A Bobby
After repairing all the bones O'Meara broke, saving her own ribs for last, O'Meara and I snuck out. Not that sneaking out on Alice was that hard; after the satyrs got a third bowl of punch in her, she had become entranced by conversation on how best to polish one's hooves to a shine. Rudy picked us up with the aid of the Capy bros, who had at least fixed their AC.
"AACCCHOOO!" O'Meara gave a sneeze that rocked the limo as we pulled into the Luxor drop-off area.
Rudy chittered. "Maybe it's your turn to get left behind!"
The fire magus wiped her nose on her sleeve and gave a long, wet sniff, as if she could pull the snot back into her lungs. "I'm fine. It's just the healing side effects."
I gave her a head butt to the shoulder. "You're exhausted. You can't lie to me while we're bonded."
"So are you!"
"I had a nap."
"And his nose isn't dripping like the faucets in the Circus Circus women's room," Rudy added.
Both O'Meara and I looked at the squirrel, unified in thought. "Why were you in the women's bathroom at Circus Circus?"
"Uh." Rudy was saved as the door to the limo popped open.
"We have arrived, sirs and madam." The capybara whistled and tipped his hat.
O'Meara made to get up, and I pushed her back in to the seat. You're tired and slightly drunk. Go sleep off the healing. I'll be fine. We're under Death's protection. I sent her a mental snapshot of her bloodshot eyes.
Her mind briefly warred with her want of sleep and her desire to protect me. But it wasn't as if I was defenseless; as long as we were bonded, I had access to her anchor. I couldn't belch up fireballs, but it's a bit tough to contain a cat whose touch melts rock. A squeeze that nearly blew out my eardrums cut off some mumbled protest, and she slumped back into the bullet-riddled upholstery. "Stay out of trouble," she chided.
"Don't worry - he's with me!" Rudy said, assuming his usual cougar-riding position.
O'Meara winced but held her tongue. I gave her an affectionate cheek rub before departing into the casino. I felt her collapse into sleep before I breathed in the spell dog-flavored casino air. The place had begun to fill with tourists too busy looking at the faux-Egyptian glam to notice the cougar weaving among them. We made our way to the staff bar, although I doubted Bobby would be there.
As our lovely luck would have it, a certain spotted annoyance fell into step beside us long before I even got a whiff of the staff bar. I almost missed his approach, since he carried nothing I saw as magic on him.
"Well, if it isn't our pointy-toothed friend. How ya doing, Dougie?" Rudy called out.
He showed those pointy teeth to Rudy. "You are not Miss Grace, so to you I am Doug. I'd prefer Mr. Doug, but I've learned not to have expectations of rodents. And I am surprised to see you both."
I covered up my wince with a dismissive huff. "Death's little game doesn't scare us. O'Meara can wipe the floor with most magi without the aid of a familiar, and if push comes to shove, I have additional options."
"Oh yeah! Death's thing. Oh, I got some ideas how to handle that." Rudy gave an evil chuckle. "Anybody who comes after us is going to be roasted faster than a chestnut tossed into Chernobyl. Not that Chernobyl was my fault, of course." Yesterday, I would have dismissed that as an idle threat by Rudy, but after learning he had been Merlin's familiar, I wouldn't put it past him at all.
"We'll stock up on the fire wards, then," the cheetah replied as if we were discussing weather patterns.
"You are going to hunt us? We have a business relationship. I'd rather not have to kill a client," I said, trying not to think of the thousands of groat that Ceres and Doug had access to.
"It is nothing personal. But we very much need that little black book. It would be inconvenient for it to fall into someone else's hands and far more preferable for it to be safe within ours."
Nothing personal about my head on a platter? Right. I stopped walking and glared at the cheetah. "I'd think long and hard about participating in this game, because when I win, I'll have that book, and I'll remember who tried to stab me in the back."
Doug appeared to be as intimidated as a lion threatened by a mouse. He cocked his head. "Look around, Thomas. I've been here for five years now. You think I don't recognize a bluff when I see one? You've had some good luck so far, if the stories you've told are even half true. But that don't matter." His cultured accent slipped for a moment, and his voice slung low. "Vegas is not a place where lucky streaks continue. It's where they are harvested."
