by Tricia Owens
I am Azima, keeper of the knowledge of the seals.
"I think that means she knows where they are," Christian supplied helpfully.
The kitten closed and opened her left eye at him.
"Did you just wink at him?" I blurted.
Are kittens not allowed to wink?
I exchanged a look with Vale, who looked like he was trying not to laugh.
"Of course you are," I said to Azima, sensing a hint of a challenge from the kitten. I felt extremely awkward with the situation.
I know where the seals are and that is what you are after, is it not? So we go. I need to stretch my legs.
Without waiting for our responses, the white kitten trotted out to the sidewalk and headed north.
Christian tipped his head back, put his hands on his hips, and released a balloon of laughter. My reaction wasn't filled with as much amusement. I looked with bewilderment to Vale, who watched Azima trot away with narrowed eyes.
"We're going to follow a cat," I stated. "Just so I understand this fully."
"A cat who claims to know where the seals are," Christian reminded me after he'd finished laughing. "So no ordinary cat."
"I'd write this off as a prank," Vale muttered, "except Azima is very much a jinni and an old one, at that. We should follow her or we may regret it."
"Just so you know," I told him, "I'm blaming this on you."
It was a strange experience, that was for sure. As we trailed behind Azima, other tourists on the sidewalk kept stopping us, wanting to pet her. She seemed to enjoy the petting for about a maximum of ten seconds. Then she went berserk and clawed the hands that were nearest her. Soon, the shrieks of shock and pain that occurred whenever someone paid attention to Azima warned off future would-be cuddlers, and we were able to begin making some forward progress.
Sort of. This was a kitten, after all. Tiny legs, no apparent sense of urgency. I could feel myself beginning to grind my teeth when it took us twenty minutes to walk half a block. And when Azima held us up twice by darting sideways to chase balls of light cast by passing taxis, a scream of frustration crawled up my throat.
"So we're kind of on a time crunch," I said, trying to keep my tone light as Azima began leading us through the Sahara Boulevard crosswalk. We were walking slowly enough that I worried the light would change when we weren't yet halfway across one of the busiest streets in the city. "Would it be easier for you if I carried you?"
You want to carry me when I have not walked in centuries? I like you for now, but I will curse you with a deadly pox if you anger me.
I ran a hand down my face. "No, no, it was just a suggestion. My bad. We'll continue like this. It's great. Really. Watch out for that—yeah, that car honking its horn at us. Oh, jeez."
Ten years later we reached the other side of the crosswalk where a new group of tourists who hadn't heard the screams or seen the bloody scratch marks left in Azima's wake proceeded to hold us up while they took turns petting her.
Again, that lasted about ten seconds before the kitty cut them all up and sent them running. "It's meaner than Grumpy Cat!" I heard one of them shriek.
Christian collapsed against a streetlamp. "Someone shoot me."
"This isn't your only form," Vale gritted out to Azima as we continued creeping down the street at an excruciating pace. "You could take the form of a dog."
The jinni tilted her head and regarded him with wide, innocent eyes.
I could also take the form of a snake. Would you prefer that form to this one?
"No," Vale bit out.
I thought not.
Azima sat down and began licking her paws clean again.
I covered my mouth to suppress my laugh after seeing the murderous look on Vale's face. "Animal abuse is a bad thing. Especially against cute little kittens."
"That is not a kitten."
Kidding aside, I felt for him. Hell, I felt for me. This was cruel and unusual torture. Death by slow kitty.
"I'm thinking I should go back for my car and meet you guys at the end," Christian mumbled. "Whenever that is."
I stabbed a finger at him. "Oh, no. You wanted to be here for the exciting parts. You have to earn that by being here for the pre-show torture."
"Anne, you're cruel!"
"Not as cruel as this evil kitty," I whispered to myself.
Azima finished up her grooming and began prancing again with Vale, Christian, and I trailing behind, as miserable as a trio of dads at a pre-teens' concert.
