by Tricia Owens
"So two wolf shifters work together to take over the Black Die Pack." Melanie ran slightly ahead of us on the sidewalk so she could walk backwards while talking to us. "Maybe the Eastsiders alpha is trying to merge the territories."
"Maybe that's what this is," Vale murmured, but I could tell something was on his mind. He tended to look at the big picture before he focused on the details. I guess it was something he'd learned from his centuries of living and I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on it. "A big move by a pack would be unusual, though. Wolf shifters engage in skirmishes every few weeks, but nothing with stakes significant enough to cede any territory."
"Maybe they're overdue!"
Vale shook his head. "I wish I knew more."
"Nuh uh," I said, waving my finger at him. "You're holding back. Tell us what you're really thinking."
He smiled ruefully at me. "Maybe those matching sweaters aren't such a bad idea, after all."
Melanie guffawed and I had to grin.
"Here's my question," he began. "How does an alpha wolf shifter whose kind, historically, hasn't used any type of magick, suddenly become proficient in sorcery? That genetic bomb and the attempt to cover his tracks both required a high-level understanding of magick. He shouldn't know how to do any of that."
I groaned and let my head fall back on my shoulders. "Who else is involved?"
"I don't have an answer for you," he said grimly, "but when I do, odds are that it's that person we want."
It made sense, which just irritated me. I wanted one bad guy and that was it. Anne Moody was tired of dealing with conspiracies, dammit.
I tipped my head forward again and watched, depressed, as Melanie hop scotched over the cracks in the sidewalk. She was going to get a workout. The sidewalk had more cracks than Humpty Dumpty.
And then it hit me like a big, fat punch to the head.
I told my friends, "I think I may know what these stupid wolf shifters are up to."
chapter 5
To be honest, I'd exaggerated. I didn't know for sure what the packs were doing, but I had an inkling, which was a damn sight better than nothing. I needed confirmation, though, and I could get it immediately.
I put a hand on Vale's chest, forcing him to stop. "Xaran told you that Vagasso has given up trying to summon a demon army."
"Yes, he's shifted his focus to the Rift." He frowned and then, genius that he is, his expression cleared with understanding. "That's what this is about."
"What's the Rift?" Melanie asked.
"The Western Infernus Rift," Vale told her, "runs east-west through the valley. It's a potential gateway to Hell."
I grinned, though it wasn't exactly pleasure or triumph that I felt. "Tell me the majority of the Rift runs through the territories of the Black Die and Eastsiders packs."
His smile was dark. "You know it does, Moody."
I hadn't, but there were too many players involved for me to believe that this was a small-time wolf shifter beef about territory. Plus, they'd be risking a lot by framing someone who they believed was the Oddsmakers' assassin. Retribution would be a bitch if I were truly angry.
That suggested to me that someone bigger had to be involved to pull the alphas' strings: Vagasso. My least favorite dark spirit. Or whatever he was.
"He wants full, unchallenged access to the Rift because he's making his move," I concluded. "Maybe he figures if he's got the packs in his pocket they'll guard him while he does his dirty work." My heart rate began to climb. "How much effort would it take to open it?" I asked Vale.
"The key is opening the seals. There are nine of them. But I don't know anything more about the process."
"This is like a movie," Melanie said eagerly, like we weren't discussing unzipping a crack that literally led to Hell. "What do the seals look like?"
"I've never seen one."
I was shocked. Vale had seen everything, or so I'd thought. But I guess the Rift was pretty specific. There was only one of them and it was here in—wait a second.
"If the Western Infernus Rift runs beneath Vegas, where are the Eastern, Northern, and Southern Rifts?" I demanded.
"There are two different types of Rifts," Vale explained patiently. "One remains in its natural state. It hasn't been sealed shut because it has never been opened. This is the case with the Northern Infernus Rift in Iceland and the Southern Rift in Algeria. Because they are unsealed, they pose little risk to the planet. It would take a force greater than Vagasso to crack them open."
