“So,” I said after she returned to my side, leaving her bemused would-be swain staring after her, “should we play the slots for a minute? You know, now that we’re so lucky?” I raised my eyebrows at her.
“Jules,” her tone was stern, “that’s not the purpose of the amulet. Don’t abuse it, unless you want it to fail when you do need the luck.”
Huh. That was the first time I’d heard a safety pin called an “amulet.”
“But,” Sheila’s eyes sparkled, “if you’re up for it, can we go outside for just a few minutes and watch the fountains? I’ve seen them in movies and such, but I’d love to watch them in person.”
“Sure.” After all, we deserved a few minutes of fun.
Walking through the swanky hotel, we saw an interesting cross-section of America. Drunk college kids, middle-aged couples with kids in tow, and, of course, some high rollers. I kept expecting to see George Clooney or something, but such was not my luck. Even with a Holstein cow-adorned amulet. I will admit my jaw dropped when we saw one room with hundred dollar slot machines. Truly. Slot machines that took tokens worth one hundred dollars each. Who had that kind of money? I wasn’t so sure about the whole Vegas thing. Here was this beautiful hotel and casino that, on one hand, I could luxuriate in and appreciate. Yet, on the other hand, I found the whole town a slap-in-the-face indictment of capitalism and the culture of excess: people throwing away their money, other people continually building the biggest and best and newest attraction, the entire city siphoning off water for miles and miles around.
Sheila and I joined the group of people waiting for the fountains to perform. The show was worth waiting for. The fountains started dancing, sending their jets skyward in time with the music, and Sheila and I found ourselves oooh-ing and aaah-ing with the crowd like at a fireworks show. The water cycled through several songs, then lapsed into quietude again. The crowd gave a collective sigh and many people moved off toward other attractions, though a few diehard fans looked ready to camp out for the next performance.
“Well. Back to the room, I guess,” I said.
“I just wish we could do something, instead of just waiting for nightfall.”
“I know.”
Sheila leaned on the stone wall and studied her fingernails. “I need a manicure.”
“My treat, when we get back to Oregon.”
“Jules, this is your first time in Vegas, right?”
“Right. If only I was an old-Vegas hand and knew all about where the mafia had their lairs.”
“Hmmm.” Sheila grinned. “I was thinking more along the lines of seeing some of the Vegas sights—just for half an hour or so, since Carson’s safe and there’s nothing productive to do.”
“That sounds great, actually. I’ll call Eliza and make sure it’s okay with them.”
Eliza reported Carson was still asleep and gave us the green light to spend half an hour walking around the Strip. It wasn’t much time, but—then again—half an hour sounded like enough, considering the heat. Sheila pulled me down the walk toward the main sidewalk. She craned her head this way and that before pointing.
“Caesar’s Palace is right next door. Across the street and that way,” Sheila gestured to the left, “is the Venetian. Are you up for a bit of a walk? I’d really like to see the Venetian.”
“Sure.”
I fell into step beside Sheila and we moved into the flow of pedestrians, crossed the Strip on an overhead walkway, then headed past a number of casinos: The Flamingo, The Imperial Palace, Harrah’s. Each one was a variation on a theme—the theme being “How Can We Entice People In to Gamble and Shop.” We passed three women handing out small pieces of paper the size of baseball cards. Perplexed, I took one, only to realize they advertised escort services and exotic dancers. Sheila walked on a few steps, before she noticed I’d stopped.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Just…this is a crazy city.” The front of the card had a picture of a naked woman—Amber, if the print was reliable, which I found dubious at best—with her significant bits and pieces covered by black stars. The back listed pertinent details about “Amber” and gave a phone number. I handed it to Sheila, who raised her eyebrows.
“I should take a bunch of these and analyze them in my rhetoric course. Or with my women’s studies students.” Sheila picked up a bunch of discarded papers others had thrown to the sidewalk. “Look how many of these are women of color, mostly Asian women, and how young they look. They might be eighteen, but they’re sure made to look younger.”
