Forged in Fire: An Urban Fantasy (Moonlight Dragon Book 4) (8 page)

"Could it be for drawing tattoos on masochists?" Christian suggested, which made me snort.

"Maybe," I said slowly, feeling my way, "this requires an extra bit of cleverness."

Vale arched a brow. "Care to enlighten those of us who lack this cleverness?"

I pointed at the globe he held. "Maybe we cut away the paper."

As he held out the globe, I carefully touched the tip of the blade to the line that represented Las Vegas Boulevard. The blade was sharp and easily pierced the paper, however nothing happened. So I tried cutting a long slice, all the way down to the southern end of the Strip. Still nothing. I picked at the cut I'd made and peeled back the edge, but that just revealed dried paper pulp beneath.

"An underwhelming result," I stated. "I'm beginning to feel dumb. I didn't sign up for puzzles."

Vale took the feather from me and tried cutting lines where he knew the Rift points to be. As he played, I tried to determine why this was stumping us. Were we being
too
clever? Or—and this idea didn't please me one iota—was Christian on to something and we were meant to do a blood wash on the thing? I wasn't so keen on cutting myself using a blade that had been tucked into a phony pimp's hat for who knew how long.

Exasperated, my gaze fell on the Dumpster where I'd tossed the third, seemingly useless shell.

"I'll be back in a sec," I told the guys and then returned to the Dumpster and delicately plucked the discarded hemisphere from atop the trash to give it a closer look.

It still looked like half a coconut covered with strips of a brown paper bag. Bringing it back to the guys, I held my hand out for the feather and said, "Let me try it on this."

I placed the tip of the feather's blade against the center of the blank sphere and gently cut a line through the paper. I peeled back a tiny corner and something exploded in my face.

I screamed, thinking I'd been hit by a curse or maybe even some form of bomb, because those seemed to be in vogue these days.

I heard Vale shout but I was too preoccupied by the explosion of purple mist that shot toward my face. It happened too quickly for me to stop myself: I breathed it straight into my lungs.

And nothing happened.

Still in a state of shock, I watched something ghost-like curl up from the paper hemisphere I'd dropped to the ground. The white curl rolled in on itself and began to expand outwards, like raw cinnamon bun dough in the process of proofing. In no time, the cinnamon bun had sprouted four small legs and begun to form a tail.

"What is it?" Christian asked, gaping. "It was hiding beneath the paper."

After a moment of studying it, Vale replied, "It's a jinni."

The jinni had nearly completed taking shape and I was held rapt by the sight. "Oh, man, I sure hope it's becoming what I think it is."

Vale sighed. "I don't think there's any question of it, unfortunately."

"Aw, you think it's cute, too!"

For the jinni had taken the form of a fluffy white kitten with enormous green eyes. We're talking those-can't-be-real enormous eyes like you'd find on a stuffed animal. It made me want to coo at the spirit. I only resisted because I didn't know if the jinni was friendly or not.

This place is as hot as Ouargla.

Relieved that this apparently female being could communicate with us, I asked, "Where's Ouargla?"

"Algeria," Vale answered. "Near the location of the Southern Infernus Rift."

The kitten blinked at him, then sat on her haunches and began licking her forepaw.

"Uh," I said, expecting more action out of the thing. "Who are you? Why were you hiding beneath the paper?"

The kitten paused to look up at me, her fat, pink tongue still extended adorably.

I am Azima, keeper of the knowledge of the seals.

"I think that means she knows where they are," Christian supplied helpfully.

The kitten closed and opened her left eye at him.

"Did you just wink at him?" I blurted.

Are kittens not allowed to wink?

I exchanged a look with Vale, who looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Of course you are," I said to Azima, sensing a hint of a challenge from the kitten. I felt extremely awkward with the situation.

I know where the seals are and that is what you are after, is it not? So we go. I need to stretch my legs.

Without waiting for our responses, the white kitten trotted out to the sidewalk and headed north.

Christian tipped his head back, put his hands on his hips, and released a balloon of laughter. My reaction wasn't filled with as much amusement. I looked with bewilderment to Vale, who watched Azima trot away with narrowed eyes.

"We're going to follow a cat," I stated. "Just so I understand this fully."

"A cat who claims to know where the seals are," Christian reminded me after he'd finished laughing. "So no ordinary cat."