"Fortunately, I know how to beat a house," I said.
Doug's tail lashed with amusement. We had stopped going anywhere. Instead, we were circling each other like two toms about to throw it down. "Heard that song and dance before. Mortals come with systems and cheats, but their hopes are dashed like all the others. Death plays the same game with magi. Nobody beats his house."
"I don't care about chips or dice or odds. In four days, I'm bringing a bulldozer to Death's house and plowing the whole thing under." It was an idle threat, but it sure sounded good. "Don't get in our way, or we'll bury you too."
In an eye blink, Doug snapped forward and smacked the side of my muzzle with an open paw before I'd even registered the movement. By the time I flinched, he was back where he'd been, starting to groom a paw.
I bared my teeth rather uselessly. The blow hadn't been hard, just enough to communicate that he could have slashed open my face before I thought to dodge.
"We are suspending the contract for a few days, as is our right," he said. "This has been a lovely conversation, but perhaps it's time for you to leave."
"Nope!" Rudy interjected. "Not until we talk to Bobby."
"You did offer to make her available," I said.
His tail stopped lashing, and he cocked his head. "Really? You have a wyld hunt hanging over your head, and you are still playing private dick to the underground refugees?"
"We are."
"I'll have her find you, then. Afterward, Ceres and I will see you in a few days. Have a pleasant stay in Vegas." And he walked off into the bustling crop of dashed dreams.
"We showed him!" Rudy muttered.
"Oh, yeah," I said, unable to think about anything other than how fast the hunt would be over if the cheetah participated. Vampire or not, I couldn't fight someone that fast.
I thought about the Weaver's offer again. I could let them all win and survive it, but the cost... I tossed the thought away.
No, I'd have to survive or die the old-fashioned way. And I'd make sure Jet and Trevor got some amount of justice before I played Death's little game. I'd probably need more than one bulldozer.
Dancing on my head stirred me from my internal musings. "Earth to kitty-cat! Werecoyote at six o'clock."
I blinked to find myself perched on a barstool with an untouched bowl of steaming hot tea in front of me. My tongue was mid-groom in my elbow. My nostrils were full of stale beer and dog. Carefully, I spun around to find that same tall woman who had looked up when I asked for Bobby the last time I'd been here. She walked towards Rudy and me with long, languid strides and slid onto the barstool beside us. She flashed us a grin; dark eyes glittered with curiosity. "My, my, poor Trevor's made himself a popular fella. Got cats, rats, and goats searching high and low for him."
"Squirrel! Not a rat! Not that I've got anything against rats. They're lovely folks, usually, and don't deserve their unfair rep. But I am definitely not one!" Rudy fumed.
Bobby smirked as if she'd scored a point. "No need to get your tail in a knot - squirrel."
"You worked with Trevor, then?" I said, reaching to the point of our business.
"Ha! You don't mess around, do you? The goat at least offered to buy me a drink first."
"Jet died about last night ago. As far as I know, you were the last person to see him alive," I said, ignoring the distinct sound of Rudy's paw slapping his face.
The cheeky grin fell away from her face as her mouth dropped open in undisguised shock
. "Fuck. I'm sorry. We just walked a block away, then I split off toward home. I'm running tonight." She signaled to the bartender and ordered a double of cheap whiskey.
"The same thing that got Jet also got Trevor. Please, tell me what you know."
The drink came, a tumbler half full of whiskey. Bobby attempted to down it but choked midway and broke off, coughing. "What the hell, Ralph! That's not Jack! That's scotch!"
"On the house," the bartender called back, politely out of earshot. Human earshot, at least.
Glumly, she sipped her drink, eyes distant before she sighed. "Look, all I got to tell you is the same as I told Jet. I fired Trevor two weeks ago. Good kid, but dumb as a brick. This ain't good work for that type. Worse, he took a side job as a dishwasher for the Monte Carlo, one of Hermes's joints. That's disloyal. If you work in the casinos, you can only work for one house at a time. Otherwise, the two protections cancel each other out, and then you're meat for somebody or something."
"Whaddya mean, it's not good work for his type? Human? Or awakened?" Rudy asked, angling a brown plastic coffee stirrer into my tea.
