A Calculated Magic

13

“Every man in this airport is staring at me,” Cassandra whispered to Jack, eight hours later. “I can see the lust in their eyes. I doubt if I would draw this much attention if I was completely naked.”

“Exactly,” replied Jack, grinning. Though he probably felt closer to the Amazon than any other of his supernatural friends, she was so insufferably prim and proper that it secretly amused him to see her squirm. Cassandra was dressed to kill, and the gaze of every man, and most women, in the Las Vegas airport was fixed on her. “The best disguise is misdirection. If the Old Man of the Mountain has spies in the terminal, you’re the last person in the universe they’d peg as an Amazon warrior.’”

“If one more man winks at me,” said Cassandra, her voice quivering with emotion, “I will die of shame. After,” she promised grimly, “first ripping out his eyes and shoving them down his slimy throat.”

“Calm yourself,” said Jack. “We’re near the baggage claim. Once we locate our luggage, we’ll take a cab to the hotel. You’ll be out of public sight. At least, for a little while.”

Cassandra gasped. “You don’t expect me to wear clothing like this getup for our entire stay here? That’s unthinkable.”

“Better revise your thinking,” said Jack, cheerfully. “In Las Vegas, Cassandra Cole doesn’t exist. In her place is Saman’ta Jones, high-priced companion to millionaires and jet-setters. Besides,” he declared, unable to resist a small dig, “I think you look very sexy.”

Cassandra wore a full-length, lycra-spandex white cat suit. It hugged her curves like a second skin. A half dozen strategically placed cutouts revealed large patches of her chocolate-colored skin. The incredibly tight outfit clearly revealed her underclothes consisting of a tiny thong bikini and no bra. Five-inch spike-heeled boots and a three-inch-wide black leather belt completed the ensemble.

Her jet black hair was braided in the latest style, and dabs of color tinted her cheeks and eyelids. Gold chains around her neck clinked and jangled as they walked. And her fingers were capped with long white fingernails.

“I worried you might have a hard time with those heels,” murmured Jack as they rode the escalator down to the baggage claim. Under normal circumstances, the Amazon was a few inches taller than he. In boots, she was nearly a head higher. “But you’re managing them without effort.”

“In my career as a professional bodyguard, Jack,” said Cassandra, “I’ve had to attend more than my share of state functions undercover. Wearing fancy clothes isn’t as unusual for me as you might think. Dressing like a high-class hooker is the problem.”

“You could be wearing worse,” said Jack, then wished he hadn’t. Packed in their suitcases were outfits that made the Amazon’s current attire look tame. At least, Jack reflected, keeping Cassandra fighting mad wasn’t going to be difficult.

Merlin’s money, connections, and magic had smoothed their path to Las Vegas. Their new identities, and the clothes to match them, came from an unnamed but very secret agency that specialized in deception. Their features had undergone slight but significant changes, courtesy of one of Witch Hazel’s bitter potions. The wood witch guaranteed the results for a week. There was a harsher edge to Jack’s appearance and a softer one to Cassandra’s. The modifications were just enough so that the two of them were completely unrecognizable to anyone but their closest acquaintances.

Jack, dressed in a perfectly fitting dark pinstripe suit, was Gordon Green, an extremely wealthy and equally mysterious investment broker. In the inner pocket of his suit he had discovered a bank directory listing his accounts in several major investment firms. According to the entries, Mr. Green was worth well over $50 million. The billfold in his other pocket contained fifty crisp one-thousand-dollar bills. Merlin had money to burn.

Cassandra, despite her vocal and continual protests, became Saman’ta Jones. Getting the Amazon to wear the outrageous outfit selected for her by the deception bureau had been a major battle. Her screams of indignation had nearly shattered Jack’s eardrums. Persuading her that she couldn’t bring her weapons along on the trip had been the real challenge.

Reservations in one of the most expensive suites at the Seven Wonders of the World Resort proved to be no problem. Nor had there been any hassle purchasing first-class plane tickets for the two of them. Merlin the master sorcerer could work miracles on command. And when magic failed, money talked.

Once arrangements were finalized, the two ravens had been sent on ahead to do some preliminary scouting. “We fly at Mach three when necessary,” Hugo told them when asked. “Lucky our feathers aren’t real, otherwise they’d fry.”

A big, burly black man, standing nearly seven feet tall, awaited them at the luggage area. Dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, he held a white cardboard sign with the name “Mr. Green” scrawled across it. It took Jack a few seconds to remember that was his name.

“I’m Green,” he stated. “This is Ms. Jones, my secretary.”

Jack noted with some trepidation that the driver didn’t possess an aura. Another supernatural. Lately, his entire existence seemed to be defined by legendary beings. He glanced at Cassandra. She shrugged, clearly signaling she had no idea of their chauffeur’s true identity.

“Glad to meet you,” said the big man, his voice rumbling like thunder. He nodded to Cassandra, his gaze lingering for a moment on her outfit. The smile forming on his lips died when he saw the Amazon’s expression. “I’m John Henry. But you can call me Big John. Most people do.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief. He had never considered that songs might generate enough belief to bring their characters to life. Evidently, they did.

Big John handled their four heavy bags as if they were weightless. He guided them outside, to a huge white stretch limo. “Make yourself comfortable. The Seven Wonders is on the other side of the city. It’s about a half-hour ride. There’s a full stocked bar if you care for a drink. And a TV set.”

