Vegas Rules

by Jan Stryvant

Sean ducked his head in a nod and padded alongside the First as they started to go up the side of the mountain.

  "You did well today, Son," the First said looking over at him and giving him a wink.

  "Thanks, Dad!" Sean said with a laugh.

  "But really, you handled them well. You came in and took command and told them what they had to do."

  "Yeah, but I had to shift into my hybrid form," Sean sighed.

  "Why?"

  "Because I doubt they would have listened to me, I'm still a kid to them, hell I am still a kid," Sean shook his head, "I don't think anyone there was under thirty and I'm just barely twenty-one."

  "But you didn't switch into your lion form."

  Sean gave him a sidelong glance, "Well I didn't want you to take over on me."

  The First laughed, "You really are one of mine, you know that? For all that you were afraid you couldn't deal with it, you still weren't about to let me upstage you."

  Sean looked down at the ground embarrassed. "Well, it is supposed to be my job. You've made that clear more than once."

  The First nodded his head, "Yes, I have, and as I said before, you did a very good job today. Shifting into your hybrid form was the right thing to do. Even if you thought they would have listened to you without it. It reminds them just who, and what you are, every time they look at you."

  "Does it? Does it really?"

  "It's a part of them that they can't deny. They all feel it, they will always feel it. Even those that try to deny it will still feel it deep down, nagging at them."

  "How does that work?" Sean asked, curious, "Are we deep in their subconscious? Some sort of racial memory?"

  "No, it's because we actually are a part of them. Remember, every lycanthrope in the world today was created by us, or at least their ancestors were. We used our essence, or to put it in modern day terms, our DNA. Our core DNA is what allows them to exist, what makes them possible. That little bit of us that we passed onto them is still of us. It calls to us, and they can feel it."

  "Is that how you took away Michael's ability to shift?" Sean asked with a sudden suspicion.

  "Yes, I talked to that part of him, a part that we can control when we do some of that 'mystical shit' as you're so fond of saying. And it's why we need more of them to live, so that all of us can live. As we spread our essence out among them, we became interdependent. We may be gods, but what are gods without their people?"

  "Huh, I had no idea."

  "Which is why I'm telling you of course," the First chuckled.

  "Thanks, Dad," Sean smiled as they continued up the side of the mountain. "So, why am I here tonight?"

  "What, a father can't wish to see his son?"

  Sean laughed and brushing up against the First he rubbed his head against the First's.

  "Uh-huh, you're in my head all the time. But if that was all this was, I don't mind."

  "I wanted to talk a little more about what happens next."

  "Next?"

  "After Vegas."

  "I'd rather not discuss that until we've actually won here, Dad," Sean admitted.

  "You'll win, don't worry about that. They've learned that you're as ruthless as the other side and that you won't play by their rules. They won't let you down. Now that's not to say it will be easy, nothing ever is, but you're not going to stop until Vegas is yours, right?"

  Sean shook his head, "No, of course not."

  The First stopped walking and turned to look at Sean. "Now, stop and think a moment, would you have said that a year ago?"

  Sean stopped and blinked, tilting his head a little as he did think about it.

  "I... I don't know, but to be honest, no, I don't think I would have. But then I would never have so cavalierly told everyone to burn down a bunch of casinos and kill our enemies either."

  The first grinned at him, "You've grown up a lot since then, haven't you?"

  "Ummm," Sean said and started to pad alongside the First as he started walking again, "I guess so."

  "So, just as what you did today was something you would have thought beyond you before all of this, you may think the next step is as well. But it's not."

  Sean stopped and sighed heavily, then looked up at the First who was looking back at him.

  "You want me to free them all, don't you?"

  "No, not all. Just the ones on this continent."

  "Oh!" Sean said waving his paw in the air sarcastically, "why that shouldn't take more than a week!" and he looked back at the First with a frown.

  "You need to work on your sarcasm more; I really wasn't feeling that one."

