Sin City Goddess Page 8

  He finished the coffee, spitting a few grounds back into the cup. He stood up and rinsed the cup out in the sink. The smell of rotten eggs flowed from the loose faucet. He’d have to fix that soon.

  Then he smiled. Soon. It would all happen very soon. And once the stars aligned and everything was in place, the real fun would begin. For there was debt to collect. Punishments to dole out.

  He lit a candle. Vanilla scented. And waited for his partner to arrive.

  Chapter 16

  The entire journey back to the room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t right. Every once in a while, I would spot something that reminded me of home. A griffin here, a minotaur there. Just for a second, a flash, and then it would be gone. My feathers were ruffled, my eyes were burning, and my adrenaline was pumping.

  It was the same reaction my body had whenever it prepared for battle. A tiny voice inside my head said, War is coming.

  I shook it off. That couldn’t be. It was impossible. There hadn’t been an immortal war in this realm in almost three millennia.

  No. I banished the thought. Whatever this was, it was bad, but that wasn’t it. Still, I could swear I had seen a Stymphalian outside the tunnel. The birds were the worst of the worst. More horrific than a rabid dragon, fiercer than Harpies, even. These monsters were gigantic, with bronze beaks that could pierce armor, razor-sharp feathers, and an insatiable appetite. They ate everything and anything. I once saw one eat a shark and then circle back for its friends.

  But their favorite meal was humankind.

  I watched as Archer turned on the electronic computer device, wondering how he and I would be any match for a fight with a Stymphalian. I couldn’t imagine it ending well.

  If the bird was indeed here, we needed help, we needed weapons.

  We needed the gods.

  Then again, Archer hadn’t even seen it. As a reanimated shade, he should be able to see any demon. Even one that had been banished to Tartarus.

  Oh, I so wanted to go for a fly. Stretch my wings, feel my muscles.

  Archer fiddled with a couple of cords, and the giant screen hanging on the wall fizzled to life.

  He turned to me. “All right. Let’s go through this.” He stopped, looked at me intently. “What’s wrong?”

  I was sitting on the curved black sofa, a crimson pillow in my lap. I was wearing the same clothes I had slipped into that morning, but the shoes were in the garbage can.

  “Nothing. Just waiting for my clothes.” I smiled.

  One good thing about Vegas, I had discovered, was that besides women and food, one could also order clothing. Some of the finer hotels had personal shoppers. Within the walls of Caesars Palace was something called the Forum Shops—miles and miles of stores where one could purchase anything from handcrafted jewelry to lingerie to comfortable shoes. My personal shopper was on the hunt while I relaxed in our suite, sipping another orange drink. They were addicting. Gatorade, it was called.

  Archer narrowed his eyes at me. “No. That’s not it. You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the tunnel. You hardly asked me a thing about Tommy’s story, and you didn’t even tell me why crazy Maybel seized your footwear.”

  I sighed. “I didn’t want to talk about Maybel because I’d like to just forget the whole thing. And there wasn’t much to discuss as far as Tommy was concerned. You explained your conversation quite adequately.”

  Tommy, it seemed, had heard through the “word on the street” that Archer was deceased. It had taken Archer a few pinches and a few dollars to convince Tommy that the rumor of his demise had been highly exaggerated. True to his moral code, Tommy hadn’t divulged where he had obtained the information but had sworn that he didn’t know who had committed the murder. In light of all that, Archer had decided it best to tell Tommy and Clyde, the manager of the hotel, that he was deep undercover. That the FBI had faked his death to draw out the criminal. That they couldn’t be seen talking together, and that even the Bureau shouldn’t be contacted regarding the case.

  I didn’t know if Clyde accepted this as truth, but there was no doubt that Archer could be quite persuasive.

  All of this meant that now, Archer explained, he couldn’t access the investigative tools of the FBI, as he had hoped. He had thought that perhaps he could visit his workplace as if he had never departed this plane. But now… now we were on our own. Thankfully, Athena had successfully transmitted the files to the computer in the gods’ suite.

  Archer walked over to the sofa and sat down next to me. “I have ways of making you talk, you know. I was an FBI agent.”

  I gave him an oh, please look.

  Gently, he slid one of his strong arms beneath my legs and swung my feet over to rest in his lap.

  “I could do some serious damage to you in this position, Archer.”

  He grinned. “Well, then you’d be losing out on my magical touch.”

  “Ah, if only that talisman you carry truly did hold magic,” I said.

  “Okay, that’s it. Talk. We’re partners, remember? No secrets.”

  He ran his hands along my feet, gently massaging my heels.

  Hard to say no to that. I leaned back and told him about the Stymphalian.

  When I was finished, he said, “So, these things are like the monsters you told me about.”

  “They’re ruthless,” I said. “Even for the gods.”

  Archer sat back and thought a moment. “Didn’t you say that demons could come here only if called forth?”

  I felt my entire body relaxing as he ironed out all the tension in my toes.

  “Yes, but it would take something incredibly powerful, something not of this earth, to call forth that particular demon.”

  “And why is that?”

  “They are bound to Tartarus. I performed the ritual myself.”

  “So there’s no chance that they could escape?”

