Magical Secrets (Vegas Paranormal/Club 66 Book 1)

by C. C. Mahon

  “I’ll stick to the tea,” he said. “And if I could have something to eat…”

  I bit my lip. Matteo was late, for the second time.

  I went to prepare a pot of tea and took out my phone. Matteo didn’t pick up any more than Enola had.

  “Barb,” I said. “Have you heard anything from Matteo?”

  “Nope. But he’s only a few minutes late. Maybe he overslept? Crazy night with an over-emotional woman? Or man, for that matter…”

  She shrugged and went to take her first order of the night.

  I served Britannicus his tea and tried to reach Matteo again, without any more luck. I was starting to get seriously anxious, and I decided to go up to talk to Nate. I didn’t think he could pull Matteo out of his hat, but I needed to move.

  Like every night, Nate was set up at the door of the hangar. The big rolling door had been opened halfway, and my bouncer’s silhouette was framed by the light coming from the streetlights, like a shadow puppet.

  He moved to let through two young zombies on a binge, and I took advantage of it to get his attention.

  “It’s quiet tonight,” I said.

  “It’s still early.”

  The street was deserted. A streetlight flickered, its crackling the only sound of the block. Car traffic purred dozens of yards away. The club was like an island of silence in the city.

  “Matteo isn’t here yet,” I said. “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “What if the men who tried to kidnap him tried again?”

  Nate thought for a moment and opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t have time to. A gust of wind swept the street, and suddenly Matteo stopped in front of us.

  “Sorry, boss. I had…I was…”

  Despite the yellow light from the streetlights, his skin gleamed like polished marble. His hair was like an obsidian halo, and his lips would have had plenty of girls brimming with jealousy. He had just fed.

  “I was about to call your father to the rescue!” I exclaimed. “From now on, make sure your personal meetings don’t interfere with your work schedule.”

  He seemed surprised by the vehemence in my reproaches. I was too, for that matter. He was about to head down to the kitchen when Nate asked, “You’ve taken to handbags?”

  Matteo looked down at the item he was holding: it was in fact a small woman’s purse, black with a golden chain.

  “Oh yeah,” said Matteo. “I found it in the parking lot. I thought a customer must have lost it.”

  I turned towards Nate. “Aren’t there only guys here right now?”

  He nodded. “I feel like I’ve seen that bag before,” he said.

  I grabbed the purse and opened it, looking for ID. I found a cellphone, lipstick, a small brush, a compact mirror, and a handkerchief, but not papers or money. The phone was locked. Nate grabbed the mirror and turned it over so the streetlights would light it.

  “There,” he said, “it’s engraved: Enola.”

  “Did she lose it this morning when she left the club?” I asked.

  Nate and Matteo frowned.

  “I didn’t see anything in the parking lot,” said Nate. “And I left after her.”

  “It was practically in front of the door,” said Matteo. “Someone would’ve picked it up during the day.”

  Something had happened to Enola.

  “Isn’t that weird,” asked Nate, “that a seer would let herself get kidnapped? Shouldn’t she have seen the danger coming?”

  “She told me she didn’t have control over her powers,” I said. “Sometimes she sees the future, but not always.”

  “That’s pretty lousy,” grumbled Nate.

  “What do we do?” asked Matteo.

  I had no idea.

  “Boss,” continued the vampire, “do you think she was kidnapped by the people who took the other missing people?”

  I didn’t know that either.

  How many predators were wandering around Vegas? How many went after the magical community? Besides, Enola could have been attacked by a human, like so many young women everyday. Her gift of prophecy didn’t give her the strength or the speed that vampires or metamorphs might have.

  I let out a sigh of frustration.

  But Matteo had already taken out his phone.

  “Calling Lola,” he explained before stepping away to talk.

  “Hmm,” said Nate, observing him. “I didn’t know he was on such good terms with the detective.”

  “They don’t always tell us everything,” I murmured.

