Claimed By Shadow (37 page)

“Cassie, you must go,” Tomas said urgently. He paused, his expression an odd mix of tenderness and pain. “Try not to get killed.”

“Yeah. You, too.” I would have preferred time to say good-bye, but there wasn’t any. I kissed him quickly, took a running start and threw myself at the swirl of color. At the last second Pritkin dove in beside me. There was a flash of light, then another, then only blackness.

Chapter 13

I came around because a pounding was reverberating in my head. I realized three things simultaneously: I was back at Dante’s, the pounding was coming from large speakers masquerading as giant tiki heads and Elvis was looking really rough—even for a dead guy. I blinked and Kit Marlowe shoved a drink into my hand. “Try to look normal,” he murmured as Elvis started on the chorus to “Jailhouse Rock.”

I looked around dazedly but found it hard to concentrate on anything but the huge man in white sequins who was swaying in what I guess was meant to be an alluring fashion. The bullet that had recently scalped him had been large caliber, and I didn’t think the emergency toupee was holding up too well. The ladies throwing everything from room keys to underwear onstage didn’t seem to notice, though. I guess love really is blind.

I wanted to ask what was going on, but my brain and mouth didn’t seem to be connected. I sat, swaying a little in my chair. Half the audience was doing the same, but their movements were an unconscious imitation of the performance and not because of an unclear concept of which way was up. What was wrong with me? I’d barely had the thought when I remembered: the portal. Unlike the unnoticeable transition at MAGIC, this one had packed a wallop. Trust Tony to cheap out. Judging by the way my head felt, he’d gone for the bargain-basement version since he hadn’t planned to ever have to use it himself. I hoped it had given him a really big migraine.

Marlowe picked a blue lace thong off his ear, one of the offerings to the god of rock ’n’ roll that hadn’t quite made the stage, and tossed it over his shoulder. “We’re in trouble,” he said unnecessarily.

I raised an eyebrow. What else was new? Marlowe used his swizzle stick to poke the fist-sized shrunken head that was posing as a centerpiece. The fact that the ugly thing sat on a pretty nest of dark green palm fronds and orange birds of paradise helped not at all. A shriveled, raisinlike eye reluctantly opened and rotated in his direction. “Can’t it wait? This is my favorite song.”

“I need a refill,” Marlowe told it tersely. “One of the same.” The head closed its eyes, but its mouth kept moving.

“What—” I paused to swallow because my tongue felt about twice the usual size, then tried again. “What is it doing?”

“Communicating with the bar,” Marlowe answered, glancing around surreptitiously.

“I’m going to pass out now,” I informed him.

Marlowe shot me a reproving glance. “You will do no such thing. The Circle has us surrounded. Two of their operatives saw us flash in and now everyone they left at the casino is here. They’re too wary of the internal defenses and your abilities to try anything without backup, so we have a few moments, but that’s all. You have to be ready to move.”

“Move where? You said we’re surrounded.”

“Casanova is going to arrange a diversion, but for the moment all we can do is sit tight. And have a drink,” he added, as I tried valiantly to keep my eyes from crossing. “Alcohol usually helps in these cases.”

I nodded, but his words made less of an impression on my fried brain than the little head in the center of the table. It had finished talking to the bar and was now humming along with the music, which was quite a trick for a piece of plastic. I guess normal tourists thought there was some sort of microphone hidden inside the things that relayed their orders, but I knew better. I’d seen one of these before.

We were in Dante’s zombie bar—the one known as Headliners because of the gruesome decorations and top-notch, if sadly deceased, entertainers. From past experience, I knew that the heads posing as centerpieces were fake, but not the way the tourists thought. They were enchanted copies designed to look like the only real one in the place, whose desiccated remains were suspended between two carved wooden masks behind the bar. It was rumored to have belonged to a gambler who had unwisely welshed on a bet. I heard him warn one guy that, at this casino, gambling money you didn’t have wouldn’t get you a little ahead. It would get you “a little head.”