“Yuck.”
We continued down the street, Sheila stuffing the cards into her red lizard purse. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the time. “No way we’re going to make it to the Venetian and back in half an hour. We’re almost there, but it’s already been fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, well, call Eliza and tell her we’ll be a little later. I guess distances are deceptive on the Strip.”
I did so, and we proceeded.
The Venetian truly was spectacular. The inside gallery resembled the outdoors—in Venice, of course. The high ceilings were painted a cloud-dappled blue, airy piazzas featured street performers posing as marble statues, and the shops looked like freestanding stores. And a canal—an actual canal ran through the middle of the casino—complete with gondolas. I’d heard about the Venetian, but it surpassed expectations.
We walked around for a few minutes and gawked at the scene. As we navigated the crowds, I looked for suspicious people, but found only the usual tourists. Nevertheless, I continued to check behind us, as I grew more and more uneasy. Sheila kept making jokes about people buying purses that cost more than her yearly salary from Southern Oregon University. Actually, she wasn’t really joking, but we acted like it was funny, anyway. At Sheila’s insistence, we stopped for gelato—dark chocolate for me, strawberry for her—and sat on a bench near the canal to eat it.
“What is it?” Sheila asked.
“What is what?”
“Why do you keep looking around like that? Just restless?”
“No,” I said, slowly, putting it all together. “I think someone is following us.”
Sheila bolted upright and turned in a full circle.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I just feel…like someone is watching.”
“Okay. Okay. Well, it’s been a stressful couple of days. Are you sure it’s not your imagination?”
“No,” I said, “I’m not sure. I’m just the human.”
“Okay.” Sheila scanned the moving crowds. “So…what do we do?”
I shook my head. “Start back toward the Bellagio and see if we can spot anyone following us? Maybe I’m just being jumpy?”
“That’s your plan?”
“Do you have a better plan?”
“No. Do we call Tim and Eliza?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “Not until we know if it’s true. I want them with Carson; he’s the real target.”
Chapter Fifteen
Of course, if I had Were senses, I’d know if someone stalked us. The thought looped through my mind as we threaded between shoppers and out of the Venetian. The back of my neck tingled and I had to fight the urge to turn around every other step. Once on the sidewalk, I watched the windows as we passed to see if I could get a glimpse of someone behind us. Sheila stopped and pointed to something in a store; we both used it as an opportunity to search the sidewalk behind us.
After several such stops, I said, “That guy in the green t-shirt, is he watching us?”
“With the jean shorts?”
Sheila and I stood close together. I heard the tension in her voice and saw it in the set of her shoulders. The guy did seem to watch us. When he saw our attention turned toward him, he gave Sheila a slow up-and-down look. An ogle, practically. Okay, he was just one of Sheila’s many admirers and not a mafia thug. Unless it was a cover. Was it a cover?
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think he’s harmless
. And not my type.”
“Okay.” I scanned the rest of the crowd, aware we’d been standing in one place for long enough any real tail would have had a chance to hide. “Let’s keep going.”
We continued down the Strip, consciously alternating our pace from fast walking to a slow amble. I resisted the urge to rub the back of my neck, to smooth down the hairs that felt so prickly. When possible, I angled my body to Sheila as if in conversation, while stealing sidelong glimpses of the sidewalk. Nothing. But I still felt…
“This sucks.”
“Have you seen anything? Anyone?” Sheila asked.
“No.” I rubbed my eyes. “If only—”
Sheila waited for a minute, then prompted. “If only what?”
“I wish—” I made a futile gesture and shook my head. “I just wish I knew if there was someone watching us, following us. I wish I could sense more.”
Sheila said nothing.
“Or, you know, or hide us. Or get us out of here.”
“Jules.”
“What?” I felt defensive.