  The conversation didn’t last more than a minute. Matteo put his phone back in his pocket, declared that Lola was looking into it, and headed to his kitchen without giving us time to question him. Nate hit me on the shoulder, throwing me off balance, and went back to his post without a word. I went down the stairs after Matteo, walking slowly. I would have wanted to satisfy my curiosity concerning Lola and the vampire’s relationship, but I wasn’t really in the mood for that. Had Enola fallen into Carver’s claws? I didn’t have the slightest proof, but I was sure of it.

  When I got to the bottom of the stairs, on the threshold to the bar, I turned around and climbed back up the stairs two at a time. I climbed the stairs leading up to my loft the same way and didn’t slow down until I reached the case where I kept my sword. I took the weapon, grabbed its sheath along the way, and trotted back downstairs.

  I put the case in a corner of the bar and the sword just under the counter, where I could see it. Its presence dissipated a bit of the anxiety that gripped me.

  A group of young women arrived, and I no longer had time to worry. According to the various odors of their magic, they were metamorphs of differing natures. And according to their “Bride to Be,” “Maid of Honor,” and “Team Bride” T-shirts, they were in town for one last hurrah before the big day. The night had just begun, but they were hitting it hard. They kept me busy for a good while.

  I counted on Lizzie to stay true to her habits, and she didn’t disappoint: she arrived a little after nine o’clock, a huge bag over her shoulder, and headed to the back room. I led Britannicus with me, and we joined to young woman at her usual table. She was already taking her grimoires out of her bag. I slid onto the booth in front of her, and Brit sat next to me.

  “Lizzie,” I said, “I would like to introduce you to Britannicus. Brit, this is Lizzie. I think you’re in the same field.”

  Lizzie froze and looked over Britannicus. “Guild?” she asked.

  “London Guild. Actually…um. Let’s say that I’m waiting for Customs to deign to give me my work permit in your beautiful city.”

  “Why not work with the Nevada Guild?”

  “Difference of opinion.”

  “Look at that…”

  She turned to me, and I explained. “I have a favor to ask you, both of you.”

  “A banishing spell?” she asked with a sparkle in her eye.

  “No. Research. I want to know if someone can steal a supernatural’s magical powers.”

  Lizzie frowned. “Who do you want to jack?”

  “No one. I want to know if a human can become a supernatural and vice versa.”

  “Vice versa?” she asked. “Like a phoenix who can no longer be reborn from her ashes?”

  Brit and I nodded. News travelled fast in the community. I just hoped no one found out where we’d buried Phoebe.

  “And Mister London didn’t find anything?” asked Lizzie.

  “I only brought a minuscule fraction of my grimoires when I left England. I had intended on consulting the local Guild’s library. Unfortunately, that’s no longer possible. I consulted my books in vain. I didn’t find a spell or a potion—”

  “That’s because you need crystals,” interrupted Lizzie.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Britannicus. “Crystals might be in with young girls in need of esotericism, but…”

  Lizze turned towards me. Her eyes glistened with rage. “This is why I don�
��t want anything to do with these idiots from the Guild. They’re so sure they know everything about everything that they refuse to consider entire facets of the practice. Especially if it’s a subject they consider feminine. Bunch of old misogynists stuck in your prejudices!” she concluded, addressing Britannicus.

  The wizard shuddered, visibly struck by the young woman’s analysis.

  “Lizzie,” I intervened, “have you ever heard of something like this? Is it possible?”

  “Heard of, no. But I saw something similar in passing in one of these old books…”

  She began digging through her giant tote bag, all the while mumbling, “It was a ritual to allow a group of witches to share their gifts. I didn’t pay much attention to it, seeing as I work alone… Ah! I think it was this one.”

  She took out a modest-sized book, bound in leather, that looked more like a diary than a grimoire. I tried to decipher the pages that she was flipping through rapidly, but they were covered in incomprehensible symbols.

