Every Which Way But Dead (18 page)

“How about some blackjack?” Kisten said as he subtly guided me that way.

“Sure,” I said, smiling.

“Do you want a drink?”

I glanced at the surrounding people. Mixed drinks were the rule, except for the one guy with a beer. He was drinking it out of the bottle, and it ruined his entire look, tux aside. “Dead Man's Float?” I asked as Kisten helped me up onto a stool. “Double shot of ice cream?”

The hovering waitress nodded, and after getting Kisten's order, the older witch left. “Kisten?” My gaze rose, drawn by an enormous disk of gray metal hanging from the ceiling. Ribbons of a shiny metal radiated from it like a sunburst, running to the edges of the ceiling. It could have been a decoration, but I'd be willing to bet the metal continued behind the wood paneling and even under the floor. “Kisten, what is that?” I whispered as I nudged him.

His gaze flicked to the disk. “Probably their security system.” His eyes met mine and he smiled. “Freckles,” he said. “Even without your spells, you're the most beautiful woman here.”

I blushed at his compliment—sure now that the enormous disk was more than art deco—but when he turned back to the dealer, I frantically looked at the mirror wall by the stairway. My shoulders slumped as I saw me in my sophisticated outfit with freckles and my hair starting to frizz. The entire boat was a no-spell zone—at least for us earth witches using amulets—and I suspected that big purple disk had something in there to hinder ley line witches, too.

Just having the boat on the water was some protection against ley line tampering since you couldn't tap a line over the water unless you went the roundabout way through a familiar. In all likelihood, the boat's security system dampened already invoked ley line spells and would detect anyone tapping a line through a familiar to invoke a new one. I had once had a smaller version on my long-gone I.S. issue cuffs.

While Kisten made nice with the dealer over his paltry fifty-dollar chip, I sat back and studied the people. There were about thirty, all well-dressed and most older than Kisten and I. A frown crossed me as I realized Kisten was the only vamp here: witches, Weres, and a few red-eyed humans up past their bedtime, but no vampires.

That struck me as wrong, so while Kisten doubled his money with a few hands, I unfocused my attention, wanting to see the room with my second sight. I didn't like using my second sight, especially at night when I could see an overlay of the ever-after, but I'd rather suffer a bad case of the heebie-jeebies than not know what was happening. I spared a thought wondering if Algaliarept would know what I was doing, than decided there was no way he could unless I tapped a line. Which I wouldn't.

Settling myself, I closed my eyes so my little used second sight wouldn't have to compete with my more mundane vision, and with a mental shove, I opened my mind's eye. Immediately the wisps of my hair that had worked themselves free moved in the wind that always blew in the ever-after. The memory of the ship dissolved to nothing, and the broken landscape of the demon city took its place.

A soft sound of disgust slipped from me, and I reminded myself just why I never did this so close to the center of Cincinnati; the demon city was broken and ugly. The waning crescent moon was probably up now, and there was a definite red glow to the bottoms of the clouds, seeming to light the stark cascade of broken buildings and vegetation-stained rubble with a haze that covered everything and made me feel slimy somehow. It was said the demons lived below ground, and seeing what they had done to their city—built on the same ley lines as Cincinnati—I didn't wonder why. I'd seen the ever-after once during the day. It wasn't much better.

I wasn't in the ever-after, just viewing it, but I still felt uncomfortable, especially when I realized the reason everything looked clearer than usual was because I was coated in Algaliarept's black aura. Reminded of my slipped bargain, I opened my eyes, praying that Algaliarept wouldn't find a way to use me through the lines as he had threatened.

The gambling boat was just the way I left it, the noises that had been keeping me mentally connected to reality taking on meaning again. I was using both my visions, and before my second sight could become overwhelmed and lost, I hurriedly looked around.

My gaze was immediately drawn to the metal disk in the ceiling, and my mouth twisted in distaste. It pulsated with a thick purple smear, coating everything. I would have bet that this was what I had felt when I crossed the threshold.

It was everyone's aura that interested me most, though. I couldn't see mine, even when I looked in the mirror. Nick had once told me it was yellow and gold—not that anyone could see it under Al's now. Kisten's was a healthy, warm, orangy red shot through with slices of yellow concentrating about his head, and a smile quirked my lips. He used his head to make decisions, not his heart; I wasn't surprised. There was no black in it, though almost everyone else's in the room was streaked with darkness, I realized as I scanned the floor.

I stifled a twitch when I found a young man in the corner watching me. He was in a tux, but it had a comfortable look on him, not the stiff, uptight demeanor of the doorman or the professional dullness of the dealers. And the full glass by his hand said patron, not wait staff. His aura was so dark, it was hard to tell if it was a deep blue or deep green. A hint of demon black ran through it, and I felt a wash of embarrassment that if he was looking at me with his second sight—which I was sure he was—he could see me coated in Algaliarept's black slime.