After forty-five minutes of this, I fell into a semi-daze, walking like a zombie, but I instantly perked when Azima's voice said in my head, One is there.
"There's a seal? Where?"
Over there.
Azima flicked her little tail carelessly at a bail bonds shop on the other side of the Strip. It was old and kind of scuzzy-looking. No place I would have expected such a valuable artifact to be hidden. Maybe that was the point.
"Should we check it out?" I asked Vale, who was eying up the place like he was considering all the ways he could break into it.
"Later, when we're positive that Vagasso or the Oddsmakers aren't watching us. For now, let's catalog all the locations without being obvious about it."
A good call. I'd forgotten that we might be spied upon. While none of us knew how much information Vagasso and the Oddsmakers had, it was better to be safe and keep this to ourselves.
About two blocks later—approximately eight hours, by my reckoning—Azima again flicked her tail, but the guys and I played casual about noting the location.
In there.
A tattoo parlor this time. Not as scummy as the bail bonds place but still nothing special and not a place I'd trust with my Pikachu tattoo.
Another year later: Up there.
The steeple atop The Chapel of Big Dreams.
"We could get married and then pick up the seal," I suggested to Vale, who pretended as though he hadn't heard me.
"Sounds like a great idea," Christian said with a laugh.
"How about a double wedding?" Vale suggested archly.
Christian flinched. "Never mind."
We kept walking.
Though we were seal hunting, the three of us kept an eye on the people we passed on the street, which in this northern part of Las Vegas Boulevard and at this time of night didn't appear to be the most trustworthy. We weren't worried about being robbed. We were in the Eastsiders territory and, according to Vale who'd canvassed this place before, the territory of other magickal beings as well. With my luck, they were all the beings who hated me.
Azima, unaware of or unconcerned by whatever hostile attention we might be drawing, continued picking her way delicately down the sidewalk and occasionally chasing bits of trash that were stirred by passing traffic. Her tail flicked indifferently, indicating more seals.
The locations of the seals so far seemed random to me, the distance between them as short as two blocks or as distant as just over a mile, as was the case when we completed the Death Slog from Las Vegas Boulevard onto Fremont Street to find the remaining two seals.
By that time I was dead on my feet and Vale and Christian had slid into mute resignation. It was amazing how mentally exhausting it was to walk at a snail's pace. Azima, that little S.O.B., scampered joyfully across Fremont Street, chasing the lights created by casino signs.
"I hate cats," I declared as I plopped onto a metal bench and slouched unsexily. "If I ever get a pet, it'll be a bird. A really fast bird." I yawned. "Or a cheetah."
"A cheetah is a cat," Christian said dully.
"Screw that, then. I'd rather have an elephant crush me to death than spend any more time with a cat."
"Azima is a jinni," Vale murmured absently as he turned his head to look out beneath the Fremont canopy. "The sun will be rising soon. I won't have time to go to Orlaton's with you."
"Let's just go home," I said after another yawn. "When we see Orlaton you need to be there, too. You know things that Christian and I don't. Tonight, we'll do as much brainsto
rming as we can before we crash."
Vale ran a hand through his hair, looking uncertain, before nodding. "Alright. Maybe you're right."
With a groan, I stood up again. "Here, kitty, kitty." I was well beyond caring if I pissed Azima off. I was too damn cranky.
The white fur ball zoomed back to us, green eyes glowing like sunlit marbles. She really was adorable but right now all I wanted to do was punt her across the street for putting us through that torture when, according to Vale, she could have taken the form of a much quicker dog.
"Thanks for your help," I told the kitten, ignoring the few people who glanced at me for talking to a cat with anything other than baby talk. "We're going to go home now. Do you need me to, er, call you a taxi or something? Come to think of it, where do you go now?"
I travel home. Back to Ouargla. I defend no more now that the knowledge is passed to you. You are now the defenders of the seals. See that the Rift remains shut. Farewell, defenders.
Azima raced off again, but this time she didn't stop after thirty feet or so. She kept going, tumbling forward and turning into a rolling blur of white that faded into the distance, heading for Algeria.