"I'd write this off as a prank," Vale muttered, "except Azima is very much a jinni and an old one, at that. We should follow her or we may regret it."

"Just so you know," I told him, "I'm blaming this on you."

It was a strange experience, that was for sure. As we trailed behind Azima, other tourists on the sidewalk kept stopping us, wanting to pet her. She seemed to enjoy the petting for about a maximum of ten seconds. Then she went berserk and clawed the hands that were nearest her. Soon, the shrieks of shock and pain that occurred whenever someone paid attention to Azima warned off future would-be cuddlers, and we were able to begin making some forward progress.

Sort of. This was a kitten, after all. Tiny legs, no apparent sense of urgency. I could feel myself beginning to grind my teeth when it took us twenty minutes to walk half a block. And when Azima held us up twice by darting sideways to chase balls of light cast by passing taxis, a scream of frustration crawled up my throat.

"So we're kind of on a time crunch," I said, trying to keep my tone light as Azima began leading us through the Sahara Boulevard crosswalk. We were walking slowly enough that I worried the light would change when we weren't yet halfway across one of the busiest streets in the city. "Would it be easier for you if I carried you?"

You want to carry me when I have not walked in centuries? I like you for now, but I will curse you with a deadly pox if you anger me.

I ran a hand down my face. "No, no, it was just a suggestion. My bad. We'll continue like this. It's great. Really. Watch out for that—yeah, that car honking its horn at us. Oh, jeez."

Ten years later we reached the other side of the crosswalk where a new group of tourists who hadn't heard the screams or seen the bloody scratch marks left in Azima's wake proceeded to hold us up while they took turns petting her.

Again, that lasted about ten seconds before the kitty cut them all up and sent them running. "It's meaner than Grumpy Cat!" I heard one of them shriek.

Christian collapsed against a streetlamp. "Someone shoot me."

"This isn't your only form," Vale gritted out to Azima as we continued creeping down the street at an excruciating pace. "You could take the form of a dog."

The jinni tilted her head and regarded him with wide, innocent eyes.

I could also take the form of a snake. Would you prefer that form to this one?

"No," Vale bit out.

I thought not.

Azima sat down and began licking her paws clean again.

I covered my mouth to suppress my laugh after seeing the murderous look on Vale's face. "Animal abuse is a bad thing. Especially against cute little kittens."

"That is not a kitten."

Kidding aside, I felt for him. Hell, I felt for me. This was cruel and unusual torture. Death by slow kitty.

"I'm thinking I should go back for my car and meet you guys at the end," Christian mumbled. "Whenever that is."

I stabbed a finger at him. "Oh, no. You wanted to be here for the exciting parts. You have to earn that by being here for the pre-show torture."

"Anne, you're cruel!"

"Not as cruel as this evil kitty," I whispered to myself.

Azima finished up her grooming and began prancing again with Vale, Christian, and I trailing behind, as miserable as a trio of dads at a pre-teens' concert.

After forty-five minutes of this, I fell into a semi-daze, walking like a zombie, but I instantly perked when Azima's voice said in my head,
One is there.

"There's a seal? Where?"

Over there.

Azima flicked her little tail carelessly at a bail bonds shop on the other side of the Strip. It was old and kind of scuzzy-looking. No place I would have expected such a valuable artifact to be hidden. Maybe that was the point.

"Should we check it out?" I asked Vale, who was eying up the place like he was considering all the ways he could break into it.

"Later, when we're positive that Vagasso or the Oddsmakers aren't watching us. For now, let's catalog all the locations without being obvious about it."

A good call. I'd forgotten that we might be spied upon. While none of us knew how much information Vagasso and the Oddsmakers had, it was better to be safe and keep this to ourselves.

About two blocks later—approximately eight hours, by my reckoning—Azima again flicked her tail, but the guys and I played casual about noting the location.

In there.

A tattoo parlor this time. Not as scummy as the bail bonds place but still nothing special and not a place I'd trust with my Pikachu tattoo.

Another year later:
Up there
.

The steeple atop The Chapel of Big Dreams.

"We could get married and then pick up the seal," I suggested to Vale, who pretended as though he hadn't heard me.

"Sounds like a great idea," Christian said with a laugh.