"You want to ask me that here? Hmpf. I can see the size of your balls, so you must be stupid." She sipped her drink.
"Should we go someplace else?" I asked.
Bobby burst out laughing. "HAHAH! You think they won't hear us there? Look around, cat. See all these ears in here?" She gestured at the half-dozen other suited employees in the bar, who seemed to sink deeper into their seats. "They're just waiting for me to say something wrong. If I do, they'll bring it to the magi and ask for a treat. But at least they got a reason, poor doggos. The rest of the city, they're all the same. Ears everywhere. He got me drunk; I told your goat friend everything. Every little bit of gossip. Who knows who I offended. But I've got this!" She pulled out a pendant on a leather cord, an opal the size of a thumbnail inset in silver. She flipped it around to show House Picatrix's sign on it. Silver magic pulsed within it. "Without one of these, you're fair game."
Ralph was drifting closer, trying to catch Bobby's eyes, which had begun to take on a mad gleam. "Bobby, put that away."
All the eyes were on us now, as well as the ears.
"You want it, Ralph? Moon's getting close to full now, ain't it? You all feel it itching under your skin." She thrust it toward him, and he stumbled back.
She laughed again, a manic cackle. "Dead goats and dead boys and who knows what else. You want to know why they keep all those folks under the city? To feed the damn phantoms. You can't harvest hope without the damn things. Anybody down there is dead eventually, or they get out. First it was the satyrs, then it was the spell doggies, and now it's a bunch of blended saps from Pennsylvania." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And they don't want anyone to know that. BUT EVERYBODY DOES!" Bobby beat her fist against the table and laughed.
"Oh man, she's a few cashews short of a nutcake," Rudy whispered in my ear as I scooted over a seat. We were way off track here.
A fresh breeze slid over my fur. Doug had appeared at the door to the bar, flanked by two linebacker-containing suits. Apparently, this interview was about to end. I reached out and slammed my paw over Bobby's fist, pinning it to the table. "Do you know anything about what happened last night to Jet? Please."
Her eyes focused and sneered past me at Doug. "I saw nothing. We exited the bar. He went one way and I went the other. But I caught a whiff of cat on the wind."
"There are a lot of cats in this city." Doug stood on the bar, looming over us. "Go home, Bobby. You're letting the moon get to you."
She grinned as if she were savoring the entire situation. "I'm running tonight. Can't go home."
"You are not running tonight, Bobby. You are scaring your packmates with your unhinged rants. Take off your skin and roll around in desert dust till you have your head back."
"My head is straighter than it's been in years!" she growled back. "After I leave, you will snort and mutter 'fucking coyotes' under your breath loud enough for everyone to hear, and they will nod, because we're all crazy. But you all can smell the rotten stink in Vegas. You and Ceres are new. You tell yourself you'll play the game and wash it all off afterward. Let me tell ya: it's never going to wash out, Dougie."
Doug showed his teeth and growled, "You are done."
"Yes, I am." Bobby smashed her pendant onto the counter. It shattered, and silver moon magic rippled up into Bobby's body. Her form exploded, so fast that I was nearly knocked over from my barstool. The wind blew Doug clean off the bar.
Where Bobby had sat, a coyote the size of a horse flashed an omnidirectional grin. She tossed her head back and howled like a hurricane. A downpour of power surged through the room, pinning me to the stool. Glasses shattered, the beer running over the tables as the employees desperately covered their ears. The howl faded, and Bobby trotted out into the casino, past the fallen linemen.
"Ooooh. Yeah. Coyotes are crazy." Rudy broke the silence as he shook himself off. He'd fallen from my back and into a stream of beer. "Blah! Somebody give me a towel."
"I am glad the squirrel said it and not me." Doug's head popped up from behind the bar and gave a half-hearted bark of a laugh. His ears were drooping, and the tear-track markings on his muzzle called attention to themselves.
"What the hell was that about?" I asked as I pulled a bunch of napkins off the bar and deposited them on Rudy's head.
Doug's expression hardened, his fatigue sinking beneath a mask of hostile formality. "That is the end of your interview, gentlemen. I will see you both out." He padded to the doorway and paused, waiting for us to follow.
