Unknown

Las Vegas burned in alien colors as we entered the main part of the city—brilliant greens, acid yellows, burning reds and pinks. The patterns and hues rippled and changed in brilliant, mesmerizing patterns, and I stared at them without blinking, fascinated by this manifestation in the physical world of what I so loved about the realms available to the Dji

I hardly noticed the crush of strangers passing on the streets, or the river of wheeled metal rushing around us; I hardly even noticed the stench of exhaust and rubber that never seemed far absent from these clusterings of humanity. That was a measure of how delighted I was by the triumphant blaze of light around us.

And then, quite suddenly, we were facing something that I recognized with an almost physical shock—a shock that quickly faded, because the familiarity was only a surface impression. This was not the magnificent carved Sphinx, nor the towering majesty of a pyramid; these were modern reproductions, lacking in the sophistication of those long-dead artisans, or the sanctity with which those works of religious fervor had been imbued.

These were cheap copies, packaged and sold as mere entertainment, and just for a moment the glitter of the place fell away, and I grew angry. Angry that humans valued their history so little. Angry that even their greatest achievements could be made so commonplace.

I wondered what would happen if I melted the false Sphinx into a messy heap of painted slag, and then remembered—regretfully—that I had promised Luis not to destroy anything.

Still. There was provocation. I could claim self-defense, in a way.

“Right,” he said, parking the van in one empty space in a vast field of concrete covered with neatly ordered glittering vehicles. “Please do me a favor. Keep quiet and follow my lead. And don’t start anything.”

I glared at the Sphinx. In my opinion, something had already been started.

It stared serenely past me, toward the distant horizon. That, at least, it had in common with its ancient cousin.

The lobby of the hotel was cavernous, dark, and—like the exterior—a cheap exhibition that had little to do with the history it claimed to honor. A constant chatter of chimes, coins, and voices set my nerves trembling with the need to make them all fall silent and leave me in peace, but I gritted my teeth and held on to the promise I had made to Luis. They will help, I told myself a little desperately. They will help us find Isabel.

The carpeting was thick and plush underfoot, and it had soaked up a million spilled drinks. The entire room reeked of desperation, old liquor, and cleaning fluids, although most humans wouldn’t have noticed anything at all. I tried to breathe shallowly, and balled my hands into fists. I must have seemed angry, because I noticed uniformed security men and women turning to watch our progress through the room. One lifted a small device to his lips and spoke.

Luis went to a simple phone set into an alcove; the label above it said PRIVATE USE ONLY. There were no buttons, only the handset and cradle. He picked it up, put it to his ear, and said, “Luis Rocha and Cassiel to see Charles Ashworth. We’re expected.”

Before he’d replaced the handset, one of the security men was behind us, hemming us into the alcove. Not aggressively, which was all that saved him, but certainly with unmistakable purpose.

“Please wait,” he said, and set his feet in such a way that I could tell he would not be moving without orders. Or, of course, without the application of appropriate force. But a glance at Luis told me that this was still not the time, nor the place, for that kind of action.

Someone not far away screamed—not in fear or pain, but in some kind of joy. I heard a sustained clatter of coins, and a flashing yellow light began to pulse about fifty yards distant, among the ranks of quietly chiming machines.

“Man,” Luis sighed. “Wish I had that kind of luck.”

“You’re an Earth Warden,” I reminded him. “You could bring gold from the ground if you wished it.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t. Because that would be wrong, and besides, it’d attract too much attention from the other Wardens. So no.”

“You could simply force the machines to deliver wi

He eyed me as if he’d never seen me before. “You want me to cheat in a casino run by the Ma’at? You really think that’s any kind of a good idea?”

I shrugged. “I am simply pointing out that you make your own luck. Whether you use it or not is your choice.”

“Yeah, well, stop putting bad thoughts in my head already.”

“Was I?”

Our eyes locked, and I felt his attention like the heat of a distant fire. “Pretty much all the time.”

That made me want to smile, but somehow, I resisted the urge. I was making a habit of resisting urges. I wondered if that made me virtuous, or merely stupid.

After another few moments, the security man received a message through a tiny speaker tucked inside his ear, and stepped aside. “This way,” he said. Polite, but firm. He led us through the rows and rows of casino machines, then off behind a busy, glowing bar with a phalanx of bartenders pouring dozens of drinks. There was a plain, dark wooden door set into the wall, almost invisible in the shadows. A plain gold plate was engraved with the words PRIVATE SALON.

The guard swung the door open and stepped aside to allow us to enter. Beyond, it was just as dimly lit, but much smaller. Dark paneling, discreet inset paintings that I instantly felt were true classics. A heavy desk at the far end of the room, with two substantial armchairs placed at precise angles in front of it. An empty poker table, covered in green felt, sat in the corner, surrounded by comfortable chairs.

Behind the desk at the far end sat a small, neat man. Older, with white hair and a lined, sharp face. His hands were folded together on the empty, clean wooden surface, and he watched us without much of an expression—neither welcoming, nor suspicious.

He didn’t rise to greet us. “Rocha,” he said, and nodded. “Sorry to hear about your brother and sister- in-law. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” Luis said, and took one of the chairs angled to face the desk. I wondered for a moment if I should take the other, then decided to stay standing, arms folded, behind Luis’s chair. He had told me to follow his lead, but I was not entirely comfortable here, in this place. There was something powerful, and it was also something that I did not quite understand.

“You’re Cassiel.” That pulled my attention back fully onto the old man. “I’m Charles Spencer Ashworth. For now, I’m the head of the Ma’at.”

“For now?” Luis asked.

“Let’s just say there was some management reorganization. Internal politics, nothing you need to worry about. Coffee?” He didn’t wait for a reply, simply pressed a button inset in the top of the desk. “You’ve got some explaining to do, I think.”

He assumed a very clear posture that said he was awaiting our report. Luis took a moment before saying,

“I’m not sure I should do my explaining to you. With respect, sir.”

Ashworth’s thin lips stretched, but I didn’t think it could be properly named a smile. “With respect,” he said, “I think that if you’re standing in my hotel, surrounded by my people, and there’s a Dji

I whirled.

In the darkest corner of the room stood a Dji

This one was tall, slender, and the bluish color of smoke even in human flesh. He bowed his head slightly as I met his gaze. His eyes were a bright, liquid violet, and his hair was dusty gold. Beautiful, in a shocking way, although not in a way I had ever seen before.