The woman who had thrown the thong, a buxom blonde who had about five pounds to go before another adjective would be required, snatched her property off the floor and gave Marlowe an evil look. She stood by the stage and flapped the tiny piece of lace like it was a handkerchief, but Elvis’ eyes were far too glazed to notice. His face was the color of mildewed grout and his jet-black toupee had slid to the right, exposing a line of greenish white flesh over his left ear. Fortunately, he’d segued into “Love Me Tender,” which didn’t require so many gyrations. Maybe the toupee would last the night after all.

The head stopped humming when the song ended and rolled its eyes around to me. “Did you hear about the comedian who entertained at a werewolves’ party?” it asked chattily. Marlowe and I ignored it. “He had them howling in the aisles!”

A zombie waiter dressed in a Hawaiian shirt that clashed with his gray skin and Bermuda shorts that showed off his shriveled legs was threading his way through the tables in our direction. I watched him come closer and realized that without knowing it I’d finished off the martini Marlowe had given me. The alcohol did seem to have helped my head, but not my mood, which was getting darker by the minute. I had a good reason: Tomas had been right; the
geis
was still there.

That constant miserable pressure was back. I could feel it, a shimmering cord stretching from me across the desert to MAGIC. I tried strengthening my shields, but the glimmering strands shot right through them. But at least there was no crushing pain this time. Maybe becoming Pythia had gained me something, after all, or maybe the
geis
just needed time to compensate for my new power level. In any case, I was grateful for the reprieve.

“Where are the others?” I asked. Billy could be a real help letting us know when the Circle’s reinforcements were coming.

“I have not seen the pixie or the girl. But the mage came through the portal with you,” Marlowe said, keeping an eye on the six figures that had fanned out on either side of the entrance. They were all weaving long leather topcoats that had to be stifling even in air-conditioning. Coats that looked like copies of Pritkin’s. Several more, I noticed now, were in a similar position near the small side exit. “I rendered him unconscious and locked him in the back room.”

“That won’t hold him for long.”

“Cassie, if we’re here much longer, Pritkin will be the least of our worries.” The waiter sat a pitcher of martinis and a dish of olives on the table. Marlowe appropriated the pitcher, leaving me only a coconut carved to resemble one of the shrunken heads. The pina colada inside had possibly had a bottle of rum waved over it at some point, but none had made it inside. I sighed and drank it anyway.

“Okay, how about a riddle,” the head burbled. “What’s the best way to a vampire’s heart?” It paused for a couple of beats. “Through his rib cage!”

The big blonde, who’d been getting increasingly strident in her attempts to gain the King’s attention, finally decided the heck with it and crawled up onstage. Despite wearing stiletto heels, she managed to get within a few feet of him before the bar’s discreetly dressed security people grabbed her. Casanova, who was standing next to the stage, smoothed over the potential debacle by sending in a handsome Latino. The no-doubt incubus-possessed man led the woman off to the bar with a smile that promised to make her forget all about dead rock stars.

“If that was Casanova’s idea of a diversion, he falls really short of his reputation.”

“It wasn’t.” Marlowe sounded sure.

“How do you know?”

“Because, unless I miss my guess, the cavalry has arrived.”

I followed his gaze to where a trio of terribly old Greeks had just toddled into view, bearing gifts. They didn’t come through the main entrance, where the mages had visibly stiffened at the sight of them, but from the side door near the bar. The guards for that door had disappeared. One of the bartenders, a gorgeous guy wearing only a pith helmet and a tiny pair of khaki shorts, caught sight of the threesome and poured half a bottle of Chivas on the bar before he noticed.

“A tough audience, huh?” the head asked. “Okay, but did you hear the one about the guy who couldn’t keep up payments to his exorcist? He was repossessed. Ha! Now, go ahead, tell me that’s not funny!”

“It’s not funny,” Marlowe said, unfolding his napkin.

“Hey, wait! I got a thousand of them! How about the—” Thankfully, the heavy cotton folds of the napkin cut the thing off before I kicked it across the room.

Deino approached our table with a toothless grin. “Birt’ Day!” she said, beaming at me. I started in surprise: they were the first English words I’d heard her use, and it was obvious that she was proud of herself. I might have been more admiring if she hadn’t followed her greeting by plopping a bucket of bloody entrails on the table right under my nose.

I looked at Marlowe fearfully. “Please tell me that isn’t—”

“It’s not human,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. “Cow, I think.”

