Authors: Amber Benson
Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Fantasy fiction, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - Contemporary
Cat's Claw (33 page)
Damn desert climes,
I thought angrily.
It’s, like, bloody sweat city around here! If only we could have a torrential rainstorm and swim our way out of this mess.
I thought angrily.
It’s, like, bloody sweat city around here! If only we could have a torrential rainstorm and swim our way out of this mess.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I realized it for the epiphany that it was. Immediately I began to wish for a bunch of nasty thunderheads to roll in and cause a flash flood that would wash away our quickly gaining pursuers and float us to safety.
“C’mon,” I begged the sky, “help me out here. Can’t we have, like,
one
cumulonimbus cloud? Please?”
one
cumulonimbus cloud? Please?”
I got nothing from the heavens, not even a gust of wind. The sound of Senenmut’s ragged breathing filled my ear as I mercilessly pushed him farther and farther into the maze of cars. The closer we got to the heart of the parking lot, the more frustrated by the situation I became. Finally, I’d had enough. I was tired of things
just happening
to me. For once in my life
I
was gonna make something happen for myself.
just happening
to me. For once in my life
I
was gonna make something happen for myself.
“Give me a goddamned thunderstorm!” I screamed up at the sky with every ounce of energy I possessed in my body. Senenmut realized what I was doing and grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard as he funneled his own magical power into my effort.
Instantly, the air was rent by a jagged flash of lightning that split the sky; the rumble of approaching thunder filled my ears.
“Yes!” I screamed, giddy with my own power—and sent a silent thank-you heavenward.
The first splash of rain hit my cheek, the coolness of it shocking on my hot skin. A few more drops closely followed and then, like a gift from God, the heavens opened up, spilling their bounty onto the sizzling asphalt.
It was a deluge, collecting dirt and garbage in its slipstream as it pounded the earth. People around us shrieked and ran for cover inside cars and underneath the wide front lip of the Target store. A few daring souls braved the downpour, holding purses and newspapers over their heads as they ran through the parking lot.
Senenmut released my hand and stopped beside an SUV. He leaned backward against the car, raising his ruined face to the sky. I had a feeling that water was probably the best thing we could’ve asked for to dilute the effects of the pepper spray. I looked back to see what our stalkers—the security guards—were up to, only to find that they had turned back in the face of the unexpected storm. All I could see of them as they ran higgledy-piggledy toward the safety of the building were their sopping, blue security-uniformed butts.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said after a few moments, my pink sweater waterlogged and my boots as heavy as snowshoes. I felt like a drowned rat and I was pretty sure that I looked like one, too. I hefted my soaking leather purse over my shoulder and took Senenmut’s arm.
“I think we are in desperate need of a ride.”
Ignoring the rain, I took out my phone and dialed the only number I knew by heart.
“Hi, Information? I need the number for a local cab company. I don’t care which one . . . Fine, why don’t you just give me
all
of them?”
all
of them?”
As I dialed the first number that Information gave me, I took out my trusty rubidium clock from where I’d stashed it in my back pocket.
“How much time?” I whispered.
Nine hours.
More than enough time to have a bath before we went to Hell.
Senenmut
said
he wanted to go back to Egypt. But since that wasn’t really an option, I did the next best thing.
said
he wanted to go back to Egypt. But since that wasn’t really an option, I did the next best thing.
I booked us a room at the Luxor Hotel.
With the need for a shower and something to eat ingrained in my brain, I couldn’t help myself. I mean, how often does a person get to stay in a fake Egyptian pyramid with one of the guys who probably helped invent the architectural style in the first place?
When the taxi pulled up to the front of the hotel, I could barely keep Senenmut in the car. His face was still a red, puffy mess, but the water and time had helped wash away most of the pepper spray’s effects so that he could at least see again.
With its clean steel and glass lines, the hotel may have resembled a deconstructionist’s vision of what an ancient Egyptian pyramid looked like, but that didn’t seem to faze Senenmut at all. As soon as the doorman (a handsome young guy in a well-fitting beige costume) opened the car door for us, Senenmut was out like a shot. He bounded past the doorman—nearly knocking the poor guy over in the process—and made a bee-line for the automatic front doors.
“Wait for me,” I said as I paid the driver and tipped the doorman so he wouldn’t sue us.
Boy, this guy is expensive,
I thought as I looked down at the fast-dwindling wad of twenties I’d pulled out of a 7-Eleven ATM only a few minutes earlier. The taxi driver hadn’t
wanted
to make a pit stop at the 7-Eleven, but when I told him it was the only way he was gonna get paid for services rendered, he quickly obliged me.