  Sean snorted. "How the hell am I supposed to free everyone on the continent?"

  "Oh, one at a time, I suppose," the First snickered and started walking again. "The Chinese have a saying: 'He who would move a mountain, starts with the pebbles.' Besides, you're not up against a deadline. You don't have to get this done tomorrow."

  "But I do have to get it done," Sean grumbled.

  "Sean," the First sighed, "did you really need me to tell you that this needs to be done?"

  Sean just shook his head, deep down he knew this was coming.

  "Why do you think Arthur Troy got his people to declare an end to the traditions of slavery? Even he could see it in you, and even he could see that this wasn't his hill to die on."

  "But it is mine, right?"

  "Son, I don't expect you to die of anything beyond old age in bed while trying to satisfy a hot little twenty-year-old," the First grinned.

  They both stopped then, and Sean noticed that they'd made it to the top of the mountain. Sitting down, he looked out off into the distance. Interestingly enough, all of northern America was laid out before them like a map.

  As Sean watched, places started to glow across the map, some brighter than others.

  "Because they use our people, we have a fairly good idea of where the different councils are located, and where they are strongest."

  Sean looked it over; there were maybe three dozen spots on the map.

  "That's it? How many magic users are there?"

  "About two hundred and fifty thousand, give or take."

  Sean looked at the First, "Two hundred and fifty thousand is still a lot of people, even in a country of three hundred million."

  "Ah, but look."

  Sean looked at the map, and a warm amber color started to suffuse through it. It was brighter in the Midwest, but it went all the way up into Canada and Alaska.

  "Those are our people, aren't they?" Sean asked.

  "Close to a million of them."

  "And just how many lions are there in North America?"

  The entire map went dark then, except for a single point of golden light.

  Sean turned to the side to look at the First, "Really?" he complained.

  "Well, your sarcasm is improving at least," the First laughed back. "There were a few others, but currently they're busy elsewhere."

  "So, I'm on my own? Well, besides you of course, Dad."

  "For now, yes, it's just us."

  Sean sighed, "Okay, hit me with the obligatory pep talk. I think I'm going to need it."

  "Sean?"

  "Yes, Dad?"

  "You can do this. I have faith in you."

  "That's it?" Sean asked looking at the First who nodded.

  "I am a god, Sean. What more could you possibly need?"

  Sean shook his head; he had to laugh at that.

  "Good night, Son."

  And Nightmares

  Atticus swore as they finally pulled up in front of the Clark County Morgue. That annoying pissant of an animal that called himself the sheriff had told him that the morgue wouldn't be open until eight in the morning, so Atticus had gotten up at four in the morning and gotten his personal driver to bring him here.

  Blake was dead. Or so they had told him. He wouldn't believe it until he actually saw it. Blake, his Blake, his only son! Samantha was a good wife and a good woman, but she'd only given him worthless daught
er after daughter until on the fifth try she'd finally had Blake. Finally, he'd had the son he'd always wanted!

  Atticus had made sure that Blake never wanted for anything, that nothing was beyond his grasp. He'd gone to great lengths to see that Blake got the best teachers, the best equipment, the best of everything.

  When Samantha had left him, taking her worthless daughters with her, he hadn't cared. She'd done her job; she'd given him the son he needed to pass his legacy on to. Jenna, who'd been his favorite up until Blake was born, still called him occasionally, she was the only one, not that he cared all that much. He had his son, he had his mistress, he had his slaves.

  What more did the second most powerful man in the west need?

  Atticus swore and got out of the car as Sheffield, his driver, opened the door for him.

  A son, he needed a son.

  Oh, how he hoped that flea-bitten son-of-a-bitch was wrong about Blake's death. The animal had said that Blake had lost control of the car he was driving, and crashed. Josh, one of Blake's friends or more like one of the many 'hanger-ons' that surrounded his son, was in the hospital recovering from the accident, so Atticus hadn't been able to talk to him. The other two who had come out with Blake were driving back to LA. Apparently, that animal had told his deputies to run them out of town, so Atticus hadn't been able to talk to them either.

