I nodded, but his words made less of an impression on my fried brain than the little head in the center of the table. It had finished talking to the bar and was now humming along with the music, which was quite a trick for a piece of plastic. I guess normal tourists thought there was some sort of microphone hidden inside the things that relayed their orders, but I knew better. I’d seen one of these before.
We were in Dante’s zombie bar—the one known as Headliners because of the gruesome decorations and top-notch, if sadly deceased, entertainers. From past experience, I knew that the heads posing as centerpieces were fake, but not the way the tourists thought. They were enchanted copies designed to look like the only real one in the place, whose desiccated remains were suspended between two carved wooden masks behind the bar. It was rumored to have belonged to a gambler who had unwisely welshed on a bet. I heard him warn one guy that, at this casino, gambling money you didn’t have wouldn’t get you a little ahead. It would get you “a little head.”
The woman who had thrown the thong, a buxom blonde who had about five pounds to go before another adjective would be required, snatched her property off the floor and gave Marlowe an evil look. She stood by the stage and flapped the tiny piece of lace like it was a handkerchief, but Elvis’ eyes were far too glazed to notice. His face was the color of mildewed grout and his jet-black toupee had slid to the right, exposing a line of greenish white flesh over his left ear. Fortunately, he’d segued into “Love Me Tender,” which didn’t require so many gyrations. Maybe the toupee would last the night after all.
The head stopped humming when the song ended and rolled its eyes around to me. “Did you hear about the comedian who entertained at a werewolves’ party?” it asked chattily. Marlowe and I ignored it. “He had them howling in the aisles!”
A zombie waiter dressed in a Hawaiian shirt that clashed with his gray skin and Bermuda shorts that showed off his shriveled legs was threading his way through the tables in our direction. I watched him come closer and realized that without knowing it I’d finished off the martini Marlowe had given me. The alcohol did seem to have helped my head, but not my mood, which was getting darker by the minute. I had a good reason: Tomas had been right; the geis was still there.
That constant miserable pressure was back. I could feel it, a shimmering cord stretching from me across the desert to MAGIC. I tried strengthening my shields, but the glimmering strands shot right through them. But at least there was no crushing pain this time. Maybe becoming Pythia had gained me something, after all, or maybe the geis just needed time to compensate for my new power level. In any case, I was grateful for the reprieve.
“Where are the others?” I asked. Billy could be a real help letting us know when the Circle’s reinforcements were coming.
“I have not seen the pixie or the girl. But the mage came through the portal with you,” Marlowe said, keeping an eye on the six figures that had fanned out on either side of the entrance. They were all weaving long leather topcoats that had to be stifling even in air-conditioning. Coats that looked like copies of Pritkin’s. Several more, I noticed now, were in a similar position near the small side exit. “I rendered him unconscious and locked him in the back room.”
“That won’t hold him for long.”
“Cassie, if we’re here much longer, Pritkin will be the least of our worries.” The waiter sat a pitcher of martinis and a dish of olives on the table. Marlowe appropriated the pitcher, leaving me only a coconut carved to resemble one of the shrunken heads. The pina colada inside had possibly had a bottle of rum waved over it at some point, but none had made it inside. I sighed and drank it anyway.
“Okay, how about a riddle,” the head burbled. “What’s the best way to a vampire’s heart?” It paused for a couple of beats. “Through his rib cage!”
The big blonde, who’d been getting increasingly strident in her attempts to gain the King’s attention, finally decided the heck with it and crawled up onstage. Despite wearing stiletto heels, she managed to get within a few feet of him before the bar’s discreetly dressed security people grabbed her. Casanova, who was standing next to the stage, smoothed over the potential debacle by sending in a handsome Latino. The no-doubt incubus-possessed man led the woman off to the bar with a smile that promised to make her forget all about dead rock stars.
“If that was Casanova’s idea of a diversion, he falls really short of his reputation.”
“It wasn’t.” Marlowe sounded sure.
“How do you know?”
“Because, unless I miss my guess, the cavalry has arrived.”
