"Yes, thanks, I get the point." I looked at her narrowly. "What if I could get it for you?"
A whirlwind of glittering green wings was suddenly in my face. "Where is it? Do you have it? I thought one of the mages—"
I smiled. No wonder she'd been sucking up. "I can get it."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Then you'll believe it soon. But I want the location of the portal in exchange."
"I'll find it," she promised fervently. "Just don't think of double-crossing me, human. You'll discover that I'm even less forgiving than my king."
Chapter 10
That afternoon I was checking in the convention that the hotel staff had secretly labeled the Geek Squad, a couple hundred role-playing enthusiasts who had arrived with bag and baggage, and in a few cases swords and armor, when I caught Pritkin staring at me. He was across the lobby, leaning against one of the fake stalagmites that erupted from the floor, all beard stubble and mussed hair and strong, lean build. His body looked relaxed, but his face held the same hawkish expression I'd last seen when he was standing over Saleh's headless corpse.
I scowled and handed a name badge to a guy dressed in a long trailing robe and a pointy hat. He shifted his staff to his other hand so he could pin it on. I didn't think it likely to help with ID much; he was the seventh Gandalf I'd seen that morning.
"I still don't understand why we can't set up now," the guy at my side whined. His voice was muffled by the mask he was wearing, but unfortunately not enough that I couldn't understand him. It had taken me a moment to identify the mask since he'd added plastic tusks that made it sag weirdly in front. I guess he hadn't been able to find a good ogre's head, because he'd converted a Chewbacca.
"I told you, we're doing some last-minute cleanup," I explained for the fifth time.
"They can't be cleaning the whole room at once! We can work around them."
"It's not my call," I said curtly, watching a bunch of guys in elf ears who were pointing at the large creatures perched near the cavernous ceiling of the lobby. Each was six feet tall, grayish-black, with huge reptilian wings that ended in sharp, delicate claws. They looked like a cross between a bat and a pterodactyl, and most people mistook them for gruesome decorations. But the «elves» had apparently decided to use them for target practice: all three had bows in their hands and one nocked an arrow as I watched.
Before I could battle a path through the crowd, one of the creatures soared gracefully to the top of a stalagmite. Its new perch glittered with crystals in the low light, almost as brightly as the creature's dark eyes as it surveyed the tourists with predatory anticipation. It caught sight of the bow-wielding gamer and gave a shriek like tortured metal that echoed around the vastness of the lobby, drawing every eye in the place.
"Hey, cool!" the guy with the arrow said. "A yrthak!"
"That can't be a yrthak," another gamer said in a superior tone. "It has eyes."
A shiver of dread crawled down my spine. Once before, the casino's built-in security forces had mistaken innocent bystanders for dangerous intruders—and dealt with them accordingly. That time, it had been me and Pritkin in the hot seat, and we'd almost ended up dead. I somehow didn't think the average tourist was likely to fare even that well.
I dove between a couple of hobbits—or jawas or possibly very short monks—and grabbed the bow out of the gamer's hand. I tossed it to one of the security guys, who had jogged up from the other side. Casanova's love affair with filthy lucre was going to be the death of us all. "This was not the time to book in a bunch of norms," I hissed, sotto voce.
The guard just shrugged, holding the bow too high for the flailing arms of the outraged gamer to grab it. "No discharging weapons inside the casino!" he bellowed.
The young man scowled. "Zero charisma, okay?"
I turned to find Chewbacca still foaming at the mouth. "Look, lady, I got vendors with no place to put their stuff! What am I supposed to tell them?"
Even if Casanova had been paying me, it wouldn't have been enough for this. I threw an arm around his hairy shoulders. "See that guy over there?" I pointed at Pritkin. "He usually handles stuff like this. Only he doesn't like that to get around, so you might have to be a little persistent."
Tall, dark and fuzzy pointed at Pritkin and yelled something to the half dozen vendors hanging around the entrance. They converged on the mage in a pack and I went back to work. Five minutes later, I felt a warm hand descend on my shoulder. "That wasn't very nice."
My skin prickled like someone was breathing on it. "Since when do you care?" I snapped. «Nice» wasn't even in Pritkin's vocabulary.
"It isn't one of my usual requirements," he agreed, sounding amused.
I didn't answer, my eyes on the group of gamers who were now trying to entice the «yrthak» down from its perch by waving a sandwich at it. It really concerned me that it hadn't gone back to its proper place yet. Even more worrying was the fact that its eyes were fixed not on the proffered food but on the nearest gamer's jugular.
"You can control those things, right?" I asked a nearby guard nervously.
The man didn't answer, but he moved a few yards closer to the "elves," his face about as happy as mine. Letting someone get eaten wasn't likely to improve his next performance evaluation. He pulled out a radio, looking worried. "We may have a situation," he told someone.
"I saw you watching me." The words were spoken directly into my ear.
"Bully for you," I said, as my nice orderly line of elves, trolls and ancient wizards went scurrying off to where the action was. Damn. I'd really hoped to be out of here soon.
Pritkin was standing close enough that the heat from his body was causing a little trickle of sweat to run down my spine. "Entertaining as this conversation has been," I told him caustically, "I have actual work to do. Why don't you go point a gun at something?"
He didn't comment, maybe because he was too busy licking a slow, wet trail up my neck. For a frozen second, I just stood there. I'd always assumed that Pritkin had some kind of allergy to human contact. He rarely touched people, unless he was moving me around like a mannequin, and he never made passes. Especially not such…obvious…ones.
I spun to see his smile widening, his eyes gone vibrant green. It was not an expression I'd ever imagined on his face—an almost feral sexuality. And his clothes were back to black. It gave me a very bad feeling, and that was before he reached out and pulled me against him.
Whatever I might have said was silenced by lips sliding softly over mine. I wasn't prepared for him to kiss me, much less like that. His mouth was warm and surprisingly sweet, and the faint scrape of stubble shouldn't have been the least bit erotic, yet it was. His tongue traced a feathery caress over my bottom lip in a way that felt positively indecent. I pulled back, seriously confused. "What—"
"No," he said, tilted my head and kissed me. Heat radiated from the heavy hand resting on my neck, and a thumb stroked light patterns down my throat. A sudden rush of desire made me forget to keep my mouth closed, and a tongue twined expertly around my own. Pritkin took his time, exploring me, tasting me. A hand rested on my waist, in what should have been a neutral spot, but it burned.
I jerked away, angry and confused. "Are you crazy?" One of the fun facts about the geis was the jolt of pain it gave me whenever I got close to anyone but Mircea. It seemed to have a particular grudge against Pritkin, upping the usual warning where he was concerned to a level that had me certain my eyes were dripping down my cheekbones.
He didn't answer, just somehow backed me into the reservation desk without laying a hand on me. Something was going on in the casino: I could hear screams and see camera flashes, and a bunch of guards ran by with a huge net in their hands. "I know you talked to Saleh," he whispered against my lips. "What did he tell you?"