There's No Business Like Mage Business: Casino Witch Mysteries 3

by Nikki Haverstock

I was thankful for all the hours of practice I had holding a ward, but if I couldn’t continue, it all might be for nothing. Britney’s skin was slick under my hands, and she was as limp as a rag doll.

  I was sure that I was going to fail as my entire body seized up, but then I heard someone scream my name.

  I opened my eyes, and I saw that Vanessa was pressed up against the invisible bubble, and she was surrounded by official-looking people in scrubs. I dropped the shield as tears rolled down my face, and I was unable to move.

  A serious woman with dark hair pulled back from her face started shouting orders to the two men with her. “There’s loose magic. Bubble both of them until we get to the ambulance, then we can start oxygen.”

  I tried to talk. “Britney. She’s…”

  My throat was so dry that I couldn’t finish, and the words were lost in weak coughs as one of the men carried me into the hall to place me on a gurney. I grabbed his hand to try to say that I was fine, but he strapped my arm down, poured a potion over me, and used an incantation to snap a ward around me as he rolled me down the hall and into the bar, which was brightly lit. Scared faces swam around me as the world turned black.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Somewhere on my trip to the hospital, Patagonia jumped onto my chest. Whether she had materialized there or had followed from the Snakebite Room and jumped up when she could was a mystery to me. I was in and out of consciousness but not in pain, just bone weary.

  I kept slipping into sleep only to be required to drink a potion or have my eyes checked by a penlight. The hurried pace had slowed down once they realized that I wasn’t in immediate danger.

  Once at the hospital, I saw Britney get wheeled by, and while those that attended me had calmed down, those around Britney were amped up. She had a herd of people around, shouting and throwing orders about, until she disappeared down a hall. I was wheeled into a private room and transferred into a hospital bed.

  I recognized the hospital from my previous visit. The generic name, Rambler Hospital, was in contrast to its paranormal nature. It was farther out of town than the human hospital, and its specialty was improving appearances. Apparently, it was a leading site worldwide. I wouldn’t call it plastic surgery since some of it didn’t even involve surgery, but it wasn’t all purely magic based either.

  As I had discovered after my injuries, many times, rest and time were required along with good old-fashioned medicine.

  I had dozed off, Patagonia a lead weight that pinned down one arm, when the brisk woman that had first treated me at the club burst in.

  She was much older than I had initially guessed and seemed familiar. I tipped my head as she checked over my chart. She moved quickly, without a wasted motion, as she checked through the pages.

  When she finally turned to me and spoke, I was pretty sure I recognized her as the same mage that had helped me last time I visited the hospital several months before. I couldn’t be too bothered about not recognizing her, though. I had been in a rough condition when I had first seen her in the bathroom, then she had gone with Britney’s ambulance.

  Her face softened. “Hello, Monza Ella. How are you feeling?”

  I smiled and desperately tried to remember her name. It had been a fish of some kind. In just the nick of time, I remembered. “Hello, Dr. Trout. I’ve certainly felt better, but overall, I’m just tired.”

  She nodded and grabbed a blood pressure cuff off the wall and slid it onto my arm. “Glad to hear it. We gave you some fluids and a restorative potion, but otherwise, you seem fine. You’ll be free to go, but first, I want to talk to you. What happened at the club?”

  I hesitated. I had lies and stories constructed so high that I wasn’t sure what I could share and what I would risk.

  She read the numbers off the cuff then removed it and hung it on the wall, then she pulled a chair out of the corner and sat down. “I’m not here to judge. Britney is alive but in rough condition. We have her in a magically induced coma for now, and knowing what happened could really help her with her treatment.”

  “Is there such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality?”

  One of her eyebrows lifted slightly, but otherwise, she kept her face impassive. “Not formally like humans do, but you have my word that I will protect your secrets as best I can.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t comfortable with that, but I needed to do what I could for Britney if her life was in danger. “She took Legacy. I believe she was about to overdose when I found her.”