Leaning back with his chin on his inward-curled fingertips, he fixed his gaze on mine from across the room, evaluating. He was deeply tanned—a neat trick in midwinter—and combined with the faint highlights in his straight black hair, I guessed he was from out of state and somewhere warm. Of average build and average looks, he didn't strike me as particularly attractive, but his confident assurance warranted a second look. He appeared wealthy, too, but who didn't in a tux?

My eyes slid from him to the guy swilling beer, and I decided tux-trash could be done after all. And with that thought making me smile, I turned back to surfer boy.

He was still watching me, and upon seeing my smile, he matched it, tilting his head in speculation and inviting conversation. I took a breath to shake my head, then stopped. Why in hell not? I was fooling myself that Nick was coming back. And my date with Kisten was a one-night-only offer.

Wondering if his trace of black was from a demon mark, I narrowed my concentration to try to see past his unusually dark aura. As I did, the purple glow coming from the ceiling disk brightened to take on the first tinges of yellow.

The man started, his attention jerking to the ceiling. Shock marred his clean-shaven face. An abrupt call went through the room from about three different places, and at my forgotten elbow, Kisten swore as the dealer said this hand had been tampered with and that all play was suspended until he could break a new deck.

I lost my second sight completely then, as the witch manning the guest book pointed me out to a second man, clearly security by his serious lack of any emotional expression.

“Oh crap,” I swore, turning my back on the room and picking up my Dead Man's Float.

“What?” Kisten said irately while he stacked his winnings according to color.

I winced, meeting his eyes over the rim of my glass. “I think I made a boo-boo.”

“
W
hat did you do, Rachel?” Kisten said flatly, stiffening as he looked over my shoulder.

“Nothing!” I exclaimed. The dealer gave me a tired look and broke the seal on a fresh deck of cards, and I didn't turn when I felt a presence loom heavy behind me.

“Is there a problem?” Kisten said. His attention was fixed a good three feet above my head. Slowly I turned, finding a really, really big man in a really, really big tux.

“It's the lady I need to talk with,” his voice rumbled.

“I didn't do anything,” I said quickly. “I was just looking over, um, the security. . . .” I finished weakly. “Just as a professional interest. Here. Here's one of my cards. I'm in security myself.” I fumbled in my clasp purse for one, handing it to him. “Really, I wasn't going to tamper with anything. I didn't tap a line. Honest.”

Honest? How lame was that?
My black business card looked small in his thick hands, and he glanced at it once, quickly reading it. He made eye contact with a woman at the foot of the stairs. She shrugged, mouthing, “She didn't tap a line,” and he turned to me. “Thank you, Ms. Morgan,” the man said, and my shoulders eased. “Please don't assert your aura over the house spells.” He didn't smile at all. “Any more interference and we will ask you to leave.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said, starting to breathe again.

He walked away, and play resumed around us. Kisten's eyes were full of annoyance. “Can't I take you anywhere?” he said dryly, putting his chips into a little bucket and handing them to me. “Here. I have to use the little boys' room.”

I stared blankly as he gave me a warning look before he ambled off, leaving me alone in a casino with a bucket of chips and no idea what to do with them. I turned to the blackjack dealer, and he arched his eyebrows. “Guess I'll play something else,” I said as I slipped from the stool, and he nodded.

Clutch purse tucked under my arm, I glanced over the room with my chips in one hand and my drink in the other. Surfer boy was gone, and I stifled a sigh of disappointment. Head down, I looked at the chips, seeing they were engraved with the same intertwined S's. Not even knowing the monetary value of what I had, I drifted to the excitement of the craps table.

I smiled at two men who slid apart to make a spot for me, setting my drink and chips on the lower rim of the table while I tried to figure out why some people were happy at the five that was rolled and some were upset. One of the witches who'd made room for me was standing too close, and I wondered when he would inflict his pickup line on me. Sure enough, after the next roll he gave me a sloppy grin and said, “Here I am. What are your last two wishes?”

My hand trembled and I forced it to remain unmoving. “Please,” I said. “Just stop.”

“Oh, nice manners, babe,” he said loudly, trying to embarrass me, but I could embarrass myself a hell of a lot easier than he could.

The chatter of the game seemed to vanish as I focused on him. I was ready to let him have it, my self-respect wounded to the quick, when surfer boy appeared. “Sir,” he said calmly, “that was the worst line I've ever heard, not only insulting but showing a severe lack of forethought. You're obviously bothering the young woman. You should leave before she does permanent damage to you.”

