The Touch Of Twilight (39 page)

I leaped back up through the skylight, and quickly dropped into the alley opposite the street, head ringing with all my new knowledge…and no idea what to do with it.

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t include stealing human auras to attain Midheaven, and my greatest desire. But would it entail working with the Tulpa?

All I knew for sure was that it was a sick world when siding with the leader of the underworld looked like the lesser of two evils. But I’d worry about that later. Right now I had a benefit to attend, and a long-lost boyfriend to reclaim.

• • • *
      

There was a recurring dream I had in the early years after my rape. In it I was always cradling a child as Ben and I sat in the middle of a dried lakebed, alone for miles but for the cracked earth surrounding us like dusty, peeling tiles. But that baby was deformed. When swaddled, all I could see were these perfectly formed facial features; a tuft of dark hair whipping up from her crown, a pink bow-pinched mouth, and one brow that winged up in either concentration or confusion. But loosen the swaddling, and the child literally fell apart. She was a fragile china doll that’d been dropped, thin shards of fine porcelain chunks jumbled in the center of that blanket. At first I was afraid of her. Every move I made caused her to rattle…and me to bleed. If I tried to coo or smile at her, she’d squinch up that perfect little face, and a tiny limb would flail up to nick me, scoring my face from the corner of my mouth to my ear.

But as the months went by, I began to ignore the pain—or at least get used to it—and I pieced the dream child back together, over and over again. A shard here to reveal the tender curve of a downy soft shoulder, or an aligning of pieces that had the chubby fingers suddenly snapping into place, gripping mine so the edges dug into my skin and blood ran into that bowed hungry mouth.

The baby changed in time; sure, she was still sharp and brittle—a face only a mother could love, I remember thinking—and she was beautiful in the way broken glass is as it catches the light of the morning sun, but most importantly, she was whole. And the very last time I’d had the dream, though bloodied and stinging from her sharp little kisses, I was whole as well.

It was when I stopped having that dream that I knew I would survive. It’d taken time, but the broken pieces of me, like that child, were put back together too, though I’d also become a mosaic, a mishmashing of parts from the earlier incarnation of me.

The only person who didn’t change in all the months of dreaming was Ben. He simply sat beside me, smiling down at the shattered infant, saying nothing as he gazed into her lovely face. If the babe reached out to touch him, I’d smack her hand away, sending pieces of her palm skittering across the floor of the lakebed, her cries rising in the dry wind like razors to cut my cheeks to ribbons.

But nothing touched Ben. I wouldn’t let it, and now, as I readied myself for the Halloween benefit, I knew why. He was more to me than a mortal, or the boy I’d once loved, or the father of my child. I’d remained next to him in my mind all these years, mentally molding my existence into alignment with his. His heartbeat was like the thrumming of strings across mine, and though time and circumstances had altered, the comfort I received just from his being in this world remained untouched. He was still the same person who’d smiled unflinchingly at me in that cutting dream. The difference, again, lay with me. Now, finally, I could smile back without bleeding.

The wedding chapel was located on the north end of the Las Vegas Strip, bordering the no-man’s-land called Naked City that lay like an open wound between the gross affluence of the Strip properties and the dogged redevelopment of the downtown area. Squeezed in between were pawnshops outfitted like jail cells, an infamous strip club, and the now condemned apartment buildings where the showgirls in the forties would sunbathe nude on the rooftops, thus giving the area its colorful name. Criminal activity still flourished in the area, but the drug dealers and addicts were slowly being squeezed out by high-rise developers—the city’s modern-day prospectors—and had begun oozing into other parts of the city. I’d canvassed this area many times when I was a photographer, before most of the flophouses were razed and the low-income housing relocated. The poor had no place to go even then, and despite the progress in the area, or because of it, their options looked even bleaker now.

With tonight’s much-hyped gala, and police presence in strong evidence, the scariest obstacles on my walk to the chapel were the crater-sized potholes angling for my low heels. And
chapel
, I thought, finally reaching the front door, was a bit of a misnomer. Viva Las Vegas was huge. The largest chapel in Vegas, it specialized in themed weddings, boasting one traditional cathedral and a half-dozen fantasy chapels. The attached hotel and B&B was a natural outgrowth of the chapel’s success, and the establishment now took up an entire city block, with an open-aired courtyard linking the two enterprises. It was kitschy and clever, and the owners had thrown caution to the wind with typical Vegas flair.

