She looked both ways then leaned way over the bar. “They had like no magic. I would bring up potions for them, and they couldn’t even activate them. I would have to do that for them. I’ve never seen anything like that. Could you imagine not even being able to use a potion?” She shuddered at the thought.
In my year of training, I had come to rely heavily on magic. I couldn’t imagine voluntarily doing anything that cut off my ability. It had become a safety blanket that provided comfort and protection. Even on my hardest day of training or when I was laid up in bed for a week to heal up, I could still work magic.
“Do all drugs have the same effect?” Normally, I wouldn’t have asked, but the promise we had exchanged had me feeling safe even beyond the fact that drugs were not a topic I had previously known anything about, paranormal or human.
“None that I know of. Until I moved here for this job, I lived in Chicago, and we didn’t have anything like Legacy. It’s weird to me that no one else is freaking out about it, but I guess what happens in Rambler stays in Rambler. I mean, there are Salamander Scales, Basilisk Bump, and Griffin Glut, but a lot of witches don’t really consider them drugs. But come on. We know that just because they’re all natural doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. Are you familiar with them?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been pretty sheltered.”
She nodded. “I figured.” She grabbed the empty plate in front of Patagonia, who was licking every last molecule of chicken from it. Emily pulled out a small bowl and poured a rich amber liquid into it from a thermos from the fridge under the bar then put the bowl in front of Patagonia. “Unsalted beef broth. Mages suck on Salamander Scales to get through finals or a tough time at work. It gives you lots of mage energy. Basilisk Bump is also an upper but more like caffeine on steroids. Griffin Glut is a downer, mellows you out. They can all mess with your mood or energy level, which is why people refer to them as drugs and not just spells, but none of them act like Legacy.”
She removed the bowl from in front of Patagonia and slipped it into a sink of sudsy water. “I know you need to get going.”
With a start, I sat up and checked the delicate mechanical watch on my wrist. I had found it that morning, memories flowing over me. My father had bought it for me in Europe when we traveled there years earlier. I had forgotten all about it until I was digging in my jewelry box. The golden face showed that I had used up half of my time chatting already. “It’s a good thing you are paying attention, because I totally forgot.”
“See? I have some useful skills.” She gave me a gigantic smile.
“Yes, you do. I’m going to think on it.” Though I already had some ideas. I stood up and looked for my next destination. I had sat at the bar to begin with so I could scope out the bathrooms but had promptly forgotten during the conversation.
“There are bathrooms over there and there.” Emily pointed in two opposite directions then tipped her head to the side as if she were listening to something only she could hear. “Or if you prefer, there is a family bathroom just past the elevator.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder.
That was exactly the information I needed. “Thanks. Come on, Patagonia.” I picked up my black familiar and stumbled a little under her weight. Though she was as svelte and leggy as ever, she definitely weighed more than she had a year ago, and her shoulder height was slowly creeping up my leg. Soon, I would be able to touch her shoulder without bending over.
“Hey, if you need me, tell—”
“Any employee to get Emily for me?”
She gave me an even bigger smile. “I guess I’m not the only one that knows things.”
CHAPTER TEN
I clicked the lock on the bathroom and looked around. It was a standard unisex bathroom. There was a changing table in the corner and safety rails everywhere. It would be good for a family and anyone with physical disabilities to use. It was also a nice private place to get high.
I had just enough time to do a reading then head over to the Vaudeville to get ready for the first show. A flutter of butterflies circled my stomach at the thought of performing, but I pushed that away. I could worry about that later.
I took a few deep breaths to prepare for reading the room for any evidence of a death caused by magic, but I wasn’t expecting to find anything. Janie and Stacey’s overdose hadn’t shown any readings, and neither had Michael’s overdose a year earlier. But I needed to double-check.
Patagonia moved in close, pressing herself against my leg, and I opened myself up to read any imprints present. I was surprised when images, emotions, and the aura of magic bloomed in my mind. My abilities had grown significantly over the past year. My visions had become clearer and crisper.
A beautiful, tall, and based on her clothing, purse, and jewelry, rich twentysomething woman came into the bathroom. She was eager for something, and as she pulled out a tiny plastic baggie, relief washed over her.
She popped something in her mouth and swallowed it dry, and magic surged around her. The magic was acrid like bitter almonds.
I didn’t fully understand how to describe the aura of magic. It was a sense that I had no terminology for, but my brain had decided that an aura was halfway between a smell and a taste. Sometimes an aura might be more one or the other, and I named it accordingly, at least in my head. The bitter-almond aura was so strong in my vision that I crinkled my nose.
In the vision, the girl let out a deep sigh and moved over to lean her back against a wall. Emotions started bubbling up in her so hard and fast that I caught my breath at their intensity. Every possible good emotion I could imagine was in her, far too many for me to even name. I blew out a breath and crouched down to hold Patagonia closer to my chest. The feelings were watered down through the vision, but even so, I was overwhelmed. I understood better why it was so addictive.
I put up my guard to block some of the emotions I was feeling, but it also blocked the vision, making it too hazy to really understand. I breathed shallowly, burying my nose in Patagonia’s fur until the tsunami of emotions slowed down and I felt I could resist the temptation.