  Both eyebrows shot up this time. “That would explain a lot. I have never treated someone high on Legacy before. Usually, either they don’t remember what happened, or they show up here already dead. If there is anything you know about Legacy, it could really help.”

  “I don’t know where she got it and when, but I know what happens when the user takes it. Or rather, I know what happens during an overdose. They get a real high from taking it, like a flood of positive emotions, then afterward, there is this drain of magic. That is when I found her. It was like she was leaking magic.”

  “How did you know to ward her?” She was hanging on my every word, never breaking eye contact as she starting jotting notes on a clipboard she took from the end of the bed.

  “I didn’t. I just guessed. Did it help?”

  “Yes, probably gave us enough time to save her. It was a good ward too. Is there anything else about Legacy that you can tell me?” She had her pen poised and was ready to record my thoughts.

  “No, but is it true that most drugs don’t or can’t kill mages?”

  She nodded, following my train of thought. “I’ve been practicing medicine for fifty years, and this is the first I’ve seen, these Legacy overdoses. I’ve tried to sound the alarms within the community, but people from outside Rambler aren’t affected, and those in Rambler have more important things to deal with. Murder, consolidating power, building an empire. Bah!”

  “Legacy is only in Rambler?”

  “As far as I can tell, yes. At first, I thought maybe it was a regional name like the way that Basilisk Bump is also called Bump-It or Binger, but when I looked around, I didn’t find anything similar to Legacy and nothing that seems to cause death the way it does. I’ve tried to get a sample so I could analyze it. Any chance you could help me with that?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I’ve never seen it myself, but if I ever get my hands on some, I will give it to you… if you tell me what you discover?”

  “What exactly is your involvement in all this?” She eyed me carefully, probably wondering if I was a rival drug dealer looking to make my own empire.

  I weighed what to say. How much truth could I share without putting myself at risk? I let out a long sigh. I was tired, not just exhausted from shielding and the long day but also bone weary from hiding, from lying, from constantly worrying about what to say to whom.

  It would be safest to deny having an interest beyond being curious or wanting my new friend to get better, but that wasn’t true. But what was true? I had started investigating because Bear asked for help. He was investigating because the Cauldron Festival had safety concerns, but was that the limit of my interest? I could pass on the information that the deaths were caused by magic. I knew that because I could read the hologram of the death, but that didn’t really answer any questions. Why were they dying? Was it an accident, or could this be happening on purpose?

  Not everyone who used Legacy ended up dead, but the same could be said of humans and their drug use. It sure seemed as if more overdoses were happening. But why did Legacy exist at all, and who was profiting? That was getting to some of the deep questions.

  And Michael’s overdose from the previous year—I had thought it was an accident at the time, but his mother blamed the casino. Maybe she had been right that there was someone to blame. And Olivia’s father being murdered in his office was still an unsolved case. Could he be connected? Could my father’s death be connected?

  Suddenly, I felt bone weary, and the we
ight of the day pressed on my chest. I turned to the doctor, who was patiently waiting for my response. “Someone needs to find out who’s behind Legacy and stop them.”

  “And that person is you?”

  Patagonia crawled onto my chest and sat hard, perhaps as a warning. I shoved her down onto my lap and wiped the loose cat hairs from my mouth. “I guess so. No one else seems to be stepping up, do they?” I had more anger in my voice than I intended.

  She nodded. “Good enough reason for me. I’ll do what I can to help you. But please be careful.” She stood and tore the paper off the clipboard, stuffed it into the pocket of her scrubs, and pulled out a card. She jotted something onto the back. “This is my cell number. Don’t leave anything in your messages. Just let me know that you want to meet, and we can talk somewhere private. Please keep me updated.” She handed me her card then another card and her pen to put down my number. “You can go home now if you want or stay until morning.”

  I wrote down my number and handed it back. “I want to get home.”

  “I figured. I’ll let the woman waiting for you know. I wanted to talk to you privately first, but she can come stay with you until your paperwork is done. And the information you gave me will help Britney. I’m going to go double-check some things, but she is already much better.”