  “Highly unlikely. The belly of the Underworld is tightly secured from both sides. Not even Hades himself can open the gate. It’s much like the human prison systems. There are guards. There are duties. And while prisoners may gain compensation through work or privileges for good behavior, it is monitored like a fortress. At least it was many years ago when I had Tartarus duty.”

  But had the system changed? Was there new technology in place, like there was for this mission?

  Archer said, “Well, that’s a relief. You know, we are in the land of make-believe. It could have been a prop for a show. Maybe even a bizarre kind of glider plane.”

  “Perhaps.” At this point, I would have agreed to anything the man said. His fingers were magic.

  A knock on the door interrupted my bliss.

  “Must be your clothes.” Archer got up and peeped through the hole. “Yep.”

  Just before he swung the door open, my moonstone ring lit up. I quickly turned around and tapped the ring, as Hecate had instructed.

  Stand by for a message.

  I heard Archer thank someone as I waited for the message.

  The door shut behind me as the ring sizzled and swirled with an iridescent glow. Finally, a note appeared:

  I’ve discovered an ancient dark-arts spell that may correlate to the missing women. It is practiced only by the most notorious mortal warlocks. The end means depend solely on the magician’s intent. The practitioner must harness the five moons of Pluto on the night of the earthly new moon for the spell to work, and it can be even more powerful during an eclipse. As far as we have been able to ascertain, this ritual has not been performed since demons walked the earth. Those who have used it were calling forth either monsters or gods, but it could also be used to harness souls. It may be a dead end, but I wanted to let you know.

  —Hecate

  I sat back in the sofa. Pluto was Hades’s ruling planet. Five moons. Five women. Five weeks.

  Could there be a connection? And was that why their companions—including Meg—never noticed that the women were missing until it was too late? Had they been bespelled by
some kind of potion or magic?

  It was an angle worth looking into.

  “Archer, can you look something up on your information machine?”

  “Jesus, Tisi, for the last time, it’s a laptop.”

  I threw my juice bottle at him. He ducked just in time. “Stop correcting me. This is important.”

  “Fine, calm the hell down.”

  He used something shaped like a mouse to work the laptop. An image popped up on the larger screen.

  “What do you want to know on the Internet?”

  “When is the next lunar eclipse?”

  His fingers typed rapidly. “October.”

  That was a relief. It was June now.

  He tapped on the keys some more.

  After a moment, he said, “A solar eclipse is coming in four days.”

  The world grew a little darker, and the room warmer.

  Alex, where are you?

  Chapter 17

  I told Archer about the message from Hecate and went over all the scenarios I could come up with as to what a spell of that nature could invoke. Demons, black souls bound to Tartarus, even the ferryman could be called forth to escort souls back with him.

  Or perhaps Hecate was wrong and the sorcerer intended to use it to banish a lost soul or a monster from this realm. There was simply no way to know.

  “So what you’re saying is, whoever kidnapped the women may be using them to get rid of something.”

  I grabbed a packet of nuts from a dish on the counter. “What I’m saying is that if there is a connection between the spell Hecate located and the missing women—and that is a big if—then we need to know if someone is trying to open the gate or if they’re trying to close it.”

  “I thought you said the gate was locked up tight.”

  I opened the nuts. “I meant figuratively. Is someone trying to banish something to the Underworld? A black-souled shade that refuses to leave this plane? Or perhaps a man with the mind of a monster? Or are they trying to draw something out?”

  Archer stood and stretched. “Or is it just a maniac with a thing for raven-haired women?”

  “There is that possibility as well.”

  Archer slapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s put aside mythical creatures, warlocks, and magic spells for a moment and focus on what we know.”

  “Do I look mythical to you?” I asked, irritated by that last remark.

  Archer slid his eyes along the curve of my neck, down to my breasts, and on to my legs before answering.

  “Absolutely not.” His voice was deep, suggestive.

  He turned to face the computer screen, and I was grateful. The heat in his tone ignited a heat in my body that I was fighting to extinguish.

  The lawman clicked a few keys and opened up the files on the missing women. He touched the screen to move the photographs side by side.

  “I can’t find any links between these girls except their location, physical appearance, and age.”

  I stepped forward. They all looked disturbingly alike. Black, curly hair; pale skin; bright, round eyes, some blue, others brown and green. No one’s eyes were violet, except, of course, for Alex’s, which Athena had thoughtfully included in her file transfer. She was standing in front of the statue of the Graces in the lobby of Caesars Palace. Meg must have taken the photograph. She was smiling broadly. Like she hadn’t a care in the world. With no inkling of what was about to happen to her. I stepped forward, studying the photograph.

  Archer said, “None of the women knew each other.” He touched the photograph of one young girl, wearing a red dress, to enlarge it. “Cicely Barnes. Twenty-three years old. Student at the University of Chicago.” He touched the second photograph. “Melissa Walkins. Twenty-six. Freshly engaged. She was here for a bachelorette party.” He moved on to the next. “Stephanie McPherson. Twenty-one. Just accepted into nursing school.” Archer touched the last image. “Yasmine Bloom. Twenty-four. A waitress from Omaha.”

