“Whatever. But we get him to meet you alone, which will probably take more than one conversation. He’ll be willin’ to, though, ’cause you’re his daughter and the Kairos…”
The Tulpa cared only about the latter. Outside of his initial shock in learning of my existence, he’d never given a shit that I was his daughter-but I didn’t interrupt Tripp again. He couldn’t see past his need for vengeance to converse about this intelligently or see anything other than his own bloodred obsession.
“And once he lets down his guard…bam! I’ll be there. We’ll make sure you’re out of harm’s way, of course. Then I’ll paint the walls with his blood.” He puffed out his chest, drawing heavily on his cigarette.
And despite myself, despite the danger in playing chicken against a being who could kill me with a look alone, my heart skipped in my chest. Sensing it, Tripp almost smiled. I saved him from cracking his face with a brisk shake of my head. “No.”
His eyes narrowed and he licked his lips, then ran his tongue along his top teeth before slowly nodding. “Okay.”
I drew back in surprise.
Shrugging his broad shoulders, he flicked his cigarette to the floor. “I’ll let you think on it.”
“Listen, Tripp-”
“No, Archer, you listen!” And he was suddenly inches from my face, his wide with fury and animate with hate. He jabbed his finger into my chest and I stumbled backward. The smoke of both cigarettes was on his breath, the first one trying to lasso me back. “I aim to kill that motherfucker, understand? Him and Lindy Maguire and every other Shadow agent who helped kill my family. I’m going to pull their veins from their limbs like straws, then suck ’em dry. I’ll hang their muscles in jerky strips, and if you stand in my way, I’ll fucking kill you too.”
He was breathing hard, and I glanced back at the closed door, my own heart racing. Any agent within a fivemile radius would be able to scent the sudden rise in his emotions, and they’d follow it right back here, to me. I didn’t know what was preferable. The Shadows, the Light, or Tripp. But he caught my worried glance and calmed himself, his will tugging hot rage back into his physical shell. If I could still see auras, I bet he’d have been rimmed in black tar. But I saw nothing.
Which rather underscored my point.
“Look, you saved me from Mackie, so I won’t tell the agents of Light of your quest.” It was the best any reasonable person could expect from me under the circumstances, though it remained to be seen if Tripp was reasonable. “But I can’t get involved. You’re a rogue agent, Tripp. That means you’re free to flee the city. You can get away from Warren and the Tulpa and anyone who might know of your story and past. You can start a new life elsewhere. Don’t underestimate the power of a new beginning.”
Tripp’s anger evaporated so quickly it was like clearing an Etch-A-Sketch. “Well, I’ll take that under consideration just as soon as you do, Archer.”
That wasn’t the same at all, and I put a hand on Tripp’s chest to push him back. Annoyed when I couldn’t budge him, I ducked around his frame and peered into a tabletop mirror to fluff my hair. “Las Vegas is my home. I’m not going to let them take that from me.” I’d been stripped of enough.
Tripp loomed behind me, gaze lost beneath the brim of his Stetson. “I might not be able to save you next time.”
I glanced at his leg, already festering with pus, though he’d just cleaned and cauterized it.
Which settled things pretty handily for me. I wasn’t going anywhere near the underworld. If Tripp kept my identity to himself, and the agents of Light continued ignoring my existence, I could live in peace, in my city, as casino magnate Olivia Archer. I’d use the phone Warren had given me to tell them when Mackie showed up, and then they’d do what I couldn’t…and what I seriously doubted of this lone rogue agent.
I’d also avoid the damned party buses.
“There won’t be a next time.”
Tripp snorted loudly. “Girly, I’ve seen some scary shit in both the worlds I’ve lived in, but Mackie’s willpower has been fired in Midheaven’s kiln. His mind will not, cannot, be changed. And don’t forget that knife. It’s imbued with his soul so it damned near does his will all by its lonesome.” He pursed his lips in worry, clearly thinking of his leg, though he didn’t glance at it again. Instead he eyed me. “So the ‘next time’ you’re trying so hard not to think on is just a matter of time.”
Tilting his hat my way, he then limped back to his hiding place at the back of the store. It was another few seconds before I realized he was leaving.
“Wait!”
He turned, smirking like I’d confirmed our partnership by calling out. You can give me your blood.
“I mean, you heard Warren.” I cleared my throat. “There’s no place for you now.”
“There’s the cell.” He grinned widely at my returned frown, but didn’t elaborate. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t bother,” I said petulantly, causing Tripp to snort as he disappeared into shadows.
“So easy to say, ain’t it? I mean, when Mackie is already gone.”
No, I thought, shivering once I was alone. Because Mackie was still out there. So it wasn’t easy to say at all.
5
I left immediately after Tripp. Warren hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he could tell the rogue agent had been there. What he’d probably smelled was a combination of brimstone and sweat, a strong enough aroma that I could conjure it from memory alone. Add to that the residual emotion from all of us that now tainted the place-my own injured fury included-and I had no doubt it would soon attract the attention of a Shadow.
Or Mackie.
God, I thought, rubbing a hand over my face. Sleepy-fucking-Mac.
Legend had it he was the oldest living agent in our hemisphere. Rumor claimed he was the most vicious too. History and hearsay aside, I knew he was as crazed as a hatter sucked down a rabbit hole, and he’d literally taken over my dreams just weeks after I lost all my powers. Only recently had I been able to reclaim my night hours for this world.
And faced with the responsibility of taking over Archer Enterprises, I had plenty in this world to keep me busy. Yet Mackie’s attack made my last dream appear more ominous than nightmarish.
In it, the saloon those in Midheaven called the “Rest House” was just as I remembered: the shining bar, the poker tables, the “most wanted” posters featuring every agent who’d dared to enter pinned at the far wall. Even the haze that made the entire room look like a cameo browned with age had been there. Who knew you could dream in sepia?
Mackie was there too, skinny hook nose visible in profile beneath his bowler hat. Yet slumped in his usual stupor before his battered piano, he couldn’t compete with the real star of the show. Because perched on the center poker table like a prize was the woman I’d been turned into through a crafty combination of medicine and magic: my dead sister, Olivia.
“Mom is looking for you,” she said, glancing up from filing her nails and sending me a prissy little finger wave, utterly nonplussed to see me emerging from an opaque wall of smoke.
Yet I was dumbfounded. I’d rarely dreamed of Olivia since her death, and while early on my reaction was to flee to wakefulness, in the latter stages of my grief I’d clung to her visage like a security blanket. Maybe that was why I’d ceased having them. My neediness was likely too weighty for the dream state. So, surprise kept me flat-footed in this dream, even as I edged away from Mackie.
Yet he remained slumped inertly over his ivory keys, bowler hat and piano top all covered in a thin layer of dust. Had I actually entered Midheaven, he’d have straightened like a marionette’s toy to compose a jaunty tune…flattering, true, cryptic…and one that would mark the last third of my soul’s siphoning into Midheaven.