"How about a double wedding?" Vale suggested archly.

Christian flinched. "Never mind."

We kept walking.

Though we were seal hunting, the three of us kept an eye on the people we passed on the street, which in this northern part of Las Vegas Boulevard and at this time of night didn't appear to be the most trustworthy. We weren't worried about being robbed. We were in the Eastsiders territory and, according to Vale who'd canvassed this place before, the territory of other magickal beings as well. With my luck, they were all the beings who hated me.

Azima, unaware of or unconcerned by whatever hostile attention we might be drawing, continued picking her way delicately down the sidewalk and occasionally chasing bits of trash that were stirred by passing traffic. Her tail flicked indifferently, indicating more seals.

The locations of the seals so far seemed random to me, the distance between them as short as two blocks or as distant as just over a mile, as was the case when we completed the Death Slog from Las Vegas Boulevard onto Fremont Street to find the remaining two seals.

By that time I was dead on my feet and Vale and Christian had slid into mute resignation. It was amazing how mentally exhausting it was to walk at a snail's pace. Azima, that little S.O.B., scampered joyfully across Fremont Street, chasing the lights created by casino signs.

"I hate cats," I declared as I plopped onto a metal bench and slouched unsexily. "If I ever get a pet, it'll be a bird. A really fast bird." I yawned. "Or a cheetah."

"A cheetah is a cat," Christian said dully.

"Screw that, then. I'd rather have an elephant crush me to death than spend any more time with a cat."

"Azima is a jinni," Vale murmured absently as he turned his head to look out beneath the Fremont canopy. "The sun will be rising soon. I won't have time to go to Orlaton's with you."

"Let's just go home," I said after another yawn. "When we see Orlaton you need to be there, too. You know things that Christian and I don't. Tonight, we'll do as much brainstorming as we can before we crash."

Vale ran a hand through his hair, looking uncertain, before nodding. "Alright. Maybe you're right."

With a groan, I stood up again. "Here, kitty, kitty." I was well beyond caring if I pissed Azima off.  I was too damn cranky.

The white fur ball zoomed back to us, green eyes glowing like sunlit marbles. She really was adorable but right now all I wanted to do was punt her across the street for putting us through that torture when, according to Vale, she could have taken the form of a much quicker dog.

"Thanks for your help," I told the kitten, ignoring the few people who glanced at me for talking to a cat with anything other than baby talk. "We're going to go home now. Do you need me to, er, call you a taxi or something? Come to think of it, where do you go now?"

I travel home. Back to Ouargla. I defend no more now that the knowledge is passed to you. You are now the defenders of the seals. See that the Rift remains shut. Farewell, defenders.

Azima raced off again, but this time she didn't stop after thirty feet or so. She kept going, tumbling forward and turning into a rolling blur of white that faded into the distance, heading for Algeria.

We walked back to Moonlight. Despite my exhaustion, my mind activated the hamster wheel. Something tried to rise from the depths of my memory but it was lost to murkiness. It wasn't until we were at the shop and I was working on lowering the wards that it hit me: I was familiar with the name The Chapel of Big Dreams and I now remembered why. Once inside, I hurried into my studio. Beneath the bed was a plastic storage container holding the journal Uncle James had left for me before he disappeared. I pulled it out and returned to the shop where I'd left the guys.

Vale stood like a silent sentinel beside the door, looking out onto the street. Christian had wandered over to the painting of the English picnic massacre as if helpless to do anything but stare at it. When I called his name, he startled and hurried to join Vale and me at the counter.

"My uncle wrote out a bunch of Emily Dickinson poems," I told them, holding up the journal. "But this is a magicked journal. I needed to use a blood wash to reveal notes that he'd left for me about my parents and the magickal community in Las Vegas. There's a list in here of magick-friendly businesses. I'll bet you a box of Melanie's cakes that every location Azima pointed out to us tonight is on this list."

I opened the journal to the correct page and set it on the counter for all three of us to see.

Vale nodded after we'd verified it. "Good job, Moody."

"If only we'd known this before," Christian groaned, "we could have avoided the kitty tour from Hell."

"Forget about that," I said. "How did my uncle know where the seals are?"

"Your mother told him?" Vale suggested.

It had been my thought, too. But then that led to the question of how did
she
know?