Ilona Andrews: Hex Appeal

The strange man looked as if he had just played a trick, or pushed back the curtain, or produced a coin from her ear. Julie suddenly remembered where she’d seen him before: in a photo on a poster outside the casino’s smaller theater. The magic show. “You’re Odysseus Grant.”

“Hello, Julie,” he said. He’d seen the name tag on her uniform vest. Nothing magical about it.

“But you’re a magician,” she said.

“There are different kinds of magic.”

“You’re not talking about pulling rabbits out of hats, are you?”

“Not like that, no.”

They were moving against the flow of a crowd; a show at one of the theaters must have just let out. Grant moved smoothly through the traffic; Julie seemed to bang elbows with every single person she encountered.

They left the wide and sparkling cavern of the casino area and entered the smaller, cozier hallway that led to the hotel wing. The ceilings were lower here, and plastic ficus plants decorated the corners. Grant stopped at the elevators and pressed the button.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You really should take a break, like your pit boss said.”

“No, I want to know what’s going on.”

“Because a cheater is ripping off your employer?”

“No, because he’s ripping off me. ” She crossed her arms. “You said it’s the same person who’s been doing this, but I couldn’t spot him. How did you spot him?”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. How would you even know what to look for? There’s no such thing as magic, after all.”

“Well. Something’s going on.”

“Indeed. You really should let me handle this—”

“I want to help.”

The doors slid open, and Julie started to step through them, until Grant grabbed her arm so hard she gasped. When he pulled back, she saw why: The elevator doors had opened on an empty shaft, an ominous black tunnel with twisting cable running down the middle. She’d have just stepped into that pit without thinking.

She fell back and clung to Grant’s arm until her heart sank from her throat.

“He knows we’re on to him,” Grant said. “Are you sure you want to help?”

“I didn’t see it. I didn’t even look.”

“You expected the car to be there. Why should you have to look?”

She would never, ever take a blind step again. Always, she would creep slowly around corners and tread lightly on the ground before her. “Just like no one expects a housewife or a businessman from the Midwest to cheat at table games in Vegas.”

“Just so.”

The elevator doors slid shut, and the hum of the cables, the ding of the lights, returned to normal. Normal—and what did that mean again?

“Maybe we should take the stairs,” Julie murmured.

“Not a bad idea,” Grant answered, looking on her with an amused glint in his eye that she thought was totally out of place, given that she’d almost died.

Down another hallway and around a corner, they reached the door to the emergency stairs. The resort didn’t bother putting any frills into the stairwell, which most of its patrons would never see: The tower was made of echoing concrete, the railings were steel, the stairs had nonskid treads underfoot. The stairs seemed to wind upward forever.

“How do you even know where he is? If he knows you’re looking for him, he’s probably out of town by now.”

“We were never following him. He’s never left his room.”

“Then who was at my table?”

“That’s a good question, isn’t it?”

It was going to be a long, long climb.

Grant led, and Julie was happy to let him do so. At every exit door, he stopped, held before it a device that looked like an old-fashioned pocket watch, with a brass casing and a lumpy knob and ring protruding. After regarding the watch a moment, he’d stuff it back in his trouser pocket and continue on.

She guessed he was in his thirties, but now she wasn’t sure—he seemed both young and old. He moved with energy, striding up the stairs without pause, without a hitch in his breath. But he also moved with consideration, with purpose, without a wasted motion. She’d never seen his show and thought now that she might. He’d do all the old magic tricks, the cards and rings and disappearing-box trick, maybe even pull a rabbit from a hat, and his every motion would be precise and enthralling. And it would all be tricks, she reminded herself.

After three flights, she hauled herself up by the railing, huffing for air. If Grant was frustrated at the pauses she made on each landing, he didn’t let on. He just studied his watch a little longer.

Finally, on about the fifth or sixth floor, he consulted his watch and lifted an eyebrow. Then he opened the door. Julie braced for danger—after the empty elevator shaft, anything could happen: explosions blasting in their faces, ax-wielding murderer waiting for them, Mafioso gunfight—but nothing happened.

“Shall we?” Grant said, gesturing through the doorway as if they were entering a fancy restaurant.

She wasn’t sure she really wanted to go, but she did. Leaning in, she looked both ways, up and down the hallway, then stepped gingerly on the carpet, thinking it might turn to quicksand and swallow her. It didn’t. Grant slipped in behind her and closed the door.

This wing of the hotel had been refurbished in the last few years and still looked newish. The carpet was thick, the soft recessed lighting on the russet walls was luxurious and inviting. In a few more years, the décor would start to look worn, and the earth tones and geometric patterns would look dated. Vegas wore out things the way it wore out people. For now, though, it was all very impressive.

They lingered by the emergency door; Grant seemed to expect something to happen. Consulting his watch again, he turned it to the left and right, considering. She craned her neck, trying to get a better look at it. It didn’t seem to have numbers on its face.

“What’s that thing do?” she asked.

“It points,” he said.

Of course it did.

He moved down the hallway to the right, glancing at the watch, then at doorways. At the end of the hall, he stopped and nodded, then made a motion with his hands.

“More magic?” she said, moving beside him.

“No. Lockpick.” He held up a flat plastic key card. “Universal code.”

“Oh my God, if the resort knew you were doing this—and I’m right here with you. I could lose my job—”

“They’ll never find out.”

She glanced to the end of the hallway, to the glass bubble in the ceiling where the security camera was planted.

“Are you sure about that? Am I supposed to just trust you?”

His lips turned a wry smile. “I did warn you that you probably ought to stay out of this. It’s not too late.”

“What, and take the elevator back down? I don’t think so.”

“There you go—you trust me more than the elevator.”

She crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m not sure I agree with that logic.”

“It isn’t logic,” he said. “It’s instinct. Yours are good, you should listen to them.”

She considered—any other dealer, any sane dealer, would have left the whole problem to Ryan and security. Catching cheaters once they left the table was above her pay grade, as they said. But she wanted to know. The same prickling at her neck that told her something was wrong with yesterday’s businessman and today’s housewife also told her that Odysseus Grant had answers.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“Keep a lookout.”

He slipped the card in the lock, and the door popped open. She wouldn’t have been surprised if an unassuming guest wrapped in a bath towel screamed a protest, but the room was unoccupied. After a moment, Grant entered and began exploring.