It was protective, yet implied I could take care of myself, not an easy thing to accomplish in one paragraph, much less one sentence. I was impressed.

One-line-wonder took a breath, paused, and with his eyes rising over my shoulder, he changed his mind. Muttering, he took his drink and his buddy on the other side of me and left.

My shoulders eased and I found myself sighing as I turned to surfer boy. “Thank you,” I said, taking a closer look at him. His eyes were brown and his lips were thin, and when he smiled, the expression encompassed both of them, full and honest. There was some Asian heritage in his not-too-distant past, giving him straight black hair and a small nose and mouth.

He ducked his head, seemingly embarrassed. “No thanks needed. I had to do something to redeem all men for that line.” His strong-jawed face took on a false sincerity. “What're your other two wishes?” he asked, chuckling.

I laughed, ending it by looking at the craps table as I thought of my big teeth.

“My name is Lee,” he said, stepping into the silence before it became awkward.

“Rachel,” I said, relieved when he extended his hand. He smelled like sand and redwood, and he slipped his thin fingers into my grip to meet my pressure with an equal force. Our hands yanked apart and my eyes jerked to his when a slip of ley line energy equalized between us.

“Sorry,” he said as he tucked his hand behind his back. “One of us must be low.”

“It's probably me,” I said, refusing to wipe my hand. “I don't keep line energy in my familiar.”

Lee's eyebrows rose. “Really? I couldn't help but notice you looking at the security.”

Now I was really embarrassed, and I took a sip of my drink and turned to lean with my elbows on the upper railing about the table. “That was an accident,” I said as the amber dice rolled past. “I didn't mean to trip the alarms. I was just trying to get a closer look at—um—you,” I finished, certainly as red at my hair.
Oh God, I was screwing this up royally.

But Lee seemed amused, his teeth white in his suntanned face. “Me too.”

His accent was nice. West Coast, perhaps? I couldn't help but like his easy demeanor, but when he took a sip of his white wine, my gaze fixed to his wrist peeping from behind his cuff and my heart seemed to stop. It was scarred. It was scarred exactly like mine. “You have a demon sca—” His eyes jerked to mine, and my words cut off. “Sorry.”

Lee's attention flicked to the nearby patrons. None seemed to have heard. “It's okay,” he said softly, his brown eyes pinched. “I got it by accident.”

I put my back against the railing, understanding now why my demon-tainted aura hadn't scared him off. “Don't we all?” I said, surprised when he shook his head. My thoughts went to Nick, and I bit my lower lip.

“How did you get yours?” he asked, and it was my turn to be nervous.

“I was dying. He saved me. I owe him for safe passage through the lines.” I didn't think it necessary to tell Lee that I was the demon's familiar. “How about you?”

“Curiosity.” Eyes squinting, he frowned at a past memory.

Curious myself, I gave him another once-over. I wouldn't say Al's real name and break the contract we had come to when I had bought a summoning name from him, but I wanted to know if it was the same demon. “Hey, uh, does yours wear crushed green velvet?” I asked.

Lee jerked. His brown eyes went wide under his sharply cut bangs, and then a smile born of shared trouble came over him. “Yes. He talks in a British accent—”

“And has a thing for frosting and french fries?” I interrupted.

Lee ducked his head and chuckled. “Yes, when he isn't morphing into my father.”

“How about that?” I said, feeling an odd kinship. “It's the same one.”

Tugging his sleeve down to cover the mark, Lee rested his side against the craps table. “You seem to have a knack for ley lines,” he said. “Are you taking instruction from him?”

“No,” I said forcefully. “I'm an earth witch.” I twiddled my finger with my ring amulet and touched the cord of the one around my neck that was supposed to defrizz my hair.

His attention went from the scar on my wrist to the ceiling. “But you…” he drawled.

I shook my head and sipped my drink, my back to the game. “I told you it was an accident. I'm not a ley line witch. I took a class is all. Well, half of one. The instructor died before the class was finished.”

He blinked in disbelief. “Dr. Anders?” he blurted. “You had a class with Dr. Anders?”

“You knew her?” I pulled myself straighter.

“I've heard of her.” He leaned close. “She was the best ley line witch east of the Mississippi. I came out here to take classes from her. She was supposed to be the best.”

“She was,” I said, depressed. She was going to help get Nick unbound as my familiar. Now, not only was the spell book gone, but she was dead and all her knowledge with her. I jerked upright as I realized I had been wool gathering. “So, you're a student?” I asked.

Lee rested his elbows on the rail, watching the dice skitter and roll behind me. “Road scholar,” he said shortly. “I got my degree years ago from Berkeley.”