"Okay," I said, cautiously optimistic, "so far so good. And the Eastern Rift?"
Vale's smile was self-deprecating. "Runs through Paris."
I couldn't be shocked. Not at this point. I wouldn't say I was jaded, but I was getting pretty good at rolling with the punches these days.
"That explains Vagasso's interest in the Gargoyle Throne," I surmised.
"Yes, but he quickly learned that a small army of lesser tier demons like he commands there is useless in such an old, magickal city. Xaran told me that since the day he's been presumed dead, Vagasso's demons have increased their efforts to access the seals. But they're failing spectacularly. Xaran's network of allies is too strong in Paris, plus the beings that run that city are ancient. It'll take someone more powerful than Vagasso to open up Hell there, which is why he's now seeking the Western Rift with its younger defenses."
"Wow, so is that the real reason Las Vegas was built?" Melanie asked, her face full of wonder. "Everyone always goes on and on about how strange it was that the Mafia decided to build in the desert in the middle of nowhere with no water, but none of that matters when you've got a super magickal gate beneath you, right?"
"You're nearly there," Vale agreed. "The Mafia has long been infiltrated by magickal beings and back then was no different. The dark ones pushed for this area to be developed despite the downsides that you mentioned. They then began trying to open the Rift. Most ended up killed or run out of the country, however, by a small faction of beings from Algeria. Though the Algerians kept tabs on the Southern Rift, they had grown concerned about the Western Rift and came to defend it when construction began here. They were the ones who placed the seals on it, which are different from the ones in Paris. Otherwise I could tell you what they look like."
"Then we need some pictures and as much info as we can get our hands on. And yes, that means Orlaton, like it or not."
"Great," Vale murmured, looking less than thrilled as his gaze settled on the Greek revival house that housed Tomes. "I'm sure he'll enjoy pointing out what we don't know."
~~~~~
We left the shifter remains with Celestina, and she was absolutely thrilled about that.
"Wonderful," she said as she sat forlornly in her chair, staring at the twin messes still dominating the center of her living room and reading area. "Now I have the complete set."
"Can you get a hold of Lev?" I told her our theory about the two packs merging under the control of the Eastsiders alpha. It made her face turn gray.
"That's terrible. And disgustingly conniving. Raker was a good alpha to Lev. He treated him fairly. This—" she motioned at the rocky bits of Raker, "—should not be the way he died."
"We think Vagasso's involved, trying to clear the way for him to make his biggest play yet." I sighed with disgust. "I really wished we could have encountered a villain who wasn't so ambitious. This guy is seriously pissing me off with all his schemes. He's worse than Cobra Commander."
"And he's painting a larger target on you," Celestina pointed out as she gave me a long look, the sort of look that asked me if I was prepared for what lay ahead. "You're now going to be a double murderer. Your so-called Rebellion isn't likely to let you get away with that. You'll be facing vigilante justice soon enough."
"We'll all watch her back," Vale stated firmly. "Anne won't be in any more danger than she already is."
"I guess that's good," Melanie said uncertainly.
"Celestina, you need to get a hold of Lev as soon as
you can," I told her. "He needs to know that this new alpha of his might not be a straight shooter. He also needs to know that the packs may be trying to merge. I doubt he can carry a phone on him…Is there someplace that he goes where you can reach him?"
"Don't laugh," she began, blushing beneath her dark skin, "but he gave me a dog whistle that he recognizes. I can call him back here and tell him all that's happening."
"Hey, whatever works. I just want him to be safe."
Throughout all this, Christian had been hanging out, listening. But at the mention of Vagasso he sat up straighter and I could see the wheels turning in his handsome head.
"Anything involving Vagasso I need to be a part of," he announced, though he looked first to his broVale for confirmation. "And I'd like to call dibs."
"Dibs?" I made a face. "This isn't some game."
I regretted saying that the moment the words left my lips.
