Heroes (7 page)

Reese noticed Ben’s annoyance, and took a step back. “What’s wrong?”

Ben heard Reese’s resentment at being intimidated, and that made him smile. Ben checked his watch. “You’ve got two hours. I’m going to give you a private tour.” He gestured toward the museum doors.

They shone with blood red lacquer and gilt and were ornately carved with Asian dragons and tigers and the sinuous script of some forgotten language, all of this studded with jewels for emphasis. Ben was used to Las Vegas excess, but this décor was something else. Because the doors really were what the publicity claimed them to be: the entrance to an ancient pleasure palace. Ben had never thought he’d be impressed by the kind of stuff Ibis brought out of storage for the exhibit, but he had to admit it was all kind of cool.

He saw excitement light Reese’s eyes, and knew that Ibis’s collection was not only cool, but also seductive. You could lure most women by being powerful, Ben thought, get her hot and bothered by what you could give her. Men like Reese wanted power for themselves, and could be seduced by the promise of it. Ben could and would give Morgan Reese the gift and power of immortality, but Reese would belong to him body and soul first. Fair was fair, and you paid for the privilege of living forever. Those were the rules, but Ben was gentleman enough to show his dates a good time before taking them back to his place for a bite. He was a vampire, for God’s sake, not a rapist.

Reese blinked and the blankness left his expression. “I’ve seen you around. You work in the pit.”

Ben was both surprised and amused as he realized that while he was obsessively aware of everything about Morgan Reese, including where he was at every moment of the night and day, they hadn’t met before now.

“I run the pit,” Ben told Reese. “I run a lot of things.” A cold look came into Reese’s eyes, and he looked like he was about to sneer, but Ben stared down this hint of rebellion. “Let’s not fight on our first date.”

He turned toward the doors, and Reese accompanied him without question. Except for the dramatically lit cases, the lighting in the exhibit hall was subdued. The thick carpet made movement comfortable and silent; the acoustics absorbed noise. The silence lent to the air of mystery. It wasn’t crowded inside the hall. This time of day there were more people at the hotel’s buffet tables than strolling through the exhibit. Ben’s stern thought to leave sent a few more tourists away.

“The world would be a better place for vampires if everybody responded to magic.” Ben spoke quietly, certain that Reese was the only one who heard him. When he got the expected startled look, Ben chuckled.

He took the magician by the arm and led him to one of the cases. A cracked earthenware bowl and a few parchment scrolls that had definitely seen better days rested on a bed of golden sand behind the thick clear walls. Ben pressed the silver button on the shiny black base of the display. This brought up the narration, a rich, clear voice that spoke seemingly out of nowhere, almost like a thought that popped directly into the listener’s head.

“If you think the ancient gold coins in the next case have more value than my ragged and cracked contents, then, my friend, you are gravely mistaken. Worse, you are beyond interest. Gold is an instrument of power, but only on the most mundane of levels. Real power is not for everyone. What I contain is not for everyone. Few have the ability to appreciate what I hold. Fewer still the inborn ability to use it. What do I hold? Magic. Real magic. Real power. Reality as it really is.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ben said, and pulled Reese back a couple steps, out of the range of the speakers. “It’s true, though,” he told the stage magician. “What you do is tricks and crap. But you already know that—in your bones and blood.”

Arrogant fury formed a dark halo around the magician. “Who do you—?”

“You’re here because I want you here. You can’t walk away from me even though you want to. Go ahead, try.”

Reese had a strong will and great latent talent. Actually, the talent was very close to the surface, but the man knew how to use it only from a stage. He fought hard to get away from Ben, and Ben loved the fight. He kept calm, though, kept the glee, the turn-on, from showing. There was enough energy generated in the few seconds Reese fought him for very other vampire in the hotel to be aware of what was going on. They probably had headaches. Ben certainly did, but he stood there and smiled, and waited.

Sweat covered the magician’s face, his muscles tensed, then slowly relaxed. Finally, Reese said, “What the hell are you?”

“A friend. Your teacher.”

“Teacher?”

