by Tricia Owens
While Vale kept watch over the trailers where the guests slept, I directed Lucky to enter the car through its air vents. Once inside, it was easy for him to depress the button to unlock all the doors.
It struck me how little effort was required to commit these crimes. In this case Lucky was doing the heavy lifting, but even if I hadn't had a familiar and were, say, a witch, I could have unlocked the doors with a different application of magick. Some kind of unlocking spell, I assumed.
How many other magickal users had turned to a life of crime simply because they could? Had the Oddsmakers cracked down on them and covered the evidence? Did that explain the many unexplained and unsolved crimes throughout history? They'd all been committed by magickal beings who'd "disappeared"?
I climbed behind the wheel and released the parking brake. Vale pushed the car quietly out onto the highway. After pushing for a good hundred feet, giving us some momentum and distance from the café, Vale rounded to the passenger side and jumped in beside me. I had Lucky kiss the ignition, which sent a spark of sorcery through it. The engine started up with a quiet purr.
Breaking and entering, burglary, and grand theft auto—definitely my most exciting Fourth of July so far.
The car drove well, but the radio face was missing, taken by an owner who'd successfully prevented us from listening to tunes while we drove off in their car. I wasn't about to complain as we began the 150 mile drive back to Vegas.
It did mean that Vale and I had to talk, though our conversation ended up not being about what I thought it might: his disappearance from my life after we banished Vagasso's demon.
"Tell me about your family on your mother's side," he asked when the first city lights began to appear on the horizon.
A little disappointed, I glanced askance at him. "I kind of have the feeling you already know. The reason Christian brought your gargoyle statue to my shop, hoping that I could free you, was because you two had been talking about me. How about you tell me what you know, and I'll confirm or correct."
"We weren't speaking badly of you or your family," he said quietly, shades of chagrin in his voice. "On the contrary. You have a lot to be proud of. Your mother was a very powerful sorceress. Her brother, not so much, but he was strong in his own way."
"You said 'was'. Do you—do you know that my uncle is dead?" It hurt to ask, but I needed to. My hope that Uncle James would return home grew thinner and thinner as the years passed. I had reached the point where I simply wanted closure, even if it was closure of the worst sort.
"I should have been more careful with my choice of words. I don't know what's happened to him, Moody. I wish I did."
I swallowed down my disappointment. "How do you know about him and my mom?"
"Believe it or not, there are less than a dozen sorcerers in Las Vegas who are descended from dragons. I was surprised, too, considering the large Asian population in the city. But you've got to remember that most dragon sorcerers and sorceresses haven't left China."
"Why not?"
"Some say it's a government thing, that they've jailed people whom they suspect of being dragons and use them for military applications. Others say it's because Chinese dragons are more powerful and accepted in their homeland. The oldest ones are revered so they have little incentive to leave."
"That makes sense," I murmured. Though I wasn't exactly persecuted in America, I'd come across some stodgy magickal beings who had immediately assumed the worst of me once they learned I was half-Chinese. "But you still haven't answered my question about why you know so much about my family."
I listened to Vale tap his fingers restlessly against the slick material of his stolen shorts. "I met your parents four days before their death."
I nearly drove off the road. "You knew them? Why didn't you tell me this before? How did you—Wow, you're definitely older than you look."
He chuckled and sent me a wry smile. "You don't like older men?" His smile faded. "I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure how much of your mother's daughter you are. I thought maybe you had a vision of her in your mind that you didn't want anyone to alter."
"Or maybe I want the truth."
"So you're like her, willing to fight for a cause."
"Depends. Are we talking about world peace or the right to bake marijuana brownies?"
"Your mother's cause was recovering an ancient artifact with the power to raise the dead."
"More important than pot brownies," I said, both thrilled to hear that my mom had been involved in something that sounded incredibly exciting and important, and regretful that I had never really known this powerful woman. I pictured her as a Chinese Lara Croft.
Sitting slightly taller in my seat, I said, "I'm glad to learn my mom wasn't a fan of zombies, either. Is the recovery of that artifact the same mission that the Oddsmakers gave her and my uncle?"
"Since she never found it, that's probably a good assumption to make." Vale shifted in his seat to face me. "Your parents' death wasn't an accident, Moody."
My hands tightened on the steering wheel, but I kept pretty cool otherwise. "I'd always wondered about that," I said slowly. "Driving off a cliff…no one does that. Not in the United States, anyway. The roads are too good. There are too many guard rails and—"
"I was there when it happened."
That took the breath from my lungs. Here was an eyewitness I wasn't sure I wanted. Was I brave enough to hear the details of my parents' death? I didn't have many bad associations with what had happened to them, but that would change if I learned they had been killed in a terrible manner.
Vale's hand on my shoulder, warm, solid, and comforting, helped me to calm down.
"I doubt they knew what happened," he said quietly, his voice wrapping around me like a hug. "It was quick, but because I was there I saw it for what it was." His voice hardened. "I'd met your parents in Salt Lake City that morning. They had been following a clue that had led them to a gargoyle in the city. It was the same gargoyle that I'd tracked down for a different reason. Your parents had learned what I hadn't: the gargoyle was actually a golem, made from mud collected from the bottom of Lake Mead."
