Waking Up in Vegas
by
Seanan McGuire
"In most regards, Alice Healy is an incredibly bright woman. This doesn't change the fact that I had to propose three times before she noticed. I suppose I should have covered myself in ichor or something first, just to get her attention."
--Thomas Price
Heading into Las Vegas, Nevada
Now
We arrived in Vegas accompanied by the cheers of the Aeslin mice and the dulcet tones of Johnny Cash. Dominic was glaring at the radio rather than at the mice, which I took as a personal victory. He had become so inured to the local level of weirdness that he no longer noticed it. That showed adaptability. (At least, that was how I was choosing to interpret it. Another, equally valid interpretation was that after spending months trapped in a U-Haul with me, the mice, and the radio, he had finally identified the radio as the safest thing to be annoyed at. Either way, he was learning. That said great things about his chances of survival.)
"Why would you shoot a man just to watch him die?" he demanded. "If you shoot a man, it should be because you want that man dead. Shooting him simply to see what happens is a waste of both bullets and a good opponent. It makes no sense."
"I can't tell whether you're messing with me right now, or whether the Covenant never allowed you to listen to popular music," I said, switching lanes to allow a convertible full of screaming college students to go blazing past. One of them was waving her bra around in the air. She was going to be sorry when it got caught on something and ripped out of her hands; that thing looked like it had probably been expensive. Then again, when kids that young were in a car that expensive, it was a fair bet that someone else was paying the credit card bills.
I shook my head, snorting in derision. Those "kids" were probably only a few years younger than I was. What right did I have to judge them?
Dominic gave me a wounded look. "I've heard plenty of music, thank you," he said. "I simply fail to see where shooting a man in Reno is a good way to spend an afternoon, unless he did something to deserve it, in which case you wouldn't be shooting him just to watch him die. You'd be shooting him to avenge your father, or restore your family honor, or whatnot."
"Sorry," I said. "I was snorting at that car that just passed us."
Dominic turned to look down the road. "Ah," he said, after a moment. "I believe the driver is already quite drunk. They're probably going to hit something. Hopefully they're all inebriated enough to go limp upon impact."
I laughed. I couldn't help it, even if I felt bad about it immediately afterward. "Yeah, probably," I said. "I was just thinking it must be nice to be that carefree. I don't think I ever have been, you know? Except for maybe when I was dancing." I forgot everything, when I danced. The world dropped away, and it was just me, the music, and whatever steps the choreographer had drilled into my thick skull. Responsibility was always there, though, waiting to crash back down on me the second the music stopped. None of my reprieves had ever been able to last.
"At least you had the dance," said Dominic gently. "I think that may be the greatest difference between us. We both served something greater than ourselves from the day that we were born. We might have been soldiers on opposite sides of the war, but we were still fighting on the same field. You had your dancing, and parents who cared that you have something more. I had the fight."
"And here I thought I felt bad for judging those kids for driving fast and having a good time." I sighed again. "I'm messing everything up today."
"Yet you didn't shoot a man just to watch him die, so you're doing better than the man on the radio." Johnny Cash had long since been replaced by Taylor Swift, who was belting out a song about fairy tale romances and white horses and all the other Disney trappings of her early career.
I leaned over and turned the radio off. The mice made a disappointed noise, but didn't argue. They had long since learned not to fight when I decided that it was time for a little peace and quiet. Arguments always seemed to end with them being banished to the back of the truck, where they couldn't hear the radio or whatever it was we happened to be talking about. Nothing was more dismaying to an Aeslin mouse than being cut off from their gods.
(Well. Being eaten by a snake or something would presumably be more dismaying, and also more fatal. But on average, they were usually dismayed by being put in another room, not having cheese, not having cake, or all of the above. Sometimes I really envied the Aeslin mice.)
"I guess I'm nervous," I said.
Dominic smiled a little. "I can't imagine why," he said, before turning to look at the city skyline ahead of us. "So this is Las Vegas."