“What you could learn—” Ben shrugged, while Reese stared at him, annoyance warring with sly curiosity. “You feel the power in here, don’t you?” Ben asked the other man. He knew for a fact that Reese was drawn to this place. Clare had shown him the surveillance tapes documenting Morgan Reese visiting the museum over and over again.

“Yes,” Reese answered slowly. Ben let the man’s gaze drift away from him, back to the objects in the case. “They call to me. I want to break the glass—”

“It’s a lot stronger than glass.”

“—and touch them. I have this—dream—that if I could figure out how to use these props . . .” He shook his head.

“I can teach you how to use them.” This was a lie. Ben neither knew nor cared about the old-fashioned magical knowledge stored in the hotel. “You belong here,” Ben told Reese, stepping closer. “With me.”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?”

Ben whirled at the sound of Martina’s voice. He hadn’t heard or felt her approach, and this annoyed him as much as the interruption.

She looked at him with a disdainful sneer. “Am I interrupting a romantic moment?” The sneer turned into a nasty smile. “Good.” She put her hands on her hips and looked Morgan Reese over. Ben’s fists knotted, and his hunting fangs began to edge from their sheaths, but Martina’s gaze flicked dismissively away from Reese before Ben had to defend his property. “Ugly bit of owl bait,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be working?” she asked Ben.

Ben very much wanted to slash his claws across the bitch’s face, but he held his temper. As head of hotel security, he would set a bad example by getting into a physical fight. He’d find another way.

He didn’t think she was even trying to provoke him, not on any personal level. Martina simply held any vampire that wasn’t one of her followers in complete contempt. She was nuts, but oh, how he would love to see her take a fall.

“My nest know their jobs,” Ben told Martina. “We’ve worked casino security since the days guards patrolled catwalks over the casino floors.”

“Really? She sounded exceedingly bored with this reminder that she was in Ben’s territory. “Are you sure this courtship of yours isn’t interfering with your nest’s efficiency?” she added.

“I’m sure.” Ben laughed. “Are you sure it isn’t interfering with
your
nest’s efficiency? It occurs to me that maybe you’re here because you wanted a look at my boy. He’s got one or two of your people in heat, doesn’t he? A little bit of lust slowing down the vampire revolution?”

Martina glanced back at Reese, who stood still as stone while the vampires talked about him. Reese was tense and angry, but Ben held a tight mental leash around the mortal.

“The revolution will not be slowed by anything,” Martina announced. “Even our lust is regulated by the Enforcers,” she went on, didactic as ever. “We must have permission from them to choose who we will possess, who we own, who we will love.”

“That’s not exactly true and you know it.”

Ben could have hit himself for responding. Get the woman started on Enforcers and there was no stopping her. Hell, there was no stopping her anyway. At least she kept her voice down, as did he, and no one but Reese was anywhere near them. He still should have shut up, but instead he found himself defending the system.

“The Enforcer of this city doesn’t pull that permission shit. Duke doesn’t care who we take.”

“Soon your Duke won’t care about anything ever again.”

There was a thread of triumph moving through her emotions. Some menace and promise that went beyond her usual threats. Ben didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be involved. He did want the bitch out of his hair. Out of his town would be even better. For now, he’d settle for keeping her from spoiling his date.

She read the surface of his thoughts. “Don’t worry,” she said, and gestured toward the case. “I told Cassio I’d meet him here. He’s delivering a translation of those scrolls.”

Cassio was one of Ibis’s nest flunkies. He called himself the Chief Librarian, and he liked to speak Latin. Ben knew him from the pit. Cassio liked to gamble, and he liked to cheat, and it was no problem letting him get away with it. Cassio never collected his winnings; he just liked beating the house. Ben and Cassio got along fine.

“A translation, huh? In English?” Ben glanced at Reese. The magician was wide-eyed, and he looked scared. No doubt he was taking in the conversation and coming to realize that their open mention of vampires might be more than crazy talk, and that it might not bode well for him—a witness to an argument between a pair of vampires.

“English,” Martina confirmed.

“The Council forbids translations of spell books.”

“I know that. Cassio knows it. Ibis knows it. But the truth cannot be hidden forever.”

