Heir of Ashes

by Jina S Bazzar

  Without thinking twice, I jumped in and head butted the guard, making him stagger away. And just in time too. A stray tranquilizer dart was fired, vaguely in Logan's direction. Even before I fully straightened, Logan had tackled the guard to the ground and the tranquilizer gun was no longer in sight.

  I took a step forward to help and Logan shouted for me to go, and after a brief hesitation, I went. I ran to the black Range Rover and, for a precious moment, just sat there blankly.

  Why was he fighting The Elite Team if he worked for them?

  Had the time limit of his contract expired? Or was it an elaborate scheme for me to trust Logan and… and what? There was the possibility that Logan wasn't working for the PSS, but that possibility didn't give me any comfort.

  I started the car and pressed the gas pedal too hard. The car jumped once and died. I took a long breath for a clearer head before trying again. This baby wasn't the tough case Thunder had been. I started the engine again, the smooth purring like an alien between my hands. My ribs still gave me frequent pangs with each press of the pedal, but adrenaline was a wonderful drug. I caught a glimpse of Logan and the guard still rolling on the ground, and the beginning of a crowd by the kitchen's entrance, as I backed out and drove away from the hotel.

  * * *

  I drove fast, checking the rear mirror for any tailing vehicle, found none. I didn't relax though. I had to keep telling myself that Logan would be alright, that he was a big boy and could take care of himself or I'd turn and go back for him. Well, not really, but I was feeling sort of guilty and I didn't like it.

  “Don't be a fool,” I muttered to myself. Whatever reason he had to help me, I reminded myself the man had an agenda. The telltale lights of a nearby city illuminating the horizon also helped with the guilt. So far, I had passed a few establishments, some hotels and restaurants, and a few fenced in private driveways that hid fancy mansions from prying eyes.

  I drove fast, slowing only when I spotted road signs, a feeling of wonder beginning to replace the guilt. Because, voila! I was entering Las Vegas.

  Chapter Ten

  When I reached the city, I had to slow down to watch, or I'd crash. I drove awestruck at my surroundings, absorbing everything—every small detail, every colored bulb, large and small, tall and short buildings. I particularly liked driving through The Strip, the grand hotels, the luxury cars, the variety of people and classes. I could feel the despair, the greed, the malevolence, the excitement, even with the windows closed. I don't know if they were only strong impressions or if I actually tasted them. It was like a carnival had come through and taken permanent residence.

  Prostitutes dotted the streets here and there, couples walked hand in hand. There were as many people strolling on sidewalks as there were cars on the narrow street.

  It brought to mind a kaleidoscope formed of people, vehicles, light, and colors. I wished, just for a night, that this was my life. I wished I could be as carefree as these people that, just for a night, I could forget all my troubles.

  I decided what to do when I caught sight of the Bellagio ahead. A valet came out and took the keys to the Range Rover, and I waited until he was out of sight before turning around and walking away. I looked up, and up, and up—it was as if I was in a bubble, there were no stars, no dark sky above, only glittering light and color. Despite my fatigue, I couldn't help myself. I walked around, amidst tailored clothes, expensive gowns and perfumes, punks with peacock heads, thugs clad in black leather and bad attitudes, amidst the ordinary denim and suede jackets. I walked and watched the colors, people, cars and lights until my head was spinning and my aching ribs screamed for rest. I checked in the American's Best Value Inn across the MGM—using the money I had found inside Logan's glove compartment—and ordered coffee and a light meal to be brought to my room. After I ate the chicken salad and toast, I drank the whole carafe of coffee and fell asleep face down on the pillow, putting pressure on my ribs.

  I awoke at dusk the next day feeling somewhat rested.

  My ribs ached some, but at least they were getting better. I dressed and checked out, and for a moment stood on the sidewalk, not knowing where to go, what to do. Impulsively, I crossed to the MGM Casino across the street, wanting to live, even if it was only for one night. There was something about the tall building, an air of expectancy that called to me.

