Magical War: Vegas Paranormal / Club 66, #6

By C. C. Mahon

The Great Secret is dead.

Upon discovering the existence of the supernaturals, some humans are overcome with hatred. They have gathered around Club 66, weapons in hand.
Inside are Erica, her team, and their clients.
The siege of Club 66 has begun.
Who will make it out alive?

Magical War is the 6th and final installment in the Club 66 series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allure Editions
• Release date: Jun 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9791095394488

Book preview

1

One of the perks of living in Las Vegas is that you can always find a restaurant for brunch, even in the late afternoon in the middle of a magical apocalypse.

I had a great time with Nate, and we decided to brave the summer heat to walk back to the club, hand in hand. I had spread my wings to protect us from the sun and was walking close to my partner. The heat that burned my cheeks had nothing to do with the weather. Why had I kept this man at a distance for so long when I felt so comfortable with him?

Maybe I needed to learn to be alone before I let someone into my life.

I had proven to myself my strength, my ability to cope without help. But having a grizzly in shining armor by my side felt good, I thought as I cast a loving glance at my companion.

Nate sniffed and stopped in the middle of the street.

Problem? I asked.

Flaming gasoline, gunpowder, and human sweat. It smells like trouble.

Metagrizzlies have a powerful sense of smell, and Nate was no exception. Without missing a beat, I changed the spell that hid my Valkyrie wings.

We are invisible, I whispered.

We moved forward again, close to the walls to stay in their shadow. Before I could even see my warehouse, I could see the shimmer of magic above the block.

The club’s protections? Nate murmured.

The emergency mode has been activated. Someone is attacking the warehouse.

---

Someone turned out to be several dozen people, most of them dressed in camouflage pants, bright T-shirts, and scarlet caps. The smell of gunpowder undoubtedly came from the many automatic weapons carried by the protesters, the stench of burning gasoline from the mounds assembled around the warehouse, blazing merrily like Midsummer fires.

Do you think they tried to break in? asked Nate.

They must have done something to trigger the protections. A few flames in the middle of the street wouldn’t have been enough—

As if to confirm my words, a beer can arced over the group. A good yard before the warehouse wall, the object hit the magic shields and fell back onto the sidewalk. Shouts of displeasure rose, followed by a burst of automatic weapons fire. The sharp, jerky sound made me flinch.

We can turn around, suggested Nate.

No way. The club opens in an hour, and I’m not going to let them chase me out of my home. I’ll call the police from the landline and have them disperse these idiots.

Still invisible, we approached in silence. I folded my wings along my body, reluctant to get my feathers fried, and preceded Nate between the flaming barrages.

As I slipped between the groups of protesters, I heard snippets of conversation. Two themes emerged. The proud owners of semi-automatic rifles discussed the comparative merits of their toys. Meanwhile, the malcontents, fed up with the monsters that controlled Las Vegas, had decided to run them out of town. I tried very hard not to take offense at the moniker. A few nights earlier, Britannicus had given me a whole lecture on the image of the monster in the Western male imagination. I had decided never to say that word again in front of my friend, lest he launched into the other part of his lecture, namely the monster in the Western female imagination.

As for the idea that the supernaturals controlled Las Vegas, it made me want to snicker. I only tried to control one place—this warehouse where I had opened my nightclub. And even that wasn’t easy.

But the worst thing was the idea of driving us out of Las Vegas. Because the city was still under a lid, enclosed in an invisible dome that didn’t let magic or supernatural beings through. We were simply stuck in Sin City.

The scarlet baseball caps caught my eye. They all looked identical and had an embroidered slogan above the brim. I took the time to decipher it.

Make Vegas Human Again.

Short and clear.

I stopped in front of the warehouse entrance. Two different fires were burning at my back.

I’ll create an illusion to hide the door opening, I whispered.

Nate nodded, his face closed and his eyes fixed on the crowd of protesters thundering just a few feet away from us.

I mentally reconstructed the image of the closed door and projected it right behind us, then unlocked the real one. I started to push it open slowly, in a desperate attempt to keep it from creaking, when Nate threw himself at me. Get down!

Another burst of semi-automatic fire ripped through the overheated air. Trapped under Nate’s grizzly weight, I craned my neck toward the protesters. No one was looking at us, and already the automatic weapon had fallen silent.

Sorry, Nate mumbled as he helped me up. When I saw him shoulder, I thought he’d spotted us. But he fired into the air.

I slipped into the warehouse and, with a touch of my hand on the control panel, deactivated the protection spells’ emergency mode. Then I pulled Nate after me and slammed the door shut, not caring about the noise. I immediately locked the door, reactivated the emergency mode, and breathed a long sigh of relief.

2

The interior of the warehouse, lit by multicolored spells, was immersed in a pleasant coolness.

Let’s go downstairs, I said. I’ll make us some coffee and call the police station.

It had been three days since anyone had come to protest, Nate remarked. I’d come to expect not to see them anymore. When are they going to get tired of this?

I folded my wings to go down the stairs and opened the double door that led to the bar.

I guess they have nothing better to do with their time. Lola says that many businesses have gone bankrupt because of the magic blockade. In a way, they’re not wrong. We don’t control the city, but we’ve put it in a bad state.

The espresso machine chirped, and I placed two cups of coffee on the bar. Nate perched on a stool, facing me.