"I take that back," I said to Christian as his expression darkened. "I know this is not a game to you, just like it's not to me. But if you're asking me to step aside at a crucial moment when we have a chance to stop him just so you can get your revenge on him…I can't promise that and to be honest, I don't want to. We've all got a bone to pick with him. Don't forget that he killed my parents. So you're not the only one nursing a grudge."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to claim that my grief is any greater than yours. My mother and I have been after him for a long time. It's made me single-minded and selfish. I can admit that." He lowered his hand and his blue eyes gripped me. "Just promise me that you'll let me be there, at the end."
"I can't promise anything, Christian, I'm sorry. I don't know how this ends. Or when. And if a situation is too dangerous, you'd better believe I'm not letting you or anyone else get too close when I can send Lucky in instead."
"Fair enough." But I could tell he was only pretending to accept what I'd told him. Christian was dogged, and while I didn't blame him one bit, I meant what I'd said about not endangering any of my friends if I didn't need to.
I made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Speaking as someone who'd made some terrible choices in the heat of seeking revenge, whatever Christian hoped to do would probably end up causing more harm than good.
"Alright," I announced, "let's help Celestina clean up here and prepare Raker's body for Lev to take to his pack. They can at least give him a proper send off."
The charcoal mass of Raker was relatively easy to scoop into doubled up garbage bags and seal, but the exploding shifter was another story. I understood that he had once been a living person with hopes, dreams, and fears, but what if he'd volunteered for this like a suicide bomber? And what if his remains were still dangerous? We scooped him up, trying to be as respectful as possible, but in the end we had nothing but a bag of sloshing liquid which none of us could prove had once been a shifter. Doubtful that the Eastsiders Pack would want it, I took it out into the backyard and had Lucky incinerate the remains. It was the best I could do.
"Vale and I are going to Orlaton's," I told Celestina. "Give me a call if the wolves come back. Any wolves." To Melanie, I said, "You need to go home. You're driving the Todas Tortas truck tomorrow. Don't try to pretend you aren't because you told me that yesterday. Go home and get some sleep, Melly."
"Gah, why do people need to eat so many sweets anyway?" she mumbled as she shuffled to the door. "This is why we're all so fat. Ha-ha! Just kidding! I can't live without sweets. Okay, give me a call tomorrow, guys. I want to know everything!"
I found some amusement in her ability to turn learning about the possible end of the world into some exciting bit of gossip. Even Christian was smiling as I turned to him.
"You're coming with us?" I asked.
"Absolutely. I don't want to miss anything."
"This kid that we're going to see is something else," Vale warned him as the three of us left Celestina's and crossed the street to Orlaton's shop. "Don't laugh at him. He takes himself very seriously."
"O-kay," Christian said, looking dubious. "And he's an expert on the occult?"
"Orlaton knows everything," I assured him. "And if he doesn't, he's got a million books to refer to."
To my surprise and dismay, however, Orlaton had placed a notice on the front door of Tomes. A small chalkboard sign hung from a little hook sitting beneath the peephole window in the door.
"Unavailable until three a.m.," I read from the sign. "Well, that sucks. He must have some occultists in there trying to call down Beelzebub."
"I thought you said he was on our side," Christian said, alarmed.
"Okay, probably not Beelzebub but something equally unpleasant and probably wrapped in black magick. Damn." I scratched at my head, feeling like I'd just been pushed out of an airplane over the ocean. I didn't know where to land. "I'm not sitting around twiddling my thumbs while we wait for him to finish in there. Vagasso definitely isn't. We have to do something."
"Is there somewhere else we can go to learn about the seals?" Christian asked Vale and me. "Surely someone else knows something in this town."
I had nothing to offer since the people who came into my shop were only trying to squeeze money out of me, not share information about demonic gates. But I noticed that a thoughtful expression had come over Vale's face, as though something had just occurred to him.
