Embrace the Night

Chapter 10

That afternoon I was checking in the convention that the hotel staff had secretly labeled the Geek Squad, a couple hundred role-playing enthusiasts who had arrived with bag and baggage, and in a few cases swords and armor, when I caught Pritkin staring at me. He was across the lobby, leaning against one of the fake stalagmites that erupted from the floor, all beard stubble and mussed hair and strong, lean build. His body looked relaxed, but his face held the same hawkish expression I'd last seen when he was standing over Saleh's headless corpse.

I scowled and handed a name badge to a guy dressed in a long trailing robe and a pointy hat. He shifted his staff to his other hand so he could pin it on. I didn't think it likely to help with ID much; he was the seventh Gandalf I'd seen that morning.

"I still don't understand why we can't set up now," the guy at my side whined. His voice was muffled by the mask he was wearing, but unfortunately not enough that I couldn't understand him. It had taken me a moment to identify the mask since he'd added plastic tusks that made it sag weirdly in front. I guess he hadn't been able to find a good ogre's head, because he'd converted a Chewbacca.

"I told you, we're doing some last-minute cleanup," I explained for the fifth time.

"They can't be cleaning the whole room at once! We can work around them."

"It's not my call," I said curtly, watching a bunch of guys in elf ears who were pointing at the large creatures perched near the cavernous ceiling of the lobby. Each was six feet tall, grayish-black, with huge reptilian wings that ended in sharp, delicate claws. They looked like a cross between a bat and a pterodactyl, and most people mistook them for gruesome decorations. But the «elves» had apparently decided to use them for target practice: all three had bows in their hands and one nocked an arrow as I watched.

Before I could battle a path through the crowd, one of the creatures soared gracefully to the top of a stalagmite. Its new perch glittered with crystals in the low light, almost as brightly as the creature's dark eyes as it surveyed the tourists with predatory anticipation. It caught sight of the bow-wielding gamer and gave a shriek like tortured metal that echoed around the vastness of the lobby, drawing every eye in the place.

"Hey, cool!" the guy with the arrow said. "A yrthak!"

"That can't be a yrthak," another gamer said in a superior tone. "It has eyes."

A shiver of dread crawled down my spine. Once before, the casino's built-in security forces had mistaken innocent bystanders for dangerous intruders—and dealt with them accordingly. That time, it had been me and Pritkin in the hot seat, and we'd almost ended up dead. I somehow didn't think the average tourist was likely to fare even that well.

I dove between a couple of hobbits—or jawas or possibly very short monks—and grabbed the bow out of the gamer's hand. I tossed it to one of the security guys, who had jogged up from the other side. Casanova's love affair with filthy lucre was going to be the death of us all. "This was not the time to book in a bunch of norms," I hissed, sotto voce.

The guard just shrugged, holding the bow too high for the flailing arms of the outraged gamer to grab it. "No discharging weapons inside the casino!" he bellowed.

The young man scowled. "Zero charisma, okay?"

I turned to find Chewbacca still foaming at the mouth. "Look, lady, I got vendors with no place to put their stuff! What am I supposed to tell them?"

Even if Casanova had been paying me, it wouldn't have been enough for this. I threw an arm around his hairy shoulders. "See that guy over there?" I pointed at Pritkin. "He usually handles stuff like this. Only he doesn't like that to get around, so you might have to be a little persistent."

Tall, dark and fuzzy pointed at Pritkin and yelled something to the half dozen vendors hanging around the entrance. They converged on the mage in a pack and I went back to work. Five minutes later, I felt a warm hand descend on my shoulder. "That wasn't very nice."

My skin prickled like someone was breathing on it. "Since when do you care?" I snapped. «Nice» wasn't even in Pritkin's vocabulary.

"It isn't one of my usual requirements," he agreed, sounding amused.

I didn't answer, my eyes on the group of gamers who were now trying to entice the «yrthak» down from its perch by waving a sandwich at it. It really concerned me that it hadn't gone back to its proper place yet. Even more worrying was the fact that its eyes were fixed not on the proffered food but on the nearest gamer's jugular.

"You can control those things, right?" I asked a nearby guard nervously.

The man didn't answer, but he moved a few yards closer to the "elves," his face about as happy as mine. Letting someone get eaten wasn't likely to improve his next performance evaluation. He pulled out a radio, looking worried. "We may have a situation," he told someone.