“Julie Hall. I know what you’re thinking and you might not even become a Were. You might die. Have you really thought about that? That you might die? Do you want Carson to grow up without a mother? His father is already dead.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sheila glared at me, and my anger rose in return.
“I didn’t mean—Goddammit, Sheila, that’s not what I meant.” I lied.
“Oh?”
How did she do that? How did she load such meaning into a single syllable?
“I didn’t mean that. I meant—I wish I knew if I was imagining things or not.” I sounded grumpy even to me, which only made me grumpier.
We walked a few more paces in silence, and Sheila, apparently, decided to let the subject drop.
“Let’s detour through the Flamingo before we cross the street to the Bellagio,” she suggested. “If there is someone still nearby, we can lose him in the casino.”
Following her lead, we ducked through the door of the Flamingo. Once inside, we proceeded to wind our way through the crowds, trying to stick to areas of dense congestion and make sudden turns. At one point, I stood and watched a craps game for several minutes, while Sheila continued on, doubled back, and scoped out the vicinity. When she returned to my side, she declared herself fairly convinced no one followed us.
“Unless they’re very skilled,” she added as a caveat.
I didn’t mention the obvious: if the mafia stalked us, they would be very skilled.
Instead, I nodded agreement and we decided to return to the Bellagio—via the side door of the Flamingo and down a different street, then positioning ourselves as much as possible in the thickest clusters of tourists. By this point, I couldn’t even decide if I still felt like we were being watched; my instincts and paranoia fused.
With no further events, we arrived at the Bellagio, back at the dancing fountains where this whole misbegotten excursion began. I leaned on the stone railing, craning my head up and down the Strip, looking back at all the various resorts. No one. It must have been my imagination after all. Then I did a double-take, my eyes backtracking and searching the crowds. Even after I caught glimpse of what had attracted my attention, it took me a beat to realize what I saw.
“Sheila, it’s Ian and Dave.” I pointed halfway down the block.
Sure enough, the lanky forms of Ian MacGregor and his best friend Dave Blithe walked up the Las Vegas Strip.
“Who?” Sheila asked, blankly searching the crowd.
I realized with a small shock Sheila didn’t know them and explained, “Ian MacGregor, Mac’s younger brother. He’s seventeen. And his best friend Dave. They’re both, uh, you know, dog-lovers and from Wyoming. But what the hell are they doing here? They’re putting themselves in danger.”
“Yes,” drawled Sheila, “people without credentials or experience should definitely not put themselves in harm’s way, right?”
Okay, so she had a point. But still, at least we had a bit of age and experience on our side. Plus Eliza and Tim. These boys were in way over their heads, if, in fact, they were here alone to investigate the murders.
I made my decision quickly.
“Ian. Dave.” I yelled as the two drew closer. I repeated myself a few times before they seemed to hear me, then waved my arms wildly as they looked about. Dave saw me first and elbowed Ian, who startled visibly. The two of them had a quick exchange of words and detoured up the walk to the Bellagio.
“What are you doing here?” Ian asked. “I thought you and Eliza headed back to Oregon.”
“I could ask you the same question. Do your parents know you’re here?” I said, careful not to snap at him. Or, that was my intent.
Dave looked at Ian, who directed his gaze to the pavement. His shoulders slumped and he muttered a reply.
“What?”
“I said,” Ian’s voice raised with a note of anger, “no, they don’t know we’re here. They think we’re out camping and hunting for a week.”
“Ian—” I started.
“No.” He snapped his head up to look at me. “No, you’re not my mother and I have every right—more right than you—to be here. He was my brother, not my, what, lover? Sex toy? Disposable boyfriend? Baby daddy?”
I literally took a step back from him, wounded by the anger in his voice. Tears rushed to my eyes though luckily, luckily not down my face.