  “There!” she exclaimed triumphantly.

  She had planted her index finger on a page with ink that had faded over time. Brit and I leaned over to see better. A complicated diagram sat in the center of the page, surrounded by a jumble of symbols that I assumed was text.

  “What language is this?” I asked.

  “Sixth-century Germanic,” said Lizzie.

  “You can read it?”

  “More or less. It’s not always easy to translate. For example, that,” she pointed to a point in the text, “I don’t know what that is.”

  “May I?” asked Britannicus.

  She slid the book towards the wizard, who pondered over the text, frowning. I observed him for a minute before growing tired and asking, “Tea for everyone? It’s on me.”

  “And a daily special,” said Lizzie.

  “Two,” added Brit. “The night is going to be long.”

  25

  LOLA ARRIVED AT two in the morning, pale, with bags under her eyes, but looking determined.

  “I didn’t find Enola,” she said as she sat down at the bar. “The investigation into the death of the MIT student hasn’t moved an inch. No one knows anything about the murder of your doppelganger. The mysterious 4X4s plates’ are fake, and I don’t have the slightest clue pointing to Carver. Tell me you have some good news.”

  “I have two wizards deciphering a sixth-century Germanic recipe,” I said.

  “Hmm?”

  “To steal someone else’s magic. I don’t know if it’ll help us, though.”

  Lola let out a long sigh, and I found myself imitating her.

  “We should go to Carver’s place and break his face in,” Lola said suddenly.

  “I’m all for it,” I said. “But I see two problems.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “His building is protected by spells, similar to the club. And you’re a cop; you can’t just show up at people’s houses without probable cause.”

  “Can’t you have your two wizards work on the issue of the protections?” asked Lola. “As for the rest…” She shrugged, let out another sigh, and asked, “Are you sure he has captives? Patricia, Kitty, or whoever else?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I have my suspicions, but I don’t have any proof.”

  I saw her think then hesitate. Her emotions crossed her face like clouds across an Autumn sky. “You were right,” she said quietly.

  “It can happen. Right about what?”

  “When you said it would be simpler for me to forget the existence of the supernatural.”

  “I don’t think that’s the issue,” I said. “A man is suspected of having ordered the kidnapping and illegal confinement of two people at least. The victims are probably in danger, but we have no proof. With or without magic, the problem is the same.”

  I poured us two strong cocktails, and we emptied our glasses in silence. Then Lola stood up. “I need some sleep. Keep me up to date.”

  She left slumping, and that pained me. I reached my hand under the counter, looking for the reassuring contact of my sword. Instead, my fingers found a piece of paper. Curious, I took out the item. It was a manila envelope, no address or other indication.

  “Barbie, what’s this?”

  The harpy looked at the item for a few seconds before answering. “Oh, yes, a girl left that for you earlier tonight. You were in the back room.”

  I opened the envelope. It contained an electric toothbrush and a piece of paper: “to find Patricia.”

  My exclamation made the customers jump. I hurried to the back room. I found Britannicus and Lizzie, looking at their grimoires, head to head.

  I put the toothbrush down on the table. “I need a location spell. I don’t care about the Guild, and I don’t care about the price. Now.”

  Brit and Lizzie looked up at me in bewilderment, then they looked at the item.

  “It’s to find Patricia the succubus,” I said. “Once I have a location, Lola and I will be able to intervene.”

  Britannicus let out a long sigh and grabbed the toothbrush. “I’ll need a quiet space,” he said. “Away from…prying eyes.”

  Lizzie put her hands up in front of her. “I won’t be the one to turn you in. They don’t know I exist. But can I watch?”

  “I’ll close the room for the night,” I said. “Brit, do you have what you need?”

  He tapped on his bag, looking confident.

  I made sure no one was hiding in the other alcoves and left the two wizards to their craft.

  Half an hour later, they came to find me at the counter. Britannicus was holding a map. “Human maps aren’t as precise as the Guild’s maps,” he said, “but the succubus is there.”

