the same paths and walkways arranged between resorts, like the winding lines at an amusement park. I couldn’t smell anything beyond the concrete, sweat, and alcohol that tainted every crowded place here. I couldn’t hear anything but voices and loud music. The surveillance cameras had numbed me to the idea that people were watching me all the time. And I had stopped being able to focus on anything but what had happened to Ben.
It wasn’t until I reached the lobby of the Diablo that I stopped, because my neck had started prickling. I looked around, trying to track where the feeling was coming from. I made my way to the wall and tried to get my bearings.
Then I spotted him, near the front doors. Boris, wearing a leather jacket over his T-shirt. He didn’t look like he was watching me; he was turned toward the flashing lights over the stairs leading to the casino area. But I was undoubtedly in his peripheral vision. He was touching his ear and speaking into an almost invisible hands-free earpiece. It curled around his ear and lay flush along his skin.
He was talking to Sylvia. They could have followed me from the Olympus. From anywhere. They’d dodged Evan and Brenda. Crap, I had to get out of here.
Too late, I saw her. I’d been seeing her all weekend. Just once, couldn’t I be wrong about there being people out to get me? I was standing between them. She walked straight toward me, and all my instincts screamed for me to run. But where? They’d picked their spots well, Boris at the main door, his partner near the casino.
I took a breath and calmed down. I was in a wide-open space, in full view of security. What could they possibly do to me here? Anything they tried would draw way too much attention to themselves. A hundred cameras in fish-eye globes spaced regularly across the ceiling meant they couldn’t get away with anything.
I should have asked Evan or Brenda to stay with me. But I needed them to find Ben.
Working my way farther in, I headed for the casino. Plenty of people, along with plenty of security, made it seem like the safest place at the moment. All the noise of a million ringing bells and clicking slot machines hurt my ears and gave me a headache. Not to mention the lights stabbing at my eyes. But right now, it was a haven.
The woman angled to intercept me. I glanced over my shoulder; Boris still guarded the entrance, and he no longer made any pretense about not watching me. Without breaking into a run and shoving people out of the way, I wasn’t going to get out of the entrance. My back was stiff, hackles up, and I wanted to growl, but I swallowed it back and kept it together.
She slipped in front of me and stopped before I could descend the stairs to the main casino floor.
“I have a gun in my pocket,” she said softly, meeting my gaze. This was a different manner than any of the other personae I’d seen in her all weekend. She was an actress, a brilliant actress, completely unrecognizable when she wanted to be simply by changing the way she moved, spoke, and held herself. “Come with me or I’ll open fire right here.”
Astonished, I laughed. “What? Into a crowd in a Vegas casino? You’re kidding.”
“Either way you’ll be dead, which is all I want. I’m simply betting that your sunny disposition won’t let you take anyone else down with you. So how about it? Shall we be going?”
Wait a minute. She basically just told me she was going to kill me, and now she wanted me to stroll out of here with her or she’d fire into the crowd? But only after capping me first. I didn’t bother asking if she had silver bullets or not.
“You’re bluffing. You have to be bluffing.”
“You willing to make that gamble?”
My voice pitched higher, almost hysterical. “This is Vegas. Shouldn’t I be?”
I had a thought then: What if this were Cormac? If he were here, threatening to open fire in a crowded lobby unless I did as he asked, would I believe him? Did I really think he’d do it? No, of course not. But looking at Sylvia, she had something more than the cold, calculating, unwavering expression that I’d seen in Cormac when he was on a job, when he was about to kill—or had just killed—something. Someone. She had a fanatical glint to her expression, a berserker edge. I remembered what Brenda said: Sylvia didn’t play by rules. So yes, I believed if I pushed her, she would shoot me here.
I started walking, and she fell into step at my arm, and a little behind, guiding me out of the lobby and down the hallway to the elevators. She was half a head shorter than I was. I could totally take her. Right until she pulled that gun. I wondered what she planned on doing. Taking me to a room, maybe. Shooting me quietly, dumping me out with the trash. Or maybe taking me out to a car, driving out to the desert, out of sight of the thousands of surveillance cameras. No one would ever know.
I tried to keep her talking. People fired guns less when they talked. “Found a buyer, then, did you? Someone willing to put a hit on me? Because most people aren’t willing to go that far. I’m famous, you know.”
She sneered. “This one’s for the fun of it.”
“So,” I asked. “Does this mean you got Ben, too?”
“Why would we want him? I sure as hell don’t know what he sees in you, but I don’t have a beef with him.”
Which meant they didn’t know he was a werewolf, weren’t gunning for him, and hadn’t gotten to him. I should call Brenda.
I swallowed and kept my breathing steady. Kept Wolf settled. Had to think. “Cormac’ll go after you when he finds out about this. You know that.”
“Cormac’s in a box. There are ways of getting to him. You don’t actually think he’s safe in prison, do you?”
A million ways someone could die in prison, and no one would think it strange. God, what a mess. I couldn’t even warn him.
Had to run, had to fight, couldn’t just give up, had to do something. I could feel fur tickling the inside of my skin. Any minute now, I’d split open and Wolf would leap out. If I couldn’t save myself, she’d do it for me. That’s how it worked.
My breathing came too quickly, and I was sweating, even in the frigid air-conditioning. We were in a quiet hallway now. Boris walked about two dozen steps behind us. The doors we passed looked like they opened to utility closets or offices—locked in both cases, inaccessible as an escape route. Maybe once we got outside I could run.
We were near Odysseus Grant’s theater. I wondered...
There, around the corner, was the emergency exit I’d used when I sneaked backstage.
I bolted.
