Touch the Dark (18 page)

I entered through a nearby door to find myself in an empty employee break room. Jimmy was half-hidden behind a soda machine. “There's a doorknob,” he said when he saw me, and pointed at the wall with his elbow, “right about there. But I can't do anything with these.” He held up his mutilated hands and I hurried forward. Behind the machine was what looked like an expanse of the same off-white, slightly stained drywall that made up the rest of the room. But it rippled around the edges, although I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been expecting it. The perimeter ward was getting old. I slid my hands along the wall until I grasped what felt like a knob, and pushed.

A door opened onto a narrow corridor that, judging by the dust on the floor, didn't get a lot of use. It wasn't a surprise. Tony always had multiple exits, half of them hidden, in his businesses. He told me once that it was a leftover from his youth, when armies went marching through Rome on a regular basis. He'd almost burnt to death when some Spanish soldiers in Charles V's army sacked his villa in the 1530s, and ever since he'd been paranoid. For once, I was grateful for it.

We ran down the hidden hallway, then climbed up a ladder at the end. Or, rather, I climbed and shoved Jimmy up in front of me. His hands were a major handicap, but he used his elbows, I pushed from below and somehow we made it. We burst out of a trapdoor into a locker room. A human wearing a sequined devil costume blinked at us blearily but didn't ask questions. He worked for Tony, so he was probably used to assorted oddities.

Jimmy scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, puffing like a freight train, and I wasn't much better off. I definitely needed to add gym visits to my to-do list, right after running for my life and killing Tony. The locker room exited onto another of those plain gray hallways, but mercifully, it was a short one. A few seconds later, we were standing near a forest of faux stalagmites overlooking the river. A Charon was rowing a few weary gamblers back towards the entrance a few yards away.

“Hey, where do you think you're going?!” Jimmy had started off without a word and didn't so much as flinch at my shout. Wrestling him to the ground wasn't an option, but fortunately, I knew something that was. “Billy, get him!”

I took off after Jimmy and felt Billy Joe flow past me like a warm breeze. He was usually cold or at least chilly, but he was hopped up on some vamp's wards and had energy to burn. But Jimmy reached the vestibule in record time and was heading for the gates when he suddenly stopped and stumbled backwards. I realized why when I saw Pritkin, Tomas and Louis-César coming in the main entrance. I didn't worry about how they'd found me or what they had planned. I grabbed a handful of Jimmy's elegant suit coat and dragged him back into the hallway.

“You aren't going anywhere until we talk about my parents,” I informed him. Some of the larger stalagmites were between us and the trio from MAGIC, and I briefly thought we'd gotten away without being seen. Then I heard Tomas call my name. Damn, I was busted.

My predicament wasn't a complete shock. The Senate has plenty of money to hire wardsmiths to run screens across every window and door in MAGIC, and probably to ward their vehicles as well. I'd initially been impressed that Billy Joe had gotten me car keys so quickly, but when I reached the garage, I'd seen a whole tag board of them hanging just inside the door. That, and the fact that nobody was guarding the cars, had told me something about the quality of the wards. I'd probably broken through more than one, what with crawling out the bathroom window, passing through the garage door and stealing a nice black Mercedes for my ride into town, but it still should have taken them longer than this to track me.

Good wards are better than a security alarm because they tell you basic facts about who it was who broke in — human or not, aural imprint — and, if you get a good enough one, what they did while in your place. But they don't tell you where the intruder went after he or she left, unless you get one of the really intricate, expensive über-wards specially crafted by a wardmaster. Since the members of the Silver Circle are the ones who license wardsmiths, it wouldn't be hard for them to get the best in the business to design their defenses, and they use MAGIC's premises as much as anyone. But even the best wards available don't tell you exactly where a person can be found, only if you're hot or cold on the trail. Otherwise, I'd never have been able to elude Tony's goons long enough for his spells to wear off. So the vamps would know I was in Vegas, but it should have taken them hours to narrow down the precise spot. Someone who knew me well and who knew Jimmy was here must have told them where to look for me. Otherwise they'd be staking out the airport and wandering around the strip. I was going to have a less than friendly talk with Rafe if I ever saw him again.

