Blackjack Magic Murder

by Claire Kane

  “She’ll be at her interview.” Jessica said without breaking stride, as she resumed filing. “From the sounds of things, she doesn’t want you trailing along.”

  “No, especially not since I called Ross ‘Fabio.’”

  Her green eyes gave him a sidelong glance. “An angel being petty? I’ll pretend I didn’t see that.” She stuck her beauty tool in the back pocket of her jeans. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re not going to make this easy on me, I can smell it.”

  “It’s like learning to swim. I just have to throw you in the deep end.”

  Victor’s face fell. “That tends to result in drowning, you know.”

  Jessica sauntered away. “You’re immortal,” she said airily. “Can’t die. Now let’s go.”

  Victor shook his head but followed her anyway. To his surprise, she led him to the casino floor. They stopped on a wide ramp leading from the hotel itself into the main gambling area. As expected, dark spirits filled the room. What Victor had not anticipated was the difference between these spirits and the ones he’d faced the night before.

  “Ah,” Jessica said, “you’re already getting it.”

  Victor squinted, scanning the area. “Why are they so… lethargic? So… obsessed?”

  The blond angel pulled out her nail file again and Victor wondered if he’d ever get used to her doing that. “There are two main types of spirits here,” she said. “First, you’ve got the standard Legion ones.” At her mention of the word, Victor heard a subtle chorus of hungry hisses, sending a chill through him. “They’re the original demons—they followed The Dark One when he got kicked out of Heaven. Many were cursed to roam the Earth, but the worst ones became devils—like the one you dealt with in Seattle a few months ago. Normally, devils are kept under lock and key, but every now and then a mortal manages to summon one. It typically requires the mortal to allow the devil to use their body as a host.”

  Victor nodded gravely. Rao had already given him a sketch of Legion’s history, and he thought, again, of the incident with Lacey in Seattle. “And the rest?”

  Jessica glided down the ramp and stopped directly beside a spirit that looked far more human than any of the demons Victor was used to dealing with. “These,” she said quietly, “are the spirits of the damned. Those who once had bodies, but abused their lives and chose to exclude themselves from Heaven.”

  In a flash, it all became clear. Victor’s mind suddenly comprehended—in a way only those without bodies could—that the spirit Jessica was examining had once been a living person. The man had developed a gambling addiction during life and was distressed that he couldn’t continue his habits after death. And so he’d brought himself to this place in a vain effort to feed a fix that wouldn’t fade. Victor could almost taste the man’s desperate longings as the spirit sat virtually inside the old man at the slot machines, moving his hands in time with the mortal as coins were dropped into slots and levers jerked. The spirit alternated between utterly despondent and almost rabid when a few coins would drop from the machine. But with every small win, the spirit’s hunger only grew. He would wait forever for a jackpot he could never enjoy.

  “I was almost one of these,” Jessica said sadly. “That spirit prison you found me in? That was optional. I could have come back to Earth. I could have hung around plastic surgeons and beauty salons and fashion shows forever. But I had a little boy to think about, so I spent time in lock up. Really, it was more like rehab than jail. Deep inside, I knew I couldn’t let myself miss out on seeing him to spend an eternity lying to myself.”

  Victor blinked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. They shared a pained look, and he gave her a soft embrace. When they broke the embrace, she straightened.

  “You won’t have to worry much about former mortals. The good ones are likely to help you, if they can, and the ones like this guy,” and she gestured, “are too busy with their addictions to even care.

  “It’s the Dark Ones that will go out of their way to interfere. They’re here to mess people up in the first place—to get them hopelessly addicted so that when they die, they’ll end up back here, forever miserable.”

  “That’s sadistic,” Victor said, assuming a defensive posture as several demons on the periphery of the floor took note of him.

  “Demons aren’t known to be chipper and happy,” Jessica said dryly.