"Yup."
"I have never actually wanted to go to Las Vegas."
"I can't imagine why." Las Vegas was the only city in North America known to have successfully repelled a Covenant purge. The Covenant had come in the way they always did, guns blazing, armored in misguided righteousness, and Las Vegas had sent them running home to their mommies. North America had a lot of desert-dwelling cryptid species, and they'd had a long time of watching the Covenant pick at the coasts. They had been prepared for what was coming.
Dominic grimaced. "Again, remember that you and I learned very different sides of history. You probably view the siege of Las Vegas as a great victory for good. Whereas I learned it as a tragic loss of life."
"The Covenant attacked the cryptid community of Las Vegas. They were only defending themselves."
"Believe me, I know," said Dominic. "I don't blame them for fighting back. Oddly, I didn't blame them even before I met you--that was one of the times when it was quite clear that we had overstepped our bounds."
I wanted to ask him how that case had been different from all the others, all the times the Covenant had swept in and murdered innocent people for the crime of not being human. I kept my mouth shut. Dominic was atoning for his past every day, and the crimes of the Covenant weren't his responsibility anymore. Only the crimes he'd committed with his own two hands. I wasn't going to go digging too hard at the things he'd buried in his past, and not only because I wasn't sure I'd like what I found there. I loved him. I knew what he was and where he'd come from, and I loved him. That had to be enough.
Not just for me. Most of our slow road trip across the United States had been designed to make sure that he knew what I was, where I had come from. A trip that should have taken days had taken months. Every time we'd come too close to committing ourselves to the final drive home to Portland, I had managed to come up with another excuse, another place we just had to visit. New Orleans, Chicago, even Buckley Township, they were all monuments to the history of my family. They were the places that had constructed us, one brick at a time, and if Dominic was in it for the long haul, he needed to understand them.
We needed to understand each other. If we could do that, we could make this work.
"So where are we to stay this time?" he asked. "Another secret hotel, owned by cryptids and hidden from the rest of the world? Another family home you haven't told me about?"
"A place called the Golden Oasis Hotel and Casino, actually," I said. "It's about three blocks off the strip, you get free cable with your room, and almost no one has ever been murdered there, even when they probably deserved it."
Dominic gave me a sidelong look, clearly trying to figure out whether I was kidding. The mice started cheering again, and the head priest of my splinter colony sealed the deal by beginning to sing the praises of the Golden Oasis.
"Hail! Hail to the room service menu of wings and mozzarella sticks! Hail to the two hundred and thirty-seven channels! Oh, greatest of rejoicing, for this is the hotel of High-Wattage Exterior Lighting, attracting such delights from out the desert wastes! Hail!"
"HAIL!" agreed the rest of the mice.
"Last time we were there, the lights attracted so many bugs that the bugs attracted a Gila monster," I said, shifting over another lane. Our exit was approaching. "The mice made like, thirty little mouse suitcases out of the thing. It was impressive. And gross. Impressively gross. Be glad you didn't know me yet."
"We still possess the suitcases," squeaked the mouse priest proudly. "If another mighty lizard presents itself, we shall make more."
"How nice for you," said Dominic. He glanced at me. "Am I to assume that this is one of the establishments where renting a separate room for the mice would be frowned upon by the management?"
"Sadly, yes," I said. "We used to try it. But the maids would report the untouched room to the front desk in the morning, and we had an incident where they decided to double-dip, and rented the room the mice were in to a nice couple from Des Moines. I guess they figured they could get paid twice, and no one would know."
"Truly, there was much screaming upon that day," said the mouse priest philosophically.
"I can understand why," said Dominic. He looked a little pained. I leaned over and squeezed his knee.
"Don't worry," I said. "We'll have privacy soon, and we can always do the whole honeymoon thing after we've dropped the mice off at home."
"At home, with your mother and father and younger sister."
"Yes."