Jimmy got his head together, shook off my hold and bolted down the hall. A silver cloud descended from the ceiling and started after him just as the EMPLOYEES ONLY door behind us was kicked in from the outside. So much for not alarming the humans. I didn't even turn around, but ran down the corridor after my fleeing captive. No way was I letting him slip away while I tried to reason with the Senate's stooges.

I heard Pritkin swear, but by then I had reached the door to the locker room and I slammed it shut after me. Since the door would hold them for all of about a second, I needed to find Jimmy fast. I ignored a question from a half-dressed man in a demon suit and dodged past benches and open lockers to the exit. A gust of warm desert air ruffled my hair as I emerged, and I looked up to see that I'd exited the building. I was along one side, in a spot where the elaborate decoration of the front gave way to a plain asphalt lot bounded by a chain-link fence. It was probably where the employees parked. I cursed, thinking it would be hard to find Jimmy among the rows and rows of vehicles, but then I saw him darting towards the back of the lot. Billy's sparkling cloud was trailing after him like a misplaced halo.

I drew my gun and continued my pursuit. I was a still shaky on whether I could actually kill anyone, even someone who deserved it as much as Jimmy, but I could definitely wound him. And that would give Billy Joe time to try out his possession skills. I took off through a row of cars at a dead run after checking that my safety was still on. It wouldn't be funny if I saved everyone the trouble and shot myself.

I hadn't gotten halfway down the row before I heard the door behind me burst open with enough force to wrench it off its hinges. Strangely enough, instead of picking up speed, Jimmy skidded to a stop at the same moment, only a few yards ahead of me. I thought he'd reached his car and was trying to figure out how to use his keys with mangled hands, but a minute later I realized that what he'd actually found was backup. A couple dozen ugly guys rose out of the lot like scarecrows popping out of a wheat field. I didn't take time to count, but at least five or six were vamps. How the hell had Jimmy managed to fix up an ambush?

I skidded to a stop at the same time that a familiar iron grip caught me around the waist. It was sort of ironic, really. I'd spent more time than I wanted to admit fantasizing about being in Tomas' arms, but now that I'd spent much of a night there, it was getting old. Pritkin moved into view as Tomas dragged me backwards. He had his shotgun out and was glaring at me with something close to hatred in those clear eyes.

It rattled me until I realized that he was actually looking over my shoulder. A loud creaking and popping sound came from where Jimmy was standing, as if a forest of trees had all decided to fall at once, and I glanced up. “You have got to be kidding,” was as much as I got out before Tomas threw himself on top of me and we went down in a pile. I scraped my hands against the asphalt, losing a bit more skin, but keeping hold of the gun through some miracle. Yep, definitely getting old.

I managed to get a partial glimpse of the sight in front of us through a curtain of Tomas' hair. Most of the mob at Tony's had nicknames. I think it's some kind of unwritten gangster rule, because virtually everyone had one tied to either their favorite weapon or most prominent physical feature. Alphonse was “Baseball” because of what he could do with a bat, and they weren't talking about on a diamond. I'd always assumed that Jimmy's nickname came from his looks, which were rather ratlike, or his personality. I'd been wrong. It seemed that Jimmy the half satyr was also Jimmy the wererat. Or something. Weres weren't my specialty, but I'd never seen anything quite like that. I squinted. I'd never even heard of anything like that. Probably for good reason, since anybody who saw one was going to want to forget it as soon as possible.

Whatever it was had a giant, furry body that looked like it was molting in patches. Its narrow head had goat horns growing out of it, its big, chipped teeth were the color of a rusty sink and its pink tail was as thick around as my calf. It had goat hooves on its hind legs and stunk to high heaven. And, whatever Jimmy had morphed into, some serious nepotism had been going on at Dante's, because a tribe of his relations surrounded him.

My brain kept telling my eyes that they were seeing things. Number one, satyrs are already magical creatures, and as such are supposed to be immune from were bites, so what I was seeing was technically impossible. Number two, why would a whole group of were-anythings be working for Tony? That sort of cooperation just didn't happen; everyone knew that. But then, it was hard to argue with the evidence twitching wiry black whiskers a few feet away.