  “So how will this help Lacey? Or is this about getting to that book Rao told me about?”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “It will let you follow her into places like this, duh. And yes, we’ll check the book too, soon. For now, though, I’m just going to summon a bunch of them over, and let you handle them. Remember what we’ve talked about, and just stay calm. You don’t have a body anymore, so you don’t have any adrenaline to drive you. Let your focus on what’s right do that instead.”

  Victor nodded and stood ready for whatever Jessica was about to throw at him. He still wasn’t prepared when a pile of demons buried him for the second time in as many days.

  “Just don’t be stupid about it this time,” Jessica said. Through the twisting demonic mists, he caught sight of Jessica leaning back against a rail and folding her arms across her chest. She had the same look on her face as she did all those times he’d caught her watching reruns of Melrose Place.

  “So now I’m just a show?” he demanded, blocking a clawed strike, and spinning one dark being into another of its kind.

  “You used to be my favorite character, Victor,” she said with a smirk. “Why do you think I hooked up with you in the first place? Man candy in a fight? What girl doesn’t like that kind of thing?”

  Victor took a shot to the thigh, causing him to hiss, and Jessica to wince. He threw a punch and pressed the attack. “In case you ever wondered why I broke up with you,” he added, grappling a demon and judo-throwing it through a bank of slot machines, “this here might give you a clue.”

  “Can you make yourself look sweaty, too?” she asked, looking way too entertained. “I may be dead, but I still remember how much of a turn on that was. Oh, and lose the shirt.”

  Victor ignored her and, with a flurry of strikes, broke free of the creatures. The demons abandoned the gamblers they were tormenting and leapt toward Victor, sensing their upper hand.

  “Don’t lose your head, Vic,” he told himself, struggling to keep his anger in check. The vaporous faces of Legion, like bad memories of lives best forgotten, pressed against his own face, bringing cold and hatred. He kept his mind on the meditation techniques Rao had taught him. A bubble of peace formed in his heart, and with concentration, he helped it swell until he was fully enveloped. Tension, fear, and pressure rolled away in waves, and he felt strong. Looking around him, he could see a faint sphere of shimmering light around him. Beyond it, the demons shied away, or vainly clawed at it, unable to break through to him. The souls of former mortals seemed annoyed by it, but otherwise paid Victor no heed as he passed by them.

  “Nicely done,” Jessica said, appearing beside him. “Still no sweat and no visible skin, but the glow really brings out the blue in those eyes.”

  Victor glanced heavenward. “I’m trying to prevent my ex-girlfriend from being killed, and you’re here flirting with me.”

  “Let’s not forget that I was your girl before she was.”

  “You’re really going to go there?”

  Jessica smiled with mock innocence. “I’ve got a cute little boy to take care of now. He could use a good father figure. Now, let’s get back to your training. You clearly need work.”

  Victor! An urgent voice penetrated his mind.

  Rather than acknowledge Jessica’s last comment, he turned and said out loud, “Lacey, what is it?”

  “Victor, come help me. I need you, my guardian angel.” She didn’t really sound like herself, at all, he thought. It must be bad.

  He turned to Jessica, who was looking at him with expectation. “Something bad’s going down,” he told her, before mentally replying to
Lacey, Where are you?

  TEN

  Lacey ignored Victor’s mental intrusion. He knew where she was at, and she’d told him pointedly not to bother her. Sometimes his jokes weren’t funny. It had been bad enough that he’d already called to her right at the beginning of her discussion with Zigmund and Ross.

  The interview was going both better and worse than Lacey had expected. On the one hand, she’s managed to make Zigmund squirm several times with some of her more pointed questions about the Chanel Lockhart death. At that point, Zigmund had barked something in German, and the dancing girls quickly exited the room. It was abundantly clear that he wasn’t being entirely transparent, and the dismissal of the girls only highlighted the idea that there were things he didn’t want others to hear. Ross, however, just smiled that lovely smile of his, and was more forthcoming, even if his answers weren’t as revealing as Lacey would have preferred.

