I Married the Third Horseman (Paranormal Romance and Divorce) (8 page)

Yet when I grabbed my purse and stepped up to
the four security guards, none of them flinched or made a smart
remark. I smiled at the one in front, who held an extra-sized
clipboard. But it was like exchanging pleasantries with the traffic
cop that just pulled you over for speeding.

“I’m Cassie,” I said. “I’m here to see Cee
Cee. I was sent by a mutual friend of ours…from Egypt. It’s
urgent.”

I got a frown at first. Then the man held a
finger to his earlobe, nodding as he listened to someone’s voice on
his earpiece. He gave something like a caveman’s grunt, and then
touched a button on his lapel. A
ding
, and the
lipstick-colored elevator slipped open.

“Go on in,” the guard said brusquely. “You
are expected backstage. Please do not speak to anyone of what you
see inside Cee Cee’s quarters.”

I nodded, trying to look a lot more confident
than I felt, and stepped into the elevator. There were only two
buttons:
GARAGE
and
DRESSING ROOMS
. I pressed the top
button and felt my stomach drop as the car shot upwards.

Another
ding
. The doors slid open and
my nose was immediately assaulted by the scent of talcum powder,
fresh roses, and warm, sun-baked fur.

I froze. It smelled too much like what I’d
come a door’s width away from bumping into, in the motel outside of
Bakersfield.

A blur of motion to my side. A richly
accented woman’s voice cried out.

“Francois,
no!
”

A feline swirl of motion around my side, and
suddenly I was face to face with the bright orange and black face
of a tiger. A snarl. Fangs bared, the creature then let out a
horrific roar.

Looked like the bodyguard down in the garage
wasn’t going to have to worry about my speaking to anyone. Not
about Cee Cee’s quarters.

Not about
anything
, at this rate.

The tiger crouched, within easy paw-swiping
distance, and roared a second time.

My heart banged against my ribs like a bird
trying to get out. I was too frightened to move, too frightened to
scream.

Again, that richly accented voice from off to
one side.

“Francois, you are trying my patience!”

A
snap-crackle!
The kind a sound
artist would foley into the big sci-fi epic for the ‘ka-chow’ of
the future’s version of the Saturday Night Special. Nothing big,
just enough to grab the audience by their hairs and make them sit
up in their seats a little.

No, what would’ve made Mr. and Mrs. America
pause in the ferrying of popcorn to their mouths wasn’t the sound.
It was the
result
of the snap-crackle, never mind the
pop
.

The tiger shimmered and turned into an
elegantly dressed man with a blonde mop of hair and a faintly
amused expression. He addressed someone over my right shoulder.

“Pardon, my sweet…I think the form just
carried me away tonight. Ooh, it does get to one, being feline for
the matinee as well as the evening shows.”

“Francois, enough with the excuses!” came the
angry reply. “Out with you, on the stage, before I turn you into a
frog or something with even less sex appeal!”

In response, the man bowed to me and quickly
exited, stage right. I scarcely had time to blink before the woman
who had dismissed Tiger-Francois came into my view. She wore the
same spangled, silver-gray tuxedo outfit from the billboard as she
scanned me from head to toe, making sure that I was untouched. Cee
Cee addressed me with a regally accented voice that wouldn’t have
been out of place coming from one of the Gabor sisters. Though
between Eva and Zsa Zsa, I’d have had to go with Zsa Zsa.

“Darling, I am so, so sorry!” she said
quickly guiding me to a seat. “One moment, I will fetch you
something to calm your nerves.”

Cee Cee’s dressing room was huge compared to
the entire backstage of most of the theatres I’d visited. A vanity
table with a beveled-glass mirror festooned with makeup lights sat
off to one side of my seat. A rectangular cage large enough to hold
half-a-dozen SUVs lay off to the other. The rear wall displayed a
set of training whips and other wince-inducing paraphernalia.

Cee Cee breezed back over to me, a martini
glass in hand. A perfectly spitted olive teetered on its edge. I
took the container and sipped at the dark blue liquid it contained.
Immediately, a sensation of well-being flowed through me. I brought
my lips back for seconds, draining the glass with something just
under a guzzle.

The draggy feeling I had after the five-hour
long drive here? Gone. I checked in the mirror: the bags under my
eyes had vanished.

Even my frizzy puffball blonde hair went
floop
, and straightened back out into my familiar, cute-shag
look that Jen Aniston would’ve recognized.

Abso-friggin’
amazing
.

“That’s the power of Santorini’s best,” she
said, settling into the cushy seat across from me. “It’s called
vitis vinifera
, for those in the know. And I? I am called
Cee Cee, or ‘Circe.’ Also only by those ‘in the know’.”

“I’m Cassie,” I replied, as I did my best
myself to sit up straight in the cushy depths of the chair. “And
thank you, Circe. Both for this amazing cocktail, and saving me
from…I guess he’s your pet…cat?”

“Oh, he’s one of many pets!” Circe laughed.
“But perhaps you are not quite ‘in the know’ about those like him.
Did the Sphinx send you all the way to this sinfully decadent
place, without so much as a Michelin’s Guide to the demigods?”

“Ah, not quite,” I hedged, as I pulled my
recently purchased book from its place in my handbag. “If you’ll
give me a moment?”

“A lady may take all the time that she
needs.”

