by Tricia Owens
Whatever she was, it was definitely something old school. I only ever had trouble with people who'd been around a while in the magickal community. People who hadn't adapted to modern attitudes and who rejected the new magickal beings who'd recently revealed themselves, like pygmy centaurs. Who'd ever heard of them before 2002? I hadn't, but I wasn't about to deny them the right to exist like some beings did.
"Thanks for your purchases," I said as I handed her the receipt and pretended like I had no idea what she was talking about. My smile felt as real as Cheez Wiz.
"Anne Moody is descended from failure…."
"…shame is a dragon…"
The woman couldn't hear the cameos, thank goodness, otherwise she undoubtedly would have perked at having discovered some allies in meanness. As it was, she shook her head as though she pitied me. Her gaze moved around the countertop, touching on the gargoyle and the zombie nutcrackers, before she gave a little laugh, like she thought the items were ludicrous and so was I.
"Have a nice night," she said pleasantly, and left the shop with her items.
Good riddance.
Still, I sighed with a touch of regret. Maybe I'd been rude. It was hard for me to tell when it came to my sorcery. Until recently it had been a touchy subject for me.
The Chinese people were said to have descended from dragons. Most people took that as a sort of folksy saying that was bound in mythology and cultural pride. But actually it was grounded in truth. Dragon blood, magickal and undetectable by modern medicine, really did run in our veins. Though I was only half Chinese, Asian magick was ancient and powerful enough to set me apart from other sorcerers.
Apart was not necessarily good. Part of the problem was my dragon familiar, Lucky. When I threw down some serious sorcery he was capable of incredible destruction, not to mention he was showy and the magickal community absolutely did not approve of any action that drew attention to us.
The greater problem was me. Calling forth Lucky was a temptation, like Melanie's cakes only a million times worse. When Lucky took shape he called to the dragon in my blood, the dragon in my ancestry. But that dragon had no place in Vegas. That dragon wanted to burn the city to the ground and then stomp on its ashes, and nothing I could do would stop it.
It was why dragon familiars and those who controlled them were routinely monitored by the Oddsmakers. No one wanted a repeat of history, when magickal predators had created the stories that people nowadays believed were only fairytales.
My family had never abused our power. Uncle James was a warlock and though he was currently missing, I knew that he'd been as boring and non-threatening as my mail man. My parents had died when I was four, so I didn't know much about them. But as far as I knew, they and previous generations of our family hadn't done boo.
Still, I knew the eyes of the Oddsmakers were turned toward me because of the potential for me to lose control and go full dragon. Were they stereotyping? Sure. Were they prejudiced? Maybe. The Oddsmakers were alleged to be some pretty old dudes and it wouldn't be a surprise if at least some of them were stick-in-the-muds. But there was a chance they could be right about me, and that was why that woman had treated me that way.
Nothing like being a ticking time bomb.
"Anne Moody, you'll always be alone…"
"Zip it," I muttered. I reached into the jewelry case and flicked the offending cameo with my finger. It gave an indignant squeak before the chorus chimed in.
"Curse you, Anne Moody!"
"Curses!"
"Curses!"
Christ.
~~~~~
It was just after four a.m. I couldn't stop myself from yawning again. My busiest hours were from midnight to around three. Magickal beings were night owls, and ordinary people who needed to pawn things usually did so at the end of a bad streak of gambling, which typically occurred late at night. But I hadn't slept well the previous night and I was beat. If someone needed to pawn something tonight, they'd have to hit up another shop. Moonlight was closed for business.
Ignoring the still-harping cameos, I turned off the Open sign and headed out into the yard. The air was warm and dry the way only the desert could be after dark. It was comforting, like an oven that had recently baked cookies. But it was also a reminder that life out here was nearly impossible without modern conveniences, or Paiute Indian toughness and spirituality.
The lights were on in the used bookstore across the street. Not surprising since the owner specialized in occult books. Summoning demons was a much cooler thing to do at night, in my opinion. Next door to me, the Christmas lights were on in the window of the beef jerky-palmist's because gamblers loved hearing that they were going to come into money no matter what time it was.