  “You see, Lacey, Fräulein Lockhart was only one of many performers that worked with us,” Ross said. “You just saw some of many, just now. We thought you might like to talk to them as well, but it seems matters are getting too sensitive for my dear brother.”

  Zigmund scoffed, and Ross winked at Lacey before continuing. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but as we aren’t directly involved in who the show managers hire, we really don’t know all of our supporting staff, let alone the inner workings of their mind.”

  Lacey frowned and tapped a few notes on her tablet before looking up again. “So why does your brother seem so nervous about it?”

  “My brother—”

  “Can speak for himself,” Zigmund interrupted, sitting forward with a glare. “Fräulein, we have a reputation to maintain. We have a show to put on. Any death directly connected to our show is bad for business. Is that what you want to hear? That we’re just money-hungry fiends that care nothing for the life of our staff?”

  Lacey started, “I—”

  “As my brother said, we simply are not in a position to know them all, even though—perhaps to your surprise—we do make efforts to treat them well despite how often they come and go. Performers are like that, you see—flitting about from show to show like restless butterflies.”

  Lacey hurriedly noted that.

  “You see,” Zigmund said, amusement and disgust mingling in his eyes, “even you are not above making money off people’s misery.”

  “But I’m not making money off—”

  “Surely,” Zigmund interrupted again, “you are not here for charity. Surely, someone is compensating you.”

  Lacey opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, sighed, and nodded frankly.

  “Then do not be so quick to condemn us when something threatens us financially—especially something as tragic as a suicide.”

  “And what of the rumors,” Lacey said, taking the offensive again, “of general prescription drug abuse by your staff? What of the evidence that has surfaced that the staff itself is compensating for poor treatment by turning to medications?”

  Zigmund waved the questions away. “Bah!”

  Ross, however, turned pensive, sitting back and folding his hands as he reflected. At last, he looked up at Lacey. “Everyone has dirty secrets, Fräulein, even us.”

  “So you admit to—”

  “We admit to nothing,” Zigmund barked, nearly coming out of his seat.

  Ross waved him down. “Ziggy, Ziggy. Be still and let me answer the good woman’s questions.”

  The dark-haired man leered at his half-brother, then at Lacey, but took to fuming silently instead.

  “As I was saying,” Ross continued, “everyone finds themselves in situations they are not proud of. If I may speak off the record?”

  Lacey hesitated, then nodded, setting down her tablet as a sign of good faith. Ross nodded gratefully. “Hotel policy mandates drug testing. Zigmund and I support the idea, and would screen our people even if the hotel did not. However…” He paused, clearly searching for words. When he locked eyes with Lacey, there was a hint of pleading in his gaze. “How well do you understand the entertainment industry, Fräulein?”

  Lacey inhaled slowly to keep from blurting out something stupid, then shook her head. “Probably not as much as I could.”

  “Not even from your time as a model?”

  Lacey jumped. “Wait, how did you know—”

  “We have ways,” Zigmund said, sounding far too much like a Nazi from and old-time movie. “You didn’t really think we’d let a complete stranger walk into our den without us taking the time to find out who we were letting in, did you?”

  Lacey bit her lip, then shook her head.

  “As I was saying,” Ross continued, steepling his fingers and crossing one leg over his knee, “the entertainment industry hides many ugly things under its glamorous veneer. Ziggy and I… we recognize this, even if we are not thrilled with it.”

  “So what are you saying?” Lacey asked.

  “We are saying, Fräulein, that sometimes you ‘take what you can get.’”

  “So you just faked the results of the drug tests whenever someone failed, just so you could have backup dancers?”

  The magicians traded a long look, then Ross returned his attention to her. “Your insightfulness does you credit, Fräulein Ling, but you do not know the whole story.

  “Yes, we did sometimes find... creative ways to work with people—talented people who have benefited our show and, in turn, the dozens of people that it provides jobs for. But before you are too harsh on us please understand that we have actively worked to rehabilitate such people, even paying for their therapy and counseling if necessary. We do not like substance abuse and, while we may overlook it in the short run for certain individuals, we would like to think we’re doing our part to make the world better. That is why I do what I do, anyway.”