  Archer then enlarged the picture of Alecto. “Tell me about your sister.”

  I sighed, missing her. Aching for her to be all right. Had she any strength? Any power at all at this moment? “I’m not sure what I can tell you. She’s a Fury, like me. Her job is to punish crimes of morality, especially if they are premeditated or cause harm to any human being. She’s the angry one.”

  “She’s the angry one?” Archer laughed.

  I rolled my eyes. “We all have our tempers, but Alecto especially so. That’s the very meaning of her name.”

  “So she wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

  “No way. I would wager that whoever took her has battle scars. She once broke the leg of a man who kicked a dog.”

  Archer’s eyes widened. “So how do you suppose she was captured? Is it possible her abductor knew who she was?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. Because she was on holiday, her powers wouldn’t have functioned at full capacity. Like me, she would have been cloaked in appearance, but also—just as my wings are disguised—her power would have been dulled.” I cleared my throat and explained, “You see, Furies no longer police humans as we once did. Only under the most dire of circumstances are we permitted to intervene. And even then, it’s usually I who is sent. Murder is my specialty. So the cloaking, combined with her rare use of her abilities and the bright lights of this city, likely rendered her incapacitated.”

  Lords, I hoped I was wrong about that.

  Archer was staring at me. “So you punish murderers?”

  “Only when the human laws fail to do so.”

  Archer nodded slowly. “Yeah, the system isn’t perfect.” He looked like he wanted to ask me something, then stopped.

  “What?”

  His eyes glimmered like those of a child with a new playmate. “I was just wondering, and, well, I don’t know the rules, but can you tell me any cases you worked on? What was the last one?”

  His question threw me. It had been many years since I had spoken of it. Not since the trial had I told anyone the full story, but we had agreed to keep no secrets, Archer and I. As painful as it was to remember what I had done, what he had done, it might be therapeutic. That was another lesson Athena had tried to teach me: purging myself of grief and anger through talking or writing about the times that tried me. Perhaps relaying the actions that had led me to be banned from the mortal realm—and the Fates to put me on indefinite probation—to a lawman was just what I needed. I had blamed the mortal police and their incompetence for so long that the anger had turned to hatred, and the hatred had transformed into suffering. And while my fury had served me well over the years, the suffering had only heavied my heart.

  I was tired of carrying the extra weight around.

  I closed my eyes, imagined the rushing river for a moment, and began.

  Chapter 18

  “The human records show that it began in 1967. That’s when they believe he committed his first sexual assault on a boy.”

  Archer sank into an oversized chair, listening intently.

  “Assault isn’t my domain, as I’ve told you, but the man was brutal. Torturous, and from experience, I knew he would get much, much worse.” I recalled the day Hades brought the case to our attention. It was Alecto who had first tracked him, and later Meg. The man was married by then, and infidelity was Meg’s area, for he committed that crime too. They tracked him from Olympus, for the crime was reported to the mortal authorities, and we felt certain he would have been arrested for molesting the boy. He was so careless.

  “He was a business owner. Well respected in the community. A member of a club called Jaycees. He was involved in political affairs. He volunteered, spearheaded fund-raising projects, supplied free food to club members and neighbors from the restaurant he owned.” I paused, catching my breath. My fury was bubbling. “But the signs were there. He had drinking parties in his basement for the teenage boys who worked for him.” I looked at Archer. “People really should be more mindful of who their children associate with.�
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  Archer said, “I couldn’t agree more.”

  I continued. “We were anticipating the man’s imprisonment, thrilled that he would likely be stopped before he hurt another child. Of course he denied it, and folks rallied around him. No one wanted to believe that a man of such a high caliber was capable of such a vicious act.” I gazed out the window at the lights. “Humans never want to believe that evil can hide in plain sight. They want to believe the bogeyman wears a mask. They want to believe they can trust their neighbors, their teachers, their family members with their most precious commodities—their children.” I paused, thinking of my niece and nephew. How soft their skin was, how trusting their little eyes were, the way they always smelled of sugar and moonlight.

  “So what happened?” Archer asked quietly.

  “He was arrested, convicted, and sentenced to ten years in the penitentiary.”

  “And?”

  “And if that sentence had held, if the man had not been a model prisoner, if the parole board had not released him just eighteen months later, thirty-three young boys and men would be alive today.”

  Archer’s face drained of all color. “No.”

  “Oh yes, Archer.”

  He blew out a sigh and looked down. Almost to himself, he said, “No wonder you don’t trust cops.” He lifted his head after a moment. “So when did you step in?”

  “When he graduated to murder, I was sent to track him here, in the mortal world. I used all my powers to try to get him to repent, to no avail. I followed him everywhere, hounded him, wailed at him, interrupted his dreams, fed him waking nightmares, but nothing worked. He was immune to me. A rarity in my line of work. It wasn’t easy watching the police fail to connect him to murder after murder. I finally began leaving clues as best I could, both on the victims’ bodies and in his home: planting receipts placing him at the scene of the crime or possessions the victims owned, even convincing witnesses that they had seen the man with his prey. When yet another victim reported an assault and the police believed the suspect’s word that it was consensual, I finally snapped.”