The street was otherwise quiet, the only illumination coming from the glow rising into the sky from Fremont Street. I tried to find a star in the sky but all I could see was a smear of rainbow-colored clouds. Music from Fremont Street floated on the air, as light and insubstantial as dust motes.
A pinprick of loneliness stuck in my chest, no doubt spurred by my encounter earlier that evening. I didn't want to surrender to it, but it was easy to feel lonely when you were standing by yourself in the desert.
"Who cares if you're all alone?" I asked myself. "You've still got friends. Great friends. They're as much your family as Mom and Dad or Uncle James."
I wanted to believe it, but real family was different. When you didn't have parents you missed out on a lot of experiences that most people took for granted. It was Uncle James who'd taken me to my Girl Scout meetings. In the third grade I addressed my Mother's and Father's Day cards to imaginary people. I resented TV commercials that portrayed complete families eating breakfast together. And on it went.
I'd always felt like a partial person, a unique snowflake with an emphasis on the negative spaces. Now my last link to my heritage, Uncle James, was gone, too.
"Gold medal for the most pathetic thoughts ever," I muttered. I mentally shook it off. "Let's hope you get hit by a meteor and spare the world any more."
I began rearranging the rocks in the yard, forming a new pattern. When the last two rocks were placed, I felt the hum as the wards kicked in around the property. I should have felt safer—not that I felt particularly threatened by anything—but tonight I was unsettled. It wasn't the encounter with the snobby woman that bothered me. Something had been left unresolved, but I didn't know what it could be.
Back inside Moonlight, I took a look around. The place was cluttered like an old person's garage with junk that had gone out of style five years ago. For ordinary people, the place simply appeared kitschy and quirky. But for someone like me, the energy in the shop was palpable, and not all of it came from being cursed.
My gaze touched on a few things that unnerved me: the taxidermic snow owl that followed me with its eyes everywhere I went; the landscape painting depicting a family picnicking beside an English lake, which would have been beautiful except every fifty minutes they were attacked by a painted figure carrying an axe who hacked at them for ten seconds before the scene reset to idyllic bliss. Then there was the stone gargoyle that Christian had sold me which continued to crouch on the counter while I tried to figure out where best to display it.
I locked the till, turned off the lights and entered my studio. The ice demon had gone, so I cleaned up the fridge and tentatively placed a bottle of water inside it and crossed my fingers I'd be able to drink it tomorrow. I was in my pajamas and in bed fifteen minutes later.
Immediately the roof creaked with the rhythmic sound of footsteps.
Eight steps back and forth, in a slow, deliberate pace. I didn't know who the spirit had been or why it was so restless. Was it a former owner, like me? Would my spirit one day join it, pacing and enjoying a view of the Spring Mountains from our rooftop perch?
In a way, ghosts were much like Vegas itself. Every few years an iconic casino was imploded to make way for a new, shinier, bigger casino, with no thought for the history lost or t
he particular flavor that the casino had lent to the city which we'd no longer taste. Ghosts, too, were fading memories, never again to make an impact upon the living unless, apparently, they had an obnoxiously heavy tread.
Usually the pacing irritated me and kept me awake until the sunrise. This time I was too pooped to care about the spirit's otherworldly angst. I was unconscious before it completed its third circuit…
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"Shoot me now," I sighed.
I knew I'd been asleep because my eyes were sore, but I was still too tired to have woken up naturally. I fumbled for my phone and checked the time. I'd been asleep for a little over two hours. What the hell? Why was I awake?
Then I heard it: the tick tick tick of claws over a hard surface, like glass or metal.
I slid out of bed and reluctantly summoned Lucky. The pale, gauzy clouds swam around me, just a streak of gold for now, like my own atmosphere orbiting me. But in seconds I saw Lucky's dragon head beginning to form, and the gauziness took on the long, sinuous shape of a Chinese dragon.