  Lacey stared at Ross for a long time, weighing his words and searching for the truth in his eyes. Finding no deceit, she sat back in her chair. After contemplation, she went forward with her questions. “So, since your brother was so kind as to point out that I’m here for my job, what do you propose I write about with regards to Chanel Lockhart? That she was in rehab, but it wasn’t enough and she killed herself?”

  Ross sighed and Zigmund opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a gesture from his brother. “You will say whatever you will say, Fräulein Ling. I only ask that you be fair to us, and remember that we treated you kindly when you were our guest.”

  Lacey raised an eyebrow and flicked her eyes meaningfully at Zigmund. The dark-haired man snorted, and Ross laughed. “Ah, but he has been far more kind to you than he is to most we do not know. You shouldn’t be too harsh on my brother. His upbringing was… different than most, thanks to our father.”

  The reporter studied the surly magician for a spell, then picked up her tablet again. “I still have a few questions for the record. Shall we?”

  Zigmund sighed heavily, but Ross smiled and nodded.

  “Drug overdoses aren’t the only concern in this incident,” she said. “What really caught my employer’s attention was allegations of black magic.”

  Zigmund burst into a guffaw before doubling over. In moments, tears were streaming down his face. Ross scowled. “Ziggy, you need to calm down. The lady is serious.”

  “I-I know,” he managed, between spasms of laughter. “A-and I can tell that s-she actually believes it, too.”

  Lacey pursed her lips to maintain her professional demeanor. “You clearly haven’t seen the things I’ve seen,” she added quietly. Ross stared at her, and she felt, in that moment, that he actually could relate. Seizing the moment, she sat forward. “Talk to me, Ross.”

  The blond man wavered, mouth half open, then he sat back, licking his lips in thought.

  Zigmund caught his breath and gestured at his half-brother. “Oh, Pietr, you’re not going to get into all of that again, are you?”

  “Hush.”

  Zigmund shook his head and moved to sit directly
across from Lacey. “While my brother is thinking of the best way to spin his tale to you, I’ll give you the short version. Once upon a time, my brother, Pietr, thought he discovered a way to work real magic. He tried it a few times and, because of a simple mistake, actually thought he had magical powers.”

  “Ziggy,” Ross said, the warning in his tone clear.

  “And since we were making so many pfennigs as children—we already told you that story—I played along and learned a few real magic tricks myself. I had to teach them to my brother. He still thinks he has supernatural gifts, and I think that’s why he still botches the rollover maneuver with Charly.”

  Ross glowered, then turned a pleading look on Lacey. “Perhaps, Lacey, you and I can discuss this later this evening? In private?”

  Lacey felt her heart squeeze slightly. She still wanted out of this town, what with the random crazy man breaking into her room and attempting to murder her, but Ross was nice, and more than a little nice looking, which certainly didn’t hurt. Besides, how many women did get to spend personal time with famous entertainers? She smiled and nodded. “Eight o’clock,” she said. “We’ll use the balcony. It should be cool enough by then.”

  “The balcony has its own cooling system,” Ross replied, “but yes. Eight o’clock it is. I’ll have the Chardonnay sent ahead.”

  Zigmund groaned loudly. “You certainly inherited our father’s libido,” he muttered.

  Ross blushed slightly, and Lacey couldn’t help but smile. She said, “He’ll be the perfect gentleman, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, I’m certain of it,” Zigmund drawled.

  “I’ll show myself out,” Lacey said, standing. “Until tonight?”

  “Wait,” Ross said, rising with her. “Won’t you stay for a drink? Some light snacks? Just because the interview has taken a recess doesn’t mean we have to. Our first show isn’t until early this afternoon. We’ve got at least an hour before Ziggy and I should start getting ready. This is one of our ‘light’ days in terms of how many shows we have. Please, do sit.” As if to make a point, he crossed to the bar and sat as he reached down to rifle through the mini-fridge.