me when I drop inside, pressing against the bricks with my feet and my back, wedging myself. I pause to catch my breath.
“Watch for tails,” Capra says into the phone. “Don’t stop or slow down for anything, not lights or police. They can chase all they want. The more collateral damage, the better. Let them burn.”
Burn! I’d bet all the money on that poker table that the trucks are full of explosives. A fireworks show, the necromancer had said. And Jay’s going after them. I was crazy to let him off the leash.
Panic surges through my heart. I slide down the inside of the chimney, scraping hands and elbows, tearing up my dress. Soon—too soon to be at the bottom already—my shoes hit a roadblock. Feeling around, I find no openings in the walls. The blockage is solid metal. It’s the flue. The flue is shut! Why hadn’t I thought of that? I push on it. I pound on it. I stomp on it. I jump up and down on it. Once, twice…
On the third jump, the flue dislodges, and I crash down into the fireplace with an explosion of soot. Coughing, eyes watering, I roll out of the hearth into the dark basement. This dress has had enough. With only a slight shrug of my shoulders, it falls in tatters around my feet. Luckily, I had worn jeans and a T-shirt underneath it—a tip which Hillerman gave, but couldn’t follow herself with a backless dress.
Well, what a pretty sight I must be. Covered in soot, hair a wreck, knuckles and elbows bleeding. Chucking my mask away, I hang my clutch bag on my shoulder and mount the crumbling concrete steps leading up to the ballroom floor.
Time to crash this party.
“You know what, I changed my mind,” I holler over the music to the bartender. “Give me one of those flaming drinks.”
He looks me up and down, jaw dropping.
“You know the ones? With the frickin’ fire on them? So badass, right?” I flash him a toothy smile.
“Right, but—”
“Perfect. I’m at the poker table. Have it brought right over. Big tip coming your way.”
As I cut through the crowd, I can see armed guards looking from mask to mask, moving toward the center of the room. Hillerman and Russo hover near the poker table. Russo is first to see me, doing a double take befitting his jester face. Hillerman follows his gaze to find me, and I see her eyes grow wide behind her mask.
Fortunately, my chair at the table is still open, and Beyona is nowhere to be seen. Doubly fortunate is the giant pile of chips and neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills at my spot. I guess Tabitha couldn’t resist my non-bluff. I’d say I regret not being able to see the look on her face, but what’s about to happen should more than make up for that.
“Jumping jackpot!” I shout, lowering into my chair and dropping the clutch bag at my feet. “The old one-card trick, huh? I’d claim it works every time, but that’s not saying much, because I’ve only tried it once. Somebody please tell me they got that on video for their YouTube channel. I just want to see her face when it happened, like…wait, that’s it, right? That’s how she looked! Am I right?” I point at Tabitha Durran, who is utterly thunderstruck by the sight of me. “That’s exactly it, thank you.” As the bartender arrives to pour my drink, I prattle on. “I’m sorry I missed it, but I had to run all the way up to the roof to take out Rocky and Nash so the rest of my team could come over. I brought them down the chimney, can you believe that? How long’s it been since that thing was cleaned out?”
Sensing something of a problem at the table, the bartender stops pouring my drink, so I say to him, “What, no fire?” When I offer him a hundred-dollar bill, he overcomes his hesitation and ignites the drink. Yellow and orange flames dance across the rim of the glass. “Now look, I know half of you recognize me, so this goes without saying, but rules is rules, so I’m required to announce myself. I’m Shayne Davies of the FUA Double-D, and every single one of you sons-a-bitches is under arrest. Detective Russo, tell ’em what they are.”
Ripping his mask off, Russo turns to the demon thug next to him and knocks him clean out with one punch to the face. “Every single one of you sons-a-bitches is under arrest!” he bellows.
While all attention is on him, I tip my flaming drink over into my clutch bag and kick it further under the table. “If you don’t believe me, go ahead and ask Tabitha Durran if I’m the type who bluffs.”