“Sorry, punk.” Sheila stepped toe to toe with Ian, though he had her by about five inches. “You do not talk to my friend that way. She loved your brother—loved him. The only reason they broke up is because he wouldn’t open up to her. She’s been spending the last year pining after him and finding out he’s dead broke her heart all over again. So you,” she poked him in the chest, “are going to apologize.”
“Now,” she added, when he didn’t immediately move or speak.
“Ian,” Dave spoke, “she came all the way here to figure things out. Or avenge him. Or something. Even though she’s human.” It sounded like a swear word, coming out of his mouth. He jerked his chin at Ian. “Dude, you’re seriously overreacting. Listen to the Witch.”
Ian unclenched his fists and mumbled, “Sorry.”
I blinked hard and made a show of cleaning my glasses.
“So,” I said brightly. “Now that we’re all best friends again, should we go inside and talk about this? You know, instead of providing free entertainment?” I gestured to the people surrounding us, all of whom had been listening eagerly and all of whom now started to talk avidly amongst themselves as if they had not noticed the four freaks making a scene in front of the Bellagio fountains.
“You’re staying at the Bellagio?” Dave asked, his expression one of envy.
“First rate all the way, boys,” said Sheila. Linking her arm through mine, she drew me through the doorway and across the foyer. Dave and Ian followed, hesitating only briefly for a shared look.
Chapter Sixteen
Sheila knocked on the door before then using her card key to open it. The door swung in to reveal Tim, mild look gone from his face, standing as if ready to spring. The muscles in his arms and neck tensed as he took in our group.
“Tim,” Eliza sounded exasperated, “I told you, I know them. They’re not enemies, they’re my pack. Ian MacGregor and Dave Blythe.”
Dave and Ian had frozen in place, but all three Weres relaxed as the truth of Eliza’s words made itself apparent to Tim. Eliza came closer to the door.
“In, in, in, folks,” she said, “and shut the door.”
“Is Carson still sleeping?” I queried, to which I received a curt nod.
I knew Eliza and Dave were both full moons, but the dominance in the room clearly belonged to our girl. She was not happy to see the two teens. As soon as the door closed fully, she strode up to the taller Weres and gently, firmly, mock-playfully pushed them both, thumping them each with her hands on their shoulders.
“Wh
at the hell are you two pups doing here?” Although they stood a couple of inches taller, she somehow seemed larger.
Ian opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking at Dave with wide eyes. Dave took half a step backward and stopped with his back against the wall.
“We came to see if we could figure out what’s going on. The council and their investigators”—if Ian hadn’t sounded submissive, I would have said he sneered the words—“don’t seem to be doing their job.”
“You two took it upon yourselves to come here, with no permission and no guidance, walking blindly into a situation that killed older and better Weres?” Eliza’s dark brown eyes narrowed in anger.
“Better Weres?” spat Dave.
Ian’s defiance surfaced and he retorted, “Just like you. Why are you here, when everyone believed you were going to Oregon? You aren’t trained council investigators, either.”
“First of all,” Eliza stared at Ian until he dropped his gaze to the ground, “you have no way of knowing we’re not here as part of the council’s response to these killings.”
She reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“However,” she continued, “You are correct. The council doesn’t know we are here. But I am second only to our pack Full, and Julie is answerable to no one. We are adults taking responsibility for our actions, even when they lead us into danger. I intend to take the consequences with our pack, as well. Do you?”
Her speech widened to include Dave. “You two pups,” the exaggerated scorn in her voice was unmistakable, “are not yet adults. You do not have full standing in the pack. You lied to our pack about your whereabouts. You put yourself at risk, carelessly, thoughtlessly at risk. This is not a video game, pups. And you—” She smacked Ian again in both shoulders. “You should know better. How do you think your parents would react if they lost both their sons? Do you really think you’d fare any better than Mac—Mac, who was older, wiser, stronger—if you actually fought our enemies? Or would I need to call your parents and tell them you were dead? Can you imagine the look on your mother’s face as she buries her last son?”
Dark Moon Wolf Page 16
