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1
NEW YEAR’S EVE - LAS VEGAS
Weaving her way through the casino, the cries of jackpot winners fueled her inner gambler while the stench of those who’d lost permeated the air.
Rhia Grant wished she could block it all out, but her inherent ability to read people with a mere glance was both a blessing and a curse. Their desperation kept her bank account nicely padded, which allowed her to remain independent of her mother’s coven.
This town ate good people up fast, but she couldn’t let that sway her need for autonomy and keep her in hiding far away from a destiny hanging over her head since birth. She’d make her own way in life, thank you very much.
Her gaze caught a red-faced tourist in ripped, faded wanna-be rock star jeans was screaming at his girlfriend-mistress-whatever. She ignored the obvious domestic meltdown to come, and continued her even paced stride down the red, purple and orange carpeted corridor of the Luck of the Draw Casino and Resort.
The crowd assembled on this Wednesday was as varied as the garish flooring the dip in business was probably giving her current client heart palpitations. Manny Torres was on the short list with his "investors" and most likely sweating bullets waiting for her and her good-fortune potion.
Let him.
She hurried for no one.
And certainly not for a man who had trouble with off-table betting when he wasn't harassing waitresses. She was here to deliver a potion, collect her fee and make it home in time for her favorite show and maybe a couple hours of getting lost in a Regency romance.
She turned the handle on the door marked UTILITY - NO ENTRANCE, then winked at the closed-circuit camera when it whirled to capture her image. The lock disengaged with a loud click. She turned the handle, then walked through without a backward glance. Soon she was in the underbelly of the casino.
Everyone here thought she was a college student studying resort management. A good cover when you dealt with gamblers, desperate housewives, and wannabes of every kind. Today’s outfit consisted of a mud-brown jacket, a polyester skirt and her ever present thick framed fake glasses. No one ever gave her a second glance.
She dressed to blend, not to impress.
Continuing down the cold confines of the hallway, Rhia raised a hand to the back of her head to make sure her shoulder-length hair was still safely secured. She'd swept it into a tight bun to complete her dowdy image.
After winding her way through a maze of complicated turns and false walls, Rhia arrived at her destination. She knocked twice on the red door so out of place in the industrial decor, it screamed "vice happening here". Manny opened the door, flashing her a crooked smile. "Right on time Rhia."
"Always for you, Manny." She paused. "And your money."
"Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I've already wired the money to your account and I need to get back up to one of our whale's suite in ten. Damn high rollers are a constant drain on my time. Where's the vial?"
"Now Manny, rushing me is never a good idea." Rhia sat down in the leather chair beside the outdated see-through glass desk.
Manny shifted from side to side. "C'mon kid, you have no idea what I'm up against this time."
"Oh, I'm sure I can guess. But it doesn't matter. It's never going to change till you're ready and in the meantime, your habit is money in my pocket." She shot back.
After a brief stare down, she sighed, and took pity on her best customer. He used to be somebody in this town, once an owner of his own casino. But when you started believing your own hype and broke rules meant for smarter men, then you got what you deserved. Manny was no different from the thousands of others who let Las Vegas drag them down and out.
She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew the coveted vial. Her potions kept her independent from the smothering coven she’d left ten years ago and were highly sought after. By the wrong people usually. But that was another aspect of her profession she chose to ignore. Being beholden to no one was her goal.
Manny greedily reached for her hand and the vial that would guarantee him good fortune. At least for the next six days. She was no fool. If she made her potions with no expiration date, she'd never have repeat customers. And her bank balance depended on repeat business.
She held her closed hand out of his reach. “Uh-uh. You know the drill. Let me check my account, verify the deposit, and it's all yours."
Manny wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. The Luck of the Draw's Pit Boss nodded and waited. Irony at its best.
Rhia took out her smart phone and, with a few swipes and a couple taps on the screen, smiled then presented her coveted creation to Manny. "As always, it's been a pleasure." She stood up to leave, then paused. The now mesmerized pit boss acted like he was going to down the entire vial in one swallow. "Don't forget to dilute it, Manny. I don't think I need to remind you about last year's incident, hmm?"
"Yeah, yeah. Lesson learned." He grumbled and moved to his wet bar in the corner of the shabby gray office. He poured a two-finger bourbon, straight. Dumping the entire contents into the glass, he downed his six-day good luck guarantee. "Thank you, Rhia."
She watched as his chest puffed out, his posture straightened, then he smiled. One of the side benefits of the potion. Confidence.
“Okay, I’m out of here. Until next time.” She’d spent enough time in this sad man cave.
“Hold on there, kid. I have some friends who are very interested in this stuff. As a matter of fact, they’re up in the suite I mentioned right now.” Manny’s eyes darted around the room, then he ran an index finger inside the glass, running it around the inside to gather the dregs of the concoction.
