She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer shortly after my twenty-third birthday.Long after the treatments failed, long after there was no hope left, she nonetheless went through every painful procedure, just to wring out a few more months, weeks, even days.Because every minute she lived was a minute that the clan couldn’t touch me.A minute closer to twenty-five, the age of majority under Were custom, at which time I could formally declare my emancipation from the clan.
She missed it by less than a week.Two days after she died, I was attacked by eight clan members determined to bring Larentia Lobizón’s only child into the fold before time ran out, whether I liked it or not.They forgot one little detail: I was Guillame de Croissets’ daughter, too, and a war mage in my own right.Not to mention that, while Father is retired, he’s far from helpless.Both of us were half crazy with grief at the time of the attack, which hadn’t even waited for the funeral.The result was a bloodbath spread across three blocks, resulting in six dead Weres, two fires, over five million dollars in property damage, and headlines in all the local papers.
The Circle covered it up as a gang war, but I received a black mark on my record for letting the fight become public, as well as a quick transfer. The result, where the clan was concerned, was still to be determined.I somehow doubted I was going to like the outcome.
Gil was looking at me expectantly, like I was supposed to spill my guts and give him all the sordid little details, as if there weren’t enough already in my file.The only thing the Circle didn’t know was why I’d been attacked.Thanks to Dad’s quick thinking and the clan’s refusal to discuss their business with outsiders, most people thought it was the result of some old family feud.And it was going to stay that way.
“Why are you expected to do anything?Sir,” I added belatedly, in response to his scowl.“The Weres usually handle this sort of thing themselves.”
“That’s what I said when their council threw this mess in my lap, thereby buying myself a royal ass-chewing.”He tapped the glossy photo.“And I mean that literally.This one happens to be the daughter of the king.”
“There’s no such thing. The leading clans do elect abardric, an overall chief, in times of crisis, but Sebastian has to lead through consensus.It’s not the same as—”
“I don’t care what you people call it,” Gil broke in irritably.
“There is no ‘you people!’I amnota Were!”
“You’re not going to be a war mage, either, if you don’t find that little bitch,” he said, shoving the file into my hands.“Now get out of here.”
* * *
Two hours later, Iwas standing outside the velvet ropes cordoning off the high roller table at a local casino.Despite the stakes, the game was pretty boring, mainly because it was so one-sided.Not surprisingly, considering that one of the players was cheating like mad.
I’d been watching him for almost an hour, and I had to admit he was good.If I hadn’t known what to look for, I might have missed it.It was a small thing, just the slight twitch and flare of a nostril.It could have been a nervous habit or a tell, only this guy was too good to have either.And there was the fact that it happened every time someone made a bet.
“I raise.”The skinny blond kid at the end of the table, who looked really out of place in this gimlet-eyed group, threw in a handful of thousand-dollar chips.I guess he was too young to have heard the old saying: if you’re at the table more than a few minutes and you can’t identify the sucker, youarethe sucker.
The brunet settled back in his seat, eyelids drooping over whiskey-colored eyes, handsome face as pleasantly blank as it had been all night.It went with the rest of the package: a well-muscled body done up in good-old-boy denim, cowboy boots, and a sleepy expression.Almost as if playing for a pot that rivaled my yearly salary bored him.He threw in a sizeable chunk of his chips.“Call.”
The blond’s confident expression faltered as he turned over his hand: three jacks.It was good, but not great—not with a pot like that.He’d been bluffing, and I had a feeling his opponent knew it.The brunet let the tension draw out for a few long seconds, then casually flipped over a full house.“Better luck next time, kid,” he said.It didn’t sound much like he meant it.
He cashed out, probably afraid that winning any more would put his name on the casino’s suspect list, and headed out the front door.I let him get a small head start, then followed.I needed help to crack this case and, odd as it seemed, he was my best chance to get it.
Fremont Street is where the locals go to drink and gamble, in that order.But despite living in Vegas for six months, I’d never been among them.There was too much temptation to do a spell to skew the odds in my favor, and thereby violate the ban on magical interference in human games of chance.Rigging the games risked letting the human authorities, who monitored them closer than terrorism, discover the existence of the supernatural community.As a result, it was a serious no-no.The kind that carried a possible death penalty.
It was the coercive potential of that little fact that had me following a werewolf through the holiday crowds, while huge, goggle-eyed faces stared down at us like neon gods from the psychedelic arch overhead.Despite everything, he’d never lost the loose-hipped saunter of the upper clans, the one that said the whole world was there for him to walk on.The stride looked casual, but it ate up a lot of ground.I lost him in the crowd around an aging busker belting outSilver Bellsfrom the bed of a rusty pickup.
I dodged the cops converging on the illegally parked vehicle and stared around, grimacing.My quarry was nowhere in sight, meaning he’d probably ducked into one of the clubs.But which one?The buxom redheads or the fetish-clad blondes?I mentally flipped a coin and decided on the blondes.A pert version with black eyebrows and a twenties-era bob gave me an odd look, but let me in.
The lights were down in preparation for the next act, and there was enough smoke in the air to count as a screen, but I thought I saw him lolling at the bar.I was sure of it when he suddenly stood up as I approached, the scowl on his face visible even in the bad light.I decided not to take chances.The guy could move like quicksilver; it had been hard enough tailing him when he wasn’t trying to evade me.
He slowly sat back down, eyeing his left hand, which was glued to the bar top by the remains of his whiskey glass.It had been a thick, substantial piece that made a nice puddle when it liquefied, then solidified almost immediately, serving as a makeshift handcuff.Along with his fingers, the spell had trapped a little Santa-on-a-stick that had decorated the now evaporated booze.It grinned cheerfully out at the world, like a bug caught in amber.
“Hello, Cyrus.”I appropriated an empty stool on his right.“Miss me?”
“You owe me a drink,” he said, trying to flex his fingers and failing.“I’ll tell my lawyers to add it to the bill when I sue you for assault.”
“Two bourbons, straight up.”I slid a twenty over the sticky counter to the bartender, who thanks to the dim light had yet to notice the mess.“It’s on me.You’ll need your money for bail.”
Cyrus slammed his free hand down, shattering the glass and making several nearby patrons jump.He began digging chunks out of his palm.“I’m being arrested?On what charge?”
“You’re a lone wolf, without clan protection.Do I need one?”
“The last time I checked, yes!”
“Hmm.”I sucked on a pretzel while the bartender poured our drinks.“Then I guess I’ll have to go with endangering the Secrecy Act.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
