Lost Vegas Series

by Lizzy Ford

  But he was still a Hanover. His name would carry the right amount of weight with the right crowd.

  If he could reach the right people.

  His uncle had the connections and allies Arthur needed if he hoped to overthrow his father and stabilize the city once his father was gone. Although … every once in a while, when Arthur thought too long about taking his father’s place, he began to wonder if any Hanover should rule the city. Could a benevolent Hanover make up for four centuries of suffering? Would he be given the chance or face assassination attempts from the first day?

  Had every leader who preceded him believe he could make a difference as well, only to become another link in the shackles binding the city?

  Arthur shook his head. He had one sole purpose since his birth. Without it, he was more lost than Tiana had always been.

  “I need your help locating someone,” he said, gaze settling on Aveline. “And then we will find Tiana and end this once and for all.”

  Aveline blinked twice and then asked, who?

  “My uncle.” Arthur turned and walked to his stallion, which stood grazing a dozen feet away.

  Aveline growled again.

  “Do not think I will believe his lies again,” Arthur assured her. “I had hoped one Hanover out there would be different from my father. But maybe …” we are all cursed. He drifted off, focusing on straightening the horse’s saddle and bridle and wiping as much mud and grass from both as he could.

  His thoughts, however, were not on his uncle, but on Marshall Cruise.

  “What I hoped is irrelevant,” he said softly. “What is important is that I ensure no one else suffers under the rule of the Hanover’s. Perhaps my uncle did me a favor in betraying me. I no longer have to wonder what his motivations are, or where I stand, or what kind of person he is. I only have to concern myself with murdering him and seizing control of his assets and allies for use in opposing my father.”

  And saving Tiana.

  “Exactly.”

  Aveline’s longing gaze was on the forest in the distance.

  “You know I will do anything for my sister,” Arthur told her. “I will be in a better position to help her, if I have an army at my back.”

  Hanover. Aveline’s response was tart.

  Arthur glanced at her with a smile. “If you did not think you could trust me, you would have let my father’s men murder me.”

  Her growl was softer this time. She tried to say something else, but the words did not quite form. He paused and closed his eyes, concentrating to hear her. An image, almost too faint to make out, formed in his mind. A pile of rags? Why would she show him rags?

  “What is this?” he asked, facing Aveline.

  The great cat’s eyes were closed, as if she, too, were trying to focus.

  The image of his father’s form flashed in Arthur’s mind. A broken scene played out in his thoughts. An unfamiliar, tiny room, firelight, a second door. The rags again, though the image was clear enough for him to see a crumpled form in the middle of them. A blast of energy and then Arthur’s father.

  We. Need … that. Aveline said with effort.

  “We need what?” Arthur asked.

  Face your father. We need … that. The image of rags remained in Arthur’s mind.

  “Is that a person?” he asked, frowning.

  She sighed, and the image disappeared.

  “It is, is it not?” he prodded.

  She blinked twice.

  Arthur struggled to understand the images and Aveline’s insistence. If his father were involved, the crumpled form had to be important. But where was this person, and more importantly, who was it? How had Aveline found him or her?

  The great cat was panting from effort.

  “First, we murder my uncle and steal his friends,” he said with more humor than he though the situation warranted. “Then we find this person. Then Tiana.”

  Aveline howled.

  “You disagree?” he asked.

  Two blinks and the image of the rags.

  “What makes you think this … person can help us?”

  The series of images this time were of his family’s apartments. Aveline showed him the familiar hall outside his quarters, the door to his father’s chambers, walking through and his father’s trophy room.

  And then she entered the wall and walked upwards, to the top of the pyramid.

  “Tiana’s tunnels,” he said and straightened. “I always wondered about them. You are telling me this is where they lead? To a secret attic, and a pile of rags?”

  Two blinks.

  Arthur’s mind began to race in a different direction.

  His father hid something – or someone – in the attic of the pyramid. How had no one ever known?

  Was this one of the secrets Arthur would have been told upon his succession?

  Why his father hid someone in the attic was less of a mystery to him. His father’s sole motivation was power. Keeping it, wielding it, passing it on to the next generation of Hanover’s. If he took the liberty of hiding someone, then this person either knew something of great value, or was someone of great value, who could directly impact his father’s influence over the region.

  What if Arthur could find the key to overthrow his father without risking death from the direction of his uncle? Better yet, what if this person could be used to help Arthur barter his uncle’s allies out from under him?

  “Brilliant,” Arthur breathed. “You are right, Aveline. We are going back. I hope your pack is still intact.” He crossed to the nearest soldier and tugged off the Shield cloak he wore. “Do me a favor and make sure the other two are dead.”

  Aveline loped away, towards the unhorsed and wounded men Arthur had struck during his escape.

  With a better plan forming, Arthur stripped off his outer layer of clothing to change into a Shield uniform.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  If Arthur knew one thing with certainty, it was that his father would be monitoring him from afar, waiting for the deathblow to be dealt. That gave him and Aveline precious little time to return to the pyramid and discover what was in the attic. And if his father decided to check up on his position …

  “Stop squirming, Aveline!” he hissed to the panther enclosed once more in the backpack. She did not know his father as he did, or the amount of danger they were already in. No matter what happened, Arthur suspected he was not going to leave the pyramid this day once he entered.