She dropped the expensive purse on the ground, the contents tumbled out onto the tile floor, then she slowly slid down the wall until she was leaning against the wall, her legs out in front of her. Time ticked on as she stared straight ahead until finally, she slumped to the side until her head crashed on the floor and her hair fell over her face.
I shuddered and prayed silently for her even though there was no hope left for her. Her breathing slowed, but the magic surged, not just the aura of the bitter almonds, but also a second delicate floral magic that seemed to come from the woman. She was barely breathing, and yet her magic was ramping up or…
I tried to focus, to nail down what I was experiencing. The emotions from her were dying down. I could barely read anything, but the aura was growing as the magic increased. She made a noise, the first I had heard from her since the vision began. It was a shuddering sigh or a gurgle, then her chest stopped moving. The floral aura surged then cut off suddenly. I stumbled a little, caught off guard by how quickly the aura had stopped, then the vision faded.
A tear rolled down my face. I hadn’t even begun to become immune to the horror of a life being snuffed out or having to witness those final moments. I wiped my face, only to realize that my hand was shaky. Flopping onto the ground, I tried not to think about when it was last cleaned and pulled Patagonia into my lap.
Normally, she was a fuzzy terror even to me. She loved to nip at my hands or knead my thighs until she left tiny puncture holes. But she also knew when I needed care, and right then, she purred so strongly that she sounded like an outboard motor and pressed her head into my neck. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my head in her neck, just absorbing the moment.
Once I felt less shaky, I released my grip on Patagonia, and she sprang out of my lap, digging her claws into my thigh for leverage. I rubbed the sore spots and stood up and unlocked the door. I had no idea how long I had
been wrapped up in the vision or recovering with Patagonia, but I barely had time to make it over to the comedy venue to meet Natasha. The show wasn’t for several hours, but we were going to do another run-through, get dressed, and do our makeup the old-fashioned way.
I let the door shut behind me and set to walking around the casino floor—the loop, as everyone seemed to call it. I stepped around a man excitedly talking to a friend but didn’t go far enough. He stepped back and gestured wildly as he told the punch line to a joke, knocking into me.
I stumbled, and he grabbed me, keeping me from falling.
“Oh, ma’am, I am so sorry. Are you okay?” His hand slipped from my elbow to my hand and shoved a folded-up paper into it.
Instinctively, I clutched the paper but didn’t immediately reply. I was still out of sorts from the bathroom and couldn’t imagine what this was about. I fell back on my gut reaction. The man had no malicious emotions in him. Despite his wild antics, he was tightly in control of his emotions. This was all part of the plan.
“Yes, I’m fine. I guess I should pay better attention to where I’m going.” I stepped away. “I’m running late.” I turned, stomped off, and rolled my eyes a little. If anyone was watching, they would not see anything suspicious in my behavior. I casually slipped the note into my front pocket.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I was ready to explain who I was at the entrance to the loop, but the employee smiled, greeted me by name, and wished me a good performance as she gestured for me to skip the line of Cauldron attendees waiting to enter. Not even the staff the Golden Pyramid Casino treated me so well, though I felt a little guilty for the comparison.
A show or two must have recently let out, because the hall, which had only been lightly populated during Thomas’s tour the day before, was now crowded. I could still weave between people, but it was slow going.
All around, people were knotted in groups, catching up, raving about the shows they had seen, or comparing what they wanted to see next. Patagonia had raced on through the crowd, and the occasional yelp or utterance of “Darn familiar” told me that she had no issue holding her ground even with all the people.
Pieces of conversation floated to my ears as I moved, occasionally backtracking to move around a particularly tight group of people. A woman off to my right shrieked to her friend Marie. I looked around, ready to step out of the way, when I realized the woman was making a beeline for me.
She hit me hard, wrapping me in a hug. “Marie, I haven’t seen you in forever! What happened? Why did you just disappear like that?”
I mumbled into her shoulder, my face flaming red in embarrassment. She clearly had me confused with someone. I stepped back. “Uh, I’m not—”
She grabbed my arm and dragged me to her friends. Several uniformed security guards surrounded them. People were pointing and staring.
“You won’t believe it. This is my best friend from when I was a kid. We were inseparable. Marie and I did everything together. Her mom worked for my mom, and they lived in the pool house.”
One of her friends, a tall blonde with shocking blue mascara and eye shadow, twirled a lock of hair around a finger and snapped her gum. “The little Spanish bungalow? That is such a cute house, Sapphire.”
“She was like a sister to me. We did everything together, and then one day, she just disappeared. Her mom, her, and all her stuff. What happened? Where did you go?” Anger rose in her chest. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. I had no idea where to even start disagreeing with the story.
A man swooped in and joined us. On the surface, he looked like another festivalgoer, but the quick eyes and professional demeanor told me it was one of the troupe of security that roamed the hall. “Monza Ella, is everything okay?” He looked between me and Sapphire, the woman who had grabbed me and called me Marie.
She gasped and looked me up and down. “Are you really a Monza?”
The rest of her group murmured in surprise.