It’s quiet now. No music. No talking. And some oblivious moron comes running up to Tabitha, all out of breath, and blurts, “Up on the roof! Rocky and Nash—”
Tabitha chops him in the throat and kicks his knee out from under him. He drops, smashing his jaw on the edge of the table and biting his tongue. In the tense silence, we all listen to him gurgling in pain on the floor. Nobody breathes. You could hear a pin drop, or a heartbeat, or a pressurized can of whipped cream expanding in the heat of a fire. From living all my life around a campfire with rowdy boys, I know exactly how long it takes for aerosol cans to explode when tossed into a flame.
“In about ten seconds, I’m going to give the order for my team to storm in here. When that happens, I would advise all of you to panic and start running around like crazy, because that’s more fun for my guys.”
A gun is pressed to the back of my head. A demon guard screams into my ear, “Tell them to stand down! Tell them to—” He cuts off abruptly as his body contorts with spasms. To the shock of the crowd, a shadow figure is wrenched from his body, exorcised by an invisible power. His lifeless body drops behind me. A few other guards in sight lower their weapons and back away.
I feel the heat of the fire at my feet. A few more seconds now. “Before we move on, is there anybody else here who would like to be separated from his or her body?”
Slowly rising to her feet, Tabitha scans the crowd eagerly. “Charlotte?” she calls out. “Is that you?”
Hillerman stands right behind Tabitha. She removes the fawn mask, which, in this thick silence, makes enough noise that Tabitha turns around. They face each other, eyes locked, for what seems like an eternity. I can’t imagine the satisfaction Charlotte must feel to finally have caught up to her past after all these years. To have another shot at the evil that took her husband away.
I only wish I could give her more time. There’s a fizzing sound from my clutch bag, which tells me I’ve got exactly half a second. “Now!” I shout, just before—KABOOM!—the can explodes. Like a balloon being popped, all tension in the room flies apart. In a blind panic, the crowd erupts with pandemonium, rushing in all directions at once. People are trampled; chairs and tables flip over; curtains are pulled down, catching fire from torches.
A demon tries to grab me. I swipe poker chips at his face, and when he flinches, I kick him in the chest, sen
ding him flying back into a stampeding group of sorcerers. I beat a path in the opposite direction, battling my way to the curtain hiding the roof access. I don’t have time to check on Russo and Hillerman. I have to trust that they’re following my lead.
I fly up the steps to the roof, relieved to hear voices behind me—Russo grunting, Hillerman screaming in protest. I open the door, surprised to see a demon come out first. Quickly, I slam the door on his face. He topples backward, falling past Russo, who’s got his arms full wrangling Hillerman. She’s like a raging cat, kicking and scratching to get away from him.
“We’re not leaving! We’re not letting her go!” she shrieks. Seeing me, she pushes Russo away and gets in my face. “I’m not losing her again!”
“There’s something else!” I scream back. “Two trucks heading downtown. I think it’s more bombs. Jay went after them.”
“That wasn’t the plan.”
I shove her toward Russo. “Do what you want! My job was to get you out, and I did that. I’m going after Jay.”
“Go,” Russo says to me. “I’ll stay with her. We’ll go after Tabitha. Go!”
I nearly rush off without the most important thing. Turning back, I say, “The tracker! That revenant’s driving one of the trucks. I need to track him.”
Russo shakes Hillerman, trying to get her to focus. “The tracker?”
“It’s a link,” she grumbles. “I’ll send it to her phone when we get to the car.”
“Be careful,” Russo says in parting.
I clap him on the shoulder. “You too.”
Then I go, and fast. Following the path I’d seen Jay take: sprinting across the roof, leaping down to the next building top, throwing myself into the tree, dropping to the street. Within seconds, my long legs have flown me across a parking lot and a field, then over a chain-link fence to the side of Interstate 96, where I’d left my Tiger-Crap earlier in the day, on the likely chance we’d need a quick getaway.
