by Tricia Owens
The third person in the bar I wasn't sure I could claim was actually in it. The guy stood in the corner of the room, the toes of his ratty tennis shoes touching the two connecting walls. That was it. Just standing there, hands forward and out of sight. Was he in another world, mentally? He wore a hip-length dirty green coat and saggy dark pants. I hoped he wasn't urinating, but who knew.
Ambiance-wise, the place was crappy and dingy. You drank here to hide from the world, not to find any pleasure in drinking or in socializing. That seemed to fit my reason for being here, too, at least partly.
The bartender still hadn't noticed me. I doubted he would unless I waved a five under his nose, and even then it might need to be rolled up and dusted with cocaine. His inattention allowed me to explore the small, miserable room without notice. There wasn't much to look at: a dartboard near the guy in the corner with most of its cork pulled out, a couple of framed photographs of desert scenes, their glasses stained brown from the pervasive cigarette smoke, and a payphone whose receiver was probably a raging source of oral herpes. Nice.
No green striped wallpaper, but then, I hadn't thought it would be that easy.
Grimacing, I made my way toward the back, where there was a doorway I assumed led to the restrooms. I prayed I wouldn't have to go inside them because who knew what atrocities I'd find in there. I ended up drawing up short just outside the doorway, checking out the walls, the floor, even the stained ceiling.
Nothing.
Now what?
"Oh, god," I groaned as I eyed the doorway to what was surely a Hell on earth. "I really don't want to."
"Then don't."
I spun, my dragon primed and ready to explode. But it was only a girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She was odd-looking, but in a strangely cute way. She wore a black, Lolita-style dress, a multi-layered thing drowning in ruffles that I didn't see often in Vegas because of the scorching temperatures. Her nose was nothing but a pinch of flesh. Her eyes were buttons of dark brown. Bright, sunflower blond curls made her round face appear even rounder. In a way she reminded me of images of Shirley Temple when she was a child: uber cutesy but not in an obnoxious or doll-like way. There was something homespun about this girl, like she'd grown up on a farm in Kansas and hitchhiked her way to Vegas without being sold into sex trafficking. At least, I hoped she hadn't been.
"Don't go in there," she said. She wasn't smiling, but she seemed interested in what happened to me. "What you're looking for isn't in there anyway."
I took a step back. My three friends in the bar remained oblivious to my conversation with this girl. I felt for the rumbly place in my chest.
"What am I looking for?" I asked, waiting for the shit to hit the fan.
"You're looking for the meeting." Her dark eyes were suddenly piercing. "You're looking for those of us who oppose the Oddsmakers."
I looked around again. Still no one was paying any attention to us. I'd hoped to slip into the meeting without being noticed, but this girl might ruin my plans by forcing me to engage before I'd found the stupid place.
"I'm just looking for a friend," I said. "But you said you know where—"
"I'm not letting you go in there and do what you came here to do."
"What's my mission?" I asked the Oddsmakers warily. My heart began to pound. What had changed that they could tell me now? Did they know that I was plotting against them?
"Your mission is to do what Iris Moody failed to do: rid Las Vegas of the heir to the Gargoyle Throne. Xaran Morgan must die."
I took another step back from Curly Sue. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just—"
"I was there!" she hissed suddenly, her girlish charm swallowed by a fierce grief I understood well.
"You're the canary," I whispered. My widened eyes took her in. It was so obvious in hindsight.
"I'm not a little girl," she choked out, her dark eyes shimmering. "Looks can be deceiving. I've been with Kleure for centuries. I mean…I was." A sob slipped from her lips before she pressed them shut. Twin beads of moisture slid down her rounded cheeks. "He was mine, and they turned him inside out."
Her rage was greater than mine. It eclipsed the sun. I could say nothing when faced with something so enormous and powerful.
She pointed a delicate finger at me. "You watched it all and did nothing."
Swallowing razorblades would have been easier than admitting, "That's true."