Jack settled into a plush seat and poured himself a Coke. Adjusting to the good life wasn’t very difficult. Next to him, Cassandra wrenched off her boots with a grunt of relief.

“I thought John Henry died of a broken heart after battling a steel-driving machine?” said Jack, as they cruised along the highway. It seemed unlikely that the hero of a folk song could be evil, and Jack was curious about the being’s origins.

The driver chuckled. “Rose-colored contact lenses, huh? I heard they existed but never met anyone wearing them. Pretty neat.” He paused for an instant, then continued, “You got me mixed up with the wrong character. My namesake perished just as you stated. I’m the hero of that Jimmy Dean song, popular in the late 1950s. He never actually killed me, and in a sequel song, an old girlfriend rode into town and rescued me. So many people believed it was a true story, I came to life.”

Big John sighed. “The Delta Queen left years ago. She abandoned me to pursue a career as a backup singer for Motown. With the mines shutting down all over the country, I moved to Vegas for the sun. Hacked a cab for years. Finally I earned enough money to buy a limo and start my own business. Type of people that come to this town enjoy traveling first class. At least the ones heading to the hotels. Returning to the airport, they take a cab.

“It’s a pleasant existence. Nobody messes with a man my size. And it sure beats the hell out of being buried at the bottom of a cave-in.”

They chatted about life in the gambling capital for the next twenty minutes. Big John knew nothing about other supernaturals in the city. An easygoing giant, he was content earning a living and sampling the world’s basic pleasures. That he had been created by a hit song becoming part of modern urban folklore set Jack’s mind reeling.

If Big John existed, what other modern folk legends might also walk the Earth? There were numerous books detailing common urban myths. It was quite possible that many of the unusual characters they described had been given life by mankind’s collective subconscious. Jack found the concept both exciting and disturbing.

The lobby of the Seven Wonders of the World Resort was the size of a naval shipyard—a large naval shipyard. As they deposited their luggage with a bellman, Big John warned, “Don’t forget to get a map of the hotel when you check in. People have been lost for days searching for their room. Good luck. Win big.”

“Holy Athena,” whispered Cassandra as they slowly strolled past row after row of slot machines that lined the path to the front desk. She nodded her head at a huge white marble statue in the southwest corner of the immense atrium. “That’s a perfect copy of the statue of Jupiter by Phidias. I saw it at Olympia two thousand years ago.”

“Whoever built this palace didn’t spare any expense,” replied Jack softly. “I wonder who he used to design the exhibits.”

Taking Cassandra firmly by one elbow, he steered her to the registration center. Standing still and gawking at the scenery established them as tourists, not high rollers. While there were several thousand people in the lobby, not one of them was paying any attention to the incredible decorations. Pips, grapes, cherries, oranges, and dollar signs were the only things that interested them.

“That’s a re-creation of the Great Lighthouse of Alexandria,” murmured Cassandra as they continued past a hundred-foot-tall refreshment center. “In the northeast, on a direct diagonal from Jupiter, stands the Colossus of Rhodes.”

“No need to question where they put the rest of the sights,” said Jack, as they stepped up to a vacant window at the registration desk. Behind the check-in center was a huge map of the entire complex. It listed each of the seven wonders and prominently displayed their location.

Quite properly, the Tomb of Mausolus, King of Caria, was one level beneath their feet. Instead of serving as an elaborate mausoleum, the floor contained dozens of boutiques, shops, and video game arcades. It was a mini-shopping mall for the entire resort complex.

Restaurants were located at the fabulous Temple of Diana at the rear of the casino. A sign posted at the desk proclaimed it served “food fit for a God at prices designed for mere mortals.”

The outer buildings containing all of the guest chambers were designed in the shape of pyramids. The higher one’s elevation in the structure, the more expensive the room. Jack was not particularly surprised to learn their quarters were at the apex of Khufu’s Tomb, an exact replica of the Great Pyramid of Giza.

“The Hanging Gardens of Babylon are to the rear of the hotel,” their bellman informed them twenty minutes later, as he turned on the lights of their suits. Big John hadn’t lied about the size of the complex. Without a guide, they would never have found the room. The resort was the only hotel Jack had ever visited that featured moving sidewalks. And needed them.

“That’s also where the golf range and tennis courts are located,” continued the bellman as he deposited their luggage on racks in the huge bedroom. “At night, they feature a big fireworks display there that you can see from this window.”

“Incredible,” said Jack, examining the well-stocked refrigerator in the parlor. After the long walk from the lobby, he needed a Coke, Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a fifty and handed it to the bellman. “This place exceeds my wildest dreams.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” said the bellman, grinning, as he made the bill disappear. He glanced at Cassandra and rolled his eyes. “Not that you’re in need of any other physical delights, sir. However, in case you desire to sample a truly unique experience, you might make confidential inquiries at the desk about the Eighth Wonder of the World. It’s only available to the highest rollers. From what I’ve heard, it’s like visiting paradise.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, his heart thumping like a trip-hammer. “Maybe I will,” He ushered the bellman out of the room. “I appreciate the thought.”

Once the man had left the room, Jack turned to Cassandra. “Paradise on Earth? I believe we’ve just confirmed that the Old Man of the Mountain makes his headquarters in this hotel. Now the fun really starts.”