"I saw you watching me." The words were spoken directly into my ear.

"Bully for you," I said, as my nice orderly line of elves, trolls and ancient wizards went scurrying off to where the action was. Damn. I'd really hoped to be out of here soon.

Pritkin was standing close enough that the heat from his body was causing a little trickle of sweat to run down my spine. "Entertaining as this conversation has been," I told him caustically, "I have actual work to do. Why don't you go point a gun at something?"

He didn't comment, maybe because he was too busy licking a slow, wet trail up my neck. For a frozen second, I just stood there. I'd always assumed that Pritkin had some kind of allergy to human contact. He rarely touched people, unless he was moving me around like a mannequin, and he never made passes. Especially not such…obvious…ones.

I spun to see his smile widening, his eyes gone vibrant green. It was not an expression I'd ever imagined on his face—an almost feral sexuality. And his clothes were back to black. It gave me a very bad feeling, and that was before he reached out and pulled me against him.

Whatever I might have said was silenced by lips sliding softly over mine. I wasn't prepared for him to kiss me, much less like that. His mouth was warm and surprisingly sweet, and the faint scrape of stubble shouldn't have been the least bit erotic, yet it was. His tongue traced a feathery caress over my bottom lip in a way that felt positively indecent. I pulled back, seriously confused. "What—"

"No," he said, tilted my head and kissed me. Heat radiated from the heavy hand resting on my neck, and a thumb stroked light patterns down my throat. A sudden rush of desire made me forget to keep my mouth closed, and a tongue twined expertly around my own. Pritkin took his time, exploring me, tasting me. A hand rested on my waist, in what should have been a neutral spot, but it burned.

I jerked away, angry and confused. "Are you crazy?" One of the fun facts about the geis was the jolt of pain it gave me whenever I got close to anyone but Mircea. It seemed to have a particular grudge against Pritkin, upping the usual warning where he was concerned to a level that had me certain my eyes were dripping down my cheekbones.

He didn't answer, just somehow backed me into the reservation desk without laying a hand on me. Something was going on in the casino: I could hear screams and see camera flashes, and a bunch of guards ran by with a huge net in their hands. "I know you talked to Saleh," he whispered against my lips. "What did he tell you?"

Another inhuman shriek rent the air, this time from above. The second creature did not appear to like the fact that the guards were trying to trap its companion. It took off the top of one of the stalactites on its way to join the fight, and fake rock rained down on us from all sides. I barely noticed, being far more concerned about the body suddenly pressing hard against me.

"Answer me." The hilt of a sword was gouging into my ribs, I realized vaguely, and something was…was wrong about that. Where was the holster lump on his thigh? Or the ratty leather belt studded with weapons and potions, like a homicidal mad scientist? And since when did Pritkin wear cologne?

I suddenly panicked. None of this made sense. I was absolutely not standing in the middle of the lobby making out with Pritkin while all hell broke loose. I pushed at him, with no more result than trying to move a boulder. "Let go!"

Power flooded the air, making the hairs on my arms stick up in alarm and sending a scorching tide rolling across my body. "I said let go," I murmured, suddenly lost in a pair of crystal-clear eyes. His mouth claimed mine again, fierce and possessive, not at all shy of anyone who might be watching, and something about it made the rest of the world fall away into pure hunger. The scent of him was maddening—something elegant and expensive and completely unexpected, with the musk of skin and need beneath the rest.

He pulled back and I looked into the face of a stranger, one wearing an expression of hawklike intensity. "Answer me." The command surged through me with the irresistible force of a tidal wave. I opened my mouth in unthinking response, just as a new shower of plaster from above dropped on top of us.

I sputtered and choked on a mouthful of gray dust, and Pritkin gave a frustrated sigh. "For a place filled with incubi," he said dryly, "managing a seduction here is surprisingly difficult." I stumbled back into another group of security men headed for the crisis of the hour, and by the time we got ourselves sorted out, Pritkin was gone.

"You know, I'm not so forgiving, either," I said, glaring at the pixie. As if I didn't have enough trouble with Pritkin going insane, Radella had come up with exactly zilch.

Françoise was still pawing through the alarming number of weapons Casanova had stockpiled in a storeroom on Dante's lowest level. I'd decided that, given the number of people who wanted me dead, maybe I should stock up. And with Radella still scheming against her, I figured Françoise might be able to use a few items herself.

