City Of Souls (30 page)

Icy fear kept me quiet now.

“What do you think?” Regan had no such problem. “A few choice slices with a butcher’s knife and she and I might be able to pass for mother and daughter.”

“She knows nothing about me,” I said flatly.

“Ah, but you know about her.” And that was all she’d ever cared about. How whatever she did to those I loved would affect me.

“So, what? I do as you say, and you won’t hurt her?”

“Oh, you’d think so, wouldn’t you? But predictability is also where you and I differ. See, I’ve already carved her up.”

The air left my body in one fell whoosh. I teetered on the rooftop as I stood, and took two quick steps before I caught myself. Regan giggled. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Well, you almost fell for it,” she said, her sliced tongue doing a strange dance over the words. “But for future reference, would
you
like to find her little corpse first, or just hear about it on the five o’clock news?”

Now her laughter dug, as sharp and deep as that butcher’s knife.

“If you hurt her…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
God. Ashlyn. My daughter…and Ben’s. Because of me…

“If I hurt her, I’ve hurt you,” she finished succinctly, and the line went dead.

I stood for a long while with the phone still pressed to my ear. Then I vaulted to the pepper tree, scurrying down it as quickly as I could without hurting myself, and studied the wide open road with all of my senses. Despite Regan’s words, there was no one, mortal or otherwise, on the street. I allowed myself one betraying sigh—infused with a relief that anyone with heightened senses could sniff—then pulled out my cell again and dialed Hunter’s number.

I looked back up at Li’s window as the phone rang. Jasmine’s silhouette was visible in the corner. Inside lay an innocent little girl, dying because she’d taken a wound belonging to me. On the outside—not close, but getting closer to me—was Regan. Her threats toward Ashlyn were horrifying because she’d do exactly as she said, no remorse, no second thought—just like the Tulpa, she’d injure a child in an attempt to get to me.

Not only that, I thought, as I began to walk, but that child would be eleven in a fistful of days—on my birthday, actually, like all the first daughters in the Zodiac—which wasn’t too early for a girl to start puberty. Once she did, her second life cycle would begin, her pheromones would flare, and everyone—Shadow and Light—would know of her existence. Then Regan and Warren would be the least of my worries. And her mortal mother wouldn’t be remotely able to protect her.

No, she’d need a superhero for that.

So, despite Skamar’s warning, was the soul sliver required to enter another world in search of a man who knew how to fix a changeling worth ensuring Ashlyn’s safety in this one? Damn straight, I thought, along with Jasmine’s and the little girl huddled in her bed above like a tiny mummy. I squared my shoulders and, with a final glance behind me, left a voice mail with the one person I trusted more than anyone else in this world. I didn’t want to see him. Hunter had sensed a vulnerability about me during the live-fire exercise at the warehouse, and perhaps even before it. If he knew I could be injured as easily as a mortal, he’d physically restrain me from crossing into Midheaven again. So I kept it short, telling him only what he needed to know in order for us both to keep moving forward. “Hunter. Tell Warren I’m going in.”

I dressed for the crossing like I was prepping for war, in a black leather jacket with a Mandarin collar, matching boot-cut pants cut low for movement, and thick-soled boots…perfect for ass-kicking. What can I say? Though I knew what the women in Midheaven considered feminine—I left on the necklace Suzanne had given me in deference to that—I was going to stick with the tried and true: I’d go in fists flying, assuming guilt before innocence, and take what I wanted by force if that was the only way to get it done. Sure, beneath all this armor was a spray-on tan, and breasts that had a serial number stamped on a silicone shell, but I still felt most powerful when strong, limber, and packing an attitude I could fire like an Uzi.

“Putting the ‘bomb’ in bombshell,” I muttered, sidestepping down the storm drain’s embankment. I’d brought a giant bottle of ice water, and was wearing the mesh belt again, with one important addition: a knife to rival Mackie’s, in case it came down to another duel, mano a mano. My goal was to remain downstairs—talk to Tripp, look for Jacks, scan the Most Wanted board, before fighting my way back to my lantern. Whatever happened, I did not want to go upstairs.

