Back at the casino, the noise and bustle—crystal chandeliers glittering, a thousand slot and video machines ringing and clanking, a group of people laughing—seemed otherworldly. Hands clasped behind his back, Grant regarded the patrons filing back and forth, the flashing lights, with an air of satisfaction, like he owned the place.
Julie asked, “What did you do to get him to let us go?”
“They saw exactly what they needed to see. They’ll be able to charge the kid with vandalism and destruction of property, and I’m betting if they check the video from the casino again they’ll find evidence of cheating.”
“But we didn’t even talk to them.”
“I told you everything would be fine.”
She regarded him, his confident stance, the smug expression, and wondered how much of it was a front. How much of it was the picture he wanted people to see.
She crossed her arms. “So, the kind of magic you do—what kind of mark does it leave on your soul?”
His smile fell, just a notch. After a hesitation he said, “The price is worth it, I think.”
If she were a little more forward, if she knew him better, she’d have hugged him—he looked like he needed it. He probably wasn’t the kind of guy who had a lot of friends. But at the moment he seemed as otherworldly as the bat-winged creature in that arcane circle.
She said, “It really happened, didn’t it? The thing with the hallway? The . . . the thing . . . and the other . . .” She moved her arms in a gesture of outstretched wings. “Not smoke and mirrors?”
“It really happened,” he said.
“How do you do that? Any of it?” she said.
“That,” he said, glancing away to hide a smile, “would take a very long time to explain.”
“I get off my second shift at eleven,” she said. “We could grab a drink.”
She really hadn’t expected him to say yes, and he didn’t. But he hesitated first. So that was something. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I don’t think I can.”
It was just as well. She tried to imagine her routine, with a guy like Odysseus Grant in the picture . . . and, well, there’d be no such thing as routine, would there? But she wasn’t sure she’d mind a drink, and a little adventure, every now and then.
“Well, then. I’ll see you around,” she said.
“You can bet on it,” he said, and walked away, back to his theater.
Her break was long over and she was late for the next half of her shift. She’d give Ryan an excuse—or maybe she c
ould get Grant to make an excuse for her.
She walked softly, stepping carefully, through the casino, which had not yet returned to normal. The lights seemed dimmer, building shadows where there shouldn’t have been any. A woman in a cocktail dress and impossible high heels walked past her, and Julie swore she had glowing red eyes. She did a double take, staring after her, but only saw her back, not her eyes.
At one of the bars, a man laughed—and he had pointed teeth, fangs, where his cuspids should have been. The man sitting with him raised his glass to drink—his hands were clawed with long, black talons. Julie blinked, checked again—yes, the talons were still there. The man must have sensed her staring, because he looked at her, caught her gaze—then smiled and raised his glass in a salute before turning back to his companion.
She quickly walked away, heart racing.
This wasn’t new, she realized. The demons had always been there, part of an underworld she had never seen because she simply hadn’t been looking. Until now.
And once seen, it couldn’t be unseen.
The blackjack dealer returned to the casino’s interior, moving slowly, thoughtfully—warily, Grant decided. The world must look so much different to her now. He didn’t know if she’d adjust.
He should have made her stay behind, right from the start. But no—he couldn’t have stopped her. By then, she’d already seen too much. He had a feeling he’d be hearing from her again, soon. She’d have questions. He would answer them as best he could.
On the other hand, he felt as if he had an ally in the place, now. Another person keeping an eye out for a certain kind of danger. Another person who knew what to look for. And that was a very odd feeling indeed.
Some believe that magic—real magic, not the tricks that entertainers played on stage—is a rare, exotic thing. Really, it isn’t, if you know what to look for.
What Happened to Ben in Vegas