The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales (6 page)

“Certain people aren’t tough because of things that happen to them,” I replied. “They’re strong if and when they need to be.”

“If one never practices being strong, one will not have strength to rely on when it’s needed,” Titus shot back.

When have I not practiced being strong? Did he even
see
me fighting that vampire in the alley?
“I didn’t come here for a lecture,” I all but snapped.

“Consider it a bonus,” Titus muttered. The dealer’s eyes flickered to my father. Then she continued shuffling cards and winging them to the patrons.

As far as I could see, Titus was talking nonsense. Not practicing? Not being strong? During my formative years, any time spent with my father had been about nothing else. It was he who taught me fighting, weapons, and strategy. Ruthless and calculating, before Rome fell, he was considered violent even for the age in which he lived. If I were to use modern psychology, I’d attribute this to his harsh upbringing. I think it led to a “get-them-before-they-get-you” mentality. I knew he loved competition, and valued winning at all costs. Titus Aurelius did not enjoy being on the losing end of anything.

Which seemed to be happening now. Titus drew his cell phone out of his jacket’s breast pocket without taking his eyes off the hungry-looking gambler. He punched several buttons. Moments later, two burly security guards appeared at his side and began hauling the man off.

“Hey, wait—what did I do?” The man frantically turned his head from guard to guard, struggling to free himself. The other patrons stared and edged their seats away. The dealer bit her lip and hesitated before scooping up the man’s cards and continuing to shuffle.

“Yes, what exactly did he do?” I asked my father, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

“He was cheating,” Titus said, a triumphant look on his face as his prey squirmed in his grasp. Well, at least the grasp of his employees. “Counting the cards, as a matter of fact.”

“That’s ridiculous!” the man protested. “And you can’t prove it.” Not exactly the words of an innocent man.

“I’m the owner of this establishment,” my father said in what I’d come to know as his “vampire voice.” It was the one just tinged with magic; the one he used when he wanted to let mortals know he meant business. “I don’t have to prove anything.”

The man swallowed hard, and the guards looked at each other, then back at my father. Titus leaned in closer. “Break his thumbs,” he growled to the guards. The man’s face crumpled, and I stepped between them just as he was about to beg for mercy.

“Wait, wait,” I said, putting one palm up in front of my father and the other in front of the cheater. “There must be another way. This doesn’t have to get ugly. Can’t you just have him thrown out?”

My father gave me a look of amusement mixed with outrage. “You seem to think this is unusual. Last week I had a man killed for the exact same reason. I’m being positively magnanimous this evening.” Although he was careful to keep his voice down, it was obvious the cheater heard him. I could’ve sworn the man gave a little whimper. The security guards stood stone-faced; no doubt they were paid well to follow all my father’s orders without hesitation or judgment.

“Well then, would you consider giving into my little whim and just throwing him out?” My chin jutted to the cheater, who nodded rapidly. “After all, we do have more important matters on our minds than catching every small-time trickster.” I gave my father a pointed look.

Titus made an exaggerated sigh. “
Fine
. Gentlemen,” he said to the guards, who immediately snapped to attention, “see this man out. And if he ever returns,” Titus’s eyes bored into the cheater, “you know what to do.” The man opened his mouth to speak, but the guards whisked him away. My father shook his head in disgust as we started upstairs to his private apartment.

“I know you think you won a victory back there,” he said, walking through the casino, “but compassion is just a sign of weakness.”

Titus was not telling the whole truth; I knew he was not entirely without compassion. My mother never would’ve given him the time of day otherwise. Still, I shrugged, not willing to take the bait and get into an argument.

All right, all right—perhaps I couldn’t avoid taking the bait entirely. “I could never understand how cheating casinos is wrong anyway,” I replied. “I mean, the odds are always with the house. Everything it does is designed to separate you from your money. Yet when you try to turn the tables, if you’ll excuse the pun, it’s seen as wrong.”

“It’s called ‘survival of the fittest,’ ” Titus said.

“Really? Not ‘survival of the most cynical?’ ” I asked.

Titus chose to ignore my last comment, holding up his index finger. “I need to talk to someone.” I started to speak, but he was already motioning to the man I recognized as the head of guest services. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, and they went into a corner and began discussing concierges or some such nonsense.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and scowled. These delays were getting ridiculous. What was worse, they were beginning to make me think Titus didn’t care about finding my mother at all. Of course, his history as a general did lead one to believe he only had his own interests at heart.

Oddly enough, both my parents were reluctant to discuss his bloody past in detail. I imagine my mother didn’t find it one of his more attractive qualities. And Titus probably didn’t talk to me about it because he knew he’d catch hell from my mother if he did. Not that he didn’t relish a fight—I think he did it just to avoid the aggravation. Or was it possible he was ashamed of some of the things he’d done? Unlikely.

Regardless, I ended up learning most of what I knew about my father in the library. Imagine reading a history book one day and discovering your sire was one of the most brutal generals in the Roman Empire. I assure you, it is not as glamourous as it seems. But that’s my father, isn’t it? Magnanimous Personifus Terrificus.

“Hey—cut it out!” I heard a weary female voice over my shoulder and turned to look. A balding man with a loosened tie and large cigar was trying to grab a cocktail waitress by some very intimate parts. From the way he was wobbling about on the seat in front of his slot machine, it was clear he’d had too much to drink. However, I got the feeling he wasn’t much more of a gentleman when he was sober.

“Awww, c’mon, sweetheart.” He grinned and pulled on the waitress’s skirt as she tried to remove his hand. “What’s it there for if not for squeezin’, eh?”

“I
told
you, if you keep this up, I’m going to complain to management.” The waitress was pretty—in her thirties, I’d say, but with bags under her eyes. A cursory glance inside her mind told me she was a single mother with two young children.