Ben put a hand on Reese’s shoulder. The man radiated power like pent-up lightning. “You know, I agree with you on this one.” Ben hadn’t known how he was going to pay up on his promise of revealing real magic to the stage magician, but now it looked like it might be easy. He’d have a little talk with Cassio about getting his own copy later.

In the meantime, Ben made the best of it. He even managed a falsely sincere smile for Martina. “I’ll leave you to your meeting.”

She was smugly pleased that he’d said he agreed with her on something, and gave him a grand, gracious nod in response. Ben half expected her to give a little stiff-fingered queen of England wave.

“Come on,” he said, guiding Reese away from the crazy vampire woman. “I’ll walk you to the theater.”

Chapter 6

“THIS DOESN’T FEEL right.”

Geoff watched Valentine as she paced back in front of the window of their hotel room, her bare feet padding silently on the thick carpet. The lights of the city glowed below, bright and beckoning. “You are not unaware of the irony of our changing places, are you?”

She stopped and glowered at him. For a moment she looked confused, then she said, “You mean I’m as nervous now as you were before we went to sleep last day?”

“Yep.” He leaned back on the bed, supporting his weight on his elbows. He gazed up at the ceiling, aware that she was staring at him on more than a physical level. “I’m fine now,” he added.

“Uh-huh,” Valentine answered slowly. “And full of plans and schemes that have nothing to do with our reason for being in town. I told you Las Vegas was seductive—”

“You warned me about the lights,” he corrected.

“Same thing.”

“Is not.”

Valentine grinned. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, but it’s kind of fun.”

He sat up, and glanced at his watch. “We’re supposed to be at a party. You’re not dressed yet.”

“Going out doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s not what you meant.”

“But it’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. I hate parties. I should never have let you talk me into this.”

“You liked the idea until we got here.”

“There’s nothing going on at the party that we can’t deal with in a few calls.”

“We should put in an appearance. Not like that,” he added.

She was wearing an old Lakers’ T-shirt and thong underwear. Her black curls were tousled, and there was a glow about her full lips and dark eyes that made her look like she’d spent the day having wild sex when he knew very well she’d been lying beside him, as out for the daylight hours as he was. Of course, it was likely Valentine’s interior life during the day had been as interesting as his had been.

“No, it wasn’t,” she answered his thought. “I always look this good. You don’t always notice. You look lovely yourself this evening, Mr. Sterling.”

At her sarcastic tone, Geoff looked at his reflection in the mirror across from the bed. Even though he’d showered and shaved and put on a black shirt, pants, and jacket, he looked about as wasted as he felt. He ran a hand across his face. “There was a girl,” he muttered.

“A classic opening line,” Valentine, ever the story-teller, supplied.

He gave her a dirty look. “What were you doing while I was—”

“Up in the air? That was a nice trick, by the way. I only caught a bit of it, but the effect was mighty strange. Not quite a dream, certainly not a dreamride. Who was the girl?”

“I have no idea.” He intended to find out. Needed to find out. Something about her called, blood to blood. “She was one of us,” he added.

“Of course she was.”

“One of yours,” he clarified. “Nighthawk.” He rubbed his face again, and a thought occurred to him. “Enforcer of the City? Is the Enforcer of Las Vegas a woman?”

“I don’t keep track of such things. No Enforcer stays in Vegas for long. Last I heard, it was an old boy the Council almost literally dug up off an old English estate and put to work. That was twenty years ago. Don’t know if the old duke is still around.”

“Maybe they brought in someone new,” Geoff said thoughtfully. “Someone fresh and smart, because of the Silk Road.”

“Maybe. No business of ours,” she reminded him. “We’re here for a convention. Which reminds me . . .” She pulled off her T-shirt as she marched toward the bathroom. She had magnificent breasts and he enjoyed watching them as she moved past him. “We’re supposed to be at a party,” she added, before closing the door.

Geoff waited until he heard water running in the shower before he stood. The room felt too small. The idea of spending the night socializing and doing business with mortals was too small as well. He wandered to the window, where the lights below called to him. He could feel the heat and sizzle of neon in his blood, like a drug. He closed his eyes against the siren brightness, and decided he was going to have to get a pair of sunglasses.