  I wasn't the best-looking woman in the place, I wasn't even close to a good-looking one–by MGM's standard, especially with my faintly bruised cheek and rumpled clothes. If Michelle had been around, she would have covered the bruise so expertly, no keen observer would have been able to tell it was there. Still, despite my disheveled appearance, a lot of appreciative looks were aimed my way. I was taller than average, around six feet, with dark, glossy hair and a soft creamy complexion that accentuated the black color of my large eyes.

  As long as the looks were appreciative ones from blue auras, my alarm meter didn't buzz.

  I watched people everywhere playing, some even screaming with excitement. Women—scantily dressed and glowing with all their jingly bobbles and clownish make-up—dangled from the arms of men like crystals on chandeliers. People sweating and betting the last chip in front of them. Women in sparkling gowns of every color in the rainbow, others in conservative suits, some of which were drinking and flirting and some who gambled, the expression on their faces as intense as those of the men.

  Yeah, money speaks the universal language. As I watched the bustling activity in the casino, I realized how true those words were. There was a broad variety of people, a mix of ethnicity, economy, culture and religion, all boxed together in one place. A big spectrum that funneled down to one goal: to gamble and win, though it was a goal seldom achieved.

  The emotions inside the casino attacked my senses, but I didn't want to leave the safety of the place. I'd spotted a green aura (a hyena, I think, by the way he was strutting and the pitch of his laughter), an orange one (either a born vampire that indulged too much in blood, or a newly made one), and a silvery blue aura that shone so brightly, it practically glittered with every move the guy made, as if the light would catch his aura just right. I had no idea what it meant, but guessed it had something to do with magic wielding, since those who could wield magic had a glowing sheen on their auras. The three men were either busy gambling or mingling, and none of them glanced at me once. Nonetheless, I kept a wary eye on them–I haven't seen so many preternaturals with this much frequency before. I moved toward a bar, having to detour occasionally from people who stopped in my path to chat and laugh with someone else. I ordered a soft drink that cost more than a decent meal in a restaurant and turned around, leaning my elbows on the gleaming counter, content just to sit and people watch.

  I'd been sitting by the bar for over an hour and had just discouraged the third man on his flirtatious attempts when the fourth one arrived. I vaguely wondered, no longer bothering to hide my annoyance, if he had been waiting for the previous one to leave to occupy his place.

  I checked, long enough to make sure his aura was blue, then turned my attention back to the gamblers. I still held the soft drink, which had gone warm, the ice cubes long ago having melted.

  “Hello,” the man said, leaning forward a little to be heard over the din and noise. I had no trouble hearing him without him having to lean, and I was not going to return the favor. I raised my drink, nodded to him and returned my attention to the buzzing activity around me.

  “Can I buy you a drink? That one doesn't seem very appealing,” he said, too close to my ear. I heard him sniffing my hair and glared at him, turning my head only once I was sure that we wouldn't be bumping noses.

  He gave me an arrogant wink and signaled to the bartender. I ignored his offer of a drink and promised myself it was ok to slap him if he came sniffing again.

  I resumed people watching, keeping an eye absently on the other preternaturals I had spotted earlier. I spotted both the were-hyena and vampire on the blackjack table not so far ahead, but no t
races of Silvery Blue. I had spotted him just a couple of minutes ago near the roulette and, somehow, while I had turned to glare at Sniffer, Silvery Blue had disappeared. I got up to see past milling people, certain that he'd just gone under the range, and began combing the casino.

  Ten minutes later, I found him by the slot machines. We faced each other from about ten feet away—the span of two slot machines. The one closest to him was occupied by an African American in a blue designer suit, and the other, the one closest to me was occupied by a brunette who looked no older than I, dressed in a nice burgundy strapless dress.

