Trouble with Gargoyles: an Urban Fantasy (Moonlight Dragon Book 3) (5 page)

"
Muchas gracias, primo!
"

Rodrigo left me standing in a mild state of shock that quickly turned speculative.

"No way," I said aloud. "No way Vale had anything to do with the curse Rodrigo just broke. It makes zero sense."

Melanie nodded emphatically. "I agree, Anne. Vale likes you.  He'd never scare you like that, not to mention why even do it?"

I thought immediately of Vale's older brother, who was next in line for the Gargoyle Throne, but that still didn't satisfy me. For one, the guy didn't know me, and for another, why pick on your younger brother's girlfriend? That'd be a real jerk move. Also, there was the small matter of Vale's brother living in Paris. I'd think if he'd flown all the way to the States, Vale would have known about it. He would have told me.

Wouldn't he?

"No, no, there's something else going on and the key is the attack on Diana. That creature wanted to know about us
and
Vagasso." I punched a fist into my hand. "Melly, it's time we got down and dirty with some critters."

She cringed. "You're making me glad I wore pants."

My smile was a shark's. "Let's rough up some shifters."

"This is a bad decision."

I considered Melanie's opinion for a second. "I think the fact that you think it's so bad is exactly why it's the perfect decision."

"Ugh, I knew you'd say that, Anne!"

We were a few blocks from Moonlight, in downtown.  The Fremont Street Experience, as it was called, was a five block pedestrian mall that was covered by a 1500 foot long LED roof that played a flashy light and music show seven times a night.

Metro had a visible presence here in the form of yellow-shirted bike cops, so crime was relatively low. Making downtown appear safe had been a big concern when the area had undergone a revitalization to help it compete with the glitzier Strip. For the most part they'd succeeded. To run into the characters that downtown used to be notorious for you now had to deliberately wander away from Fremont Street into the shadowy side streets. In that case you got what was coming to you.

It seemed decently safe, in other words, but only if you were an ordinary person. If you were magickal like Melanie and me, you knew that downtown was where the, let's call them
edgier
, shapeshifters tended to congregate. I couldn't tell you with authority why they preferred this area to the Strip or any other part of Vegas, though I had a theory.

Downtown was where the last of the oldest casinos were located. The residue of chance magick was thicker on these relics than on the new, mega resorts on the Strip. That residue was aging, like wine or balsamic vinegar, growing richer and more potent. While I didn't think you could tap into specific pools of magick to perform your spells or whatnot, I did think you could feel the difference, like standing in the shade versus in direct sunlight. Standing in downtown just felt good.

But congregating in one place was supposed to be a big no-no for magickal beings. Eventually, ordinary people began to sense our presence, sort of like how you didn't pay much attention to a smoker standing beside you until suddenly there were a dozen of them puffing away. The shapeshifters who were comfortable defying authority hung out on Fremont Street soaking up the vintage chance magick there despite the risk of drawing attention to themselves.

I couldn't identify any of them as Melanie and I walked past the old casinos, but I rarely could even within Moonlight. Nonetheless, I was nervous, my skin prickly like eyes were jabbing me. Though logically I knew it made no sense, I couldn't help feeling that other magickal beings could recognize
me
.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Melanie muttered from the corner of her mouth.

I pointed. "There."

Up ahead and on the right, glowing softly like a secret, hung the turquoise blue neon sign for a bar called Elemental Entities. The outside was sheathed in brick and mortar, the single window blackened with tint. Entwined letter 'E's were painted in gold script on the door that I held open for Melanie.

Inside it was dark as was to be expected, and fairly busy. I didn't sense any magick, but of course I wouldn't unless someone wanted a date with the Oddsmakers. Men and women, mostly in their 20's and 30's, looked me over with interest and ultimately dismissed me and Melanie because we wore casual clothing fit for eating hot wings. Everyone else seemed to be dressed up for a night of clubbing. Many were drinking from glasses with light up ice cubes in them, something you only ever saw in party bars.

The bar itself was visually exciting: a long, jaggedly cut block of acrylic that was illuminated from beneath by blue light so that it resembled a chunk of glacier ice. Melanie oohed and ahhed over it as we approached, while I tried to play it cool, though why I had no idea. The people in here weren't the ones I needed to impress.

