Forged in Fire: An Urban Fantasy (Moonlight Dragon Book 4)

by Tricia Owens

  "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 brainstorming 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 sigh 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."

  Orlaton watched me oddly while I spoke and it wasn't until I'd finished that I realized what I saw on his face: guilt. The last time I'd been here, he'd revealed that he thought I worked for the Oddsmakers and was only trustworthy until the day I decided not to be. Hurt and angry, I'd stormed out. I did regret my dramatics, but I felt they'd been justified. I thought of Orlaton as a friend, not just a resource for information.

  So I was heartened to see the guilt on his face. I hoped it meant he'd misspoken and that he did trust me. I suppose he must, since he'd let me inside his shop. We both knew that his extensive knowledge of the occult was no defense against me pulling out Lucky and having him bite the kid's head off.

  "You said a jinni showed you the locations of the seals?" he asked, his tone this side of incredulous.

  "It was a defender of the Southern Rift," Vale told him, "brought over and placed here when this Rift was originally sealed."

  Orlaton looked down his nose at Vale. "You seem to know all about the Rift."

  What a brat he was. Vale, to his credit, willingly kowtowed to him.

  "I don't know nearly enough," he said modestly. "That's why we've come to you."

  Orlaton's mouth twitched. He'd enjoyed that.

  "I don't have photos of the Rift, if that's what you're hoping," he said haughtily. He was great at making you feel like you'd just failed your midterm exam. "However, I do have an illustration or two, including a block print."

  I could already picture them in my mind: demons coming out of the ground while humans on Earth ran around with their hands over their heads. Throw in a few demons eviscerating some bodies, a dog-headed monster chewing on some tasty entrails, and you pretty much had every medieval occult image I'd ever seen.

  "I'll pass on the Albrecht Dürer, but let me ask you this, Orlaton: is the Rift visible in Vegas? If I went out right now and borrowed
a car, could I find it if I drove around?"

  Orlaton crossed his arms over his chest and just barely managed not to sneer. I assumed he was making an effort to be nice.

  "If you're asking if there's an enormous crack in the earth, the answer is no. The residents of Las Vegas have long ago built over the Rift. If you know where the seals are then you've already walked directly above the Rift."

  He abruptly turned and paced between the book stacks about ten feet before stopping. He pulled down a thick book that was wider horizontally than it was tall. It was studded with what appeared to be pieces of bone marked with carved runes. When he opened it, I winced and waved my hand in front of my face.

  "The pages are made of dried and pressed skin," Orlaton explained, his nose wrinkling briefly.

  "As much as I hate the idea of chopping down trees, I prefer it to chopping down people. That's really sick, Orlaton."

  "I know you know there are worse materials in this place," he mumbled absently. He turned the thick, stiff pages until he found what he was looking for. He held the book out to me.

  "Whoa, no thanks. We'll look over your shoulder." The guys and I crowded around Orlaton and studied the illustration he'd found.

  When I'd first heard the word seal, I'd envisioned the wax seal that important people used to use when they sent letters via messenger back in the Dark Ages. The kind where you melted a stick of wax and pressed a metal crest or other identifier into it. This wasn't anything close to that.

  As a matter of fact, I'd already seen it.

  "That's downtown!" I tapped the hard skin page with my finger, instantly regretting it. I quickly wiped my finger off on my shorts. "It's on top of the million-dollar cash display at O'Malley's Casino. I thought it was just decoration, one of those cheesy crystal pyramids you can pick up in any tourist shop." I shook my head in amazement. "The seal has been sitting there in plain sight since forever. How is that possible?"

  "O'Malley's is owned by a single owner. He's a warlock." Orlaton smiled snidely at my surprise. "His casino sits directly atop the Rift. If you're in possession of one of the seals keeping it shut, what better way to keep an eye on it than to put it where the most eyes end up on it?"