Carole Douglas - Brimstone Kiss

"I get that you think I'm the only black-and-blue woman in the world, but how did you get to Godfrey about it if you CinSims aren't supposed to cross venues to contact each other? You two 'cousins' collaborated before when I was kidnapped by the Cicereau werewolf mob. Not that I'm not grateful, but what's that about?"

"Nightwine and Christophe keep lighter leashes on their CinSims."

"Why?"

"They got a heart?"

I rolled my eyes. "Please."

"They have an interest in the bigger picture in Vegas and they find us useful beyond being mere cosmetic curiosities."

"Hector and Snow are secret allies?"

"Nah, just brothers in individual enterprise. They don't like mobs moving in and taking over."

"Isn't that a little late for Vegas?"

"The Strip reinvents itself every day, Miss Street. Look at you. Hmm, don't mind if I do again. Nora would look splendid in that gown. What's wrong with our friend Rick there? I thought some female company would unlock his lips."

"I haven't really tried yet," I whispered, spinning back to my dour drinking partner. "Hey there, Mr. Blue."

He glanced up, weary and worn and unreachable. Casablanca had revealed that the cynical Rick had a sentimental, even a self-sacrificing streak. Better play the queen of hearts.

"Mr. Blaine," I said, all breathless, taking on pleading (ick) Mary Astor tones from The Maltese Falcon. Some of those thirties supposed femme fatales were manipulative wimps. "I've got to get out of Casablanca. The Nazis think I'm a spy. You know what they'll do to me. Mr. Ugarte said you had some letters of transit. I can pay whatever you want." I put a fake little catch in my voice that Sam Spade called Bridget O'Shaughnessy on in Maltese Falcon, widely available on DVD. "Whatever you want."

Rick Blaine's unfocused eyes raked me. "Yeah, I got the documents and you seem to have all the right accessories too."

Holy shit! Irma intruded. You've done your vamp act a bit too well. Let me handle this poor bastard for you. All of us girls have a bit of groupie in us. Except for you, Iron Virgin.

I tuned her out and concentrated on redirecting my source.

"I've got to get away to save my husband." Mention of a spouse usually put off the rogue womanizer and Rick had been forced to come to terms with Ilsa's marriage in the movie.

I saw some of that cinematic pain speed through Rick's glance. Then he reached into his suit pocket. For a precious visa I didn't really need?

He pulled out… a tiny case.

Rick frowned at the object. "This thing isn't what Ugarte left with me for safe-keeping. It's in the same pocket, though. I must be drunk."

I stared at what lay in his hand. It was wildly out of period with Casablanca , but not contemporary Las Vegas. It was my Lip Venom case, which I must have lost during the leap through the Egyptian goddess's moon-mirror headdress.

I'd been too woozy from crossing physical barriers to even notice it was gone.

"Ugarte said this was just what you needed," Rick droned on. "He said it was a matter of life and death that I get it to you. I feel like death, but I have. Mission accomplished, sweetheart. Now get out of my joint. I want to drown my sorrows in all that gin myself."

I edged off the bar stool and backed away, surprised and amazed and scared.

Peter Lorre-and somehow I thought the actor and not the CinSim had successfully struggled to escape his role to accomplish all this-had violated every physical law governing CinSims to get this to me, and had shaken Humphrey Bogart loose from his distant Inferno station to do it.

I wondered what the Invisible Man and his cohorts Sherlock Holmes and Ricardo Montalban would think of such a feat and what it could mean for a future CinSim insurrection.

Mostly I wondered whose life and death depended on my getting the message that Rick Blaine had brought me tonight.

"Loitering again?" a harsh voice asked.

I looked up, expecting Snow. He usually hassled me in the Inferno Bar.

Instead, it was his security chief, Grizelle, wearing heavy metal and black leather like a motorcycle nightmare goddess. The boss must be recovering from the Seven Deadly Sins performance. How do walking, strutting unhuman rock-star vibrators relax after the show?

The only things on my cell phone from my Karnak visit were photos. I needed more inside info on the Egyptians fast. The Internet would have that.

"I need a computer," I told Grizelle.

"They sell them online and at mall kiosks."

"Now. I need a computer right now!"

"Tough."

"It's a matter of life and death, at least so your CinSim over there says."

Her green eyes, brightened as they glanced Rick's way. They radiated fury.

"One of our CinSims? At large without permission? He must return immediately to his slot in the lower depths."

"Glad you can take the lost sheep in hand. First, Miss Bo Peep, point me to a computer."

Her head lashed back to me, white dreadlocks whipping against her black velvet cheeks. "You presume."

I said nothing, but my silver familiar loosened a string of rhinestones from my belt and whipped it around her tabby-shadow-patterned bare black forearm.

Her glossed lips snarled, but she backed down. "Use the one in the boss's office. I believe you know the way. It's empty."

"Fine. And, Nicky-" I turned to find my dapper ally looking a more than a little dead-white around the gills. "Please send me an Albino Vampire there. Snow said they were on the house. Eternally."

Grizelle glowered at Nicky. Nicky shrugged. Behind them, Rick Blaine glowered at his half-empty Brimstone Kiss glass, then eyed Grizelle with manly appreciation. Grizelle glowered at Rick.

I figured it was a draw all around and headed through the dancers and then the wandering crowds and the casino to Snow's office far behind the main floor.

The cell phone was in my metal mesh vintage purse, an unlikely partnership of technology and style, of current events and past fashion.

Despite its cool, metal sheath, it felt like a hot potato in my hand.

It felt heavy beyond the few ounces it weighed.

It felt like a matter of life and death that might mean the world to me.

HOW did the human race accomplish anything before the Internet became the fountain of all knowledge-good, bad and unreliable?

I tended to think these heavy thoughts because I was sitting in the tufted white leather chair behind Snow's desk, accessing the Internet from his desktop. What extremes of evil might be found on it with some adept snooping on my part?

But I was here to deal with grave matters of my own, not the state of Snow's soul.

Getting on Groggle always made me feel like I was cheating on a test in school. It was sinfully easy to bone up on any subject in a half hour or so. Obviously, I needed to research ancient Egyptian culture to get a handle on just what the Karnak was and what might be going on there.

First I confirmed that no Egyptian pharaohs had been named Kephron or Kepherati, and no royal twins ever had jointly ruled the Upper and Lower Kingdoms.

The sixty-four million-dollar question about the lavish managerial setup at the Karnak was who, or what, the over-devoted head pair were. Were they actual surviving ancient Egyptians hiding out? Were they deluded wealthy modern wannabes? And what were they doing in Las Vegas?

People today, fascinated by the richness and beauty of tomb treasure and the royal lifestyle, might think progressing to the afterlife was a high-end adventure tour. Not so. It was terrifying, Groggle revealed. The Egyptians didn't have things like The Book of the Dead and The Book of the Netherworld for nothing