  Josh's father, Cory, had flown out last night and called Atticus after seeing his son and told him that they'd been chasing some girls that had rebuffed Blake's advances, insulting him.

  Atticus found that hard to believe! Who would turn down the advances of his son? He had everything any girl could ever want, money, power, and good looks. He shook his head, something wasn't quite right.

  "Do you want me to go with you, Sir? Or should I stay with the car?"

  "Stay here, Sheffield," Atticus said with a dismissive wave and walked up to the doors. It was five after eight, and they were open, thankfully. Going inside he went straight to the receptionist at the front desk.

  "May I help you?" she asked him.

  "I'm here to identify my son, Blake Cortland."

  "One moment, Mr. Cortland," the woman behind the desk said, and he heard her typing something on the keyboard in front of her, then she looked up at him, "Please have a seat, Sir. The Medical Examiner will be out in a moment; I'll call her and let her know that you're here."

  Atticus frowned and walked over towards the chairs that were arranged against the wall. After sitting in the car for the last four hours, sitting didn't really appeal to him at all. It wasn't very long until he heard a woman's voice behind him.

  "Mr. Cortland?"

  Turning, Atticus was rather shocked to see a very attractive woman in a business suit with a badge hanging out of her pocket and an ID card on a chain around her neck.

  "Yes, and you are?"

  "Gloria Channing, I'm the Medical Examiner and the person in charge of the Medical Examiner's office."

  Atticus stiffened, what was an animal doing in charge of anything, much less a place like this?

  Gloria smiled; she didn't miss the small frown of disapproval when he heard her name.

  "Yes, Mr. Cortland, my husband is the sheriff. Before we get started, please understand that I know exactly who you are, which is why I am dealing with you, rather than one of my underlings. Now, I understand that you wish to see your son's remains?"

  "I want to see his body. To make sure you didn't foul up," Atticus said, biting his words off.

  "Mr. Cortland, we've already confirmed that it is your son's remains. However," Gloria frowned, "I must warn you that after your son died, his body was burned beyond recognition. It is not something I would recommend any parent ever see."

  "Then how do you know it's him?"

  Gloria lowered her voice, "We have a mage on staff that we use for cases like this, especially when someone important is involved. Further, your son's friend Josh confirmed that Blake was the only one in the car with him.

  "Again, I would advise you didn't see this."

  "Just what are you trying to hide?" Atticus snarled.

  "Nothing, I'm just trying to spare your an unpleasant sight."

  "I've seen worse, I can assure you."

  Gloria gave a nod of her head, she was sure he'd seen worse, and equally sure he'd been the cause of the things he'd seen as well. Atticus Cortland was known to be quite the butcher at times. One didn't climb the ladder in Gradatim without stepping on a lot of dead bodies every rung of the climb, after all.

  "Then follow me," she said and led him past a gate that they were buzzed through by the receptionist, then down a hallway towards the back of the building. Gloria used her ID card to unlock the door, then opening it and standing aside she motioned for Atticus to enter.

  Inside there were three rows of metal doors along the back wall that went from one end of the room to the other. Another man was working in the room, examining the contents of a bag on a desk.

  "Joseph, could you open up sixteen please," Gloria said.

  "Sure thing, Doctor Channing."

  Gloria motioned to the small square door set in the wall that Joseph walked over to, so Atticus walked over to it as the man grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, then grabbing the handle on the end of the tray he pulled it out.

  Atticus's nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of burned flesh, and other chemicals, the lump under the blanket was long enough to be a man, but by no means shaped right.

  "What's that smell?" Atticus asked, looking back at Gloria.

  "The chemicals the fire department used to put out the fire. The crash was about a mile outside of town, so they didn't have access to any fire hydrants."