“Rats.” It took me a second to realize that Pritkin was commenting on the type of shape-shifters we were dealing with instead of expressing mild irritation.

Okay, I'd been right. Point for me. I'd gotten confused because the were-DNA seemed to have gotten mixed up with the satyr genes for a really unappealing mess. Jimmy — I assumed it was him because he was wearing the remains of his once stylish suit — was a gray and white tower of fur with three-inch claws dangling from arms ropy with muscle. The change seemed to have helped with his hands. They were still bloody but looked like they might be functional. Something else had changed, too. He'd never been all that menacing in his usual form — it was one of the reasons he'd made a good hit man, since people tended to underestimate him — but he was doing pretty well at the moment. I was armed, but Tomas had trapped both my arm and my gun underneath me. Jimmy stood right in front of me, and I couldn't do more than glare into his beady eyes.

I wasn't happy, but neither was anyone else. Pritkin hadn't bothered to worry about firearm regulations, having simply thrown a leather trench coat over his collection. He had the shotgun in one hand and a pistol in the other, and was pointing them both at Jimmy. Louis-César had his rapier out, which looked really weird considering that he'd changed into more normal-looking clothes for the trip outside MAGIC. He was wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt and a pair of jeans faded almost white. They molded to his lower body so tightly that they might as well have been painted on, and I decided that I'd been wrong before; modern clothes showed off his physique just fine. He was looking the weres over as if trying to decide which to carve up first. They must have thought the same thing, because the attention of most of the rats was focused on him instead of me.

“Tomas, take Mademoiselle Palmer back to her suite and see that she is comfortable. We'll be along presently.” Louis-César sounded as calm as if all he and Pritkin planned was to have a couple of drinks and maybe play some blackjack.

I was getting really tired of people ordering me around. “No! There is no freaking way I'm leaving until — ”

“I will take her.” Pritkin spoke at the same time I did and moved towards me in a sort of sideways shuffle to let him keep his weapons leveled on the rat pack and their vamp outriders. I was about to tell him to go to hell — I wasn't going anywhere with him and his arsenal — when Tomas picked me up and started backing away.

“Tomas, put me down! You don't understand — I've been looking for him for years!” I may as well not have bothered talking for all the attention he paid me, and struggling would only be a waste of time. I gave up and raised my gun, hoping that the close quarters would compensate for the lousy angle and let me get at least a couple shots into Jimmy. I doubted that I'd do much damage, both because of my lack of skill and because weres are notoriously resilient, but all I needed was to slow him down enough for Billy to do his thing. He could find out what I wanted to know and fill me in later. But before I could fire, Tomas shifted me into one arm and snatched the gun away with the other. I was beginning to be very tired of his doing that, but, armed or not, I wasn't giving in. This might be my only chance to deal with Genie's killer, and I wasn't about to miss it. “Billy Joe — what the hell are you waiting for? Do it already!”

The hovering cloud gathered itself and dropped onto Jimmy like a stone. Tomas tried to pull me away but I fought him. He didn't want to hurt me and it slowed him down a fraction. A second passed, no more than that; then Billy Joe burst out of Jimmy as if he'd been fired from a cannon and slammed straight into me. I didn't resist him, thinking that he might not have had enough energy left for the possession and needed a draw to complete the process. But the force kept pushing on me until I thought I would suffocate, as if there was more of him than usual and there wasn't room inside my skin for both of us.

I had no time to think, much less react, before a tremendous explosion rocked me from the inside out, like an airliner losing cabin pressure. I felt something tearing and thought it was my blouse, what little there was of it. I instinctively clutched at it since I'd had to leave the ruined bra behind, but my hand didn't encounter my familiar curves under spandex. Instead, my fingers slid over well-worn denim. I looked down to see the top of my head. I blinked, but the view didn't change: I was still clutching myself to my chest. I had a complete sense of disorientation, but no time to deal with it because Jimmy decided to rush me and all hell broke loose.