If it was cold outside, it was going to be absolutely frigid in the catacombs of the Las Vegas underground. Ice, milkweed, and escaped bahai grass crackled underfoot as I approached the tunnels, all hidden beneath a wreathing mist that trailed ominously into the concrete drain. I stole a final glance at my glittering hometown as a wind gust raced across the entrance, its chill fingers reaching out to beckon me back. In the distance, the Strip was as brilliant and bold as an ice floe, snapping back at the inclement weather with
LID
billboards, pastel spotlights, and heated gas that blistered the air. I smiled, then softened my gaze so it all blurred; the colorful ice floe melting as I turned away.

I found the shoulder bag I’d looped around the drain, and shoved all the gaming chips with the remaining bits of my power into my pockets before I dumped my cell phone inside. I’d leave the bag here, but I was going to keep the chips on me from now on…no matter what world I was in.

As I was using the same storm drain as the first time I’d accessed Midheaven, I was surprised when it veered in an altogether different direction than I remembered. But I figured as long as the pipeline wound over unfamiliar terrain and looped improbably around on itself, as long as everything remained abnormal, all was normal, right?

So I found my way back to the concrete cupboard simply by putting one foot in front of the other, careful all the while to watch and listen for Regan. I could tell by the fractious sounds emanating from the south end of the valley—rumbling belches and ear-splitting squeals—that Skamar was keeping the Tulpa occupied. I’d heard on the car radio that some the mortal weathermen were beginning to make dire predictions about the bulging sky, and even an evangelical diehard had picked up on it, spouting his apocalyptic predictions. I would have liked to stick around long enough to hear someone blast back that an apocalypse generally included the
entirety
of humanity and not just a city built on gaming tables and dancing girls, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Even if the sky didn’t fall, Li wouldn’t last much longer, and very possibly, neither would Skamar. So with their faces fueling my resolve, I again spun the dial on the lock, and lined up the Archer glyph so the combination tumbled like fates falling into place.

“In and out, Archer. Make it fast,” I murmured, licking my lips as I focused on the candle. Dread washed through my body at the sight of that pinched taper, and I couldn’t help wondering how many days or weeks of my life I’d lose this time around. At least now I knew what to expect. I also had something to look forward to—or back at—once I was there. Hunter would get my message and be waiting for me upon my return. So, shaking, I leaned forward and blew. Nothing. I’d forgotten to grasp it at its base, linking my energy and—I now knew—my soul to it. I did so, blew again, and this time the candle snuffed out.

Smoke wrapped around my body, somehow managing to be both insistent and light. I heard a sound, faint chaos stirring inside me so that my thoughts bolted and scattered. Then my mouth was pried open. My soul screamed. And my world disappeared once more.

I was shaking as the Rest House revealed itself, smoke and vision clearing gradually to reveal the bar like a mahogany snake across from me. My hands were empty; the water bottle hadn’t made it over. The knife in my belt was gone too. Dammit. I frowned as Bill gave me a little wave from behind the bar. The silver-eyed dealers just stared, and the torpid denizens merely shifted their eyes before turning back to their cards. Mackie’s acknowledgment extended only to a tip of his hat and, of course, the second verse of my personal song. The murder ballad, I realized, that he’d begun on my initial visit here.

When that temper bursts to life, dear

Her pretty eyes, they flare to red

But that black heart has its own fear

Which may strike her down instead.

“Cheery,” I deadpanned. His head swiveled my way, as if on a hinge, and he grinned that skeletal smile, adding an extra flourish to the song’s finish.

I turned my eyes to the wall with the Most Wanted posters, gaze locking on my yellowed sheet in time to see more features being burned into the fraying paper. The whole of my surname was now visible, and the
O
and
A
clearly outlined in the first. One more entry and they’d have my portrait in full. I’d be stuck there forever.

Bullshit
. I wasn’t going to return here, ever. I was going to find Jacks—ask, force, coerce, convince,
kill
him, if it meant getting what I wanted—and then take the information back home, save my world, a child’s life, fix the manuals of Light, strengthen my troop, keep Ashlyn safe, and live up to the designation of superhero and Kairos.

In that order.