What did I have to lose? We were out of the crowd. She couldn’t hold the death of innocents over me anymore. I didn’t look back to see if she was drawing her gun or not. I had to get out of there and hope I could run faster than she could shoot. I could run fast. Wolf flowed through my veins.
Footsteps sounded behind me, but I was faster. I slammed into the door, shoving it open, and kept going. In a crack of thunder, drywall exploded behind me. Gunfire. She was actually crazy enough to shoot inside the hotel. But she only hit the wall. I sped up.
I thought I could lose her in the backstage maze, circle around, find another exit, get away. Call Evan and Brenda. Call the police. Anything.
I dodged into another hallway, painted black. Then I must have taken a wrong turn, because I ended up onstage, toward the back, looking out over an empty theater and the back of Grant’s equipment. The curtains were open, and Grant himself stood downstage. He looked like he was practicing with the Chinese rings, loops of silver interlocking, clicking as they linked and unlinked so quickly I couldn’t follow.
Then, because Wolf was at the front of my senses, because everything was sharp and brilliant and the world around me was moving a little bit slower—and maybe because I was standing behind him—I could see it. The ring in his hand never moved. He kept his grip on the same spot, always hiding it from the audience, and worked so quickly he only made it look like the rings changed places, linking together, slipping apart. Two of the rings were already connected, permanently, but he kept the joint hidden, so they looked like just two more rings hanging on his arm. And one of the other rings had a gap in it. He kept the gap hidden in his hand while slipping the other rings into and out of it. He handled them fluidly, perfectly. I never would have been able to tell, if I hadn’t caught that odd glimpse.
But it was still magic, because I certainly could never manipulate the trick as well as Grant. At least not without a lot of practice.
He turned around, as if alerted by the pressure of my gaze. The rings stopped and dangled from his hands instead of dancing. At first he seemed annoyed, scowling, but I must have looked desperate, flushed and out of breath, because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m being followed, they want to kill me,” I said, pointing behind me. I sounded incoherent to my ears, but I didn’t have time to give any more detail.
He glanced over my shoulder, and I turned, afraid that Boris and Sylvia had sneaked up behind me. They hadn’t; only the two of us stood onstage. But I could hear breathing echoing among the rigging backstage. They were close.
Grant must have sensed it, too. He marched to the painted cabinet, sitting innocuously to the side. “If you would step in here for a moment.”
I laughed, a tad hysterically. “You’re going to hide me in your trick cabinet? You really think that’s going to fool them?”
“Please, just step in here. Everything’ll be fine.” He sounded like someone urging me to drink the Kool-Aid. “And whatever you do, don’t move.”
What the hell? Maybe it would actually work. I stepped in, and he closed the door, relegating me to darkness.
Cautiously, I felt around the inside of the cabinet. I didn’t know the trick of the device that made people seem to disappear. Grant hadn’t told me, so I couldn’t activate the mechanism, spring the trapdoor, or whatever. All I could do was stand there. I strained to listen but couldn’t hear what was going on outside. Had they found me? Was Grant able to put them off?
I barely had room to move. I felt the door in front of me, the two sides around me, inches from my arms. I took a step back, expecting to come up against the back of the box. Then I took another step, and another. Three steps back. I’d walked around the cabinet; it wasn’t that big. There couldn’t be that much room inside.
Shifting my arms, I felt for the sides—which weren’t there.
Looking around, I saw shadows. Which was impossible, because the box was pitch-dark—not a sliver of light passed inside. But I could now lift my arms, stretch them all the way out from my sides. My steps didn’t echo like they should have on the wood floor of a cabinet. I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a snow-covered forest and a lamppost. I didn’t see much of anything: shifting tones of gray, like clouds passing over a nighttime sky. A breeze touched my face, ruffling strands of my hair across my face. Which was impossible—I was inside a box.
And standing on a piece of ground, with dirt under my feet. The air had a strange scent, marshy, decayed, like a swamp, or an aquarium that needed cleaning. Algae, fish, and mud. I shivered with cold, and a dampness crept under my skin, touching my bones. I hugged myself.
Then something moved. I sensed it rather than saw it, a shifting on the ground, a displacement of air that brought with it a wave of a new smell, of rotted flesh. To my right, a darker shadow moved, a surface that gleamed in an unseen source of light. Something wet and boneless, creeping toward me. I wanted to scream and run. But I couldn’t do anything.
Three steps forward would take me back to the place I’d come from. But ahead of me lay only shadow. No box at all, no cabinet, no stage, no magician. This was altogether a different kind of magic. No tricks, no mirrors.
Hugging myself tightly, I closed my eyes and stepped forward. One, two, three, exactly the way I’d come from. The air closed in around me, but I couldn’t smell the wood of the cabinet, the sweat of the stage, not like I expected. I didn’t dare open my eyes, in case I didn’t see darkness but those same half-seen shadows.
Something touched my arm, and I screamed.
A hand closed over my mouth, and another hand—the one holding my arm—pulled me forward, out of the cabinet onto the stage. Odysseus Grant looked at me, looked into my eyes. I blinked back at him, astonished, relieved, and confused. I was frozen. Even my Wolf was quiet.
Something like a smile tugged at his lips. “I told you not to move,” he said.
“What—” I stammered. Couldn’t get my voice to work, which was weird. I swallowed and tried again. “What is that place?”
“It’s just a box,” he said. “A magical cabinet.”
He guided me to a chair at the side of the stage, which was good, because I hadn’t realized how wobbly my knees were until I sat down.
“They’re gone,” he said. “They should stay off your trail for a while, but you might want to lie low.”
I wasn’t sure I could manage that. Stifling a smile, I shook my head.