I waited for a little yellow bird to go straight for my eyes. I'm not sure in that moment that I would have defended myself.
But she didn't transform. She blinked more tears. They ran sweetly down her cheeks, like she was a maple tree in the spring.
"You wanted to."
I was sure I'd misheard her. "What?"
"Are you like your mother?"
"In what way?"
"Iris betrayed us," this nameless girl, who was not a girl, told me. "She turned in dozens of us to the Oddsmakers."
"My mom didn't betray any of you," I said sharply. "She was loyal to your cause to the end."
She bit her lip. Her brows drew down and the tears stopped flowing. "How can you be sure?"
"Because the Oddsmakers killed her."
There was no greater—or damning—truth than that. My mom was valuable to them, but they had preferred to see her dead than have her rise against them.
There were ruffles around the canary shifter's throat. They vibrated with the manic pulse beating beneath the skin there.
"Then I'm right: you are just like your mother." Her voice dropped to a whisper, not to hide, but because I think the words hurt her to speak. "I looked at you when it happened. I saw the hate in your eyes when they did that to Kleure. If you're working for them now, your heart's not in it."
I laughed harshly. "That's the understatement of the year."
"And yet you're here, looking for them. For us."
I held her eyes. "I'm not here for you."
"I can't kill him," I gasped. "He's Vale's brother."
"Must we torture Vale again to encourage you? Or your friends?" The sickly sweet voice tittered. "This time we might go too far, Anne. We have a tendency to get…carried away."
"No," I whispered. "Don't you touch him. Don't touch any of them."
"Then say please and do as we say."
There was blood on my lips. Hate in my heart. "Please…"
"Do you work for the Oddsmakers?"
The question pulled me out of my memory of that morning. I shook my head and looked away. "It's complicated."
"That means yes, but they've ordered you to do something you don't want to. What is it? Turn us in?" She hesitated. "Slaughter us all?"
"I wouldn't!" I snarled at her. But reality wouldn't allow me to ride that high horse very far. In fact, it bucked me off and kicked me in the head. "Not everyone," I muttered, burning with shame.
"If you don't do this, they'll know you're just like Iris."
I tried to figure out what she was getting at. It was like trying to learn the secrets of the universe from the face of a kewpie doll.
"I don't have a choice," I said. It was like pulling out my own guts to say it. "They're going to hurt someone important to me if I don't do this."
"Would you destroy them if you could?" Her gaze was steady. Ancient. She was like Vale. She'd seen it all. But I got the impression she'd finally seen too much.
I didn't have to tell her anything if I didn't want to. She could be trying to trick me into revealing myself. But my instincts didn't believe it. To love someone for centuries and then lose them the way she had lost Kleure…her grief burned the air around us, and she was its supernova center. It was how I would be, if the Oddsmakers took Vale.
"I'm going to end every last one of them," I told her in a voice that came from the depths of my soul. "I'm going to bury them so deeply that even Time won't recall their existence. And while I'm doing it, I'm going to make them hurt."
She nodded, just once. "But to get close enough to do it, you have
to kill someone tonight and earn their trust."
"Yes."
"They demanded the same of Iris. She was supposed to kill Xaran." The girl pursed her lips when I flinched. "That's who it is, isn't it? It's still him. They can't abide that he's alive. It's like he's mocking them."
"I have to do it," I declared. "One sacrifice to save the rest." But my voice wavered and sickness threatened to roil up from my stomach again.
"You won't do it." The girl touched the sleeve of my jacket. Her touch was a ghost's. "I'll help you save him. Just promise me that you'll do what you said you'd do to the Oddsmakers. You'll make them suffer like my Kleure suffered."
"I promise." It was the easiest promise I'd ever made.
"Then the plan is this: I'll fight you off while Xaran escapes. And then you'll kill me."
I stared at her. "That's a lousy plan."
"Is it? You said it yourself: one sacrifice to save the rest. It should be me. My Kleure is gone. I don't want to be here any longer." She firmed her jaw. "If my death will bring him vengeance, then it's no sacrifice at all."