It wasn’t often that I fed him enough energy to be visible like this. Usually I got by using sorcery that was very basic and didn't require Lucky materializing. But I told myself better safe than sorry, even though the sorry part could very well come from me losing control.
I sent him ahead of me and into the shop.
After silently parting the bead curtain I paused just at the threshold, listening. The shop was spooky enough without the lights on thanks to all the strange silhouettes, but knowing that half the objects were also cursed gave me another reason to shiver as I panned my gaze over the place.
Tick tick tick
I sent Lucky toward the sound. My dragon flew a loose circle around the left side of the room. That narrowed it down a bit, not that I felt comfortable putting my back to everything that was on the other side of the room. I displayed a few katanas and items that could be used as weapons there, but thankfully none of them were cursed with movement. At least, I hoped not. I guess I'd find out for certain when a spear pierced my back.
A fluttering sound, like the flapping of thick canvas, made me instinctively drop into a crouch. Lucky reared up, ready to attack. But nothing flew overhead. Breathing shallowly, I crawled toward the counter. I'd feel safer behind it and with the wall at my back.
As I rounded the counter, I realized I knew what had had made the noise. The only new thing in my inventory was the gargoyle statue. When I raised my eyes above the countertop, the gargoyle was gone from where it had sat. The cameos were quick to offer their opinions.
"You met the love of your life today…"
"…he'll try to kill you, Anne Moody."
"The cursed shall pay, Anne Moody!"
Yep, the damn gargoyle statue had come to life and was flying around Moonlight. Definitely a way to make me remember you, Christian.
Cringing, I fed more energy to Lucky now that I knew he faced something with physical substance and wasn't just a pesky ghost or spirit. The pull on my life energy was minimal. The danger lay in the tickle that ran across my skin as though thousands of invisible scales had just rippled. Lucky called to the dragon in me, but I had no intention of answering.
With the infusion of energy, Lucky became more opaque. His teeth could now sink in and make a rude impression, though a witch or sorcerer would be able to break the bite with a spike of power. A human would be able to shake him off with some effort. I wasn't worried about a human foe, however. Just a bit of carved stone—
Something smacked me in the side of the head, hard enough to knock me against the stool I kept behind the counter. Dazed, I looked up as something dark with widespread wings made a loop and then dive-bombed me again. Bright topaz eyes gleamed with malice—
Lucky crashed into the gargoyle and the two creatures tumbled through the air and hit a shelf full of Egyptian canopic jars. Thankfully the organ jars were empty because they disintegrated instantly, raining crumbled pottery on the floor. I willed Lucky to pursue the gargoyle. The two creatures zoomed through the shop, hunter and hunted.
I rose into a crouch, wincing and rubbing at my knee where it had hit the metal leg of the stool. Lucky and the gargoyle were engaged in a Snoopy versus the Red Baron-style aerial dogfight.
Lucky was guided by my will; he existed because of me. But sorcery and familiars were weird. I thought I could feel the stretch and pull of my muscles as Lucky battled the gargoyle. I caught myself twisting in sync with Lucky, as though my body movements guided his. My fingers on the countertop curled into claws.
No, I told myself anxiously, growing slightly panicked. I forced my fingers to lay flat atop the glass. Mentally, I took a giant step back.
The gargoyle spun free. It caught sight of me with its topaz eyes, and made a beeline for me. Its thick, leathery wings beat furiously to propel it. Its fangs opened wide—
Lucky surged forward and snapped its jaws around the gargoyle's hindquarters. I ordered Lucky down, and both bodies smashed to the floor with heavy thuds. Lucky pinned his foe down with a bite around the throat. The gargoyle hissed and flailed with its clawed feet. Its limbs were muscular and I could feel the resistance as it fought Lucky. My dragon tightened his jaws and shook the gargoyle like a dog with its favorite chew toy.
I quickly snapped the shop lights on and carefully approached the struggling pair of creatures. Lucky's golden body curled around the gargoyle like a giant boa constrictor. Cold radiated off of my magickal familiar in billows, like someone had opened a freezer and was swinging the door back and forth. Within Lucky's chilly grasp, the gargoyle snarled and trembled with apparent fury.
