Chapter Twelve
The warmth of the sun on my face turned into an irritating come and go of shadow and light, and I stretched. The crackle of a fast-food bag reminded me of why my back ached and why I was sleeping sitting up. Feeling fuzzy, I opened my eyes, glancing at Vivian, currently alternating her attention between the busy urban street and the clock she was trying to change. It must have been the beeps that woke me up. Apparently we'd crossed into another time zone. Six-eighteen. But I felt like it was nine. Somewhere, I'd missed another meal.
Vivian gave me a quick, neutral smile, and turned away. I looked up at the washed-out buildings on either side, wishing I had my sunglasses. We were off the interstate, and there were palm trees, but it didn't look like L.A. The timing wasn't right, either.
The street was busy, clogged with traffic and people. Pedestrians were everywhere, and my eyes widened at the three guys dressed in velvet capes. Vampires in the sun? Living, to be sure, but they were Gothed to the max. "Where are we?" I asked.
"Las Vegas," Trent said from the back, his voice sour.
"Vegas?" Lips parting, I sat up and looked a little closer. Oh yeah. Where else would you get a pyramid and the Eiffel Tower on the same street? Leaning over, I found the map at my feet. "Why are we in Vegas? I thought we were headed for L.A." Which probably had vampires roaming the streets in capes as well, come to think of it.
Vivian tightened her grip on the wheel as if I'd brought up a sore subject. Her professionalism was running thin, and the petite woman frowned. "I'm not driving 40 to Bakersfield," she said through clenched teeth. "We're going the long way."
My gaze went to Ivy in a question, and she shrugged. "What's wrong with Bakersfield?" I finally asked, feeling the tension between Vivian and Trent.
"Nothing." Vivian frowned, but she still looked cute. Tired, but cute. "It's 40 I'm worried about. There are no gas stations after Kingman, and we would have run out."
"Someone's bad planning," Trent said softly. "The right person could make a killing."
Vivian made a huff of noise. "Someone's good planning, and make a killing is right. The people there don't want anyone driving through. Going to Vegas doesn't add much time. Stop complaining. We all want to get to the West Coast as soon as possible."
I hid a smile. Apparently Vivian and Trent hadn't been getting along, either. Settling myself, I ogled the people and buildings, acting like the Midwestern goober I was. I'd never seen so many flamboyant people flaunting their differences. It was easy to pick out the tourists with their pale faces and cameras. I'd never thought of myself as a conservative person, but this was like Halloween and Mardi Gras lumped together, a true Inderland playground.
"As long as we don't stop," I said, thinking it would be easy to lose a day here.
"We're stopping," Ivy said, voice low and confident.
From behind me, Trent muttered, "She speaks, so we must obey."
"You showered this morning," Ivy said, more loudly than she needed to. "I showered this morning. Vivian and Rachel didn't, and Rachel fought off a demon in hundred-degree heat. We can stop for an hour." There was a hesitation, followed by a soft "Besides, I'm hungry."
"Fine," Trent said, sounding like a passive-aggressive teenage girl. "But when we get back in the car, I'm driving."
A shower sounded more than good, and worried about the backseat dynamics, I stretched again. "Could you pick me up a burger or something?" I said around a yawn, eying a tall, blond vamp pacing down the sidewalk in six-inch heels, her clothes hardly covering her important bits. "The faster we get out of here, the better."
"Burgers?" Trent's voice dripped disdain, and my tension spiked. "We are in Vegas. This is the first time we might find something that passes for food, and you want burgers?"
I turned in my seat, surprised by how tired he looked, washed out and worried. Trent was never worried. Not enough to let it show, anyway. "Dude, why don't you stop and think about what your mouth is saying?" I said tightly.
"Children," Vivian said, not entirely joking, "if you don't stop arguing, I'm driving right through."
I turned back around, and Trent muttered, "I get to pick the restaurant."
Ivy sighed.
"And the hotel," he added, and she growled in annoyance.
I suddenly felt a whole lot ickier. And hungry. Leaning forward, I began tidying the front seat, tucking the map away and picking up trash. More Milk Duds boxes? "Jenks, you okay?" I asked, still not having seen him. It wasn't like him to miss a chance to join in with picking on Trent, and he wasn't on his usual seat on the rearview mirror.
"Peachy," came his voice from under the napkin draped over the open dash ashtray.
"He's altitude sick," Ivy said.
I resisted lifting the napkin, but just. "Are you okay?" I asked again, eying the white square. "You don't sound good."
"Leave me alone," he said, a green dust spilling over the rim of the ashtray, then sifting to the floor of the car. "I'll be fine."
"You want some pop or anything?"
It wasn't the right thing to say. In a flurry of motion, Jenks flung the napkin off, flying to an empty cup and throwing up in it, his wings flat against his back as he retched.
"Oh God!" Trent exclaimed. "He's doing it again."