She held up something. "Q'est-ce que c'est?"

I squinted at it. "It's a Taser. It shocks people."

"Quoi?"

"Like lightning." I danced about a little and understanding lit her eyes.

She looked at the pixie, who was hovering well out of reach near the ceiling, and smiled. "Shock me and I'll cut your heart out," Radella promised.

Françoise didn't comment, but she clipped the small device to the olive green, army-style tool belt she'd found in a weapons locker. It looked a little odd next to her outfit. She was still wearing the dress from the fashion show, although the spiders were starting to look a bit lackluster. Two had stopped moving altogether, and the one on her shoulder had been weaving the same web for the last twenty minutes. It looked like the charm was meant to last for one day only.

Other than the dress she'd had on when she escaped from Faerie, it was the only outfit I'd seen her wear. It suddenly occurred to me that she might not have any others. I made a mental note to take her shopping.

"What seems to be the holdup?" I asked Radella, while examining a 9 mm. It didn't look like the grip was any smaller than mine, so I put it back.

"I can't find it, all right?" She fluttered to the top of a gun cabinet and sat down, chin in hand. Her iridescent wings drooped around her shoulders dispiritedly. "I've looked everywhere!"

"Then look again!"

"If the portal was here, I'd have found it!"

"Well, obviously not," I pointed out. "Because it is here."

"Then it should have been easy to locate," Radella groused. "The power output alone—"

"Come again?"

She gave me a disgusted look. "Portals don't run on batteries! They're rare not only because they're regulated but because few people have a power source capable of handling one."

"What kind of power are we talking about?"

"A lot. A ley-line sink is usually required, although there are talismans capable of opening a short-term gateway. But they're rare. I doubt that vampire had one."

"A ley-line what?"

"Where two lines cross and pool their energy," Radella said impatiently. I blinked at her. "Ley. Lines," she said, very slowly and distinctly. "You do know what those are, right?"

I had heard of them, but the memory was vague. Just something about a lot of ancient monuments being constructed on parallel lines. "Assume I know nothing," I told her.

She smirked. "I always do." Françoise said something in a language I didn't know and Radella flushed bright red. She slapped her tiny hand down, making the whole cabinet shudder beneath her. "Quiet, slave! Remember to whom you're speaking!"

"I always do," Françoise told her sweetly.

"Ladies!" I looked back and forth between the two of them, but nobody was going for weapons, which made it a pretty congenial conversation for those two.

"To put it really, really simply," Radella said icily, her eyes still on Françoise, "ley lines are borders between worlds: yours, mine, the demon realms, whatever. When those borders collide, you get stress, like when two of your tectonic plates rub together. And stress creates energy."

"Like magical fault lines."

"That's what I said!" Radella snapped. "Only in this case, there's no land to move, only magical energy getting hurled about. Therefore, instead of earthquakes or tsunamis, you get power, which can be used for various applications by those who know how."

"Like running portals."

"Under certain circumstances. If two particularly strong ley lines cross, they might generate that kind of energy, but it doesn't happen often."

"Then all we have to do is look for this sink thing," I said excitedly. "If it's putting off that kind of power, it should be easy to find!"

Radella sighed and muttered something I was just as glad I couldn't understand. "There are ley lines all around Vegas," she finally said. "But none cross anywhere near here. The closest area where they do is the MAGIC enclave, which is why it was built where it is."

"So what was Tony using?" I asked impatiently.

"As a guess?" Radella pursed her little mouth. It made her look like professor Barbie. "Death magic. Quick, powerful, easily obtained."

"As long as you 'ave the stomach for eet," Françoise muttered darkly.

"Wait a minute." I was really hoping I'd heard wrong. "You're saying that, even if I find Tony's portal, I'd have to kill someone to use it?"

Radella shrugged. "Well, you know. Not anyone you like."

"I'm not committing murder!"

"I theenk I could power ze portal," Françoise said, "for a short time. With some help."

She was looking at me, but I shook my head. "I was never trained. Tony was afraid of having a powerful witch at court."

"But…you know notheeng?" She looked horrified.

"Pretty much."

"But, you run 'ere and zere" — she made some flailing motions in the air—“doing theengs, all ze time!"

"As opposed to what? Waiting for someone to come kill me?"