We walked back to Moonlight. Despite my exhaustion, my mind activated the hamster wheel. Something tried to rise from the depths of my memory but it was lost to murkiness. It wasn't until we were at the shop and I was working on lowering the wards that it hit me: I was familiar with the name The Chapel of Big Dreams and I now remembered why. Once inside, I hurried into my studio. Beneath the bed was a plastic storage container holding the journal Uncle James had left for me before he disappeared. I pulled it out and returned to the shop where I'd left the guys.
Vale stood like a silent sentinel beside the door, looking out onto the street. Christian had wandered over to the painting of the English picnic massacre as if helpless to do anything but stare at it. When I called his name, he startled and hurried to join Vale and me at the counter.
"My uncle wrote out a bunch of Emily Dickinson poems," I told them, holding up the journal. "But this is a magicked journal. I needed to use a blood wash to reveal notes that he'd left for me about my parents and the magickal community in Las Vegas. There's a list in here of magick-friendly businesses. I'll bet you a box of Melanie's cakes that every location Azima pointed out to us tonight is on this list."
I opened the journal to the correct page and set it on the counter for all three of us to see.
Vale nodded after we'd verified it. "Good job, Moody."
"If only we'd known this before," Christian groaned, "we could have avoided the kitty tour from Hell."
"Forget about that," I said. "How did my uncle know where the seals are?"
"Your mother told him?" Vale suggested.
It had been my thought, too. But then that led to the question of how did she know?
Easy: the Oddsmakers.
"If the Oddsmakers had told her where the seals are, that means they or Vagasso could have hit them at any time. But they haven't. Why? Besides that, what would be the point of telling my mom about them? That would only have alerted her to the fact that they might be up to no good."
"They needed her help with the seals," Vale theorized. "She possessed a skill or power that they deemed necessary. But once your mother defied them, they lost their chance. It's why they want you now."
Had the Oddsmakers demanded she help them open the Rift? It would explain why they'd ordered her to kill Xaran, who already defended the Eastern Infernus Rift and undoubtedly would have done the same here. He would have been the first obstacle in need of removal.
I began to get a sinking feeling. "The Oddsmakers probably watched us tonight. They or Vagasso or any of their minions. That's why no one tried to stop us from getting hold of that map and finding Azima. They want me to know where the seals are. It saves them the effort of telling me and gives me the illusion that I'm in control."
"You are in control," Vale said sternly. "They think they're leading you by the nose, but you've seen through everything they're doing. And this journal gives us a leg up since it's told us that the Oddsmakers have been unable to open the seals despite knowing exactly where they are."
That made me feel better, not because it was sunshine blown up my butt, but because it was true. I pointed at the list again.
"There are asterisks beside the Keyhole and the art gallery, as well as Mandalay Bay's Shark Reef. Azima didn't indicate seals for any of those places. Not to mention there's no way Mandalay Bay is under the control of magickal beings. So why the asterisk?"
"There's some kind of overlap here." Christian rubbed his chin. "What could these places have in common with the seal locations?"
It was the million-dollar question and I had nothing but two-cent answers.
"We need more input," Vale concluded with obvious reluctance.
"As soon as the sun sets tonight," I said, "we're crashing Orlaton's place no matter how many boogey men he's summoning."
~~~~~
After Christian left, I locked everything up tight and then flung my clothes every which way in a determined effort to be unconscious and in bed as quickly as possible. Vale beat me to it, but it was no hardship sliding beneath the sheets and curling into his hard body.
He rested his arm across me and he kissed my forehead. "We're making good progress, Moody. Everything that's happening is good."
I appreciated his support. Sometimes I worried I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, blindly following my hunches. Passion I had tons of, but I couldn't say that I was particularly patient or meticulous. But I believed he was right. We were one step ahead of the Oddsmakers, and in this situation one step could mean a mile.