I followed his gaze to where a trio of terribly old Greeks had just toddled into view, bearing gifts. They didn’t come through the main entrance, where the mages had visibly stiffened at the sight of them, but from the side door near the bar. The guards for that door had disappeared. One of the bartenders, a gorgeous guy wearing only a pith helmet and a tiny pair of khaki shorts, caught sight of the threesome and poured half a bottle of Chivas on the bar before he noticed.
“A tough audience, huh?” the head asked. “Okay, but did you hear the one about the guy who couldn’t keep up payments to his exorcist? He was repossessed. Ha! Now, go ahead, tell me that’s not funny!”
“It’s not funny,” Marlowe said, unfolding his napkin.
“Hey, wait! I got a thousand of them! How about the—” Thankfully, the heavy cotton folds of the napkin cut the thing off before I kicked it across the room.
Deino approached our table with a toothless grin. “Birt’ Day!” she said, beaming at me. I started in surprise: they were the first English words I’d heard her use, and it was obvious that she was proud of herself. I might have been more admiring if she hadn’t followed her greeting by plopping a bucket of bloody entrails on the table right under my nose.
I looked at Marlowe fearfully. “Please tell me that isn’t—”
“It’s not human,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. “Cow, I think.”
Pemphredo plopped a newspaper full of casino chips onto the table beside her sister’s gift. None were the red and blue ones I use: most were black, with a few five-hundred-dollar purple ones scattered about here and there. I counted more than four thousand dollars at just a glance. I closed my eyes in despair—all I needed were the human police after me, too. Not to be outdone, Enyo placed a large three-tiered cake beside the other two gifts. It was covered in something slimy and green, which I guessed was supposed to be icing. I decided not to ask why it smelled like pesto.
Deino dumped the remaining piña colada out of my coconut shell and filled it with a generous measure of blood and guts. She shoved it under my nose and beamed at me. “Birt’ Day!”
I managed not to gag. “Why are they doing this?” I asked Marlowe, who was looking almost as disgusted as I felt. Vamps don’t drink animal blood. It does nothing for them and many find it actually repugnant.
“As a guess? They are making an offering. In the ancient world, blood sacrifices were common. If I were you, I’d be grateful they aren’t slicing up a virgin on the table. Perhaps they couldn’t find one in Vegas.”
“Ha, ha. What am I supposed to do with—” That was as far as I got. If I hadn’t been so grossed out, I’d have noticed earlier that zombie Elvis had stopped singing halfway through a lackluster rendition of “All Shook Up” and was now trying to climb down from the stage.
Marlowe was on his feet. “We have to get rid of the bucket!”
I looked around at the close-packed tables full of clueless tourists. “How?”
Elvis scattered the handful of security types who had rushed forward and lurched toward our table. His eyes were no longer dull, but were filled with a burning hunger as they zeroed in on the bloody bucket. Then one of the guards with more muscle than sense grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to whirl him around. All he succeeded in doing was knocking the toupee the rest of the way off, revealing the top of an exposed brain. I guessed the voodoo types Casanova kept on staff had been a lit
tle overworked after the recent raid and had skimped on the repair work. That probably hadn’t been a good business decision.
The sight of a gray-faced, slack-jawed zombie glowering from under a pulsing, bloody brain pretty much tore it for the people at nearby tables. Several of them let out screams, and they collectively knocked over chairs and one another in the stampede to get away. Other customers, who were too far back to get the full effect, began clapping, assuming that this was part of the night’s entertainment. I wondered whether they’d still think so after Elvis downed the appetizer and started looking for a main course.
“Cassie!” Dimly, like an echo of an echo, I heard Billy’s voice. I looked around but couldn’t see him anywhere in the pandemonium.
Marlowe tugged me backwards, but my equilibrium hadn’t returned and I lost my footing. I clutched at the table, trying to steady myself, while Elvis got a grip on the bucket’s handle. Deino screeched and grabbed her offering, starting a furious tug of war. It slopped blood all over the tabletop, which was only a circle of glass perched on top of a grinning tiki head. Clots of coagulating blood spattered Françoise’s beautiful dress and I instinctively grabbed a napkin to wipe them off but was stopped by an angry vampire.