Pemphredo plopped a newspaper full of casino chips onto the table beside her sister’s gift. None were the red and blue ones I use: most were black, with a few five-hundred-dollar purple ones scattered about here and there. I counted more than four thousand dollars at just a glance. I closed my eyes in despair—all I needed were the human police after me, too. Not to be outdone, Enyo placed a large three-tiered cake beside the other two gifts. It was covered in something slimy and green, which I guessed was supposed to be icing. I decided not to ask why it smelled like pesto.

Deino dumped the remaining piña colada out of my coconut shell and filled it with a generous measure of blood and guts. She shoved it under my nose and beamed at me. “Birt’ Day!”

I managed not to gag. “Why are they doing this?” I asked Marlowe, who was looking almost as disgusted as I felt. Vamps don’t drink animal blood. It does nothing for them and many find it actually repugnant.

“As a guess? They are making an offering. In the ancient world, blood sacrifices were common. If I were you, I’d be grateful they aren’t slicing up a virgin on the table. Perhaps they couldn’t find one in Vegas.”

“Ha, ha. What am I supposed to do with—” That was as far as I got. If I hadn’t been so grossed out, I’d have noticed earlier that zombie Elvis had stopped singing halfway through a lackluster rendition of “All Shook Up” and was now trying to climb down from the stage.

Marlowe was on his feet. “We have to get rid of the bucket!”

I looked around at the close-packed tables full of clueless tourists. “How?”

Elvis scattered the handful of security types who had rushed forward and lurched toward our table. His eyes were no longer dull, but were filled with a burning hunger as they zeroed in on the bloody bucket. Then one of the guards with more muscle than sense grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to whirl him around. All he succeeded in doing was knocking the toupee the rest of the way off, revealing the top of an exposed brain. I guessed the voodoo types Casanova kept on staff had been a little overworked after the recent raid and had skimped on the repair work. That probably hadn’t been a good business decision.

The sight of a gray-faced, slack-jawed zombie glowering from under a pulsing, bloody brain pretty much tore it for the people at nearby tables. Several of them let out screams, and they collectively knocked over chairs and one another in the stampede to get away. Other customers, who were too far back to get the full effect, began clapping, assuming that this was part of the night’s entertainment. I wondered whether they’d still think so after Elvis downed the appetizer and started looking for a main course.

“Cassie!” Dimly, like an echo of an echo, I heard Billy’s voice. I looked around but couldn’t see him anywhere in the pandemonium.

Marlowe tugged me backwards, but my equilibrium hadn’t returned and I lost my footing. I clutched at the table, trying to steady myself, while Elvis got a grip on the bucket’s handle. Deino screeched and grabbed her offering, starting a furious tug of war. It slopped blood all over the tabletop, which was only a circle of glass perched on top of a grinning tiki head. Clots of coagulating blood spattered Françoise’s beautiful dress and I instinctively grabbed a napkin to wipe them off but was stopped by an angry vampire.

“Forget that!” Marlowe gave me a little shake. “We have to get out of here!”

I gestured at the flood of mages who’d started pouring in the door. Ours wasn’t the only cavalry to have come charging over the hill. “How?” I screamed.

“Can’t you shift?”

The realization hit me that there was no longer any reason not to use my power. Whether I liked it or not, I was Pythia. I nodded, but before I could get an image of the street outside the casino, I heard Billy’s voice again, and he sounded desperate. “Billy! Get in here!”

“What is it?” Marlowe demanded.

“Be quiet!” It was hard enough to hear as it was, without him bellowing in my ear. Billy had said something else, but I’d missed it. “Billy! I can’t hear you!”

“Don’t shift! I’m stuck.”

“He says he’s stuck,” I told Marlowe, just as the blonde got loose from her keeper and jogged over to be nearer her idol. A guard intercepted her, and in her struggle to get away she knocked into me. I lost my footing and went down just as a fireball from one of the mages sizzled overhead, barely missing me and setting Marlowe’s doublet ablaze on its way to destroy the tiki bar. He had the garment off faster than I could blink, then looked around frantically for somewhere to dispose of it safely. Magical fire burns like phosphorus, so the options were kind of limited. He solved the problem by whipping it back the way it had come, where it sizzled out against the mage’s shields.