A golem was something I'd only heard about. They were typically constructions of earth or other inanimate matter made by sorcerers and infused with life. Golems were little more than mindless slaves, committed to serving their masters.
"I thought the bottom of Lake Mead was made up of rocks and dead bodies," I quipped morbidly. "Everyone says the Mafia used it as a dumping ground back in the good ol' days."
"Maybe so, but there's mud there, too. Enough to put together this golem, which was designed to pass as a gargoyle. I was interested in it because gargoyles are a relatively rare species. Even rarer than dragon sorceresses in Las Vegas. I know every gargoyle in existence, but I didn't know this one. I was concerned that it might have the heart of a demon. If it did, I was going to destroy it."
"But it was only made of mud."
"So I learned. But I was still curious about who had made it."
While that was definitely interesting, I didn't get the connection. "Why did my parents care about it?"
"They told me that whoever had made the golem also had information about the necromancy artifact. Your mother told me that she and your father intended to capture the golem and interrogate it."
"Sounded like a good plan." I flexed my fingers on the wheel. "So what happened?"
"Your parents and I made plans to meet together in Las Vegas so they could share with me what they learned, if they learned anything. But after we parted, I'd had a bad feeling. I couldn't provide any evidence that we were being watched, but that was my gut feeling. So I decided to follow them in my car. Just to see that they made it to Vegas."
Vale looked out the side window as he recalled events. "There was a storm that night, yes, and there are significant curves in the freeway in southern Utah. But bad weather and bad roads weren't the reasons for their accident. I saw their car pushed through the guard rail by some
kind of entity. I wish I could tell you what kind, but not only was I was too far away, a veil or glamour had been cast over the scene. I assume it was to prevent ordinary people from seeing what was happening. By the time I reached them, it was too late."
I shivered as I imagined the scene.
"So when we first met," I said, "that nasty comment you made about my parents being killed as an act of revenge for something they'd done—you weren't being snarky; you were telling the truth."
"I was an ass, Moody."
"My point is you believe that my parents were driven off that cliff because they were digging into this golem. Or because they were trying to find the necromancy artifact. It makes sense to me, too. Is there any chance we can find out who created that golem without having access to it? Golem-making is a specialized skill. There can't be too many sorcerers in Vegas who possess the talent."
"The most notable golem-makers are from the Czech Republic and Germany," Vale agreed thoughtfully. "Maybe we can find a connection there."
Purpose and drive filled me. Being at the mercy of the Oddsmakers had made me feel helpless. But investigating my parents' death gave me control again. I was, literally, behind the wheel on this bad boy.
"I'll search Moonlight and see if my uncle left any information behind," I told Vale. "If he picked up where my parents left off and was searching for the necromancy artifact, too, he might also have come across the golem."
It would be a way to reconnect with him, and I was eager to do it. For over two years now I only ever thought about Uncle James with sadness and dread. Now, we could be a team, even if he wasn't here.
"We don't know for certain that this is the mission the Oddsmakers want you to undertake," Vale reminded me. "You could be going off on a tangent."
"You think that's going to stop me?" I gave an unladylike snort. "Learning who killed my parents and who may be responsible for my uncle's disappearance is more important to me than getting on the good side of the Oddsmakers. Their mission can wait."
"They may not be willing to wait."
Vale's tone warned of some pretty dire consequences, but I refused to be swayed by it.
"I may as well learn as much as I can before they drag me back to their boudoir of horror," I declared. "No way am I letting them dictate what I can and can't do."
"Moody…" He shook his head. "You're a load of trouble, aren't you?"
"You telling me you can't handle it?"
He gave me a look to curl my toes. "Oh, I'll handle it and you. Don't worry."
I was proud of myself for not blushing.
By the time we hit the 95South heading toward downtown Las Vegas, I was itching to get to work. I didn't want to sleep; I only wanted to begin digging into the golem. Though I didn't know my parents, I believed that if they'd drawn a possible connection between the artifact and the golem then there was a good chance they were tied together. I just had to get my hands on that golem.
I thought Vale would want to help, considering he'd been after this gargoyle wannabe from the beginning. But after rummaging through the console between the seats and coming up with some change, he asked me to drop him off at the bus depot on Casino Center Boulevard.
Hiding my disappointment, I asked, "You ride the bus? Why?"
"I only fly as a last resort." He opened the door and paused to look back at me with amusement. "Under the radar, remember that? That's still important, Moody."
In other words, don't forget that there was an entire city of magickal beings that wouldn't appreciate being exposed by some reckless sorcery. Not to mention I was working on three strikes you're out.
I got the message loud and clear. He was right. As personal as this was, there was more than my own curiosity and well-being at stake. The Oddsmakers might be mean-spirited and cruel, but they had managed to keep the magickal component of the city under wraps since the first casinos popped up on Las Vegas Boulevard. I couldn't be the one to spoil that.
"I'll be careful," I promised. "But…where are you going?"
He climbed out of the car. "To continue what I was doing before the Oddsmakers kidnapped me."
He shut the door and headed for the depot. I bet he was whistling with satisfaction at being able to walk away all mysterious-like.
