Page 10 of Heir of Ashes

The emotions inside the casino attacked my senses, but I was reluctant to leave the safety it offered. I’d spotted a green aura, a hyena, judging by his strut and the pitch of his laughter, an orange one—either a born vampire that indulged too much in blood or a newly made one—and a silvery blue aura that shone brightly, as if the light would catch his aura just right. I had no idea what it meant, but guessed it had something to do with magic-wielding, since those who could wield magic had a glowing sheen on their auras. The three men were either busy gambling or mingling, and none of them glanced at me once. Nonetheless, I kept a wary eye on them; I hadn’t seen so many preternaturals with this much frequency before.

I headed toward the closest bar, having to detour occasionally from people who stopped in my path to chat and laugh. I ordered a soft drink that cost more than a decent meal in an upscale restaurant and turned around, leaning my elbows on the gleaming counter, content just to sit and people-watch. Maybe it was time to consider life in a large city. Los Angeles, maybe. I let my mind drift through the possibilities while I sat and sipped my drink.

***

I’d been sitting by the bar for over an hour and had just deflected the third man on his flirtatious attempt when the fourth one arrived.

I vaguely wondered, no longer bothering to hide my annoyance, if he had been waiting for the previous one to vacate the stool.

I checked, long enough to make sure his aura was blue, and turned my attention back to the gamblers. I still held the soft drink, now tepid, the ice cubes long ago having melted.

“Hello,” the man said, leaning forward a little to be heard over the din. I had no trouble hearing him without his closeness, and I was not going to return the favor. I raised my drink in a half-hearted greeting and returned my attention to the buzzing activities.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he offered. “That one doesn’t seem very appealing.” He was too close to my ear. He sniffed my hair, and I glared at him, turning my head only once I was sure that we wouldn’t be bumping noses.

He gave me an arrogant wink and signaled to the bartender. I ignored his offer and promised myself it was okay to slap him if he came sniffing again. I resumed people-watching, absently scanning for the other preternaturals. I found both the were-hyena and the vampire at the blackjack table nearby, but there was no trace of Silvery Blue. I had seen him just a couple of minutes ago near the roulette, and somehow, while I was glaring at Sniffer, Silvery Blue had disappeared. I stood up to see past the milling people, certain that he’d just gone out of range, and began combing the casino.

Ten minutes later, I found him by the slot machines. We faced each other from about fifteen feet away, the span of two slot machines. The one closest to him was occupied by an African-American man in a blue designer suit, and the one closest to me was occupied by a brunette who looked no older than me, dressed in a nice burgundy strapless dress.

This was the first time since I’d first seen his aura that I got a clear view of Silvery Blue’s face: dark eyes, a squarejaw, full lips under a straight nose, a tanned complexion, and straight, thick black hair that framed his features. As our gazes connected, something in him resonated with something in me. There was a magnetic pull … and the strangest thing happened—his dark eyes suddenly flashed a brilliant shade of yellow.

An electric shock jolted through my nervous system. I braced myself on the edge of the slot machine to keep myself standing. He inclined his head in acknowledgment before turning to the man beside him as if nothing extraordinary had just happened, returning his full attention to his companion, who was gesticulating animatedly. I looked around at the milling people, but no one seemed to have noticed the display, then looked back at Silvery Blue, now focused on his companion with his head cocked to the side. I remained frozen in place for a few beats, watching the man.

Silvery Blue would shake his head occasionally, say something back to his companion that would cause him to start gesturing all over again. In the long moments I stood rooted there, Silvery Blue returned my gaze twice. Both times, there was no tug, no pull, and his eyes remained dark. However, the third time … there was something there. Puzzlement? Speculation? I couldn’t tell. But either or both, the sharp interest he exhibited was chilling. Because it was the fascination of a stalking hunter. Of his companion, I only noticed that, despite him being agitated, his aura was plain blue, and he had gray streaks in his dark hair and mustache—before I had enough sense to turn and make a beeline for the exit. Somehow, I no longer felt safe in that crowded place.

But it wasn’t Silvery Blue I should have kept an eye out for. The moment I reached the lobby, one of the casino’s security guards stepped in front of me, blocking my exit. Despite the blue aura, he looked like one of the meanest SOBs I’d ever see, and considering my life and all the shit I’ve been through,that was saying a lot. He was as tall as he was wide, having at least two hundred pounds on me. He looked like one of those bodybuilders who had no limits. The more muscles, the better. And by his menacing stance, I deduced he wasn’t here to offer me a drink. Could I take him? Something about him reminded me of the PSS’s Elite guards, but I didn’t think he was one of them. For one, his aura wasn’t blurry, and if he was a guard, he would have found a way to shoot me already.Nullify the threat, no matter how many people witnessed it, then make excuses if needed.