  “I thought she was barely hanging on.”

  Doctor Trout paused at the door and smiled. “She was when she first arrived—that wasn’t a lie—and she is still in danger, but I wanted to make sure that you were adequately motivated to share what you knew.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Though it was already noon, it still felt like early morning since I had only dragged myself out of bed an hour before. Vanessa had dropped me off at three a.m. and had offered to help me inside, but I had refused. She needed her sleep as well. Our drive had been quiet, not an awkward silence but rather the result of fear. Vanessa had wrapped me in her arms, tears coming easily as she shared how she felt when they wheeled Britney and me to the ambulances.

  I gave her the sparsest of information about what had happened. I explained that Britney had taken some Legacy and was overdosing. My explanation had been a patchwork of truths and convenient omissions. I shared the emotions I felt from Britney but didn’t share that I knew it was Legacy from my visions. Vanessa was either too tired or too concerned to ask questions about how I had known so much. I was left with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Friends, real friends, shouldn’t hide so much.

  But the guilt didn’t keep me from falling into a deep, hard sleep the moment I hit the bed. I woke at six to peel off my clothing and shower then crawled back into bed for the rest of the morning. Patagonia insisted on sleeping on me, so every few hours, I would briefly wake to adjust my position while she fussed about, having to find a new nook of my body to rest up against.

  When I had come home, I had been both relieved and alarmed to find my car already parked in the driveway. Vanessa explained that after the ambulance left, a concierge had come over and made arrangements to return the car and leave the keys under the tire. When I got my purse from it, Bear had already messaged that I should call him in the morning. He had likely seen the car delivered and had a few words with the driver. Or perhaps his employees working security had called him. Or maybe even someone from the hospital. I needed to grill him more about his connections, but whatever they were, he seemed to know I was okay but in no shape to talk that morning.

  The doorbell rang, and after checking that it wasn’t an ax murderer, I let Bear in. He handed me a white bag and a steaming cup of something.

  He breezed in past me with his own bag. “I got you one of those sugary coffee drinks with lots of whipped cream. And there’s a bagel sandwich. It has eggs, spinach, bacon, cream cheese, tomatoes, and a bunch of other stuff. Your body needs protein, and your magic needs sugar. Now what happened over there?”

  I had already bitten into the sandwich and moaned. It was the perfect mix of savory and flavorful food with the doughy give of the bagel. I washed it down with the piping-hot coffee, which had enough sugar in it to raise the hairs on my arms. I followed Bear to the couch and flopped down, not replying until I had an empty mouth.

  “I don’t even know where to start. Britney—she is one of the dancers—took some Legacy, and it sure seems like she was overdosing. I know what it looks like to overdose, but I don’t know how different it is from a normal trip. Is that what you call it? A trip? I am so out of my depth with the drug talk.” I bit into my bagel again.

  “How is she doing?” He pulled out a matching bagel sandwich from his bag and bit into it. A large glob of cream cheese oozed out the side and landed on his shirt.

  “The doctor said she would probably be okay, but right now, she is in a magically induced coma.”

  He wiped the cream cheese off his shirt with a finger and popped it in his mouth. “So you haven’t figured out who is dealing Legacy. You can ask Britney when she wakes up.”

  “Oh, smart. I hadn’t really run into anyone that used it yet.”

  “I assume you did find some readings on the overdoses?”

  “Yes, Dorothy Robbins in the bathroom and Pris Lewis in the Snakebite Room. Both were about the same.” I ran through each vision in detail.

  Bear nodded patiently, occasionally asking questions to clarify a point.

  “And that’s how I knew Britney was overdosing; it felt exactly the same, especially when I could feel all the magic leaving her.”

  “That’s the part that I wonder about. If that happened every time, then surely everyone that took Legacy would die, so I’m not sure if all the magic leaving happens every time, or if it does, then it couldn’t be as completely as you saw. Completely removing a mage’s magic from inside of them leads to death. There is nothing left to bind your soul to your physical body. But it is very difficult to do, which is why more murders are done in more conventional ways like a gunshot or a knife to the heart.”