It took me only a couple of seconds. I lucked
out, since the text was alphabetized, and ‘Circe’ was close to the
front. I scanned the contents and put the book back into place.

“It seems you’re a sorceress, or demigod,
depending on which ancient Greek historian is telling the tale,” I
held up the now-drained glass she’d given me. “You’re known for
your vast knowledge of drugs and herbs. But your real talent…is
transforming men into animals.”

“A mere triviality, my dear, a trifle!” she
demurred. “Really, there’s very little talent in doing what I do.
Men are pretty much animals to begin with, after all.”

“And I’m guessing that you use men – as
animals – in your stage act?”

“But of course! This trick, this mere
bagatelle of magic – it is how Dora helped me find this job in the
first place!” Circe trilled, as she waggled her fingers in
emphasis. “A competing casino used to have a white tiger act,
several years ago. They had a most unfortunate accident, and had to
withdraw from the limelight. As you know, the stage hates a vacuum,
so
voila!
Cee Cee the Sorceress rides into the modern age,
no one the wiser.”

“It’s amazing! Since you’re using men instead
of real animals, I suppose that it takes away that extra element of
danger?”

Another laugh. “Oh, Cassie. We are both women
of the same business, are we not? And I suppose all of the starlets
in your films – they have all natural D-cups to fill their
brassieres, no?”

I plucked the olive from the toothpick and
chomped it down. “You have me there.”

A chime from overhead. A man’s voice called
down from a set of hidden speakers.

“Two minutes to showtime, Cee Cee.”

“Johann,” Circe said, rolling her eyes, “I
have a guest!”

“Yes,” the voice sighed, “But I have a
theatre packed with people…along with a dozen of your admirers,
who’ve paid top dollar for their box seats. You can’t ignore your
public!”

“Ah, too true, my sweet. I shall be
along.”

“Even with your opinion of men,” I said,
surprised, “You still work for one?”

She stood, and made a Gallic shrug. “One must
be pragmatic, darling. I have found that there is nothing wrong
with a woman welcoming a man's advances. So long as they are in
cash.”

I couldn’t help but smile, feel a sense of
kinship with this expressive, independent woman.

“So, now to business,” she continued. “I have
heard of your troubles. I think I might know how to help you get to
Dora. Unless…the Sphinx gave you any more clues, a riddle,
perhaps?”

“She did, as a matter of fact,” I replied,
and I recited what I had been told. Though in all truth, even
though I have a nice voice, coming from my pipes the damned thing
didn’t sound at all enigmatic and majestic. Where the Sphinx’s
voice was opera, mine was a singing telegram. “What is it that
looks like a door to some, a passage to others, a message from
those who seek to do evil, and yet solves all of life’s
problems?”

Circe gasped. “That riddle…do you know what
it means?”

I shook my head and sat straight up in my
chair, eagerly awaiting her reply.

“What a pity,” Circe said ruefully. “I was
kind of hoping that
you
would tell
me
. I have never
been able to understand any of the Sphinx’s riddles.”

It took all of my willpower not to roll my
eyes.

“I do have what you need to reach Dora,” she
added. “I know, because I once stood in Mitchel’s immortal sandals
myself. I too loved a human, a long time ago. But like all men, he
wanted to leave me. Only one as cunning as he managed to escape my
clutches and sail away.”

I remained quiet as she continued. Whoever
that man was, he somehow had managed to resist both her
considerable magical and physical charms. It sounded like he’d been
in the Navy.

Another chime.

“One minute to curtain, Cee Cee!” Johann’s
voice announced, with a touch of panic.

“Coming, coming!” Circe picked up her top
hat, pulled a business card out of a pocket, and handed it to me as
we walked towards the side door. “Dora lives high atop a mountain
north of a place you call ‘Taos.’ Giving you her address isn’t the
difficult part. Getting there…well, it shall be up to you, of
course, but I have three magical items that you shall need.”

I nodded as we came up to a pair of brightly
lit doors. One was marked
Backstage
, while the other was
labeled
Lobby Service
. She showed me over to the latter
one.

“I’m grateful for any help,” I said
honestly.

“Allow me to finish this performance, and
then return through these doors. I apologize for showing you out,
but for the show’s duration, my dressing room is going to have to
hold a lot of men and animals.” She chuckled. “Men and animals…oh,
there I go again, repeating myself!”

And with that, she pushed through her door,
her face aglow with a stage performer’s smile. I shook my head and
turned the knob on my own exit. I stepped into a wide, empty lobby
that smelled ever so slightly of cigarette smoke. Plush green
carpet and crystal chandeliers framed fine oil paintings and a
triple set of closed doors off to one side. A crystal display above
each door read:
Performance In Session
. From behind those
doors, I heard the applause of a large, enthusiastic audience.

I felt a presence nearby. I turned. My
stomach went into a triple-axel spin.

My husband stood a few yards away, dressed in
an elegant white tuxedo and crisp bow tie.

“It’s good to see you again, Cassie,” he
said, with an air of quiet menace. “It’s time that I took you back
home.”

Mitchel had found me. Finally caught up to
me.

His razor-sharp cheekbones and taut,
sun-bronzed skin looked the same. But his eyes were those of a
predator. Like a snake that had locked onto its prey.

Cue the musical sting.

Freeze Frame.