Tonight the doors to all the themed rooms were flung wide open to the autumn air, space heaters anchored between doorways like toasty sentries, and a red-carpeted catering tent set up in the middle of the courtyard. Though two weeks early, guests were clearly in the Halloween spirit, and some had even gone as far as costuming themselves for a particular room, though it was a bit disconcerting to see Al Capone wandering from the Gangster Suite into the turrets of Camelot.

A good deal of the women, unwilling to muss their hair or makeup, were dressed in half masks, and quite a few men had donned full-faced disguises as well. These unnerved me the most. Fortunately, as we were in Vegas, most of the guests had decided to dress up as pimps and hos. There seemed to be some sort of unspoken contest to see who could wear the least amount of clothing without getting arrested.

I smiled as I passed a bevy of Elvi and Priscillas lounging on a pink Cadillac bed, but moved onto the DooWop diner, where honeymooners could spend their first morning as a couple sharing coffee and Danish and gazing lovingly into their inbox via the hotel’s free Internet access. Tonight the diner was being used as an open bar, but I didn’t see Ben there, so I moved on.

And stumbled over a handful of ankle biters.

“You little fuckers just keep popping up everywhere, don’t you?” I said, my gaze narrowed on a pint-sized Grim Reaper.

“You can’t talk to us like that.” The Reaper’s voice was muffled beneath his rubber skull, but I could tell it was Douglas. How fitting. He looked a lot like the Shadows. “We’re kids. We have rights.”

“You’re mutants. You have tentacles,” I said menacingly. I watched him take a step back, then turned to Carl. I’d been right; his costume was that of a normal kid. “Where’s Jasmine? And Li?”

“Jas blew us off for some school dance. Li isn’t feeling so hot. She’s staying home.” I stared at Carl a moment longer, then closed my eyes, feeling myself go dizzy at the sudden sadness glossing his gaze. He saw it and his voice brightened in a deliberate attempt to sound cheerful. “You look good, Archer. Better than Angelina even.”

I glanced down at my ensemble and murmured my thanks. My costume was tame compared to most. I’d chosen an outfit that seemed like a good blend of both Olivia’s sensibilities and mine. The amalgamation of our personalities was, I noted with some surprise, becoming increasingly comfortable.

I’d chosen to come in the not-so-discreet guise of video game vixen Lara Croft. Or at least a highly improbable Vegas version of her. There would be no jungle adventures or treks through a muddy swamp for me, most notably because I’d taken her latex tank top and khaki short-shorts and recast them into racing-stripe red. It made it a bit hard to blend, but then this
was
the neon-zapped concrete jungle on a slamming Saturday night, and blending wasn’t the point. So I’d accented the outfit with a black leather utility belt and a rhinestone buckle to match the jewels glued into my blond fall. Red leather cut gloves complemented my knee-high, lace-up hiking boots, which had been streamlined for less bulk, though I’d seized the opportunity to keep the lower heel.

“So what do you guys want?”

“Oh, because it’s all about
you
?” Douglas snarled, leaning on his scythe. “We’re here for the free treats, man. Screw that slogging from door-to-door thing. The owners are giving out super-sized chocolate bars.”

Dylan—a zombie—snickered and elbowed Kade—a pirate—who elbowed me. “Super-sized, get it?”

I didn’t smile. “Fine. Then you’ll have no problem staying away from me. I’m here on official…”

I trailed off as a woman dressed like a naughty nun began waving madly at me from the Egyptian Suite. I knew her, I thought, tilting my head, though I wasn’t sure how. It was hard to place her beneath the satin veil. It came to me as she reached my side, though, and I found myself smiling back at her, and a man who was obviously a little starstruck where Olivia Archer was concerned.

“Hey, Janet,” I said, as she adjusted her lace bandeau. “Sorry. It took me a moment to recognize you outside the gift shop.”

“That’s okay. It’s probably the habit that threw you.” She motioned down its length—about two inches; it ended just below her butt cheeks—then elbowed her companion. “See, I told you I knew her, Ted.”

