Chapter 3
Ren Waya coasted on the breeze as he heard the heartbeat of the earth thrumming in his ears. It sounded like a tribal drum, summoning the ancient spirits out of their slumber to make ready for war. And as he flew, Sister Wind carried a new scent to him. One he'd never smelled before, and given his extreme old age, that said a lot.
Something was here, and it didn't belong.
Unable to pinpoint it, he dipped down, then recognized a rider on the road far below. The motorcycle slowed from its feral speed as the rider came upon the Vegas traffic and lights. Ren let out a cry while he followed the sleek black motorcycle into town.
Swathed in a black duster, the rider was oblivious of being watched. Of course, the loud, thumping music inside the rider's helmet that was turned to a level that should be deafening might have something to do with that. Styx's "Renegade." The irony of that wasn't lost on Ren. If he could smile in his current form, he would.
The rider skimmed past traffic and turned into the brightly lit Ishtar Casino, which was styled after an ancient Sumerian temple. Ren lost sight of the rider as he drove under the parking pavilion. He banked to the right to miss the wall and circled back.
* * *
Jess pulled his helmet off before he gave his name to the valet.
The attendant snapped to attention. "Mr. Brady, sir, we were told to give you white-glove treatment. You may park your bike anywhere you want, and we'll make sure no one bothers it. If you have any problems or needs, have the concierge contact Damien Metaxas, and he'll take care of it for you."
A man could get used to this level of service-it was like being at Disney World. "Thanks," he said, then handed the valet a twenty.
Jess slid into a tight space at the front of the line of cars and limos, where his motorcycle should be out of the way, then parked his 2006 MV Agusta F4CC on the curb. At $120,000 a pop, his ride was a gold mine for any thief who had knowledge of motorcycles. Not that the money was that big a deal to him. Replacing it, however, was another matter, since they were as rare as a loyal friend, and he'd long grown attached to it.
Hate to gut a human for being greedy. But back in the day, he'd done worse for less.
He locked it down, put his helmet on the seat, then dropped the keys in his pocket. It was a little warm for his duster, but he preferred it, since it helped hide the weapons he needed for his trade. No need in scaring the civilians any more than was necessary.
Bad thing about Vegas, you couldn't spit without dropping germs on a Daimon. They practically owned this place. In fact, three of the valet drivers here were Apollites, including the one who'd spoken to him. And the casino manager, Damien Metaxas was, in fact, a full-blown Daimon that no Dark-Hunter was allowed to kill. They claimed Metaxas fed only on humans who deserved to die-rapists, murderers, pedophiles. But why would you take their word on it? Was anyone really checking?
Even when the casino owner, Sin, was a Dark-Hunter, he'd had them working for him.
"You're a sick SOB, Sin," Jess muttered as he pulled his sunglasses out and put them on.
Keep your enemies close, I guess. Still ...
"You're late."
Jess grinned, making sure to keep his fangs from showing as he did so. He turned at the deep, accented voice that had come from behind him. "Didn't know Grandma was keeping tabs and setting curfew."
Two inches taller, Ren had his long, jet black hair pulled back into a single braid that trailed down his back. Even without that pissed-off expression, he was intimidating as all get out. At least to those who could be intimidated.
Jess definitely didn't fit into that category.
The only color on Ren's body was the bone and turquoise choker he wore as an homage to his Native American heritage-other than that, he was swathed all in black from head to toe. Jess asked him once what tribe he belonged to, but Ren had refused to answer. Since it didn't matter to Jess, he'd never asked again, even though they'd been friends for well over a hundred years.
Jess scratched at his whiskers, wishing he'd shaved a little closer. "I thought you were communing with Chocolate tonight."
Ren shook his head. "Choo Co La Tah."
"Isn't that what I said?"
Now, there was a pained expression for you. It was quite impressive. "For a man who was born speaking Cherokee, I don't understand why you can't pronounce things correctly."
"Ah, potato, potahto. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things?"
"It does if you ever come into contact with him. Believe me, your mixed Cherokee blood won't buy you any tolerance where he's concerned."
Yeah, that was the thing about immortals. Many of them weren't exactly good natured. Many more were downright intolerant. And as for Choo Co La Tah, Jess was more than acquainted with him, but it was one of those things he never talked about. "Then I'll just make sure that I call him Exalted Being."
Ren laughed. "Wise choice."
Jess decided to change the topic to what had bothered him a few minutes ago. "So was that you flying above me as I rode in?"
"You saw me?"
Jess shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't you know, I sense everything around me." Even before Artemis had bestowed him with psychic powers, that was one ability he'd had from birth. No one had ever been able to sneak up on him.
Pulling a gun behind his back and shooting him was another story. Only someone as close to him as Bart had been could have killed him that way. Had Bart been a stranger, it would never have happened.
"And here I thought I was being stealthy."
Jess snorted. "With that girly caw you let out? Did a frog crawl down your throat and die, or what?"
Ren let out a short heh sound. "You better be glad I like you."
"I am indeed, for I have seen how you throw a knife, and it is truly awe inspiring. Now, if you don't mind..." Jess started away from him. If they stayed together too long, they'd deplete each other's strength. It was a fail-safe the gods used to keep Dark-Hunters from combining their powers and taking over mankind.
"Wait."
Jess paused.
"Choo Co La Tah wanted to warn me that something unnatural is coming from the west."
The direction of death for the Cherokee. He didn't know if Ren's people had the same beliefs as his mother's or not. "Yeah, okay. I'll watch for Daimons coming up the street."
"This is serious, Jess. We're nearing the Time Untime when everything resets. Of all men, you know what happens if things get misaligned."
Yes, he did. The Mayans weren't the only ancient Americans who had calendars. Many of the tribes had similar rotating cycles, including the Cherokee. "2012 ain't here yet."
"No, but the return of the Pale One has been sped up by whatever is coming. Be careful tonight."
Now, this was getting annoying, with everyone pecking at him like a bunch of hens. "Andy told me the same thing earlier."
"Two warnings. One night."
Time to listen. He understood. Too bad he hadn't had these warnings before he was gunned down as a human. That would have been a little more helpful than vague warnings to someone who was basically immortal and impervious now. But then, life was ever a study in a day late and a dollar short. "All right. I'll pay attention."
Ren inclined his head to him. "Good, 'cause you're the only reason I'm here, and I'd hate to think I uprooted myself needlessly." When Jess had been transferred out here a few weeks back, Ren asked to come, too. "Don't make me have to spirit-walk to cut your throat."
Jess snorted at the threat. "Got to say, dying would really wreck my best day. Been there, done that, and now that I think about it, Artemis forgot to give me the T-shirt."
Ren rolled his eyes. "You're psychotic."
"And we're down a Hunter, so we need to get patrolling before the Daimons start feeding."
Ren waved his hand in front of him and spoke a blessing in his native tongue.
Jess didn't understand it, but he appreciated the gesture. "Same to you, di-na-da-nv-tli." And with that, he started for the infamous strip, which was teeming with clueless tourists just waiting to become a walking Happy Meal for a Daimon.
Jess kept his pace leisurely as he used every sense he had to feel for any unnatural predator that was out and about. There was a strange vibe to the city, and it made him wonder about the depletion of the DH here.
The owner of the Ishtar Casino, Sin, he discounted from that list. Sin had fallen in love with one of Artemis's handmaidens and been redeemed from their service. So his was a happy exodus.