"The Oddsmakers won't buy it."
"We'll make them buy it. I'll fight you like a wild animal. You won't have a chance of going after Xaran. That's what you'll tell them. That's what you'll sell them."
It was a risk for sure. The Oddsmakers might see through it. But if they didn't, it would spare Xaran and Vale both. If someone had to die, why not someone who wanted to?
"It's the only way you can get on their good side," she told me, giving me the hard sell to end all hard sells. "You must do this."
I felt like a major bitch, but she had a point. "Okay," I said reluctantly, feeling dirty down to my soul. "Let's do it."
~~~~~
When you wanted to fall in love, you thought it needed to be perfect. Whoever he or she was, they would sweep you off your feet at just the right time. They would say what you wanted to hear, and they would know when to hold you when words no longer were enough. They wouldn't hurt you, and they wouldn't lie. They'd be perfect in all ways, and in turn, that would make you perfect, too.
Vale and I weren't perfect. He'd lied to me so many times that I'd lost count. I'd argued with him and stood up to him in front of others including his brother. I'd done the exact opposite of what he'd told me to do and somehow he hadn't left me, when perhaps he should have. Together we were imperfect, but we were something special all the same.
I hadn't told him I loved him. He hadn't said the words either. Funny, that. Considering how often we'd faced life-threatening situations together you'd think the timing would have been perfect for uttering those three little words.
But we hadn't, time and again, even though I knew I loved him. Even though I knew he loved me.
Did we fear that speaking the words aloud would set the stage for one of those chick flick tragedies? Did we worry we'd be tempting fate with our happiness?
Love was such a powerful thing. It could inspire you to do anything. Even, it turned out, things that went against our natures.
I followed the canary shifter behind the bar and past the old bartender who didn't raise his gaze from the square of wood he polished. She touched the back wall and a trapdoor opened in the floor. There were stairs leading down to a light source. The sound of impassioned voices. She looked back at me and smiled sadly. Then she raced down the stairs, the heels of her Mary Janes clomping like gunshots. I thundered after her in my boots.
I burst into the room just a few feet after her and immediately I saw the green striped wallpaper that was in Vale's memory stain. But my attention didn't linger long on the walls. The room was full of magickal beings of all sorts. And Xaran was there, standing in the middle of them as though he'd been leading a meeting.
Which he had been.
He and the others spun with alarm when the canary shifter began screaming, "She's found us! She's coming! Run!"
When Xaran saw me there in that secret place he finally revealed something other than cool cockiness. Naked fear flared bright like a fluorescent flag in the depths of his dark eyes. Xaran knew exactly why I was there.
The Reaper had come a' callin'.
"The Oddsmakers send their regards to Xaran," I announced loudly so every being there would hear me.
Pandemonium broke out.
Someone shoved open a door at the other end of the room. It led into darkness, so it was probably a tunnel to another exit. I needed to work fast, before they all fled.
I pulled up Lucky, made him big and bad and snarling. His light turned the room into a box of fire. Screams and howls and terrified barking combined into a nightmare cacophony. I bared my teeth and Lucky roared, just to twist the dial on their terror just a little bit higher.
"Traitor!" screamed the canary shifter. "You're nothing but a traitor!"
I didn't have to fake the angry roar that Lucky emitted. Dust rained down from the ceiling. More screaming. Lucky, excited like a predator facing a field full of running prey, lashed his tail from side to side, ready to wreak havoc.
"I'll stop you!" Curly Sue yelled. She turned and shoved Xaran toward the tunnel that the others were escaping through. "Run! I'll hold her off!"
Confused and caught up in the hysteria in the room, Xaran staggered backward a few paces.
That was my cue. I braced for Curly Sue to come at me.
What a plan. Only love could have come up with a plan like this. Only love made you believe that life wasn't worth living if it wasn't with the person you loved, the person who made you perfect.
I'd agreed to the plan because I believed in love.