I offered Ted my hand, aware I had a very captive audience in the kids as well. They hadn’t seen me in Olivia mode before, and it was probably like laying eyes on Diana Prince. Janet’s date—a clearly defrocked priest—pumped my hand earnestly. Ted grinned, showing perfect teeth. “It’s a dream come true, Ms. Archer.”

The Grim Reaper mimed impaling himself on his scythe. “I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.”

I took a large step to the side, my heel grinding into his toe. He howled, and I whirled immediately, simultaneously freeing my hand from Ted’s clammy grasp and acting surprised. “Sorry, little one,” I said, ruffling the hair tufting from Douglas’s pointed hood. He jerked away. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Isn’t the kiddie section set up over in the main chapel?” Ted asked snidely, clearly having heard Douglas’s comment.

Janet too was piqued. “I didn’t know they had a romper room in this place.”

Okay, it was one thing if I picked on the little brats. It was something else entirely if two grown adults, exactly whom these kids loathed and feared becoming, did the same. “It’s a benefit for the Children’s Fund. These are some of the youngsters we’re helping.”

Carl didn’t seem impressed with my attempt to defend them. “Yeah, well, we’re going to take our homeless little asses over to the Alamo now. Maybe they have some brand-new cardboard boxes for us to live in.”

I gave him an imploring look, not wanting him to be angry with me, but he’d already turned away, the three other boys following behind. Creepy little Douglas took up the rear, walking backward as he pointed at me with his scythe, totally scary up until the point he tripped over his robe and fell into the zombie.

“Guess who else is here,” Janet said once the kids were gone. She paused dramatically, sipping white wine before continuing in an exaggerated whisper. “Mr. Security himself. I think he’s on one of his ‘dates.’”

“You’re kidding me.” But I could tell by the animated look on her face she was not. Hunter was here, and I bet he was watching me under the pretense of being on a date.

Unless he wasn’t
. I glanced around the open-air diner as discreetly as possible. It wasn’t impossible he’d known I was going to be here tonight, but would he show up in top-secret call boy mode if he had? It might be a good opportunity to reverse our roles, spy on him instead of the opposite…except it was a rather inconvenient time to actually be doing my job. Tonight I wanted escape from all the intrigue and the disguises and the lies. I only wanted my lover back. I wanted Ben. “Where did you say you saw him?”

“He was in Camelot,” she said, pointing at the upstairs walkway. “But I think they were headed to the Gangster Suite. They’re doing palm readings there.”

Of course they were. I nodded my thanks to Janet, excused myself, and headed in the opposite direction. By the time I passed Egypt, the Blue Hawaii Suite, and a disturbingly accurate replica of the
Star Trek
main bridge, I was feeling slightly traumatized, and there was still no sign of Ben. It was possible that he’d stood me up, I thought as I extracted myself from yet another boring conversation on philanthropy, but I didn’t think so. He’d been as anxious for a reunion as I was; I’d seen it in his gaze.

Just before nine everyone began heading over to the main chapel for the charity auction. Olivia had been chairwoman for the North Vegas Foundation for the past five years, and I’d scrambled to keep up her work, though it was harder than I’d initially anticipated. She’d schmoozed half the glitterati in this city out of time and money at one point or another, and keeping up those contacts was a full-time job in itself. I needed to make an appearance at the auction; smile, shake hands, nod and bid on a few items, and then I could get back to searching for Ben. If he was here.

Yet one look around the packed chapel, one sniff, and my heart plummeted. Damn, I thought for the first time, maybe he really wasn’t coming. Maybe, I thought as I leaned against a fiberglass pillar, he was still pissed at the way I’d disappeared on him, and this was his way of getting back at me. Making me feel what he had. Making me see how abandonment could cleave your hope in two.

“Hey, Archer.” The whisper came from my left, behind a cluster of plastic potted plants. “There’s something you need to see over here.”

I moved only my eyes, then sighed, making my disinterest obvious. Douglas had removed his mask, and his sweaty head sprouted from the foliage, eyes shining.

“What is it?” I murmured lowly, tossing a nod and a smile to the governor and his wife as they passed. “Another message-by-minion?”

I saw him motion to me from the corner of my eye. “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise like a party,” I muttered, pushing off the faux Roman pillar to follow him, “or a surprise like herpes?”