“Forget that!” Marlowe gave me a little shake. “We have to get out of here!”
I gestured at the flood of mages who’d started pouring in the door. Ours wasn’t the only cavalry to have come charging over the hill. “How?” I screamed.
“Can’t you shift?”
The realization hit me that there was no longer any reason not to use my power. Whether I liked it or not, I was Pythia. I nodded, but before I could get an image of the street outside the casino, I heard Billy’s voice again, and he sounded desperate. “Billy! Get in here!”
“What is it?” Marlowe demanded.
“Be quiet!” It was hard enough to hear as it was, without him bellowing in my ear. Billy had said something else, but I’d missed it. “Billy! I can’t hear you!”
“Don’t shift! I’m stuck.”
“He says he’s stuck,” I told Marlowe, just as the blonde got loose from her keeper and jogged over to be nearer her idol. A guard intercepted her, and in her struggle to get away she knocked into me. I lost my footing and went down just as a fireball from one of the mages sizzled overhead, barely missing me and setting Marlowe’s doublet ablaze on its way to destroy the tiki bar. He had the garment off faster than I could blink, then looked around frantically for somewhere to dispose of it safely. Magical fire burns like phosphorus, so the options were kind of limited. He solved the problem by whipping it back the way it had come, where it sizzled out against the mage’s shields.
Marlowe didn’t appear injured, but his fangs were out and his eyes were furious. “It’s going to get very hot around here very soon, Cassie. I can’t think of a better time to make our exit. The ghost can catch up with us later.”
Billy must have overheard, because he began babbling like crazy. I couldn’t make out most of what he was saying, but I got the gist. “Billy says not to shift.”
Marlowe looked incredulous, but my expression must have warned him not to argue. “Stay here. I’ll arrange something, ” he said abruptly before vanishing in a blur of color.
I was left huddled under the table to escape the stampeding crowd. Through the transparent tabletop I could see that the female fan had finally fought her way to her idol, a look of devotion on her features. I could only assume that she was drunk or legally blind, because the object of her affection was looking pretty damn scary. The glowing eyes, pulsing brain and salivating mouth didn’t seem to register with her, however, and she lunged for him just as Deino gave a mighty heave and ripped the bucket away. The force of the movement caused the contents to splash all over the woman, drenching her from head to foot and leaving what looked like a piece of liver wedged in her cleavage.
She screamed, which was the worse possible reaction, because it got the zombie’s attention. It ignored Deino, who was yelling in an unknown language and repeatedly clouting it over the head with the empty bucket. Instead, it dove for the gory girl.
Casanova was trying to evacuate the lounge and direct the fight away from the remaining norms. “Get the damn bocors in here!” I heard him bellow, just as three security men threw themselves on Elvis. He went down on the blood-slick floor barely a yard away from me, with the woman underneath him. Wherever the voodoo workers who usually controlled the acts were, it didn’t look like they’d be quick enough to prevent her from becoming a midnight snack for the King.
“Help her!” I screamed at the Graeae. Enyo didn’t need to be told twice. In a blink she switched from old-lady mode to her alter ego, covered in her own blanket of blood. It’s supposed to contain remnants of every enemy she’d ever slaughtered, and either the variety or sheer amount got the zombie’s attention. He dragged himself to his feet, despite having three security guards hanging off him. He didn’t let go of the woman, but tucked her under his arm and stumbled after his new prey.
At a frantic look from me, Pemphredo snatched the girl and shoved her at Deino before jumping on the zombie’s back. He gave a very nonmusical hiss when she started digging in his open cranium, tossing out handfuls of bloody brains. Enyo stayed just out of reach, leading the stumbling creature on a zigzag course through the tables, while her sister continued the impromptu lobotomy.
Marlowe appeared at my elbow, hair wild and pantaloons scorched, but otherwise unharmed. I grabbed his shirt with both hands. “Tell me you have a plan!”