"When my brother was here in Vegas," he began slowly, "he tried to avoid contact with anyone who might recognize him from Paris. But despite his best efforts, he accidentally ran into someone who knew our father. Xaran happens to strongly resemble our father, so this person made the connection immediately. He assumed Xaran was here for the Rift and claimed that he could benefit Xaran. He said he could help Xaran 'keep his eggs in one basket'. That was how he put it. But Xaran told me he didn't want the information because if he was captured, that information could be taken from him. So he declined the man's offer."
"You bring this up because you're thinking maybe the eggs reference was actually the seals?" I guessed.
"Possibly, but I can't say for certain. This was all secondhand information. However, if this person spoke the truth and knew our father, it might mean that he's an ancient being, or important in some way. As the Gargoyle King, my father had a lot of contact with beings like that. Beings who might know something about the seals."
"Or, this is some guy selling free-range chickens or enormous baskets."
"If we don't check him out, Vagasso might, and we can't afford to be wrong," Christian warned.
I had to agree there. "Okay, so we'll find him and check out his info just in case it's relevant. Who is he?"
"Not whom you'd expect," was Vale's mysterious reply.
Christian drove us down to the Strip, where Vale directed him into the self-parking lot of Circus Circus. The themed casino catered to families, yet wasn't in the best part of the city since it sat just south of the Naked City and the Stratosphere where Xaran had nearly dropped me to my death. Instead of heading for one of the casino's entrances, Vale led us up to the sidewalk on Las Vegas Boulevard. Ahead of us, a small crowd had gathered around a street performer.
Street performers on the Strip weren't required to register for spots the way they were in the Fremont Experience. That meant anyone wearing dirty, stinking character costumes could compete against college girls in handmade showgirl costumes to coax tourists to take photos with them, hopefully for a tip. As we came to the edge of the gathering, I could see that this wasn't one of those types of performers, though. This was a street hustler.
Some things you don't believe actually exist in real life. A Three Card Monty hustle was one of those things for me. I expected to see them in movies or on TV and that was it. But this guy here was doing the real deal: three bent playing cards on a folding portable table covered with a red cloth. As he spat out his fast pitched patter, he fluidly picked up, moved, and dropped the cards on the table, occasionally tipping one up to show the location of the ace of spades but
eventually concentrating solely on mixing up the cards' positions.
When he stopped rearranging the cards, I had a pretty solid idea of which card was the ace of spades. But when the hustler turned the cards over, I discovered I was wrong. It surprised me. I could have sworn I'd nailed that ace's position.
"Damn, I was wrong," I heard Christian whisper.
So I wasn't the only one. Interesting.
The hustler challenged the crowd to bet and eventually a young Latino man stepped up with his girlfriend and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
"I'll beat you," the young guy said confidently while his girlfriend hung on his arm and smiled in between sips of her giant plastic yard bottle of pina colada.
"Hey, now, I like a man with confidence. Gotta like a guy who knows what's what and what's where," the hustler chattered. He talked so quickly I was beginning to suspect he might be a monkey shifter like Melanie.
He was dressed ridiculously in a Halloween street pimp costume. Purple flared pants over zebra print boots, a long purple jacket with fat lapels trimmed in gold lamé. He even had the classic pimp fedora on his head with a long white feather sticking out of the hatband. His skin was tea-stained and smooth, his black hair silky and curling leisurely over the shoulders of his jacket. Every feature on his face was thin and spare, like they were slivers leftover from when someone else's features were carved. My guess was he was of Middle Eastern descent, but his spiel was all Harlem.
"You got an eagle eye, an eagle eye, I can tell," he said to his newest challenger as he began shuffling the cards around again. "I'm not getting one over on you, no siree. You're gonna catch me in the act." His hands were a blur as they switched the cards back and forth on the table. "Catch me putting this ace of spaces, this one here, keep your eye on it; it ain't going nowhere if you keep that eagle eye on it. Watchin' it? Of course you're watching it. Your girlfriend just left you and you didn't even turn and look."