  This was the first time since I had spotted Silvery Blue more than an hour ago, that I got a clear view of his face. He had very dark eyes, a square jaw, full lips under a straight nose, a tanned complexion, and straight, thick black hair that framed his face. As our gazes connected, something in him called to something in me. I felt something… a tug… a pull… and the strangest thing happened. His dark eyes suddenly flashed, becoming a brilliant shade of yellow. I felt an electric jolt all over my nervous system and had to brace myself on the edge of the slot machine to keep myself standing. He inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgement before turning to the man beside him as if nothing extraordinary had just happened, giving his full attention back to his companion, who was talking frantically and gesturing wildly with both hands. I looked around at the milling people, but no one seemed to have noticed what just happened. I looked back at Silvery Blue, now focused on his companion with his head cocked to the side. I remained frozen in place for a long while, watching the man ten feet away from me. Silvery Blue would shake his head occasionally, say something back to his companion that would cause him to start gesturing all over again. In the long moments I stood rooted there, Silvery Blue returned my gaze twice. Both times, I felt no tug, no pull, and his eyes remained dark. However, on the third time… there was something there. Puzzlement? Speculation? I don't know. But either or both, chilling was the sharp interest he exhibited. Because… it was the fascination of a stalking hunter.

  Of his companion though, I only noticed that, despite being agitated, his aura was plain blue and he had grey streaks in his dark hair and mustache before I had enough sense to turn and make a beeline for the exit. Somehow, I no longer felt safe in that crowded place.

  But it wasn't Silvery Blue I should have kept an eye out for.

  The moment I reached the lobby, one of the casino's security guards stepped right in front of me and blocked my exit.

  Despite the blue aura, he looked like one of the meanest SOBs I've ever seen and, considering my life and all the shit I've been through, that was saying a lot. He was as tall as he was wide, having at least two hundred pounds on me. He looked like one of those bodybuilders who had no limits. The more muscles the better. And, by his menacing stance, I deduced he wasn't here to offer me a drink. Could I take him? Something about him reminded me of the PSS's Elite guards, but I didn't think he was one of them. For one, his aura wasn't blurry and, if he was a guard, he would have found a way to shoot me already. Nullify the threat, no matter how many people witnessed it.

  He brushed his suit jacket with a hand, enough to emphasize the bulk underneath it.

  What? Be quiet? Don't make a scene?

  A guy brushed by talking on a phone, giving me a knowing smirk before moving away. The security guy motioned with his head to the left. There was a long, nasty scar running down his neck that disappeared inside the lapel of his suit. I followed the direction he indicated and saw another security dude there. Behind me, people approached.

  “Follow me,” he said quietly, and it didn't pass me by that he assumed I'd be able to hear him above the din and noise of the casino. He waited a beat, and when I made no move to follow, he took a threatening step forward.

  When he took another step and reached for me, I grabbed the person behind me and pushed him—her—on the security SOB, and then I turned and bolted back inside.

  There was a squeal of outrage and a commotion broke out behind me, but I didn't pause to look.

  I moved through the throng of people as fast as I could, the multitude of bodies—that had given me some sense of security earlier—were now live obstacles on my path.

  I spotted a security guard and veered in the opposite direction. Every person that looked at me was a potential threat, every step in my direction a suspicious move.

  I had to get the hell out of there. Yesterday.

  Near the craps tables, a hand closed over my forearm from behind. I fisted my other hand, turned and punched.

  And broke Sniffer's nose.

  He stumbled back into the cocktail waitress behind him, hitting the tray with his flailing hands and spilling all the drinks on a tall man behind the waitress in a shower of alcohol and glass. Blood gushed from Sniffer's nose like an open faucet. Covering his nose with a hand, he began screaming—like a girl—in outrage and pain.

  Any other time, I would have apologized profusely, tried to help, and looked back on the memory with a fond smile.

  This wasn't any other time…

  Every eye within hearing radius was on us, including those of the security dudes. Suddenly, Sniffer's eyes rolled back, the whites showing all around and he fell like a rock. A guy caught him before he hit the floor, glaring blue eyes up at me, and a swarm of people closed over Sniffer's prone body, blocking my view. I turned and hurried away as fast as possible with a crowd as thick as that, hearing some of the people who had stopped to help Sniffer calling after me. I received some glares from the sympathetic, amused looks from the cynical and wondering looks from the curious.