  Disguised as a Shield member hauling a wealthy person’s camping pack, he made it from the stables to the elevator reserved for the Hanover’s without alerting anyone. The two guards at the lift glanced his way once and not again when they recognized the insignia of his father’s personal guard.

  Arthur entered the elevator and set the pack down with a sigh.

  “Remember – keep quiet,” he warned her. “Once we are on the top floor, we will have a very finite amount of time to find whatever is in the attic. My father is going to know I am here soon, if he does not already.”

  She wriggled.

  Arthur untied the top, in case they had to run, and hefted the bag back onto his back and strapped it in place once more. He drew a knife and hid it within the length sleeve of the stolen over shirt. He waited for the door to open and ducked his head as he stepped off the lift.

  The two Shield members moved to stop him.

  Arthur debated a split second what to do before lowering the hood and smiling. “I forgot something important this morning,” he said.

  The men were not the normal guards but another two members of the elite squad protecting his father.

  They exchanged a look.

  “Gentlemen, you know who I am, and you know I belong here,” Arthur said with confidence. “Step aside, or I will report you to my father.”

  “Apologies, sir,” one of them said. He moved, and the other did so reluctantly.

  “Thank you,” Arthur said and strode past them. He entered the apartment and set Aveline down. Peerin
g out at the two men by the lift, he untied the bag and released the panther.

  Aveline shook off the canvas with a glare.

  “They will alert my father or call for reinforcement. Take care of them quietly, little assassin, and meet me in the trophy room,” Arthur directed her. Without waiting for her response, he jogged down the hallway and through the opulent apartment toward the private quarters. Once there, Arthur ducked into his and retrieved a satchel then stuffed it with items he thought Aveline would need upon her escape: gold and silver coins, bandages, fruit, and anything else within reach. When he finished, he tugged it over his head and bolted to his father’s quarters.

  Arthur paused to press his ear against the door and ensure the rooms beyond were empty. No sounds stirred from within, and he entered, leaving the door cracked for Aveline.

  He moved stealthily through his father’s private space until he reached the trophy room. Aveline’s vision had been fuzzy about this part, but Arthur quickly assessed the probable location of a tunnel entrance, based on what he knew of his sister’s tunnels. He stood in front of the wall of paintings and looked for signs of unusual wear or anything out of place.

  The entrance was well hidden, he realized, and stepped back. His eye caught on one of his father’s trophies. He snatched it and stuffed it in the bag.

  The click of Aveline’s claws on the marble floor outside the room drew his attention. She trotted in, her mouth bright red with blood.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  She went to one painting and nudged it with her muzzle.

  Arthur slid his fingers down its side and pulled it away to reveal a stone door. He pushed it open and slid it to the side and then leaned in to peer into the darkness.

  Energy radiated outward towards him. The power he sensed was beyond that of his father’s magic. He peered into the darkness, uncertain what waited for them on the other side.

  Before he could grab a torch, Aveline trotted past him into the dark corridor. Arthur plunged in after her, following the sounds of her clicking paws. She moved fast through the tunnel. He did as well, less concerned about stubbing a toe than being discovered by his father before they could escape with whatever was in the attic.

  All went well until his foot slammed into a stair, and he tumbled forward. Arthur caught himself and scrambled up. His pace slowed until he was able to adjust to the winding stairwell. With a hand on the wall, he jogged, following the echoing clicks of Aveline.

  Finally, the stairwell evened out – and the warm light outlining a door appeared up another short set of stairs. Aveline reached the top and shoved the door open. With light to guide him, Arthur took the steps two at a time until he reached the door. The tiny apartment at the top of the pyramid was as Aveline had shown him through her mind. The sense of power here was greater, thick enough it was difficult to breathe.

  Arthur entered cautiously, uncertain what Aveline had found, or if it was dangerous. He searched the living area visibly before crossing to the small bedroom. Aveline was inside the door, her tail flickering. She opened her mouth and released a complaining groan.

  “Think your words,” Arthur said automatically.

  His eyes fell to the pile of rags. In person, he was able to determine it was not just rags, but someone beneath the worn, holy clothing.

  “Hello?” he called, stepping forward. “Are you well?”

  Are you dangerous? He added silently.

  The form shifted from a lying position into a seated one. Aveline pushed past Arthur and nudged the person.

  “Aveline,” he said. “Be …”

  The form faced him, and he fell silent.

  Of all the questions he had for his uncle, he had not thought to ask how the middle-aged Hanover knew the existence of a skinwalker to be more than a tale. Of all the options the older Hanover had, why did he cross the country to find and hire a skinwalker in the first place?

  More importantly, why was there a skinwalker secreted away in the top of the pyramid, where only Edwin Hanover came?

  What did his father and uncle know that Arthur did not?

  Unable to explain what was before his eyes, or how this one person could be important, Arthur forced himself out of his thoughts. The Native woman’s hair was streaked with white. One of her legs held the form of a bear’s, while another of her arms was that of a panther. Her eyes were mismatched – one gold, one brown – and her appearance in general unkempt and wild.