He brushed his suit jacket with a hand, emphasizing the bulk underneath it.

What? Be quiet? Don’t make a scene?

A passerby gave me a knowing smirk as he talked on his cellphone while the security guy motioned to the left. There was a long, nasty scar running down his neck that disappeared inside the lapel of his suit. I followed the direction he indicated and saw another security guard. Behind me, people approached.

“Follow me,” he said quietly, and it didn’t escape me that he assumed I’d be able to hear him above the din. He waited a beat, and when I made no move to obey, he took a threatening step forward. When he reached for me, I grabbed the person behind me and shoved him—her—into the security SOB, turned, and bolted back inside.

Behind me, a squeal of outrage pierced the air, but I didn’t turn to acknowledge the chaos erupting in my wake. I marched through the throng of people as fast as I could. The multitude of bodies that had given me some sense of security earlier were now nothing more than live obstacles in my path.

I spotted a security guard and veered in the opposite direction. Every person who looked at me was a potential threat, and every step in my direction felt suspicious. I had to get the hell out of there. Yesterday.

Near the craps tables, a hand clamped down on my forearm from behind. Without thinking twice, I fisted my other hand, turned, and struck. My punch connected with Sniffer’s nose, crunching loudly. He stumbled back into a cocktail waitress, his arms flailing, sending her tray flying and showering the tall man behind her in a cascade of alcohol and glass. Blood gushed from Sniffer’s nose like an open faucet. Covering his face with a hand, he began screaming—like a girl—in outrage and pain.

Any other time, I would have apologized profusely, tried to help, and looked back on the memory with a fond smile. This wasn’t any other time. Every eye within earshot was on us, including those of the security personnel. Suddenly, Sniffer’s eyes rolled back, the whites showing all around, and he fell like a rock. A guy caught him before he hit the floor, glaring blue eyes up at me, and a swarm of people closed over Sniffer’s prone body, blocking my view. I turned and hurried away as fast as possible through the thick crowd, hearing some of the people who had stopped to help Sniffer calling after me.

I received glares from the sympathetic, amused looks from the cynical, and wondering looks from the curious. No one tried to intervene. Not by stopping or restraining me or helping by moving out of the way. Most just stood and watched with different expressions while the rest were too engrossed in their gambling to care.

A security guard stepped in front of me—the mean SOB from the lobby—and seized my arm before I could bolt. I swung my fist into his stomach, and it was like punching an iron wall. I kicked his shin, and he grunted and tightened his grip. It was the same reaction I’d gotten from Bad Boy Two. The only difference: this time I had boots on and should have gotten a more dramatic reaction than a measly grunt. I had kicked enough scientists in my life to know I should have at least cracked a bone.

I looked around but there was no one there to help, even though people surrounded us in every direction. Some pointed fingers at me. Some gave me disgusted looks. Some laughed at my futile struggles. Some looked outraged. And, oh God, some raised cellphones and recorded the spectacle.

The security guy snapped a handcuff to my wrist and secured the other to his own. I met Silvery Blue’s indifferent gaze from not too far. Then another security guy stepped in, blocking my view, then another and another. Four of them against one of me.

I yanked on the cuff, sure I could break the link, but nothing. Not even a faint metal squeak. I yanked again and again, with no result. Without a second thought for the avid spectators and their recording devices, I jerked my left hand and … nothing happened. No talons. I jerked it again, and nothing. I searched the cuff for any runes, but the metal was smooth, with no markings to be seen.

The crowd parted for the security guards, and it was either I move, or risk being dragged by the wrist. I had no doubt the giant bodybuilder would have no trouble dragging me behind him like a rag doll. So, I followed and tried to take note of where I was being taken.

My guard entourage took me to the back of the casino, past the bar and an empty stage, beyond the restrooms, until we reached a set of double doors marked “Private”. Two guards stood sentinel, barring entry to the less privileged. They stepped aside for us to enter, giving no other acknowledgment to our passing. The other three guards didn’t follow us inside.

We entered a plush hallway decorated with paintings and cleverly sculpted marble statues mounted on top of gleaming dark wood, placed carefully in intervals between closed doors. I was hustled from hallway to hallway until we reached a lonely elevator at the end of an empty corridor. Nothing marked themetal frame of the door except a small keyhole. No lights, no numbers to indicate the car’s location, no call button. The feeling of foreboding, festering inside me since I had left Paul’s diner weeks ago, reared up and slammed into me full force, knocking the breath from my lungs. My steps faltered, but the giant didn’t pause or miss a step. He inserted a long, thin key into the lock, and the elevator doors slid open, revealing a sterile, brightly lit interior. No chimes, no music, just the hiss of the doors.