  No one tried to intervene. Neither by stopping or restraining me, nor to help me by moving out of the way. Most just stood and watched with different expressions while the rest were too intent in their gambling's to care about us.

  A security guard stepped in front of me—the mean SOB from the lobby—and grabbed my arm before I could bolt. So, I punched him in the stomach. It felt like I had punched an iron wall. I kicked his shin, and he grunted in pain and only tightened his grip. It was the same reaction I had received from Bad Boy Two. The only difference being this time I had boots on and was sure I should have gotten a more dramatic reaction than just a measly grunt. I know, I've kicked so many people before, I at least should have gotten a broken bone.

  I looked around but there was no one there to help, even though people surrounded us in every direction.

  Some pointed fingers at me. Some gave me disgusted looks. Some laughed at my futile struggles. Some looked outraged. Everywhere I could see people had stopped to watch. And, oh God, some raised cell phones and recorded.

  Still, no one tried to help.

  The security guy slapped one handcuff on my wrist, the other around his own.

  I spotted Silvery Blue watching not from too far, his face blank, void of any expression. Then another security guy stepped in, blocking my view, then another and another. Four of them. Why?

  I pulled on the cuff, sure I could break the link, but nothing. Not even a faint metal squeak. I pulled again and again, with no result.

  Without a second thought for the avid spectators and their recording devices, I jerked my left hand and… nothing happened. No talons. I jerked it again, but nothing. I searched the cuff for any runes, but the metal was smooth, with no markings to be seen.

  People cleared the path for the security guards and it was either I move or risk being dragged by the wrist. I had no doubt the giant bodybuilder would have no trouble dragging me behind him like a rag doll.

  So I followed and tried taking note of where I was being taken.

  Chapter Eleven

  We moved to the back of the casino, past the bar, past an empty stage, past the restrooms, until we reached a set of double doors. The entrance was marked “private”, and in case one missed the sign, two guards kept nosy guests from going any further. They stepped aside for us to enter, giving no other acknowledgement to our passing.

  The oth
er three guards didn't follow us inside.

  We entered a plush hallway decorated with paintings and cleverly sculpted marble statues, mounted on top of gleaming dark wood, placed carefully in intervals between closed doors and paintings.

  I was hustled, from hallway to hallway until we reached a lonely elevator at the end of an empty corridor. Nothing marked the metal frame of the door but a small key hole. No lights, no numbers to indicate the car's location, no call button.

  The feeling of foreboding, present ever since I had left Paul's diner that last time in Idaho, reared itself and slammed full force in me, leaving me breathless. My steps faltered, but giant didn't pause or miss a step.

  He inserted a long, thin key into the slot and turned it. Immediately, the door opened to reveal a sterile, brightly-illuminated elevator car.

  No ding, no music, just the swoosh of the door.

  Oh, hell no.

  I renewed my struggles, kicking, punching and, yes, screaming. Like a girl.

  Aside from a mean glare, Giant didn't acknowledge me. He entered the elevator, pulling me behind him like a stubborn mule. I braced a leg on the metal frame, grabbed the link of the cuff and pulled. Hard.

  And fell butt down when Giant came forward willingly.

  He picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me into the car.

  I screamed and kicked all the way up.

  He took me to the top-most floor, to what I assumed was the penthouse and where that source of foreboding originated from. The car door opened, and I was dropped unceremoniously on my feet and shoved roughly with a beefy hand to the floor. I fell to my knees and glared up at Giant, who ignored it and took a key from his pocket and undid the handcuffs.

  Immediately, I jerked my hand and talons appeared. The security guard smiled menacingly, his aura becoming completely black, like Bad Boy Two's aura had become after he got shot. Whoa! I scrambled back, and something flickered in the depths of his eyes… something not of this world.