  Aveline was nuzzling her arm. The woman patted her with her human hand and smiled.

  How was this woman going to help him defeat his father or win over his uncle’s allies? From where he stood, Arthur could not imagine the answer to this question, either.

  “I have a lot of questions, but we need to leave now,” he said. “Can you walk?”

  The woman regarded him quietly for a moment, glanced at the panther, and then shifted to stand. She took a step. Her limp was pronounced, with her bear leg being several inches shorter than the other.

  “Good,” Arthur said. Her clothing was too loose and baggy for him to tell if she possessed the strength to hold the satchel he carried or not. “We must go.” He faced the panther. “Aveline, if anything happens to me, take this satchel and run to Tiana. There is enough of value in here for you to be heard by Chases Deer or any other Native who might otherwise ignore you. Do you understand?”

  Two blinks.

  “Scout ahead.”

  Aveline hesitated and then reluctantly slinked out of the apartment and to the dark stairwell.

  “You appear as if you could use a hand,” Arthur said as politely as possible. “May I?”

  The skinwalker gazed at him briefly before nodding her assent.

  Arthur slid an arm around her. She was frail and thin beneath the rags, and he began to wonder if she had the strength to make it out of the pyramid let alone flee the city with the speed he knew to be necessary if they wanted to avoid his father.

  “I am Arthur,” he said as they left the apartment for the stairwell. “What were you doing here?”

  “You are a Hanover?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should know.”

  The woman leaned into him as they left the area lit by the apartment in the attic and began to descend the winding, dark stairwell. When she did not answer, Arthur focused temporarily on making it out of the tunnels without falling. The journey out felt much longer than the way up, and he breathed a sigh when they reached the base of the staircase. The light from his father’s room glowed twenty feet down the passage, and Arthur quickened his pace.

  Aveline waited for them in the trophy room, pacing and mewling unhappily. Balancing the older woman with one arm, Arthur closed the door to the tunnels and joined Aveline. They left the trophy room and stopped just inside the apartment’s entrance.

  The energy he felt in the tunnels was completely gone. Arthur had no time to dwell on why the attic radiated magic when the skinwalker beside him barely did.

  From outside his father’s room, down the corridor, Arthur heard the sound of boots on marble, and the rustle of weapons being drawn. Mind racing between their options, Arthur lifted the satchel from his chest.

  “You must carry this,” he said to the woman. “No one knows either of you is here. Remain in this apartment, until the others are distracted. Then go to Tiana’s quarters and find suitable clothing. At some point, you will have the opportunity to escape. But you must do so quickly. Leave before my father returns. You will have no chance against him.”

  Aveline’s ears twitched.

  “When you find your chance, kill anyone you have to in order to escape with her,” Arthur said to the panther.

  Two blinks.

  The skinwalker from the attic managed to stay on her feet when Arthur released her.

  “No matter what happens to me, or how my father tries to stop me. Find my sister.”

  Aveline blinked twice.

  Arthur glanced around the apartment. He would nee
d a reason to be in his father’s apartment or his presence would arouse immediate suspicion. His gaze fell to the display case of expensive liquor – some of it from the Old World – his father kept. He strode to it and pulled out a bottle with amber liquid.

  Chugging a mouthful, he spilled some on his clothing and then returned to the door.

  “Do not get caught,” he warned Aveline.

  Arthur drew a breath and then staggered into the hallway, spilling liquor and grinning. He was about to discover what his father’s men were ordered to do with regards to him. If they wished him dead, the dozen men in the corridor could make that happen. But if his father had chosen to murder him outside the city, away from the normal Shield members, Arthur prayed there was a reason for it, and he would not be murdered in his own home this day.

  George was present, and Arthur hoped his confidante was safe.

  His father’s men surrounded him, and Arthur continued to smile. “What … what’s going on?” he asked, purposely slurring his words.

  There was a pause, and the leader of his father’s personal squad approached. “Are you drunk, sir?”

  Arthur laughed too loudly.

  “Allow me to take him to his quarters,” George said.

  “We have orders to take him elsewhere,” was the quick response.

  “Then let’s go!” Arthur said cheerfully. “George, I will need clothes. Mine are soiled!” He motioned to the Shield uniform he wore.

  The leader of his father’s men motioned two of the men forward. One snatched the alcohol and the other Arthur’s arm. Arthur resisted the instinct to react and instead widened his smile.

  “Of course, sir,” George said and moved out of the path of the Shield members. “I will fetch some at once. Where should I take them?” This he addressed to the Shield leader.

  “Prison.”

  “Tell Ingram I cannot meet him as planned,” Arthur said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “I will, sir,” George replied.

  While he could think of much more desirable places to go, Arthur was relieved not to hear he was being taken to the stakes to burn.

  George remained in the hallway, pale and frowning, while Arthur happily accompanied the Shield members to the lift. Silently, he willed George to find Aveline and to help her escape before his father figured out the woman in the attic was missing. From there … Arthur had not yet formed the next stage of his plan.