For now, I searched out that asshole, Tripp. My eyes landed on Shen.

“How you healin’ over there, Miss Olivia?”

“Better than you would if I laid hands on you,” I shot back. “In any world.”

He grinned, and despite my words I knew I’d be in trouble if I took one threatening step toward him, so I dismissed him and went back to searching for Tripp.

He was actually at the bar, and it was clear he was suffering, the teetotaler giving in to temptation. I smiled as our eyes met, his weakness invigorating me. I wanted to tip his head back and pour that cloying liquid down his throat. I wanted it to permeate his every cell and slow his movements like sap running down a tree trunk. I wanted his power stolen from him as thoroughly as mine had been ripped from me. I strode across the room, boots reporting off the hard pine floor. The feeling of all eyes on me made me feel powerful, even as the heat seeping in from behind that bright red door began its invisible assault.

“Welcome back, Miss Olivia,” Bill said, with his easy friendliness. I fought the urge to stuff the bar rag down his throat.

“Bill.” I angled my head his way. I caught my reflection in the mirror. Old Joanna—dark-haired and dark-eyed, pissed. “Hello, beautiful,” I said to myself, then turned. “Tripp.”

Tripp licked his bottom lip, his mustache twitching with a knowing smile. “Told you you’d be back. One taste of the power afforded women in this world, and the other is easily abandoned. Especially irresistible to Shadows too.”

“I’m not back to stay, and for the last time, I’m not a Shadow agent.”

He scoffed, and leaned his elbows on the bar, addressing me though the back mirror. “Well I am, on both counts apparently,” he muttered, but got over his bitterness quickly enough to shoot me a dark look. “And I recognize one of my own. You are Shadow. Look at your fucking eyes in that picture.”

He jerked his head toward the wall, but I didn’t follow his gaze. I’d already seen my father’s eyes staring back at me, and I shrugged away the comparison.

“In any case, why not return to a place where you’re untouchable?”

I raised a brow.

Tripp scoffed at my arch look. “Your exit didn’t count. You destroyed gaming chips. You wasted valuable fuel when there’s too little of it to begin with. Besides, first rule in the Rest House: don’t piss off the piano player.”

“And speaking of our homicidal little entertainer,” I said, glancing over at the man who’d fallen still and silent again, like a giant mechanical doll. “When do you think Mackie’s going to come after you?”

Tripp jolted at that. “Why would he? I play by the rules.”

“You don’t drink, which allows you to win all of the hands—”

“Have you seen how long it takes these fuckers to finish a hand?”

Good point. “But you don’t give up any powers that way. In fact, you haven’t given up much beyond the initial soul energy it took to cross, have you? The people running this show are bound to get sick of that after a while. Even the freebies in Vegas dry up when you don’t play.”

He snarled, resettled his cowboy hat over his head, and swirled his drink. “It’s a game to them. A novelty. They want to see how hard they can push me. How long I can withstand their temptations.”

“But, Harlan, you’ve already been here a
very
long time.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, and I let knowledge shine through in my smile. I’d looked him up after Warren’s mention. My ability to read the Shadow manuals was still coming in handy.

“I’m willing to tell you how long…for information that can help me bring down your old master, the Tulpa.”

He looked away, but there’d been hesitation in his gaze. “You got the wrong Shadow agent.”

I looked around the room like I didn’t care, wiping my brow as I watched slow hands being dealt. The soles of my feet were starting to burn. Tripp didn’t move. Time for a different approach. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape?”

He looked surprised at the question, but shrugged stiffly after a moment. “I did. Right after I first arrived. The dealers tried to stop me, same as you. Every time I made a move toward our lantern, Mackie would raise that knife. Then they stopped trying. They realized before I did that someone had locked the entrance from the other side.”

The memory blanketed his face like a fever. There’d probably been a moment of exhilaration, where he thought he’d had them all bested, only to be followed by a dizzying plummet as he realized he had nowhere to go. I swallowed hard, and told myself to remember who this guy was. He destroyed mortal lives…and once belonged to the troop that most wanted me dead.

“And now? Why don’t you try again? Why didn’t you attempt to come with me? Follow me? Help me?”