"Jenks!" I exclaimed, almost frantic. I mean, when someone throws up, you're supposed to hold their hair back or make sure nothing hits their shoes, and I was way too big to do either.
"He's fine," Trent said so callously that I glared at him. "There's some honey on the dash. It helps."
I was ready to smack him, but Vivian handed me the packet, saying, "Flagstaff was really hard. He'll be okay."
"I don't feel so good," Jenks said, flying wobbly as he got back to his nest.
I shoved the cup in the bag with the rest of the trash, really worried. I knew Jenks tried to hide it, but if he didn't eat every couple of hours, he suffered. Throwing up could be a big problem. "Are you sure you're okay?" I asked as I tore open the packet and set it next to him.
Looking pale, he pulled a pair of chopsticks from his back pocket, nodding. "My head hurts." Eating a bit, he sighed, slumping to fall back when Vivian stopped at a light. We were right on the Strip, but worried about Jenks, I couldn't look up to see the sights.
"Better," he said with a sigh, then gave me a look of clarity before the honey kicked in. "I'll be okay. Just keep the honey coming."
I exhaled, relieved. He'd tell me if there was a real problem, wouldn't he? "Just what we need," I said, finding a smile. "A drunk pixy in Vegas. We'll fit right in."
"Not if I eat it slow enough," he said, easing back, looking relaxed but worn out. "Crap, now I have to pee."
My smile turned real, and I looked out the window at the people. I wished I had my camera, but then I'd stick out. Well, stick out more than two witches, a vamp, an elf, and a pixy in a powder blue Buick with Ohio plates already did. But then I saw the pack of Weres trotting down the sidewalk, and I decided we didn't stick out at all.
"I said, I have to pee," Jenks said again, louder this time, and I appreciated that he wasn't going to go in a cup.
Vivian leaned forward as she made a turn. "Hold on. I know a quiet hotel off the Strip."
"Off the Strip?" Trent complained, and I realized just how this trip was wearing on all of us. "We are not stopping at some Were-bitten hole in the wall when we can stay at a decent establishment."
Vivian said nothing as she pulled my mom's car into a low-budget chain with very little neon on the sign. "We're not staying," she said when Trent voiced his disgust. "We're taking a break, and we're stopping here because you won't get past the front desk of one of the big hotels without being recognized." She turned to him, her childlike face smiling cattily. "You want to be recognized?"
Trent said nothing, and satisfied, she put the car in park at the front office. "You've been nothing but a pain in the ass," she said as she grabbed her purse, just about the only thing she had since we'd kidnapped her. "No wonder Rachel doesn't like you. I don't like you, and I like everyone."
His hand went to his chin, and Trent silently looked out the window, clearly peeved but seeing her logic. Ivy, though, was stirring, putting her boots back on and grabbing her purse.
"Is that Elvis?" I had to ask, seeing a Were in a white leisure suit and gold boots coming out of the office door. The stitching was glowing in the shadows. The man was wearing neon, and he had a Chihuahua in his arms. The dog's collar was neon, too.
Vivian reached for the door handle, barely glancing at him. "That's Bob and Chico," she said shortly. "I lived here before I moved to the coast. Well, not here, exactly, but just outside town. The ley lines are spectacular."
Really? I thought as she opened her door and got out. I'd heard they were numerous, but I had always thought it was part of the sell line.
"Everyone stays here, okay?" she said from outside, looking harassed, a hand on her hip and her clothes rumpled. She hadn't put on any makeup, and her once-slick hair was more like straw now. It made her trendy purse look like a cheap knockoff. "I'll get a room and then you can all go get something to eat," she said, eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I don't need a bunch of you in the office with me. I can handle this."
Ivy, of course, was getting out, and Vivian gave her a tired look. "I don't trust you," Ivy said with absolutely no remorse or guilt. "No hard feelings."
"None taken," the small woman said with the same detachment. "The rest of you stay."
Jenks's wings hummed, but he didn't move from the tissue-lined ashtray. "I gotta pee," he grumbled, but Vivian had shut the door, and the two walked in together, Vivian looking small next to Ivy's bruised and battered height.
"I really have to pee," he said again, this time his eyes beseechingly on mine.
I cranked the window all the way down, and he rose unsteadily into the air. "When did Vivian become everyone's mother?" I said, and he flew in a wobbling path outside. "Stay close, okay?" I said, noticing that he didn't have a scrap of red on him.
"Yeah, whatever," he said, then flew giggling to the sheared rosemary lining the path to the door.
I watched him, unable to stop my sigh. Silence descended, and as the insects buzzed, I became keenly aware of Trent, in the back. He had summoned a demon, not once, but twice. A day-walking demon. He said he'd done it to help. I wanted to believe him, but this had to stop. He wasn't proficient with magic, and he was doing more harm than good.