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I frowned some more. “It’s convenient. MAGIC used to be there,” I said, talking about the supernatural version of the UN. Which had recently suffered a small setback in the form of an angry god. “They’re talking about building it back. And even if they don’t, a lot of groups still have reps in the area—”
“Those yard-long beers, always a draw.”
“—and Dante’s currently has the best wards anywhere!” The Senate had moved in temporarily while they sorted out long-term accommodations, and they’d upgraded the security almost immediately. “It makes sense to stay there.”
“You just like it there,” Tami accused.
I didn’t deny it. Despite the glitter and the glamour, Vegas had started to feel like home. And what were my alternatives? Going back to Philly? Because I didn’t have such great memories there. Or Atlanta? Where, yes, things had been better, if by better you mean living in constant fear of getting caught by my crazy old vamp master and then almost dying. I’d met some nice people in Atlanta, but it’s hard to make friends when you know you’re basically endangering them all. So, okay, but nothing I missed.
I thought I might miss Vegas.
There were places I’d been with people I did call friends. Memories I’d made, even whacked-out ones, that were important to me. And people . . .
Lots of people I cared about, even if some of them were currently acting like asses.
I glanced around. Someplace like this, I’d forever feel out of place, inadequate, like a little girl dressing up in mommy’s clothes, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. While in Vegas . . . you could be anybody you wanted to be. I’d often thought that was the real allure of the place. Not the cheap beer or the chance to get rich—which, on the Strip, at least, was basically zero—or the clubs or the shows. But a chance to try on a new skin for a while, to do something different, to be someone different.
A banker could be a biker.
A secretary could be a seductress.
And a palm reader could be Pythia.
Plus, London might be more posh, but it was also more structured. Everybody who’d been with the old court was here. If I came back, I’d be expected to do things their way, the old way. But in Vegas . . . it would be my court. And maybe it wouldn’t be as serene or as perfect, but . . .
But it might be more fun.
“I think we’ll stay there for a while, see how it goes,” I told her nonchalantly.
Tami shot me a look. “Well, wherever you stay, you need a bigger place—a lot bigger. You need some impressive areas for receiving guests. You need somewhere you can talk, with some damned privacy—”
“I need in that safe,” I reminded her. “Are you almost there?”
“Give it a minute,” Tami said, unconcerned. Because I guess after you break into a couple dozen Circle-run establishments, one little safe doesn’t seem like a big deal. “And a decorator,” she added. “The last thing you need is to let whoever designed that damned hellscape of a hotel anywhere near—”
“You could do it,” I blurted out, before I thought.
And damn it! I’d planned to wait a bit to say anything, like until I had some money. But too late now.
“You could help with . . . a lot of things,” I finished awkwardly, because she was looking at me.
“You offering me a job?”
“A . . . sort of job.”
“What’s a sort of job?” Ms. Practical asked.
“A . . . job with a delayed paycheck,” I said, wincing. “But just until I can pry the money out of Jonas,” I added quickly.
“You gave us a place to stay when the kids and I would have been out on the street. You got me a pardon from Marsden, to keep him from locking me up. I think I can forgo the salary for a while,” she said dryly.
“Then you’re on board?”
“On board as what? Chief babysitter? ’Cause I can do that, but—”
“No. I was thinking more like chief . . . coordinator. You can hire the babysitters and the tutors and whatever else we need. You can help me find a place for the court. You can help, well . . . coordinate things.”
I couldn’t be any more specific than that, since I didn’t even know what we needed. I hadn’t ever really thought about a court, not of my own. The one here in London had always been Agnes’ in my head, and somehow, the fact that it was mine now just hadn’t registered. Probably because the idea scared me to death.