One sacrifice to save the rest. It was the only math that made sense.
But a second before going through with it, I muttered, "Screw that."
Her eyes rounded when she realized I'd changed my mind. She ran at me anyway, screaming like a banshee. My skin rippled with scales. I coughed out the fire that had been building in my chest. Orange flame licked across the room and she couldn't help herself—she dropped to the floor like everyone else.
Because in the end, we all want to live. And love can make us brave in different ways.
Remember, I told myself desperately. Remember!
And then I gave in to the dragon.
I roared. The room shook and more dust fell. I surged forward and closed my jaws around Xaran, who let out a shout of anger and fright. Then I smashed through the ceiling, through a storage room on the ground floor, and burst through the roof of the Runaways and into the warm night air.
Dragon of doom! Dragon rules all! Dragon, dragon, dragon!
I flapped my wings hard, racing with my treasure for the dark, dark mountains. My prize wriggled and squirmed between the cage of my teeth. At some point it became a smaller thing with a different shape. I could feel its wings trying to flap, its sharp edges tickling the surface of my tongue. My tiny dragon brain was excited by my prey's struggle. Eating it would be all the more fun!
No, it needs to burn.
The thought came from nowhere, but I understood it to be true. Yes! Yes, I would burn it with my fearsome dragon's breath and then all the world would see what a powerful dragon I was. I flew faster for the mountains, that small, mysterious voice urging me to hide behind them so I could have my fun undisturbed.
It didn't take me long to reach the first crags of darkness. I circled gleefully, luxuriating in the smooth glide of my sinuous body through the air. I looped and spiraled, ignoring the fluttering wings of the struggling creature within my grasp. I roared around my mouthful, hearing my voice echoing throughout the canyons. Such a beautiful sound!
I swooped and spun for minutes, feeling joyful for my freedom. Something stabbed the side of my tongue. My treasure! It was time to burn, burn, burn.
The canyon formed a bowl that would be perfect for cooking up my treat. I would let it go, let it run, and think it had a chance. Then I would hunt it down and tear it apart and—
It needs to burn.
Yes, yes. Burn it. L
et it sizzle in my blazing dragon's breath. I spat my prize down to the ground, watched it sprawl on the red dirt, its tiny wings struggling to right its body. It was a gargoyle. I knew this thing.
Remember: obfuscation.
The word crinkled my brow. What was that? What did it mean? I hovered above my prey, uncertain why I wasn't simply burning it up. My tail flicked impatiently beneath me, stirring up a small cloud of dust and debris. The sight pricked a memory in my brain.
Obfuscation.
I knew that word. I knew mystery and hiding and concealment and—a Honda at the base of a cliff, its headlights illuminating the clouds.
I coiled in the air and then began to fly a tight circle above the ground, faster and faster, spinning tighter and tighter. Below me, the dirt began to rise up in a funnel, forming a red sandstone dirt devil.
The gargoyle was somewhere down there beneath it all, but something compelled me to make the dirt devil even bigger and denser. So I did, widening my circle until a huge, wonderful tornado of red dust filled the canyon, blurring the sight of the mountains and everything beneath it. I could no longer see the gargoyle. Was it there?
It must be! Burn it!
I breathed a streamer of fire. The tornado caught the flames like a thrown rope. It twisted the yellows and golds into a funnel that rose up high into the sky.
Burn! Burn!
I roared with delight as the canyon filled with fire. Soon, I would burn the world!
Fight.
I would fight, alright. I would fight like a dragon fights! I would bite and rip and tear and shred and—
I whipped my body through the air, pushing myself away from the dwindling winds of the fire tornado. I knew what I was and it wasn't a dragon. I crashed against a mountain, the sound echoing throughout the canyon like cannon fire. My blood sang to me and cajoled me. It reminded me how wonderful it had felt to be the dragon, to be myself, finally...
But I am just like my mother. Not a traitor. Not a dragon. A sorceress, with someone to protect.