I swallowed. I should just tell her that I wasn’t Marie, that I hadn’t lived in her pool house with my mother, and that I didn’t know her, but something in me was unsettled and screaming not to give away any details. I hesitated. Maybe it was fear of confrontation or embarrassment or even some deep-seated gut instinct, but I decided that I wasn’t going to say anything yet.
“I’m sure you understand that as a follower of the old ways, I have many things I can’t discuss.” I tried to look kind but firm, though my heart was racing.
After declaring myself a Monza, I had discovered that most people had little clue about what Monza were capable of or how they behaved. This had made my research frustrating but had given me a lot of leeway. I could use “I’m a Monza” to get out of many situations, and no one questioned it. In fact, most people steered clear of me, except Thomas.
Sapphire looked frustrated; her eyebrows knitted together, a massive furrow between them. I thought she was going to argue that I had to tell her, but eventually, she gave up and blew out a sigh. “Of course. You have to follow your calling. But maybe someday you can tell me?”
Patagonia pranced between us to rub up against Sapphire’s leg. She crouched down and scratched behind Patagonia’s large black ears. “Your familiar is amazing. So outgoing!”
I checked my watch, and unfortunately, I didn’t have the time to sort through things. “I’m so sorry. I’m performing in a few—”
Sapphire squealed. “No way. What are you doing?”
“I’m in Natasha’s comedy show.”
“A Monza in a comedy show! That’s crazy. You know, there’s a big party tonight. It’s invite only. It’s supposed to be just for bands, but I’m sure I can get you in and bring your friends. We can catch up, or at least as much as you can. Oh, please. It’s in the Snakebite Room at the Platinum Club.”
That was the location of one of the overdoses. I had planned to figure out how to get into the private room, but this would solve my problem. “Great. I have a show but should be done by eight.”
She threw her arms around me and squeezed the air right out of me. “I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I flopped onto the couch after the show. The adrenaline was still surging through me after being on stage. It had been as terrifying as I feared. When it was time for me to step out from behind the thick, heavy red velvet curtains, I had found that my legs were frozen. I actually missed my cue and might have stayed there the whole rest of the show if a stagehand hadn’t shoved me hard onto the stage.
After a few stumbled steps, I managed to regain my stride and found my mark. Then it was time to face the crowd. The lights had been blinding, which was helpful since it made it difficult to make out individual faces. Then the laugh rose from the crowd, and their emotions bloomed. My stark terror didn’t go away, but it was instead joined by the heady high of performing. It felt like running on a knife’s edge—if I went too far in either direction, I would fall, but if I pushed straight ahead, I could survive.
The rest of my performance was a blur. My hands shook, and a few times, I was a bit too fast or too slow, but Natasha was such an expert that she played it off beautifully, and the crowd seemed just as happy as they had been when I watched from the audience the day prior.
Before I knew it, the show was over, and Vanessa was dragging me on stage for the final bow. I exited with trembling legs and barely made it back to the dressing room before I collapsed on the couch. How in the world did people do two shows a night?
“I need to go out and greet anyone that wants autographs.” Natasha touched up her lipstick and opened the door to leave. “We can go grab some food when I get back. I have a few super-minor notes I would like to give. Great job overall, though.”
Vanessa jumped up and started changing. We had worn all black so as not to distract from Natasha, the star, onstage. If we dropped the clothing off in a bin in the hallway, we could find it freshly washed and ready
for the next performance. I needed something similar at home.
Considering that my entire outfit smelled like fear sweat, I was thrilled to strip it off. I slid into my jeans as a small folded-up note tumbled to the ground. I had forgotten about it, and though I was eager to see the inside, I didn’t want to draw Vanessa’s attention to it until I knew why someone had gone out of their way to sneak it into my hand. She had gone into the bathroom, but the door was standing open, and she could return any moment. I stuffed it into my pocket.
As I lifted my arms to slide on my shirt, I realized that fresh clothing wouldn’t be much good if I didn’t smell better. I had the odor of a skunk that had just run a marathon. I could work a spell, but frankly, it was a lot more work than it was worth, considering the other options.
“Hey, are there towels or deodorant or anything?”
Popping her head out of the door, Vanessa was wiping herself down with a washcloth. “Yeah. Washcloths are in here, and a generic body-odor-prevention potion. It’s pretty nice.” She stepped out and pulled a shirt on over her head and flopped onto the couch. “I’ll just rest until Natasha… comes… back.” She let out a long sigh and closed her eyes.
I went into the bathroom and washed off then grabbed the potion, which sat in a plastic container shaped like a lemon. I felt like a bit of a hypocrite after my conversation with Emily about spoiled kids that never made their own potions. I could make my own and normally would have my own in my purse, but I had been traveling light. And heavens knew that I was working my butt off.
I threw back the potion and said the incantation on the side. It tasted like lemonade, and the aura of the magic when it was invoked also had a nice spring citrus flavor. I gave my armpit a sniff, and no longer did my eyes cross at my own foul odor, but instead, I caught the not surprising smell of lemonade. The potion makers had some tight branding to their product.
There's No Business Like Mage Business: Casino Witch Mysteries 3 Page 7