  I shuddered. “So then, why?”

  “Why what?”

  “If it is a hard way to kill someone, then why do it that way? Accident?”

  “Could be. Did you learn anything about the non-deadly Legacy use?”

  “I met a bartender that seemed to know a little. We bonded over our distaste for spoiled rich kids.”

  “Technically, you’re pretty rich, and I know your dad spoiled you rotten. But I guess you’re not a kid anymore.”

  I glared at him, but the action was all show and no real venom. I picked up my bagel, surprised to see that I had already inhaled half of it without thinking. “I work very hard. Not like these mages that just party day and night. But like I was saying, we bonded, and she told me that she used to work at the concierge desk, and some of the richest visitors would want to check out Legacy. She never helped them, but someone must have because for the next few days, she would need to deliver every meal to them. She was quite sure that they couldn’t do magic.”

  He leaned back and scratched at his chin. “Interesting. So they were drained of magic but maybe not so violently or completely. We need to see if we can figure out what a normal Legacy trip is like, but so far, no one is willing to admit they take it, at least not to me or my guys.”

  “From what I heard, people don’t really remember except that it was good and they want to do it again. But I have an idea. Do you remember Beth, the pastry chef from the Golden Pyramid Casino? The first set of murders I helped investigate included her boyfriend and ex-boyfriend. They were all mixed up in Legacy. She might be able to give me some more information about how Legacy works or who is dealing.”

  “One of them was a dealer, right? And the other one overdosed.”

  “Yes, and I’ve been giving a lot of thought to Michael’s overdose. We thought he had been murdered, then later, we decided it was just an accident, but now I am wondering if our first thought wasn’t right after all. I want to go back and look at that again. I didn’t get a reading where he died, but s
omething about this whole situation really bothers me.”

  “Was that the thing that Edward Santini was looking into when he was killed? Are you thinking this is connected to his murder?”

  “I don’t know how, but it could be. That is a whole can of worms I’m not ready to unpack. I would need to talk to Olivia about it.” Edward had been her father, and despite my attempt at reading his death, I had been overwhelmed each time I tried. Even thinking of his death made spots dance in my vision. Powerful magic that I didn’t understand clouded his murder.

  Bear blew out a sigh and crumpled up the paper bag then threw it to the floor for Patagonia to bat around. “My gut told me that something was off about these overdoses, but I didn’t expect this. Don’t get too distracted by the bigger picture just yet. I’ll do some more digging around town. I haven’t heard of an uptick of Legacy overdoses, which makes me think that this isn’t distribution-wide but rather, one rogue dealer or someone with a specific motive. Have you learned much about the victims?”

  “Not a ton. They all seemed well liked, pretty, popular, and a bit of partiers. Two were visiting. Two were working at the casino. One happened before the festival. The other three were during.”

  “Britney fits that profile as well. Sounds like someone has a type.”

  “That is as strong a connection as anything I’ve uncovered so far.” A thought crossed my mind. It was outlandish but brought a smile to my face. “Can I pin this on Tiffany? Maybe she is bumping off all the competition.”

  Bear snorted. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t hold out hope.”

  “Did I tell you that Tiffany is sporting a big fat engagement ring?”

  “I assume from Vin?” He dug around in his jacket.

  “Yes,” I said, sounding as if I were walking to the electric chair.

  He pulled out another bag from some hidden pocket, explaining his earlier lumpy appearance that I had assumed was a little extra weight around the middle. “Sorry, kiddo. Here.” He tossed me the bag.

  Even before I could see what food was hidden under the white napkins in the bag, the smell of sugar hit me. I pulled out a doughnut, the soft circle dimpling under the feather-light pressure of the fingers, the sugar coating slick in the light. I bit into it, and it was as soft as a cloud, the glaze curling my toes.