Energized by that shot of optimism, I slid my hand down Vale's body. He startled, but his surprise quickly turned to desire. He kicked the sheets off the bed, effectively kicking off any pretense of going right to sleep.
Some would say the timing was bad. The world could end at any minute if Vagasso managed to open the seals, and here were Vale and I, doing the bump and grind. Talk about messed up priorities.
But I would have said to those people that survival wasn't simply about being alive. To truly live, you needed to be with the people you loved and cared about. Vale needed this connection and I needed it even more. We needed to wrap ourselves in the strength and beauty of our partnership, and renew our desire to be together for as long as we could. That meant no end of the world scenarios, no fearing what would happen tomorrow. Those thoughts had a funny way of cutting the good times short.
I gasped into Vale's mouth and he returned a moan into mine. The lights were off but my fingers described to me every firm, muscled inch of him. His hands on my skin were just as busy, both demanding and protective as they caressed and teased. He knew me well, and he showed it through his touch.
As our lust climbed, he pulled my body up against his. He moved with confidence and surety of what I would like and I surrendered to that. This bed was his domain and he proved it to us both again and again, but a little slap on the ass helped temper his ego a bit.
He paused above me, eyes alight with amusement and speculation.
I blushed. "Don't say a word," I warned him. Then I pulled him down to my mouth where he obeyed me by kissing me senseless.
He loved me until the sky began to lighten and his limbs grew sluggish. I caressed his hair and watched the change come over him, promising him without words that he was safe with me, and always would be. When he was stone, I gently set him on the nightstand beside me, then closed my eyes. I fell asleep to the sound of footsteps pacing on the roof.
~~~~~
I had to ring the doorbell of Tomes twice before the little window in the door slid aside and Orlaton's watery blue eyes peered out at us, looking as bored and uninterested as usual.
"No appointment," he said blandly and began to slide the window shut.
"End of the world!" I shouted.
The blue eyes narrowed and I heard a si
gh that had been pulled from the depths of Orlaton's Hushpuppy loafers. "What now?"
"We think Vagasso and the Oddsmakers are about to open the Western Infernus Rift."
I watched his eyes closely for reaction and I was pleased to see them widen, ever so slightly.
"You know about the Rift," I stated. "You know how dangerous it is. We're going to stop them, but we need your help. We need to tap into that enormous brain of yours."
"Flattery will get you exactly where you're standing, Miss Moody."
"Do you want to be torn apart by demons?" Vale asked calmly.
Orlaton and he engaged in a staring match. My eyeballs dried out just watching them. Gargoyles must have tough eyes because finally Orlaton blinked, and then blinked several more times as his eyes watered.
"Fine," he mumbled. "The sooner I tell you what you want to know the sooner you'll vacate the premises and allow me to earn a living."
Christian chuckled as the door swung inward. He stopped laughing when he got his first good look at Orlaton, who tonight wore jeans, a gray cardigan, and a white bowtie. And of course the loafers, which made no sound on the wooden floorboards as he walked away from us and disappeared into the depths of the book shop.
"That guys looks just like my cousin!" Christian whispered as we stepped inside.
I stared at him. "You're joking. I thought they broke the mold."
"Is Orlaton a cat person, too?"
I swallowed down my laughter. "I think Orlaton is an Orlaton person."
"Good Then he probably doesn't have thirteen cat skeletons buried in his backyard like my cousin did."
I gulped. I wasn't willing to check the yard.
We didn't have to go too far into the shop to catch up to Orlaton, thank goodness. I felt like there was a very real chance that you could get lost in here and your body left to rot for years. Orlaton was kind, though, or perhaps he shared our concern, for he'd stopped beside the shelves about thirty feet in and waited for us to catch up.
"Here's the story," I told him. "Vagasso has befriended the wolf shifter packs who rule the territories where the Rift crosses. That's why we think he's about to try attacking the seals. Last night a jinni showed us where the seals are. But none of us knows what the seals look like, and speaking for myself, I have no idea what the Rift itself looks like."