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 belowground, 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.'
Thirteen
'What 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