"But, eef the dark mages catch you, they weel drain you of your power! Eet would be awful!"

I smiled grimly. "Yeah. Only they'd have to get in line."

"Quoi?"

"Nothing." I glanced at the pixie. "We can worry about how to power the damn thing once we find it. Any little ideas on that?"

She looked thoughtful. "It has to be a hidden portal. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"We know it's hidden!" I said, exasperated.

"No, hidden hidden. As in, not in this world until summoned."

"Did you hear me just say I know nothing about magic?"

Radella scowled. "Think of it like a door. A door that uses energy whenever it's open. So you keep it closed until needed."

"When you open it with a sacrifice."

"Right. But if that's how this portal works, there's probably a special incantation to summon it."

"Let me guess. You don't know the incantation." It figured.

"It's different for every portal, a password known only to the users."

"Who are now all in Faerie," I reminded her. "How am I supposed to get it?"

A sly look came over her tiny, doll-like face. "Perhaps I could figure something out, for the right price."

I narrowed my eyes at the scheming little thing. "Now what?"

She fidgeted, trying to look nonchalant. I thought it was just as well she was too small to do any gambling; with a poker face like that, she'd have been soaked in five minutes flat. "I want a second casting of the rune," she finally blurted out. "In case the first one doesn't result in a child."

I got busy checking out another gun for a moment. I'd been under the impression that we'd already agreed that I'd give her the rune, not just cast it. Maybe the thing was more valuable than I'd thought.

"All right," I said slowly, trying to sound reluctant. "Another casting."

"With no restrictions! Even if I get with child on the first, I still get the second!"

"Agreed."

Radella swallowed. "What kind of help do you want?"

"Whatever is needed." I wasn't about to let her impose conditions, either.

"I knew you'd find a way to talk me into this insanity," she sniped, but her heart clearly wasn't in it.

"Do we have a deal?"

"Oh, you damn well know we do!" I smiled, and she grimaced back. "Don't be so smug, human. You haven't heard my idea yet."

Dante's front entrance is something out of a medieval nightmare, with writhing basalt statues, tortured topiaries and an honest-to-God moat. The front door handles are agonized faces that moan and groan and utter its famous catchphrase, telling all who enter to abandon hope—along with their wallets. But demented decor is expensive, which explains why the back looks more like a modern warehouse, with loading ramps, overripe Dumpsters and a plain chain-link fence surrounding a crowded employee parking lot.

Françoise, Radella, Billy Joe and I landed in Dante's parking lot two weeks in the past. It was still a few hours before the sun, or anyone with any sense, would think about rising. In other words, high noon for the types I needed to see.

Radella's big idea was to go back in time before everyone who knew how to summon the portal left, and get the incantation out of them by whatever means necessary. I had amended that to exclude beatings, knifings or anything likely to result in the total trashing of the timeline. Françoise had added a refinement by mentioning that she could probably erase the short-term memory of anyone except a powerful mage. So we had a plan—we just needed the right guy. And Casanova's predecessor, a slimy operator known as Jimmy the Rat, was my best guess for man in the know.

"Je suis désolée," Françoise said, apparently talking to the bottom of the chain-link fence.

I exchanged looks with the pixie, who merely shrugged. I bent over to get a better look and found myself handcuffed to the fence post. "What the hell?"

Françoise stood back and crossed her arms, regarding me with a fair imitation of Pritkin in a mood. "We weel go. Eet ees too dangerous for you."

"Excuse me?"

"You 'ave not the skill in magique, n'est-ce pas?"

"What's your point?"

"You 'ad to breeng us 'ere; zere was no choice. But you do not 'ave to risk yourself now. We weel talk to thees gangster while you remain where it is safe."

"I can handle Jimmy!"

Françoise didn't answer, but she got this look on her face, like she was perfectly happy to stand in the parking lot for the rest of the night discussing it. I tugged on the cuff, but she must have liberated it from Casanova's storeroom, because it was good-quality steel. All my efforts did was rattle the fence and piss me off.

"Okay," I said. "You go, me stay. Have fun."

"You aren't serious," Billy said incredulously.

"You weel stay right 'ere?" Françoise looked doubtful. Maybe she'd expected me to argue more.

I jangled the fence again for effect. "Do I have a choice?"