“There’s a trapdoor under the stage, we just have to make sure none of the mages see us go through it.”
I didn’t think that would be an issue. The zombies were a little short on fighting technique, but they made up for it in resilience. As Marlowe spoke, a mage thrust his arm completely through our waiter’s abdomen, but despite the fact that his fist came out the other side, it didn’t even slow the zombie down. Elvis, on the other hand, had either tired out or lost enough cognitive ability to forget what he’d been doing, because he had simply stopped three or four tables away. Enyo and Pemphredo abandoned him for the mages, leaving the newly arrived security people to deal with the King.
Casanova ran over at the head of the squad. “What are you two waiting for?” he screeched in a very unsexy voice. “Go!”
“I’ll check out the exit and make sure there are no surprises, ” Marlowe said, slipping into the crowd. I started to follow when I was stopped in my tracks by a very unwelcome sight. A livid-looking Pritkin was standing by the smoldering remains of the bar, scanning the room. Marlowe’s vermilion pantaloons must have caught his eye, because he zeroed in on him and, a second later, on me.
Uh-oh.
Casanova followed the direction of my gaze and said something a little stronger. He gave me a panicked look. “Mircea ordered me to help you, but there are limits! Locking the mage in an office while he recovered was one thing, but I cannot inflict actual harm. Not even if I’m staked for it!”
I stared at him. “What are you talking about?” I didn’t get an answer because several mages had crashed through the undead lineup and were headed our way. He motioned for his security people, half of whom were vampires, to intercept them and started to follow, but I grabbed his arm. “When did you talk to Mircea?”
“He called a few hours ago, after you pulled your little stunt at MAGIC. He asked if I’d spoken to you and what we’d discussed. I told him.” He saw my expression and his own grew even more irritable. “Did you really expect me to lie? I may serve two masters, Cassie, but I try to do it well.”
With that cryptic remark, he was off, leaving me to handle Pritkin on my own. I judged the distance to the stage and knew I wouldn’t make it. The tables that weren’t on fire had overturned, and a few had begun to liquefy under the barrage of spells, sending rivers of melted glass everywhere. There was nothing else for it; Billy’s warning notwithstanding, I was going to have to shift. I called for my power, but it
was sluggish. I wasn’t sure whether that had to do with the portal scrambling my brains or the sight of Pritkin’s face as he fought his way through the chaos. Either way, I was screwed if I couldn’t concentrate better than this.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and whirled around to find Deino looking pleased. Her sisters were busy fighting war mages with unabashed glee, but she had stuck to my side like a burr. She still had a grip on the sobbing, half-crazed fan girl, whom she thrust at me. “Birt’ Day!” she said happily, apparently pleased to have found a substitute for her ruined gift. I shook my head violently. A human sacrifice wasn’t on my wish list.
“You know why mummies don’t take vacations?” a muffled voice asked from under Marlowe’s napkin. “They’re afraid they’ll relax and unwind.”
The girl, who had collapsed in a shaking heap, had the presence of mind to start crawling off. Deino watched her gift scurry away with an exasperated expression, and that momentary loss of concentration was all Pritkin needed to jump her and send her crashing headlong into the clump of speakers. For an instant he had a straight shot at me but was too busy sending a fireball into the towering heads to take it. They exploded in a hail of flaming wood and flying mechanical parts that scattered across the stage, marring the polished surface with ugly scorch marks. The flames turned the area around the speakers into a leaping bonfire that quickly spread to the nearby piano.
Before I could scream, Deino’s grizzled head popped up over the burning mass. She didn’t appear to be so much as singed, but she looked plenty pissed. A second later, I got to see what the loopiest Graeae’s special talent was. Deino didn’t change shape or make Pritkin shoot himself as I’d half expected. She just turned those sightless eyes on him and he stopped dead, as if he’d run into an invisible wall. He dropped the gun he’d pulled, presumably for me, and stood gazing blankly around the room. He didn’t appear to be harmed; it was as if he simply didn’t know where, or even who, he was. The burning piano top collapsed in a musical crash behind him, but he didn’t so much as flinch.