When we reached the bar I leaned on it until I caught the eye of the bartender, who wore a pale blue tuxedo shirt with a black bowtie. Too bad Orlaton wasn't old enough to drink yet. He and his predilection for bowties would have fit right in here.

"How's it going, ladies?" The bartender slung a pair of cocktail napkins in front of us. He was blond and cute. Both of his ears were pierced multiple times. Upon looking closer, I saw that they weren't your typical adornments. I recognized bits of bone and carved stones, the former etched with runes. Possibly they were protection charms, but my money was on them being charms to encourage bigger tips.

I checked out the room again but no one appeared to be paying me and Melanie any attention. We looked too much like tourists who hadn't packed the right outfits for our trip.

"Is the Keyhole still operating?" I asked the bartender, keeping my voice low so it wouldn't carry.

Beside me, Melanie groaned.

The bartender's expression altered: shuttering slightly as his eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"

"A pair of family members."

"If you have to ask about it then maybe you're not supposed to know about it."

"Or maybe we haven't had the need to use it until now," I retorted. "We have something important to discuss with Mr. Kleure. Not that it's any of your business."

Not much of the disdain on his face faded, but his fingertips, which were pressed to the bar top, whitened just slightly at my gratuitous name-dropping.

"It's still operating," he said tightly "I won't tell you how to find it."

"You don't have to," I said, smiling sweetly at him. "Come on, Mel."

With my head held high, I pushed away from the bar and began making my way toward the restrooms in back. Melanie followed so closely behind she clipped my right foot and gave me a flat tire.

"Sorry, sorry!"

"It's fine," I gritted out as I hopped on one foot while pulling my shoe out from under my heel. So much for looking cool.

Shoe fixed, we made it to the back of the room. The restrooms were on the other side of a partition which cordoned off a little alcove area holding a bank of six video poker machines. Five of them were working but one machine had an Out of Order sign taped to the front of it.

"I didn't realize this was the Keyhole," Melanie hissed as I moved to stand in front of the broken poker machine. "This is
sooo
dangerous, Anne! We're going to be chewed up and spit out."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We're a couple of tough cookies, remember? You used the power of the dead to pick your monkey nose."

She snorted with laughter. "That necromancy artifact was the worst. Talk about smelling my finger. I did! Blech!"

While Melanie distracted herself by cracking herself up, I pressed the first two Hold buttons on the broken machine. The playing cards on the screen flipped as though a new hand had been dealt, showing me a royal flush in spades. I pushed the Hold button for the ace of spades and then the Cash Out button. A panel in the wall to my and Melanie's right slid open.

She gaped at the opening. "How did you know how to do that?"

"Because I'm cool, duh. Now listen, Melly. We've got to be careful in there. Let me do the talking. No matter how much you want to, do
not
butt in, okay? I need you to watch my back while I'm dealing with whoever I end up dealing with. Got it?"

She squared her shoulders. "Monkey's got your six!"

I blinked at her. "Where'd you hear that?"

"From the movies!"

"You dork." I patted her on the head before turning and ducking inside the opening.

It must have been activated to close as quickly as possible because it nearly chopped off Melanie's feet, forcing her to leap at me with a high pitched yelp. I caught her and staggered backward into the room. My butt bounced off a table and I heard the clink of glassware a moment before something cold soaked into the seat of my shorts.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry," I blurted to the table's occupant before I twisted around to see who it was.

It was my turn to gape.

The teenager—I could see that she must be around Orlaton's age—was no ordinary teen. She existed in a state of half-transformation, her acne spotted face surrounded by a crown of sleek brown feathers that poured in a waterfall down the back of her head and over her neck and collarbones to the boatneck top she wore. Her arms were bare but the hands that mopped at the spill I'd made weren't hands; her arms ended in knobby toes with talons. The talons were painted pink.

"Owl," Melanie whispered, again, too loudly. "She's an owl shifter. How cool!"

I agreed. I didn't often see bird shifters, much less owls, in mid-shift like this girl. Did it hurt? Did your brain need to make an extra effort to parse commands and respond to impulses sent from the different species body parts?