"Who will absolutely not have any issue whatsoever with your having run off to get married to a man they've never met, and will gladly take the mice and wave us on our way, rather than holding us there for extensive questioning."
"Y--wait." I gave him a sidelong look. "You're making fun of me now."
"A little bit, yes," said Dominic. He smiled. "I don't care if we have a honeymoon or a five-minute break before the next horrific adventure begins and we have to go back to running for our lives. I'm going to marry you. That's not something I ever thought I'd get to do."
"What, marry me? Honey, the writing was on the wall from the first time I stripped naked in front of you--which was what, the second time we met?"
"Marry anyone I was actually fond of." Dominic shook his head. "The Covenant has a very careful plan for marriages and reproduction. I'm the last of the De Lucas. I was going to be lucky if I met my wife before the wedding."
"Sometimes I wonder why it took you so long to run away."
"To be honest, sometimes, so do I."
Calling ahead was never necessary at the Golden Oasis. With Yelp reviews ranging from unfavorable to downright cruel and rooms that made the Motel 6 on the Strip look classy, they hadn't lit the "No Vacancy" sign in the last decade. I parked the U-Haul and left Dominic to watch the mice while I talked to the desk clerk.
Reservations might not have been necessary, but sometimes it was still possible to get lucky. I stepped outside fifteen minutes later, turning my face up toward the hot desert sun, and smiled. Then I sauntered over to where Dominic was wrestling our suitcases out of the truck, putting a little extra sway in my step, and purred, "Who likes privacy?"
"Everyone who isn't looking for an alibi," he replied, somewhat warily. Again, the boy was a fast learner. "Why?"
"Because while I can't rent two rooms with any reasonable expectation that the mice will be left alone, I was able to rent the only high-roller suite at the Golden Oasis, largely because they haven't had a high-roller since sometime in the mid-Seventies." I held up the not-so-coveted golden key with all the pride of an Olympic medalist. "Separate dining and sleeping areas in the same hotel room. The mice sleep in one, we celebrate our marriage in the other."
"You are a genius of lodging," said Dominic. He leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek. "Now let's get to the room before someone notices that our luggage is cheering."
I leaned back and beamed at him. "This is Vegas. If anyone hears it, they'll just assume it's the latest thing from Japan." I stepped away from and picked up my suitcase all the same. The case rewarded me with a fresh volley of cheering. There was no force in the world that could stop an Aeslin mouse from rejoicing when they felt the time was appropriate--and they always felt the time was appropriate.
The high-roller suite of the Golden Oasis was up on the third floor of the hotel. Barely off the ground for most of the big hotels in Vegas, but the tippy-top of ours. Our golden key unlocked the door of a room that looked like it hadn't been redecorated in thirty years, from the cream shag carpet to the gaudy orange and red diamond pattern of the wallpaper. The bedroom wasn't much better; while the bed was enormous, the ceiling above it was mirrored, and there was a Jacuzzi tub surrounded by poorly-grouted tile in one corner. I blinked at it, nonplussed.
"There's also a shower in the bathroom," reported Dominic.
"That's nice," I said, snapping back to life. I waded through the thick carpet to the couch, where I unzipped my suitcase. Mice came pouring out. "Okay, guys, ground rules for the new place. You may go hunting after dark, but try not to be seen. You may not visit the hotel kitchen. You may visit the casino. It's so dark in there that nobody's going to notice you. You may not go any further outside the hotel. Two of you will be allowed to come and witness our marriage. Work it out amongst yourselves. If my parents call the hotel," which was always a risk; we generally stayed at the Golden Oasis when we were passing through Vegas, and my folks knew, roughly, where I was supposed to be right now, "you may not tell them that I'm getting married. Are there any questions?"
There were no questions. Just cheering. That was a relief.
I turned to Dominic. "Okay. I want to grab a shower and drag a brush through my hair. You should freshen up, but not too much. You want to look bad for your passport photo."
He raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain that statement?"
"I warned you. To get married, you're going to need ID. To do anything, you're going to need ID, because Dominic De Luca died in Manhattan. ‘Price' is a common enough surname that I can use it on our marriage license, but if a Price happens to marry a De Luca…"
"Flags will be sent up, alarms will be triggered, and the Covenant will fall upon our heads like the avenging hand of God," said Dominic, a look of slow realization dawning on his face. "So we go today to make a new man of me?"
"Not too much of a new man. I'm pretty damn fond of the old one." I kissed his cheek. It wasn't enough to make up for the trauma of being told that he had to give up the only name he'd ever known, but it was what I had to offer. "Pick a shirt you don't mind being photographed in, and I'll see you in about twenty minutes."
Then I walked away. Giving him some space seemed like the best option. He'd been an exile from the Covenant since the moment he chose me over them: they thought he was dead, and we needed to keep it that way. But De Luca was his family name. It was the name his parents had taken with them to their graves. Losing it, even just on paper, was going to sting, and I needed to remember that. What's more, I needed to remember that if he balked, if he was unhappy, it wasn't because he regretted his choices: it was because every choice came with consequences, and sometimes those consequences hurt. That was all.
The water pressure in the shower was good. I took my time scrubbing every inch of myself clean, and shampooed my hair twice, washing away the last of the grime from our long drive. All I needed was a dance floor and a pounding beat, and I might start feeling like myself again.
I had to settle for glitter eyeliner and lip gloss. Not as good, but there's a time and a place for self-indulgence, and sadly, this was neither. By the time I walked out of the bathroom, Dominic was standing awkwardly next to the couch, his hair freshly combed, wearing a plain white button-up shirt that made him look like he was getting ready to audition for The Book of Mormon. His expression was somewhere between resignation and dismay. This was all really happening.
I walked toward him, holding out my hands. "Life sure does move fast sometimes, huh?" I asked, as gently as I could.
He took them. "Life, with you, moves like a roller coas
ter that has lost its brakes. We'll either careen off a cliff or have the most amazing adventure imaginable, and I'm honestly not sure which."
"At least we're finding out together."
His smile was enough to reassure me, one more time, that we were doing the right thing. "Yes."
I looked over my shoulder. "Don't destroy anything while we're out," I called, to the seemingly empty room. "And if you do, try to make sure you don't get caught."
A mouse cheered from behind the dresser. I hooked my arm through Dominic's and led him out of our hotel room, back into the heat of the Las Vegas afternoon.
We did not take the U-Haul. Walking in Vegas might suck--sure, it was a dry heat, but dry heat can still leave your desiccated corpse to mummify gently in the gutter--and yet it was still better than rolling up to a pawn shop-slash-forgery depot in a truck that had been basically designed to be a rolling advertisement. Besides, it was only a mile. We needed to stretch our legs.
By the time we were halfway there, we no longer needed to stretch our legs. I was grateful that I hadn't bothered blow-drying my hair: as it was, I was probably going to need a deep conditioner to replace all the moisture that the desert air had stolen. I ran a hand through it. It fell limply back to lie against my scalp, too dried out to even frizz.
"I've never been to…where your family lives," said Dominic. I noticed how carefully he avoided saying the word "Portland," as if we might be under surveillance. That was a good habit to be in. It was nice to know that for once, I was bringing home a boy my parents wouldn't need to teach about basic security.
Really, it was nice to know that I was bringing home a boy at all. Everything else was sort of secondary.
"True," I said. "You haven't."
"Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me that the weather is not like this."
He sounded so petulant that it was all I could do not to laugh at him. Instead, I patted his arm, only wincing a little from the need to touch another human heat source when I didn't even want to be touching myself, and said, "No, not even remotely. It rains most of the time. People move away because they don't want to get moldy. Your beloved leather duster will be the very height of pretentious fashion. Hipsters may follow you down the street, cooing and asking where you got it."
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