"Iron-enriched cashews boiled in poo water, that stuff tastes awful!" Rudy climbed up onto my back.
Doug started off into the casino before I reached him, and I followed the low, angry lashes of his tail all the way to the front door. Only then did he stop and wait for me to pass him. "Word of advice, cougar. In this town, you can't worry about those below. They can't return the favor."
"Says the guy who's the prime suspect!" Rudy snapped before I could move away.
The cheetah gave a little hissing laugh. "Why would I bother? And if I had, there's absolutely nothing either of you could do about it. Killing Thomas would only net me a fine that doesn't even qualify as pocket change. You're technically TAU, so that's a little worse. Those in the tunnels - well, if I were particularly messy about it then I might lose some respect to tongue-clucking. That's the way of it."
"You hunt us, and Thomas here is going to knock all the spots off ya. Then everyone will see how yellow you are," Rudy jeered.
Doug rushed to my opposite side, in a clear statement of and how are you going to even hit me?
My mind, however, was distant, still pondering what Bobby had said, and I wasn't interested in watching Rudy getting punted long distances. "Goodbye, Doug. I will expect delivery of our early termination fee within twenty-four hours," I said in the most businesslike tone I could manage, a bitter one. With that, I stalked off toward the waiting limo, trying to remember what the coyote smelled like.
25
Doh!
O'Meara sprawled on the far bench of the limo, snoring lightly as she slept without dreaming. The depths of her exhaustion pulled at my mind. I wanted a nap myself. No time for it now, though. Instead, I helped myself to some jerky that had been housed in a cup holder. A clock in my head ticked loudly towards the hunt. A large portion screamed at me to forget about the Grantsville folk and save myself. They'd still be there after the hunt, but I might not be.
"Friggin' cats," Rudy fumed as he dumped a water bottle over his head. "I'll feed him firecrackers after I tie his tail to the bumper of the city bus. No justice! I'll show him justice!"
"We'll have to slow him down first. His little speed trick will be difficult." Although not impossible; Bobby's howl had clearly staggered him, so his reflexes were not supernatural. We'd have to hit him in a way that he didn't see coming.
"Ssscuse me, sirs," the whistling voice of the
capybara intruded. "Do we have a destination? Or shall I drive aimlessly?"
"Take us to the Monte Carlo," I said.
"Diving from the frying pan and into the fire?" Rudy dried himself off with a few napkins.
"What other leads do we have?" I asked, leaning back on O'Meara's sleeping form.
"We need to figure out how you and O'Meara are going to head off Captain Spotty and the No Fun Crew for twenty-four hours in four days' time. You see how big Bobby's coyote form was?" Rudy said.
"Yeah... she was huge."
"Moon's close to full. Death's timing his little hunt right at the full moon. All the spell dogs are going to be on all fours." Rudy pulled open the mini fridge and extracted a can of Planters peanuts from it. A sour, squinty-eyed gaze was shot toward the driver, but Rudy didn't actually complain.
"How do spell dogs work?" I asked.
Rudy began filling his cheek pouches. "Unlike werewolves, spell dogs are either human or a wolf. The transformation is controlled by their owner via a stone. The one Bobby had? It's a similar thing, except that if a spell dog touches a master stone, they'll be screaming for days. It's a nasty spell that's been worked into their bloodline."
Everything my werewolf ex-girlfriend had ever snarled about spell dogs clicked into place. "Shit, they really are slaves, then."
Rudy nodded. "There are some codes of treatment, but if you're a spell dog, you work for a magus. Without a master, they're stuck in a single form. They don't fare well when the moon is full and they're stuck as a human."
"Rudy, why do you even talk to magi? I spent six months hunting elementals and stranger things with Veronica. She convinced me most of them were dangerous. But—"
The squirrel laughed. "Elementals are dangerous, even the cute ones that look like Pokémon. Those buggers get too big and wham! Natural disaster. Ever wonder why the big one hasn't tossed California into the sea? Cuz the magi round up all the earth elementals before they get big enough. Mundanes would never have gotten as far as they could without magi harvesting up all the magic. Without magi, reality becomes a much squishier place, and mundanes die in droves to things they can't even see."
High Steaks (Freelance Familiars Book 3) Page 15