The ass-grabber just laughed. “Go ahead—complain. What do you think they’re going to do? Kick out a customer or fire a crappy waitress? Your call, sweetheart.” Then he slapped her in the offending area—hard—and went back to his slots.

I saw the waitress wince when the man hit her, but she quickly recovered and headed back to the bar. Before she got there, I waved my hand, motioning to her.

“Excuse me—” I started.

“Yes?” She made a quick, polite smile that did not reach her eyes. Tucking her empty tray under her arm, she took out a pen and pad from her apron. “What can I get you, sir?”

“Me? Oh, nothing. It’s just . . . was that man bothering you?”

The waitress turned for a moment, but the boorish man was still absorbed in his slots.

“That guy? Oh, never mind him,” she said. “We call him Lousy Larry. He’s always trying to mess with the girls. Last week, he grabbed a friend of mine so hard, it left bruises. I think he’s done worse stuff too,” she whispered, “but we can’t prove it.”

“Why not make good on your threat and complain?” I asked. “I can have a word with the owner, if you like.”

The waitress grimaced and shook her head. “It’s just something I say to try and fend him off. But Lousy’s right: the casino would only fire me, and I really need this job.” I saw images of bills and childcare expenses flash through her mind.

Out of nowhere, Titus appeared on my right. “If you’re done rescuing damsels in distress, Joshua,” he said, “perhaps we can move on?” He gave a stern look to the waitress. “Don’t you have patrons you should be helping?”

The waitress’s eyes went wide, and the color drained from her face. “Yes sir—right away, Mr. Aurelius, sir!” She turned sharply and headed back to the bar, nearly tripping on her five-inch heels.

“Was that really necessary?” I hissed. “And how long were you watching, anyway?”

“Long enough to know my son has no time to dally about playing Don Quixote,” Titus replied.

“Well then, are you going to do something about it?” I asked.

Titus tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. “What would you have me do, exactly?”

“You threatened to break a man’s thumbs earlier, and possibly kill him. Surely you can at least throw that cad out as well.”

Titus smirked. “Why should I?
He’s
not costing the casino any money.”

I was about to say something in outrage when my father cut me off, as usual.

“Besides, I thought we had more important business to discuss.”

“We do, but—”

“Then let’s go to dinner, where we can discuss it. You’ve barely eaten since we left New York, and you’ll need your strength. If there’s time later, perhaps one of us can deal with the cad.”

Go to dinner. Or rather, I will enjoy a meal and my father will watch, vampires being unable to consume human food. I gave one last glance over my shoulder at the waitress’s tormentor. Leaving such vulgar behavior uncorrected was regrettable, but we really did have to get on with saving my mother.

We took the private elevator up to my father’s suite, which included an enormous dining room. I imagined this was to keep up appearances. Although it was unlikely anyone would guess that the casino’s owner was a vampire, there was no harm in having a dining room to shore up pretenses.

As we sat down with waiters scurrying all around us, the view from the table was fantastic. We faced a wall of windows overlooking the Strip, and since the Roman rose far above its counterparts, one had the feeling of looking down on earth from Mount Olympus. Of course, I had the better view, as I sat opposite my father, who always took the seat facing the door. We stared at one another while awaiting our drinks.

“So,” my father said.

“So,” I replied.

“It seems after the minor catastrophe in New York—”

“Which was not entirely my fault,” I pointed out.

“We are left with only one option, one way of finding out more about this crystal.”

“Which might lead us to the person we’re looking for,” I said, raising my eyebrows. Best to keep the focus on what was important. The crystal was only the means to an end, at least to me.

“Yes, yes.” Titus waved his hand. “And so, now, the topic we’ve been avoiding ever since we left the city.”

I heaved a sigh. “Infiltrating the PIA.”

Chapter 5

“London would be a good place to start, since it’s where the PIA is based,” Titus said. “From there, perhaps there’s a way to get to their offices in Rome.”

“So you do think there’s a chance Abigail’s in Rome, then?” I asked.

“Possibly,” Titus replied. “Whatever information London offers up should give us some clue.”

“You mean
if
London offers anything up.” I whipped open my napkin and placed it in my lap. It was hard to think about food when I felt overwhelmed by the task ahead. “Must we really try to ingratiate ourselves into the PIA? Are there no other means left open to us?”

My father shook his head. “This is the simplest, quickest method.”

But oh, how I dreaded the thought of it. Even though Titus and I were magical creatures, it didn’t mean getting the PIA’s information would be easy. Like most secret societies, the PIA is close-knit, and reluctant to take in outsiders. But that was likely to be the least of our worries.

The biggest one was that, as a matter of course, supernatural creatures avoided the PIA. One of their chief rules was that no member was allowed to have unearthly powers. If they did, and the PIA found out, they would be ejected from the organization at the very least. A worse possibility was this: the PIA might take measures to defend itself if it considered the creature dangerous. The PIA didn’t care if supernatural creatures were a danger to
each other,
mind you—just to the PIA. They didn’t intervene if young mages were battling vampires in alleyways, for instance, though they would not hesitate to take photographs.

But it was even more complicated than that. Many individuals joined the PIA specifically because they had the ability to recognize supernatural beings. This posed a problem as far as my father was concerned. Vampires who haven’t fed—or don’t use glamour to alter their appearance if they haven’t—have physical attributes that give them away. There’s the telltale pale skin, as you know, which grows even paler if they’re hungry. Veins on their faces and hands also become slightly discolored and more pronounced. If Titus was prevented from feeding for any reason while conducting research at the PIA, this could be problematic. I’m more fortunate: there’s nothing about me that suggests I’m anything but an ordinary mortal. Still, a PIA member might be able to
sense
my magic.