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TEN
The Ma'at manhandled Kevin somewhat-impersonally, at least-but Marion and I went willingly. We slipped through the chaos behind the hastily erected disaster barriers, heading for the Luxor. The heat quickly made the blankets unbearable, so we shed them at the first available park bench for the homeless.
I kept a hand clenched on the leather of the purse slung around my body, the other splayed over the still-warm spark of life in my womb. I was carrying too many lives. Too much responsibility.
None of the Ma'at said a word as we headed for the Luxor. We were going against the flow of traffic, everything and everyone moving toward the smoky smudge that marked the Bellagio event. The lobby of the Luxor was deserted, except for a marked security presence who eyed us nervously but waved us past when Lazlo displayed some kind of credentials. Back to the private rooms again, but to a larger one this time. Ballroom-sized, but with the feel of an old school gentlemen's club, the kind without strippers. Lots of dark woods and deep carpets, port and sherry and uniformed butlers in tails.
Their symbol, set in stained glass above the door, was an ankh.
"Sir." The head butler, who looked as severe and professional as any of the Ma'at, headed straight for Lazlo. "What do you require?" British accent, of course. Nothing else would do for a place like this.
"I think some brandy might be in order. Thank you, Blevins."
Blevins inclined his head. I wondered what school you attended to learn how to be arrogant and servile at the same time, and still maintain that enormous amount of personal dignity. His eyes-blue as summer skies, startlingly-swept over me, then Marion, then Kevin. He turned on his heel and walked away.
We were led to chairs. Kevin was forcibly planted in one, and held there by a Dji
He smiled at me with shark teeth. There was no welcome hiding there. "I remember you," he rumbled. "You came looking for trouble before."
"I found it," I said. He inclined his head.
A solemn voice behind me called my name. "Jo."
I turned, winced at the bite of bruises, and saw Lewis approaching. Or rather, being rolled up to us. He was in a wheelchair now, faded and thin, worse by far than he'd been when I'd been sucked out the window. He was crashing. There were hectic spots of red high in his cheeks, but his hands were trembling and he looked feverish and not altogether sane.
He wasn't looking at me, even though he'd spoken my name; his eyes were fixed on Kevin, and I didn't like what I saw there.
"We come to a turning point," said Lazlo solemnly. "Boy. It's time to give back what you stole."
I could have told him what Kevin would say, so I wasn't surprised when the kid snapped back, "Bite me, Grandpa. I'm not giving up anything."
"He no longer has Jonathan," I said. All eyes went to me. I straightened my shoulders under the pressure. "The bottle's gone."
"Gone?" Lazlo repeated softly. There was danger in there, hiding in the silky half-whisper.
"Qui
Lazlo shut his eyes wearily.
"You killed Siobhan!" Kevin yelled, and tried to get out of the chair to lunge at Lazlo, or anyone else in reach. I wasn't sure whom he was directing the accusation toward, but I figured it was probably all of us.
"I'm afraid we did, but not deliberately." Lazlo rubbed his forehead and forced himself back to dignified attention. "And I'm afraid we put you in danger as well, Miss Baldwin. It was not our intention."
"It's been Qui
Nobody made a sound. I turned toward Kevin. "Qui
Like I'd noticed from the start. She was a professional.
"He's the one who shot Siobhan?" Kevin asked. His hands were still shaking, but he looked feral now, especially spattered with her blood. Ready to gnaw his own arm off if it would get him a step closer to Qui
"Because I ducked," I said flatly. I turned toward Lewis, knelt down next to his chair with my arms braced on his knees. "He was shooting at me, and it wasn't about Jonathan. Not that time."
He looked at me through bleary eyes. "Then what?"
"Question for a question. What's his first name?"
Someone made a sound halfway between a huh? and an uh-oh, she's lost her mind; I didn't bother to check who. Lewis looked at me with feverish, red-rimmed eyes and said, "His name is Detective Thomas Qui
Which wasn't what I'd expected. It threw me for a second, but then Lazlo cleared his throat. His lips twisted like a man having surgery done with a sharp spoon and no anesthetic, and he said sourly, "Thomas Orenthal Qui
"Orry," I said. "No wonder he wanted me dead. He couldn't know how much I remembered. He didn't know whether or not I'd recognize him-I didn't; it was too long ago, I never really saw his face, but he couldn't take the chance that I was ru
Jonathan had said it: The lines co
Thomas Orenthal Qui
I'd been right in the same room with the man who'd inhabited my nightmares for years, and I never even knew it. Hell, I'd even liked him.
Suddenly the enormity of it crashed down on me… David, turning to ash and shadows; Siobhan, dying in my place; Lewis, dying right now, dying as I watched. I could see it happening. I'd let Jonathan be taken away when I'd had the answer in my hands, because I hadn't been fast enough or good enough or smart enough to see.
"Joa
A cold shiver went down my spine. "When did your Dji
"Five years ago." From her expression, I'd bet that Marion could have told me down to the day, hour, minute, and second.
I felt my hands curl into fists. Five years ago. "How long have the Dji
"In numbers?" Lewis asked. "About six years. Maybe less."
Since Chaz. Since Orry in the desert.
Since I'd gone into that dark, dark cave and he'd asked me questions.
I felt Lewis take my hand, and despite the weakness I knew was ravaging his body, he managed to squeeze it tight enough to make me wince.
"David?" he asked. He read the answer in my eyes. "What happened?"
"Rahel. She…" My throat threatened to close up when I thought about it. "She was after Jonathan. David wouldn't let her…" I couldn't get the rest of it out. It had been a battle nobody else had seen, could see, except for me-the Ifrit would have been invisible to most human eyes.