  He pointed to the paper. He had marked the spot in pencil. I recognized the address but still double checked it. Then I grabbed my cellphone.

  “Lola,” I said as soon as she answered. “We got him.”

  “Shit,” mumbled Lola. “I was barely asleep. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Brit located Patricia. She’s at Callum’s place. I know it won’t hold up in front of a judge, but…”

  On the other end of the phone, Lola blew like a sea lion. “It’s enough for me. Have you dealt with the issue of magical protection?”

  In my haste, I had forgotten that “detail.”

  “Wake me up when you’ve figured it out, okay? I need some sleep.”

  “Sleepy head!”

  She hung up, and I turned back towards Britannicus and Lizzie. “Third challenge of the night,” I said in a low voice.

  They leaned towards me over the bar. The place was still pretty packed, and there was the issue of super-hearing. As a precaution, I motioned for the wizards to follow me into the back room again.

  “The building where Patricia is, is protected by spells,” I said. “If we want to get in, we’ll have to break them or deactivate them. Do you know how to do that?”

  They exchanged grimaces.

  “We’d have to seen them in person,” said Britannicus.

  “It will depend on the objective of the spells,” Lizzie added. “Do they prevent everyone from going in, or is it just supernaturals…”

  “Or maybe people with hostile intentions,” ended Britannicus.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  “Hence the need to go see in person,” said Britannicus.

  “I could go with you?” I proposed.

  He shook his head. “I should be able to handle it myself. I’ll keep you up to date.”

  “I’ll keep researching the ritual,” said Lizzie. “This whole thing bothers me.”

  “What about it?”

  “The ritual is ancient and allowed witches to share their powers with their peers. It was both a magical masterpiece and a proper display of camaraderie among practitioners. To think that some piece of shit twisted it and hijacked it to turn it into a tool of torture and to…to… Ah! It drives me nuts! But if understand the original ritual better, maybe I’ll be able to…I don’t kno
w, reverse things?” She shrugged, as if to apologize for not being able to do more. “I’m taking our notes home with me,” she said to Britannicus. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  She put back her grimoires, notebooks, and crystals in her tote bag, and Britannicus folded up his maps and put them back into his leather bag. They left together, talking shop like a couple of old friends.

  26

  ONCE THE LAST customers had left, it came time to count the money in the till before putting it in the safe. I found it impossible to concentrate. My mind was looking for ways to get through Callum’s building’s protections before picturing our head to head. When I got to that point, my brain resorted back to the most traumatic memories of my life with Callum. The first time he’d put his hands on me. The first hit. The first cut with a scalpel.

  In front of the club’s till, my hands were trembling. I dropped the bills. I lost count a half dozen times before giving up, putting everything haphazardly into a bag. In my office, I scribbled “to count later” on a Post-it with the date, stuck it to the back, and put everything into the safe.

  When I came back into the room, Barbie was sweeping the floor. In my head, Callum was shouting threats.

  “When are we doing this?” asked Barbie without looking up from her work.

  “Doing what?”

  Barbie stopped sweeping the floor and leaned against her broom to look at me. “We’re going to break his face in, aren’t we?”

  “I’m gonna go with Lola. Brit is going to help us get in.”

  Barb planted a fist on her bony hip. “Boss, do you remember who I am?”

  “My best waitress?”

  “A harpy. Vengeance isn’t a hobby for us: it’s our religion.”

  “Didn’t you take a vow of non-violence at some point?”

  Her expression darkened. “Yes. I got sick of it. I’ve seen—no, done—super-gory things in the past. It plagued me. I’ve tried more or less legal substances to deal with it. It got worse. So I stopped everything: the revenge, the violence, and the drugs. Until Agatha’s death.”

  Barbie had accompanied me to go face the Valkyrie who had killed Agatha. At the time, I was too absorbed by my fear to understand what it meant for the harpy.