Carrie Vaughn - Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand

“I see how it is,” Nick said, behind a laugh. “You have to lure us here because you don’t have the guts to come after us.”

Grant’s jaw tightened, like he had to keep anger in check. Then he smiled faintly, but it was cold, challenging. “A dozen of you against one of me? I’m not foolish.”

“Sure, right,” Nick said. “And what are you doing with her? Think you can use her to cut some kind of deal?”

“Nobody uses me for anything,” I said, though I was clearly out of my depth. This was a long-running argument, a rivalry that went deeper than I could see from my vantage. But if I stuck around, maybe I’d learn something.

“We were just having a conversation. Like reasonable people do,” Grant said.

“This is stupid,” Nick said. He’d begun pacing, fists clenched at his side, going a few steps up and down the aisle, like a tiger. “We could bring you down. If we went public, people would know we were monsters—and celebrate us for it. While you’d still be a two-bit magician.” He jabbed a finger at Grant, who didn’t flinch.

“You only think that,” Grant said, ever calm. “If you went public, you’d be nothing more than a freakshow. You’d lose every advantage you have. Balthasar knows that.”

I said, “Ah, do either of you want to explain to me what’s going on here?”

“Not your concern,” Grant said. “I’m sorry you had to see this much of it.”

“There’s some kind of feud between you and Balthasar’s troupe. I can see that much.”

“Feud?” Nick said, laughing. “It’s a war.”

“Over what?” I said.

Grant hadn’t taken his gaze off the lycanthrope. He said, “The nature of the universe.”

Now I laughed. “You’re joking.”

But neither of them reacted, locked in some epic stare-down. Odysseus Grant tapped the deck he was holding twice, then turned up the first card: ace of spades. Nick flinched but immediately straightened again and didn’t give ground.

“You really ought to leave,” Grant said.

“I will. I just came to deliver a message. To her.” He moved toward the stage, toward me, pulling something out of his pocket.

Grant moved to intercept us—to shield me from him. Frankly, though, I didn’t know who to be more worried about.

“Give this to her,” Nick said, tossing the thing from his pocket up to Grant. Still watching Nick, Grant handed it back to me.

It was a plastic bag holding a scrap of cloth, part of the collar of a white T-shirt. I opened it. The smell of Ben hit me, filled me. The plastic had preserved the scent.

My stomach turned to ice. “Where is he?”

Nick shrugged. “Balthasar said that would get your attention.”

Shit. My second thought was, not again. How many times could a guy need rescuing? Assuming there was something left to rescue.

“Why?” I said, my voice taut. “What does Balthasar want with him?”

“I guess you’ll have to go find out.”

I started running.

“Kitty!” Grant called, finally turning from Nick to reach after me. I stopped to listen. “It’s a trap. You know that.”

“So? Give me an alternative.”

He didn’t. Couldn’t. Nick wore an amused smile, like he was enjoying himself way too much. I ran past him, out of the theater. Nick might have followed me. I didn’t wait around to see.

Boris and Sylvia were still out there, which was one thing too many to worry about. If I moved fast enough, they wouldn’t spot me. So I just had to move faster.

But times like this, panic made time move way too slowly.

I caught a cab, thinking that would give me some protection from the bounty hunters. From their point of view, I’d have just disappeared, I hoped. I left Nick behind. Saw him run out the doors, then stop, looking after me—he was smiling. Because I was walking into the trap, but what choice did I have? I made phone calls to Evan and Brenda. That they didn’t answer meant they were in a situation where they couldn’t have their phones on. Or they were ignoring me. I left messages telling them about Boris and Sylvia at the Diablo, and about Balthasar’s troupe at the Hanging Gardens. I didn’t have time to wait for them. I also left a message with Detective Gladden. I didn’t know what he would make of all this. I had no idea what my voice must have sounded like, if my messages would even be comprehensible.

Worry about that later.

I sat in the back seat, glancing out all the windows, looking over my shoulder, afraid of what I’d find following me. The car didn’t go fast enough, of course, and I was having trouble catching my breath.

The driver glanced at me in his rearview mirror. “You look like you’re late for your wedding or something,” he said.

That was hilarious. I covered my mouth and giggled.

Finally, we arrived at the Hanging Gardens. I paid the driver too much and left the door open in my hurry to rush into the hotel. People stared as I ran past. But hey, surely panicked people ran through the lobbies of Vegas hotels all the time. How many little tragedies happened in this town every day? I bet someone got jilted at the altar all the time. I wasn’t anything special.

I reprimanded myself. I hadn’t been jilted at the altar. No need to go inventing tragedies for myself. There were enough real ones in the making at the moment.

I didn’t know what time it was. Late. Really late, or really early, depending on your point of view. The crowds had actually thinned out. A few people wandered. A group of young drunks, bellowing laughter, leaned on each other as they walked. A few people sat in front of slot machines, staring like zombies, pressing the button over and over and over again. A janitor was wiping down a railing around the casino area. This was like the tail end of a party that a few lonely people refused to let end. It was tiring to see, and sad.

I stalled out where the lobby branched off to various sections of the hotel: casino, elevators, restaurants, theater. Where did I find Balthasar? In his suite? Where had he taken Ben? I couldn’t scent anything; this whole place smelled like Balthasar and his troupe. Searching for a single lycanthrope here would be like trying to find a single piece of chocolate in a candy store.

And any minute now, Boris, Sylvia, or Nick would walk through the door, intent on catching me. I had to find Ben first.

I headed to the theater.

I searched for an unlocked backstage door and found it around the corner from the box office, an emergency exit tucked away from the main thoroughfare. I shoved through it to a darkened corridor and kept going. I didn’t have time to get my bearings, to catch the scent of anything but generic backstage smells, compounded by the reek of lycanthropes in the heart of their territory. My vision was going fuzzy, with the Wolf’s way of seeing in light and shadow that was much better suited for prairie and forest than a Vegas hotel.

Then I stopped. This was ridiculous. I couldn’t take on a pack of lycanthropes by myself. And did I seriously think they would listen to me while I gave them a reasoned argument about why they should let Ben go? That wasn’t going to work. This wasn’t the way to go about doing this. I hadn’t heard back yet from any of my contacts. But that didn’t mean I was on my own. I pulled out my phone and called information to get to the Hanging Gardens casino switchboard, then get a hold of casino security. Much more practical than me charging in there and getting myself killed. This was their job, after all.

But it was already too late. I heard footsteps down the corridor, heavy and barefoot, skin against concrete. The door where I’d come from opened again, and two men came through—members of Balthasar’s pack. Our gazes met, and I could see the hunt in their eyes.