“Oh, I'd love to see the coast some time,” I said, playing with my necklace and wondering how much of this conversation had turned into exaggeration. “Doesn't the salt make everything difficult?”

He shrugged. “Not so much for ley line witches. I feel bad for earth witches, locked into a path that has no power.”

My mouth dropped open. No power? Hardly. Earth magic's strength stemmed from ley lines as much as ley line witches' spells. That it was filtered through plants made it more forgiving, and perhaps slower, but no less powerful. There wasn't a ley line charm written that could physically change a person's form. Now that was power. Chalking it up to ignorance, I let it slide lest I drive him away before I got a chance to know just how big of a jerk he was, first.

“Look at me,” he said, clearly recognizing that he had stuck his foot so far down his throat that his toes might wiggle out of his ass. “Here I am bothering you, when you probably want to play some before your boyfriend gets back.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” I said, not as excited as I could be for the subtle inquiry as to my attached status. “I told him he couldn't take me out on a decent date for sixty dollars, and he accepted the challenge.”

Lee ran his eyes over the casino. “How's it going?”

I sipped my drink, wishing the ice cream hadn't melted. Behind me there was a loud cheer as something good happened. “Well, so far I've gotten sugared and passed out in a vamp dance club, insulted my roommate, and tripped the security system of a casino boat.” I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Not bad, I guess.”

“It's early yet.” Lee's gaze followed the rolling dice behind me. “Can I buy you a drink? I've heard the house wine is good. Merlot, I think it is.”

I wondered where this was going. “No thanks. Red wine…doesn't sit well with me.”

He chuckled. “I'm not particularly fond of it either. It gives me migraines.”

“Me too,” I exclaimed softly, truly surprised.

Lee tossed his bangs from his eyes. “Now, if I had said that, you would have accused me of dropping you a line.” I smiled, feeling shy all of a sudden, and he turned to the cheering at the table. “You don't gamble, do you?” he said.

I glanced behind me and then back to him. “It shows, huh?”

He put a hand on my shoulder and turned me around. “They've rolled three fours in a row, and you haven't noticed,” he said softly, almost in my ear.

I did nothing to either discourage or encourage him, the sudden pounding of my heart not telling me what to do. “Oh, is that unusual?” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

“Here,” he said, motioning to the craps man. “New roller,” he called loudly.

“Oh, wait,” I protested. “I don't even know how to bet.”

Not to be deterred, Lee took my little chip bucket and guided me to the head of the table. “You roll, I'll bet for you.” He hesitated, brown eyes innocent. “Is that…okay?”

“Sure,” I said, grinning. What did I care? Kisten had given me the chips. That he wasn't there to spend them with me wasn't my problem. Teaching me how to throw craps was what he was supposed to be doing, not some guy in a tux. Where was he, anyway?

I glanced over the assembled faces around the table as I took the dice. They felt slippery—like bone in my hand—and I shook them.

“Wait…” Lee reached out and took my hand in his. “You have to kiss them first. But only once,” he said, his voice serious though his eyes glinted. “If they think they'll get loved all the time, they won't put out.”

“Right,” I said, his hands falling when I pulled the dice to my lips but refused to touch them. I mean, really. Yuck. People shuffled their chips around, and heart faster than the game warranted, I threw the dice. I eyed Lee, not the dice, as they skittered and danced.

Lee watched in rapt attention, and I thought that though he wasn't pretty like Kisten, he was far more likely to be on a magazine cover than Nick. Just an average guy, and a witch with a degree. My mother would love me to bring this one home. Something had to be wrong with him.
Besides his demon mark?
I thought dryly. God, save me from myself.

The watching people had various reactions to the eight I rolled. “Not good?” I asked Lee.

His shoulders rose and fell as he took the dice the craps man pushed to him. “It's okay,” he said. “But you have to roll an eight again before a seven comes up to win.”

“Oh,” I said, pretending I understood. Mystified, I threw the dice. This time they came up nine. “Keep going?” I said, and he nodded.

“I'll place some one-roll bets for you,” he said, then paused. “If that's okay?”

Everyone was waiting, so I said, “Sure, that will be great.”

Lee nodded. His brow furrowed for a moment, then he set a pile of red chips on a square. Someone snickered, leaning to whisper “Innocent slaughter” in their neighbor's ear.

The dice were warm in my hand, and I sent them rolling. They bounced off the wall, coming to halt. It was an eleven, and everyone at the table groaned. Lee, though, was smiling. “You won,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “See?” He pointed. “Odds are fifteen-to-one of rolling an eleven. I figured you'd be a zebra.”

My eyes widened as the predominate color of my pile of chips went from red to blue as the craps man piled a stack on them. “Beg pardon?”