I thought as I looked down at the fast-dwindling wad of twenties I’d pulled out of a 7-Eleven ATM only a few minutes earlier. The taxi driver hadn’t
wanted
to make a pit stop at the 7-Eleven, but when I told him it was the only way he was gonna get paid for services rendered, he quickly obliged me.
I caught sight of Senenmut blocking one of the automatic doors as he stepped in and out of range of the door’s sensor. Lucky me that my new best friend was so obsessed with modern conveniences—or else I’d have probably lost him to the call of the casino already. I hastily made my way down the graded entranceway, bypassing a horde of German tourists who were watching Senenmut’s battle of the automatic doors with unabashed curiosity, and took my friend by the arm.
“Enough playing with the door. Let’s go inside.”
He didn’t seem to like the sound of my plan very much, but he reluctantly let me lead him away, looking back only
once
with longing as the automatic doors closed behind us. Inside the casino, we were immediately greeted by a blast of cold air that made me shiver. I had forgotten from my one and only trip to Las Vegas that the casinos were notorious for freezing your ass off 24/7, so you wouldn’t get sleepy while you were throwing all your money at the craps table like an automaton—something I’d had some personal experience with and didn’t like to discuss (a bachelorette party in Atlantic City gone wrong) because it made my pocketbook hurt just thinking about it.
once
with longing as the automatic doors closed behind us. Inside the casino, we were immediately greeted by a blast of cold air that made me shiver. I had forgotten from my one and only trip to Las Vegas that the casinos were notorious for freezing your ass off 24/7, so you wouldn’t get sleepy while you were throwing all your money at the craps table like an automaton—something I’d had some personal experience with and didn’t like to discuss (a bachelorette party in Atlantic City gone wrong) because it made my pocketbook hurt just thinking about it.
The hotel was dressed in varying shades of gold, beige, and brown—all of which I decided were on the tasteful side of the color spectrum. In fact, I would’ve said that the place was well-appointed and imposing if it weren’t for the fake Egyptian statuary and hieroglyphic-inspired scenes painted all along the walls and the fake mud brick and palm tree motif (not my favorite) that overwhelmed most of the interior design, making the place look vaguely cheesy in a way that was particular to Las Vegas.
“What is this place?” Senenmut said as we left the confines of the lobby and headed toward the front desk.
My plan
was
to grab our key, head to the shopping area, buy some dry clothes, take a shower, order room service, and, while we ate, call Jarvis to come and pick us up via wormhole. I thought it was a pretty great plan and I was more than ready to put it into action.
was
to grab our key, head to the shopping area, buy some dry clothes, take a shower, order room service, and, while we ate, call Jarvis to come and pick us up via wormhole. I thought it was a pretty great plan and I was more than ready to put it into action.
“It’s called a casino,” I said, stepping in line behind a tall man with long, wavy gray hair and glasses.
He gave us a cursory look then made one of those haughty sniffing sounds. Before I could give him a nasty look in reply, he was called up to the front desk and I was left fuming quietly to myself.
Senenmut, on the other hand, didn’t seem at all fazed by the man’s bad attitude. Instead, he was too busy goggling at the wide-open expanse of gaming tables and slot machines to care what anyone thought about us.
“This is unlike any pyramid that I have ever seen,” Senenmut said in hushed tones. “Where is the burial chamber?”
When Senenmut said the words “burial chamber,” I didn’t think for a minute that my Egyptian friend was referring to the basement vault where the casino kept all their cash. No, he was talking about a real-deal burial chamber where the real pyramids kept their mummies and funerary finery.
“Uhm,
this
isn’t a real pyramid,” I said, trying to explain.
this
isn’t a real pyramid,” I said, trying to explain.
The old guy who’d sniffed at us earlier had gotten into some kind of argument with the lady behind the front desk, and it did not seem to be coming to a quick resolution. I was pretty sure we were gonna be standing in line for a while, so I decided to elaborate.
“You see,” I began, “Las Vegas is a city unlike pretty much any other city in all of America—not including Atlantic City, New Jersey, of course. It’s actually called Sin City by those in the know because it was built on a love of gambling and sex and really tacky clothing.”
“I don’t understand,” Senenmut said, frowning.
“Okay, let me try this a different way.”
“Please do,” Senenmut said as the line behind us only seemed to grow.
“Well, this place we’re in is called the Luxor—”
“We are in Egypt?” Senenmut said, surprised.