Intrigued, I lifted my gaze to take in the room and the rest of its occupants. The Keyhole was a speakeasy for shapeshifters, a fact which was obvious once you got a look at the clientele. It was a veritable zoo and it sort of smelled like one, what with all the fur and feathers on display. But there was also the scent of perfume and cologne because not every shifter here was in their magickal form. Some, like this young owl, had chosen to shift only partway.

Cool, ambient lighting in blues and purples glowed on huge, curving horns and wings made of feathers and leathery skin. Movement made the light dance off scales both small and large, creating a continuous series of rainbows leaping throughout the room. The music was low and the conversation was strange: hisses, grunts, and chirps all caught by swiveling, oftentimes furred, ears. The floor and the spaces between chairs and sofas were alive with the movement of tails. Lots and lots of tails. They wagged, wiggled, and slithered.

Layout-wise, the room mirrored the regular bar outside, though it was much more crowded, which gave it the impression of being narrower. Nothing like a shoebox full of strange creatures that evidently weren't intimidated by the Oddsmakers. A gathering place like this shouldn't exist according to the magickal bosses, but apparently enforcing that unspoken rule had fallen by the wayside. Why? Was it to keep the peace and allow the shifters the illusion of free will? Or did the Oddsmakers fear an uprising if they tried to step in? That seemed silly to me after having sort of met the Oddsmakers and seen how inexplicably powerful they were. They had nothing to fear from these creatures.

The bar here was manned by a woman wearing the same uniform as the guy out front. Here, her drinks were being made with magick. As I approached the bar with Melanie tucked in close behind and helpfully concealing my wet butt, the bartender finished mixing something that bubbled wildly and formed glittering butterflies above the lip of the glass. Other patrons' drinks seemed to be similarly enhanced. They self-iced, leaked smoke that curled into shapes, or in a few cases appeared to be bottomless no matter how much was consumed.

We sidled up to the bar between a pair of women who were fox shifters in mid-shift and a big, white wolf that sat at the base of the bar and surveyed the room with pale blue eyes. The bartender was too busy with other orders to notice us which was fine. Melanie and I weren't here for a good time.

Our entrance had garnered a longer look from the patrons this time since it wasn't our attire that anyone here cared about, only our magick. Melanie was always kind of squirrelly, so maybe the more perceptive shifters might have guessed that she was a monkey shifter. None would be able to guess that I was a dragon sorceress except maybe those who were also descended from dragons (read: Chinese) or older magickal beings who seemed to have a knack for sensing things like that, such as the host of the room, the person we were here to see.

Kleure was pretty unmistakable as a magickal being. For one thing, he was a huge black dog, larger even than a Great Dane. For another, he had leathery wings and a halo of blue flames around his head. Oddly, a little yellow canary perched on one shoulder.

Panting happily in the booth around him sat half a dozen dogs that looked like mutts, though I assumed they must also be shifters.

"Remember what I said," I murmured to Melanie. "Let me handle it and keep an eye on the room."

"Okay," she whispered back nervously. I think she would have held my hand had I allowed it, but I trusted her to watch out for us. A monkey might be small, but they could be scrappy little buggers.

We sidestepped hooves and paws and carefully tiptoed over flickering tails, all while being watched by dozens of eyes. Was it my imagination or had the volume in the room dimmed as we made our way across the room?

If you look like you're paranoid, they'll think you're up to no good.

I pulled back my shoulders slightly, trying to project both confidence and nonchalance. No easy feat when things were growling around you. Finally we reached Kleure's booth. To my relief, he transformed into a wiry, black-haired man with bright blue eyes. Well, eyes with blue flames in them, which was close enough. Of course he was naked, but the table hid everything from the waist down so I was fine with being subjected to his hairy chest. His had nothing on Rodrigo's.

"I know you," he said in a straining voice, like he was unused to pushing air out of his mouth in ways that didn't form barks or howls. The canary continued to sit on his shoulder, watching me with tiny black eyes. "You're Anne Moody, proprietress of the Moonlight Pawn Shop. Daughter of Iris and Jacob, long deceased."