"I don't trust her," the pixie said, eyeing me narrowly. "We should stick her in a closet."

"I have a gun," I pointed out.

Radella frowned. "She's right. She could shoot the lock."

"I was thinking of something a little more animated," I told her, not entirely sure I was kidding.

"Eet is for your own good," Françoise said, biting her lip. She suddenly looked uncertain.

Radella snapped her fingers. "We knock her out. Then we stuff her in the closet. A really small one," she added viciously.

Françoise didn't even bother to look at her. "We return soon," she promised, then turned on her heel and strode away.

"Yeah, I'll just wait here like a glorified taxi driver," I called after her. Her shoulders twitched slightly, but I didn't know if that was from shame or from not knowing what a taxi was.

"Okay, that was really—" Billy began.

I held up my free hand. Françoise paused by the back door and looked in my direction. Probably wondering why my hand was hovering in the air. I waved at her and after a minute she and Radella let themselves in through the employee entrance. As soon as the door closed, I shifted two feet ahead. Behind me, the now empty cuff banged against the fencing.

"I forget you can do that now," Billy said.

"So do I, half the time." I rubbed my wrist and looked around. There was no one in sight. It occurred to me that maybe I should have looked before doing my Houdini impression.

"Why didn't you just show them that they were wasting their time?" Billy demanded.

"I figured we might as well get the mutiny phase of our relationship out of the way early." Besides, I didn't think Radella had been kidding about the closet. "Let's go find Jimmy before he sells them the Brooklyn Bridge or some—"

"Speak of the devil," Billy said, as someone who looked an awful lot like Jimmy ran out the back door.

I started forward after a surprised pause, hardly believing my luck. If I could get to him before he reached his car, we could talk without encountering anyone else or possibly being overheard. But then the door slammed open and a blonde ran out, looking around wildly.

"Wait, there's some bimbo with him," Billy cautioned. The blonde caught sight of Jimmy and took off after him, hiking up her low-cut black top as she went. Billy whistled appreciatively. "She's gonna fall right out of that thing if she ain't—"

He stopped abruptly, squinting across the lot, and I did the same, a vague feeling of unease creeping up my spine. The energy-conscious halogen lights didn't help a lot with visibility, but I saw enough to make my stomach fall. "I think we have a problem," I said numbly.

"Hey," Billy said, eyes wide. "I think that bimbo is you! I can tell by the shape of your—"

"Do you realize what this means?" I managed to shriek in a whisper. I hadn't figured out until that moment that I'd brought us back to the night I first saw Dante's—not a time I was real interested in reliving.

"Yeah." He glared at me. "Of all the times to come back to, why in the hell—"

"I didn't do it on purpose," I hissed. "Casanova told me the last shipment of slaves left for Faerie on this night. If we can't get Jimmy to talk, I thought we might overhear the incantation being used!"

"If we were in the right place at the right time, yeah. But this ain't it."

"You think?" My first visit to Dante's hadn't gone well. In fact, it had gone about as spectacularly wrong as humanly possible. There had been too many near misses, too many times that I and a lot of other people could have died had things gone slightly differently. I needed to find the team and get out, fast, before any of us changed anything.

Jimmy and the other me disappeared into the lines of cars, and the back door slammed open yet again. Pritkin and a couple of vamps appeared, and I froze. My eyes might be having trouble making out the action, but theirs certainly wouldn't be. And if they glanced over here and saw me, it could distract them from the task at hand. Which, among other things, included saving the other me's life.

I didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't blink. The black tank top and jeans I'd decided would be appropriate for the night's activities would help make me harder to spot. But they could smell me from this distance, even in a parking lot filled with gas fumes and garbage. One of the vamps paused, lifting his head slightly as if scenting the air, and I swallowed thickly. It was Tomas, my onetime roommate, who had had six months to get my scent down cold. If he sensed me…

But he didn't. The three men ran into the rows of cars and a few moments later all hell broke loose, with gunshots, screams, and someone setting a car on fire. I took off for the back door at a dead run. And skidded to a halt a couple of seconds later when the very last person I wanted to see appeared in my path.

I managed to catch myself before careening into him, but it was a close thing. I hastily scrambled back a couple of steps just to be on the safe side. "You're not supposed to be here!" I said accusingly.

One perfect eyebrow formed itself into an equally perfect arch. "Then we have something in common, dulcea."