Cassandra Palmer 1(45)
«Banjo?»
«We have passwords for restricted areas that are changed every few weeks. I approved the new list a couple days ago, and that was the first word on it.» He saw my expression. «The boys are hired for brawn, not brain.»
«But why 'banjo'?»
«Why not? Look, I have to come up with a couple hundred of these a year, okay? I ran out of abracadabras a long time ago. Besides, you wouldn't have guessed it, right?»
«I still need you to open the door,» the pixie reminded me as I finally found a leather key chain in Jimmy's suit coat. My hands were shaking, but it was obvious he couldn't let himself out. Somebody had run out of handcuffs, or maybe they didn't like him any better than I did. Both his hands had been smashed, and they weren't merely broken, but ruined to the point that not a finger or joint appeared to be working. I was betting that, even if he got out of this, he'd made his last hit.
«I'm trying!»
«Not that one,» she said impatiently. «The one by the cage where they put me.» She whirled around my head like a tiny cyclone. «Against the far wall. My hands aren't big enough to turn that oversized knob.»
«Give me a minute,» I told her as the stubborn lock finally sprang open. Jimmy shot out of there at a dead run, heading for the hall. I glanced from him to the demanding pixie. «Follow him,» I told Billy. «I'll be right there.»
«Cass—»
«Just do it!»
Billy went off in a huff and I rushed to open the door the tiny virago indicated. I was about to turn and follow Billy when I found out what Tony's latest business venture was. Three brunette women, all about my age, sat back-to-back on the floor inside a rust-colored circle. Their hands and feet were bound, and makeshift gags had been stuffed in their mouths. I stared. «My God. He's slaving now?» Even for Tony, that was low.
«As good as,» the pixie replied, flying over to the women. She grimaced and looked back at me. «This is worse than I thought. I can deal with the circle, but I can't get them loose.»
I ran forward, wondering if one of the other keys on Jimmy's ring would work, and hit what felt like a solid wall. It didn't look like there was anything there, but my bruised nose said otherwise, and my ward flared, spilling golden light around the room. The pixie began chattering agitatedly. «Stupid witch! It's a circle of power! I'll destroy it, then you free the women!»
I moved backwards and my ward calmed down, although I could still feel it warm against my back. «I'm not a witch,» I said resentfully, wondering if my nose was broken.
The pixie had dropped to the floor and started rubbing at the circle. It was made of a dried substance that flaked off slowly. «Okay. The Pythia's not a witch. Got it.»
«Can't you hurry?» I asked after a minute, wondering how far Jimmy had gotten in his condition. «And my name is Cassie.»
Sharp lavender eyes gave an exaggerated roll. «I used to think it was the position that made you so annoying, but you were born this way, weren't you? And I'm doing the best I can! The blood has dried and it's not coming off easily.»
«Blood?»
«How do you think dark mages perform a spell? It takes a death, stupid.» She started mumbling in that other language, while I hugged myself and tried not to think about what Tony was doing with a member of the Fey, some slaves and a circle of blood. He'd been on the wrong side of human law as long as I'd known him, but this contravened both mage and vampire rules as well. I didn't know when he'd turned suicidal, but I suddenly wanted out of the casino in the worst way.
Finally, my small accomplice finished cleaning a narrow line through the circle, and I heard a small pop. «Is that it?» I asked her. It seemed kind of anticlimactic.
She sat on the floor and panted. «Well, try it!»
I walked forward, tentatively this time, but nothing blocked me. I knelt quickly by the nearest woman and started trying keys. Thankfully, the third one worked. I pulled the gag out of her mouth, and she started screaming. I started to stuff it back in, before she alerted the whole casino, but she caught my hand. She began a rapid string of French in between kissing my wrist and whatever else she could reach. I didn't understand much of what she was saying—my only other modern language is Italian, and there aren't a lot of crossovers between the two—but the light brown eyes that were looking at me almost worshipfully rang a bell.
I got a weird feeling in my stomach. I knew this woman. She was plumper and looked far less haggard, but otherwise, little had changed since I'd seen her stretched on a rack enveloped in flames. I did a double take, but there was no denying it. That face was seared into my memory, and a glance at her fingertips showed them to be heavily scarred. As impossible as it was, a seventeenth-century witch was sitting in a casino in modern-day Vegas. Presumably a dead witch, since no one could have survived what I'd seen her put through. Any other day, I would have seriously considered passing out; as it was, I just pressed the key into her hand and scrambled back out of reach.