When I drew close enough, it noticed me, and turned its muscular head in my direction. Its gem eyes blazed like fire.
Help me, I heard in my head.
It wasn't the voice of a cameo. No, it was—
Anger-rage-fury-hatred—it all slammed into my brain like a mallet, and appropriately enough, I dropped like I'd just been hit by one.
~~~~~
Someone slapped me. I would have sicced Lucky on the offender except I couldn't remember exactly how to do that.
Panicked, I went with my backup plan: flailing like a wounded duck.
"No, no, Anne, calm down. You're safe now."
I recognized the voice of Celestina (no last name just like Rihanna), my fortune teller friend from next door. My eyes weren't closed; there was something covering them. I reached up and dragged the damp, folded towel off my face.
I was lying in my bed with Celestina sitting on the edge. She held my left hand in both of hers and was studying my palm.
"You're not going to charge me for that, are you?" I asked.
She smiled faintly but didn't look up from her inspection. "I should, to cover the money I lost when I had to shove my client out the door so I could come here." She patted my hand before setting it atop my stomach. "You have an interesting future. Also, you're a lousy neighbor."
Celestina was in her full get-up, which was as ridiculous as it was flattering on her. Her grandparents had immigrated to America from Santo Domingo, near the border with Haiti. But though she looked like and played the part of a Vodou mambo, Celestina was a former Huntington Beach surfing champion.
I sat up with a groan. "Sorry about that, Celestina. I don't know what happened." I eyed her warily. "What did you hear? Or see?"
"Lots of crashing noises. I was hoping that was just you getting some action." Celestina looked regretful. "I've got bad news: your front window is gone."
"Oh, great." I didn't want to begin to wonder how much that would cost me to replace. Then I sat up straighter. "How did you get over here? The wards—"
"Hurt like a son of a bitch." Celestina grimaced and rubbed her temples. "They work maybe too well. They bounced me back into the street like I'd got worked by a monster wave. I had to go to Orlaton for help."
"Whoa." I looked at her with new respect. "He doesn't like to leave the store."
"I know, but what was my alternative? I was worried. Anyway, he didn't leave his shop, big surprise. He told me how to break down your wards and then slammed the door in my face."
I didn't like that. "I'll need to talk to him about how he managed that."
"Good idea," Celestina agreed. "Anyway, I reached through the broken window and unlocked the door. You were unconscious on the floor." She paused. "I didn't see your familiar anywhere…"
"No, Lucky is out when I'm out." Same with sleeping, which made Lucky useless as a guard dog. Or make that guard dragon. "You didn't, er, happen to see anything moving around in the shop, did you?"
She gave me a wry look before tucking a long braid of dark hair beneath her headscarf. "Something like a scary stone monster?" She turned and yelled, "Lev!"
Vasclev, her on-again-off-again wolf shifter boyfriend, trotted through the bead curtain and up to the edge of the bed. He sat down, tongue lolling happily as his blue eyes focused intently on Celestina.
Lev was a beautiful wolf, with midnight black fur and those pale blue eyes, but the man loved being in the form too much. He needed to go to Shapeshifters Anonymous and break his addiction to transformation. Celestina, in a rare display of frustration, had one day confided in me that she had problems convincing Lev to shift back into human form long enough for them to have a meaningful relationship. She felt like she was dating a dog.
I was pretty sure Lev was the reason Celestina's palmistry and tarot reading shop also sold beef jerky.
"Lev, tell Anne about the stone monster."
The wolf whined and danced around a bit. He chuffed the way dogs do and then let out a frustrated-sounding howl. Celestina wasn't moved. She crossed her bangle covered arms and waited.
With a sigh—I'd had no idea wolves could sigh—Lev transformed, limbs elongating, hair dissolving. It was a disconcerting sight, kind of like watching your friend undergoing drastic, time lapse plastic surgery. I had to look away a couple of times until he was done. And when he was done—