I shook my head.
“No, we are in a building
called
the Luxor, but it’s nowhere near Egypt. It’s actually in America and it was built to
resemble
an Egyptian pyramid on the outside, but on the inside, it’s used for something totally different.”
called
the Luxor, but it’s nowhere near Egypt. It’s actually in America and it was built to
resemble
an Egyptian pyramid on the outside, but on the inside, it’s used for something totally different.”
“Then there are no Kings buried here?” Senenmut asked suspiciously.
“Nope,” I said. “Not a one.”
Senenmut narrowed his eyes.
“Then what is that?”
He was pointing to a sign hanging from the ceiling. It read KING TUT MUSEUM and had an arrow pointing directly ahead.
“Uhm, well,
that
is—”
that
is—”
“You have lied to me, Calliope Reaper-Jones,” Senenmut said evenly, the complete austerity of his words at odds with his puffy red face. “And for that, we are no longer compatriots.”
“Hey, that’s not true—” I started to say, but Senenmut wasn’t listening to me anymore. His focus was now on the sign and wherever it would lead him.
“Until we meet again under better auspices,” Senenmut said, then turned around and walked away, leaving me standing in the line at the front desk of the Luxor Hotel all by myself.
twenty-one
Just as Senenmut made his untimely exit, two hotel security guards—how many damn security guards was I gonna have to deal with in one day?—came striding toward me. Panicked, I left my place in line and started fast-walking in the same direction I’d just seen Senenmut take. As I made my way into the casino proper, I looked back to see what kind of lead I had on the security guys, but to my surprise, I found that they weren’t anywhere in my vicinity. In fact,
I
wasn’t the person they’d been gunning for at all. It was the snooty older man with the wavy gray hair that they’d been after.
I
wasn’t the person they’d been gunning for at all. It was the snooty older man with the wavy gray hair that they’d been after.
I watched, feeling vindicated, as the older man was led away, his mouth set in an angry
O
, both hands held behind his back by the two security guards.
O
, both hands held behind his back by the two security guards.
Yes! Finally, the real jerk gets in trouble,
I thought happily as the old man and his entourage disappeared into the crowd, his indignant protests swallowed up by the madcap chiming of slot machines paying out their winnings.
I thought happily as the old man and his entourage disappeared into the crowd, his indignant protests swallowed up by the madcap chiming of slot machines paying out their winnings.
Safe now, I looked around the casino for another sign that would direct me to the King Tut Museum. I spotted one across the floor, the museum’s name printed in big, bold letters with the universal sign for “elevator” (the little square box) beside it. I made my way back across the sea of gamblers—old blue-haired dowagers; middle-aged, potbellied married couples; and clumps of tackily dressed twentysomethings looking for a little action to get them through the night—and wasn’t even tempted
once
to stop and put a quarter in a slot.
once
to stop and put a quarter in a slot.
I got to the elevator (or
inclinator
, as they called it at the Luxor, built on an incline to match the angled interior walls of the pyramid) right when a family with three little angelic-faced kids walked up. The littlest kid, a boy of about three with white-blond hair, a booger-infested nose, and the remains of a chocolate candy bar on his face, reached out his grubby hand and pressed the call button, smearing chocolate all over it.
inclinator
, as they called it at the Luxor, built on an incline to match the angled interior walls of the pyramid) right when a family with three little angelic-faced kids walked up. The littlest kid, a boy of about three with white-blond hair, a booger-infested nose, and the remains of a chocolate candy bar on his face, reached out his grubby hand and pressed the call button, smearing chocolate all over it.
“Sorry about that,” the father said, looking sheepishly down at his child and ruffling his hair.
He was so laissez-faire about his kid sliming the elevator control button that there was no way he could be one of those anal, yuppie dads that planned out their family’s vacations down to the last potty break. This guy seemed more like the cool dad. You know, the one who smoked pot with you and told you stories about the girls he banged when he was a teenager.
“No problem,” I replied with a smile.
It wasn’t my elevator. Besides, while his kids
may
have been messy, they were obviously well loved.
may
have been messy, they were obviously well loved.
While we stood there waiting for our inclinator, the same little boy dropped to his knees, crawled over to where I was standing, and poked my boot.
“King Poot,” he said as he poked the tip of my shoe again, getting chocolate on it.
“Ansel!” the father said, bending down and scooping the small child up in his arms.
No wonder the kid has issues,
I thought.
With a name like Ansel, who wouldn’t?
I thought.
With a name like Ansel, who wouldn’t?
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