  Atticus turned back to look at Blake's remains, Joseph had pulled the sheet back and Atticus looked at the charred corpse. Gloria had been right, it wasn't pretty. True, he'd seen worse, he'd burned people to death in his past, and even watched them die. He noticed there was a fair bit of melted metal on the limbs, or stuck to the body in places that he'd guess was where the pockets on his clothing had been.

  It was then that it struck him; people who burned to death usually were bent over in pain or had their hands around their head as they tried to protect themselves.

  "Why isn't he curled up, trying to protect himself?" Atticus growled, looking at Gloria.

  "Because he was already dead when his body was burned. I told you that back out in the lobby."

  Atticus stopped and thought a moment; she had said something about that.

  "How do you know he didn't burn to death?"

  "There were no signs of fire or smoke in his lungs. So he wasn't breathing when his body burned."

  "Then what did he die of, if he didn't burn to death?"

  "We're not exactly sure, we're still investigating the accident, but the tentative finding is that he broke his neck while the car was rolling over from his body being tossed around inside the cabin. If he'd been wearing his seatbelt, that and the airbags would probably have saved his life."

  "How did the other kid, Josh, survive?"

  "He was thrown out of the car, through an open window."

  Atticus turned back to Blake's remains and reaching out with a hand he gently touched a charred and burned piece of the body and cast a simple identification spell. His worst fears were confirmed, it wasn't one of his son's friends, it was indeed Blake. Moving his hand down over one of the melted lumps of metal, he could detect a faint magical residue. Obviously, his son's items had melted in the fire, though he didn't recall him having so many of them. Too bad nobody made something to protect from a broken neck.

  It was the one thing in which the animals had the advantage over their betters.

  He realized Gloria had said something to him then.

  "What?" Atticus turned to face Gloria who made a motion to Joseph, who covered up the body and slid it back into the wall.

  "I asked, what do you want us to do with your son's remains? Do you have a funeral home ba
ck in Los Angeles that we can call? Also, where do you want his personal effects sent?"

  "Personal effects?"

  "The police cleaned out his hotel room, they have his luggage. I can have it shipped back to your home, or you can pick it up from police headquarters."

  Atticus sighed and thought about that a moment, "I'll have someone call you."

  Gloria led Atticus back to the front of the building and out the front door, giving a sigh of relief the moment the door closed behind his back.

  "You okay, Doctor Channing?" The receptionist asked.

  "I am now. Let me know if he ever comes back here, or if anyone else makes inquiries about his son."

  "Is he somebody important?"

  "Actually he's a sociopathic killer and a member of a large organized syndicate. But you didn't hear that from me."

  Atticus couldn't help but notice the Sheriff's car that was parked near his. He also couldn't help but notice that the Sheriff was standing there, with one of his deputies on the other side of the car. Atticus had never met Sheriff Channing personally, but he knew what he looked like, as it was his job to know.

  "Atticus," Bill said giving a small nod of his head.

  "It's Mister Cortland to you!" Atticus said, glaring at the Sheriff. He debated casting something on the animal to put him in his place, but the deputy was standing on the other side of the car and was watching him like a hawk with his hand on his gun.

  "Right," Bill said with a smile, "I took the liberty of placing your son's personal effects into the trunk of your car. I thought I would save you the trouble of dealing with us any more than you had to. This way you can leave right now, instead of having to linger in our less than fair city."

  "I'll leave when I want to; I will not be dictated to by the likes of you!" Atticus said rather hotly.

  "Only trying to be helpful, Atticus," Bill drawled and started to turn to his car then stopped.

  "Oh, by the way. When we were gathering up your son's personal effects, we found this," Bill said and pulling the wand out of his sleeve, he held it in the middle, presenting it to Atticus.

  Atticus's eyes went wide, and he seized the wand immediately.

  "Ah, I see you recognize just what that is. Tell me; is it your usual practice to let a teenager run around with a wand of disintegration? I'd have thought that would have set you back quite a bit."