Well, he could keep his mystery because I had one of my own to solve. But first off, I had to find out what had happened to my friends. I'd been sucked from Melanie's car, but what about everyone else? Suddenly, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Chapter 5
I parked the stolen Camry in one of the metered lots for visitors to the federal building and the courts, figuring it would be discovered as abandoned there far more quickly than if I'd parked it in a casino lot. Then I jogged down Fremont Street, weaving through the tourists, most of whom were drunk or soon would be, and up the street that held the Moonlight Pawn Shop.
My plan was to check out Celestina's fortune shop first since I didn't have my phone; it had better still be in Melanie's car. Moonlight didn't have a landline I could use because the thought of customers calling me at all hours, wanting a quote on their junk, made me break out in hives.
My knees nearly buckled with relief when I saw the Christmas lights on in the window of Celestina's shop. She only ever turned them on when she was home.
I burst through the front door like I owned the place.
Celestina toasted me with a glass of hard cider. "You finally return."
Melanie and Christian also toasted me from where they sat together on a loveseat. Lev wasn't in the room, but I heard noise from the kitchen and figured that must be him. It looked like my friends had been there for at least an hour or two. Empty bottles and a messy-looking cheese tray sat on the table where Celestina normally did her readings.
The place had a fun vibe. When lit only by the Christmas lights in the window it felt like we were all chilling in an eerie shack in the jungle. I called it bohemian Voodoo, even though Celestina had lectured me about the differences between Louisiana Voodoo that I saw in movies and Haitian Vodou, which was what her relatives had practiced.
"No one understands Vodou so I just give them the movie crap," she'd told me.
She had invested in velvet sofas and ottomans in ruby red and deep purple and then draped throw blankets with screen printed skulls and insects over them. The walls were covered with sheets of rattan that she'd pinned near the ceiling with furniture tacks. There was an altar drowning in lit candles, offering bowls, incense and photos to appease the Lwa, or spirits. Hanging from the ceiling were "shriveled heads" made out of coconuts and a variety of ragged-looking Vodou dolls that my friends and I all got together to make every once in a while. It was an art project where "primitive" and "ugly as sin" contributed to the impression that the dolls were authentic.
My dolls were very authentic in that regard. I was proud to have sold the most for Celestina.
A perpetual haze of incense circled the room and the faint but unmistakable smell of beef jerky permeated everything (you could buy it by the ounce or the pound; she and Lev prepared batches in the kitchen). When she had clients, Celestina played a track that featured drums and chanting—think headhunters gearing up for a big night out. Currently, however, Taylor Swift sparkled in my ears.
"Uh, hey, guys," I said with a wave. I waited. And waited, looking around the room in the most awkward way possible. My friends only looked at me and then at each other, wordlessly asking each other what was up.
"So how long you guys been here?" I asked, still trying to accept their nonchalant attitude about my having gone missing from Melanie's car. No, having been sucked from her car.
Melanie shrugged. "I dunno, Anne. You were gone a long time. Maybe an hour?"
"So you knew I was gone…"
"You took your sweet time," Celestina said disapprovingly. She waved her e-cig at me, the one that she'd disguised to look like something a one-eyed hag in the swamps would have carved out of rotting wood. The effect was seriously di
minished by the fact that she was wearing a pink flowered Hawaiian sundress that set off her dark Dominican skin. "And your clothes are the same…what were you doing all this time?"
"Yeah, Anne," Melanie piped in, her head cocked with curiosity, "I thought you said you were going to wash your face and put on your pajama set. You were all weird about it, like you felt filthy and—why do you look all dirty and sweaty?"
Clearly I had stepped into another dimension of sight and sound.
"So all this time you thought I was at my place? I told you that? Me?" I patted my chest for emphasis in case they didn't know which me I referred to.
Christian, who'd draped a fake stuffed anaconda around his neck, set aside his champagne glass. I could tell he'd figured out that something was wonky. "Why wouldn't it have been you, Anne?"
"Because I was sucked through the roof of Melanie's car and dragged eight miles beneath the earth to be freaked out by the Oddsmakers! That's why!"
Celestina scowled. "Did you sneak off to do shots of Everclear?"
I took a deep breath. "I swear to you that for the last two or three hours when I wasn't being sucked on by vampires I was wandering around the desert like the Road Runner. I ran into Vale! He flew me part of the way back and then we stole a car and—"
"Vale's back? Yay! And—and you stole a car?!" Melanie cut in and began laughing hysterically. "I sooo can't picture you racing away from the police like you're in The Fast and the Furious. Now, maybe if Vin Diesel were driving—oh, man, why is Vin Diesel soooo hot…? Did you know he might have some Mexican blood in him? We could be related! Vin Diesel is my hermano!"
"You've been drinking nonstop since the playa, haven't you?" I accused.
"Yes, and apparently we've been doing it with your doppelganger," Christian said, looking slightly amazed. "I'd thought you were unusually subdued but I just assumed you were still worried about being called before the Oddsmakers."
"Funny that I would worry about that," I said dryly. "It grosses me out to imagine you guys hanging out with a fake me. Worse, that you couldn't even tell the difference!"