Are you still mad at yourself for that magical leak business?

I came to understand that the responsibility lies with the one who drilled into the ley line in defiance of all rules. Callum put the city at risk for his own personal gain. But I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t chased him through those giant crystals—

Nate bent over the bar and put a finger to my lips. What’s done is done, he said. And Las Vegas isn’t a wasteland, either. These protesters will eventually find another cause to occupy their days. Or even a new job. This isn’t the first economic crisis in history, and Vegas has an impressive ability to bounce back. We’ll be fine.

I let his words lull me and took the time to enjoy my coffee without worrying anymore.

Eventually, reality came back to me. It is already late. The entrance to the club must be cleared before the customers arrive!

I picked up the phone and dialed the number of the police station. I was beginning to know it by heart.

Hello, this is Erica St. Gilles, owner of Club 66.

You again! grumbled a male voice. What is it this time?

I ignored the aggressive tone and explained the situation.

Freedom of assembly, said the policeman.

I’m sorry? Did you hear when I mentioned the flaming barricades and the gunshots?

For fires, call the fire department.

What about the people who shoot at my club?

Probably a backfiring exhaust pipe. Since only old cars can run, it has become a common occurrence. You’ll get used to it.

And if these people shoot my customers, what do I do?

If a human being is injured, call the emergency services.

The emphasis on the words human being made me cringe. But the cop had already hung up.

I put the receiver down harder than necessary, and the phone fell off the wall.

No police, huh? said Nate in a soft voice.

And Johnny will be here soon.

My bartender was always punctual. And his chest was covered with peacock feathers, which protruded from the collar of his shirts. If the protesters got their hands on him…

Let’s go upstairs and watch for his arrival, suggested Nate. You can get him past the barricades with your invisibility spell.

Johnny was covered in feathers, but he had no magic of his own and couldn’t change his appearance as other supernaturals did. He was the most helpless of my employees.

I followed Nate to the first floor and deactivated the emergency mode of the protection spells, so they would let my bartender through. Then, instead of opening the door again, I pointed to the second staircase. We’ll have a better view from the loft, I said.

But already the lock slammed and the door opened. A flurry of insults penetrated the magical protections at the same time as Johnny. The bartender stepped under the multicolored curtain of spells, which recognized him as a staff member.

Is everything okay? I asked.

Johnny gasped. Boss, what are you doing here in the dark?

We wanted to meet you outside to help you get through the barricades, Nate explained. Did anyone hurt you?

Nah. They cussed me, and I gave it back double. One woman spat in my face, and I hope she doesn’t have a cold. But I don’t like all these guns. What’s the point of coming armed if not to shoot people? Are the cops coming soon?

Not tonight, I said. I was advised to call the fire department.

It’s not stupid, Johnny remarked. They’ve got some pretty powerful water hoses to clear the street of this garbage.

---

Fifteen minutes later, a red truck drove down the street, sirens blaring. Protesters lined up to block its path. From my loft, Nate and I watched the situation unfold. After a few minutes of obviously heated negotiations, a firefighter walked back to the truck, shaking his head. For a moment, I feared the engine would go back the way it came. I should have had more confidence in the fire department. Since the crowd was blocking the truck’s path, the firefighters deployed their ladder over the protesters. Two firemen climbed up the ladder, pulling the fire hose behind them. And the deluge fell on the burning barricades.

The firefighters were obviously careful not to shower the protesters directly. Still, the torrents of water they poured out would have been enough to drive anyone off.

The street was cleared in record time and without injury.

After the truck left, Barbie, Gertrude, and Vera arrived in quick succession and went down to the basement to help Johnny. Eupraxie followed close behind, always chic with her scarf draped over the snakes of her skull, her oversized sunglasses keeping her from petrifying everyone whose gaze she met.

The street is soaked, and I damaged my pumps in this dirty water, she grumbled while crossing the threshold. But it hasn’t rained.

The protesters came back, I said. The firefighters dispersed them.

I missed the firemen? Shoot!

I want you to keep both eyes open tonight, I said. Let me know immediately if the protesters come back. And don’t petrify anyone.

3

The first customers had just arrived at the bar when a blond pixie cut caught my attention.

Lola! I cried.

I rushed to my friend to hug her.

The last time I had seen Lola was in a nest of psychic vampires, and she was barely alive.

How are you? Has it been a long time since you got out of Customs’ infirmary? Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. Then I thought of loosening my grip and releasing my friend. She looked a little pale, with dark circles around her eyes. And she looked pissed.

You’re in uniform, I remarked. Are you back to work already?

Lola was a detective and always worked in plain clothes. I had never seen her in that beige shirt.

He appointed me to traffic duty, Lola groaned.

I led my friend to the counter. She pulled herself up onto a stool—no small feat when you’re that short—and I slipped behind the bar. Beer or cocktail?

Bourbon.

Johnny was faster than me and poured a double whisky. Lola emptied it in one gulp.

Wow, I said softly. Don’t roll under the counter until you’ve had time to tell me.

She motioned to Johnny. He glanced at me, then poured her another shot of bourbon.

I came out of the infirmary this morning, Lola explained, and went straight to the police station. When I got to my desk, I found someone else there. My things were in a box. The commissioner wanted to see me.

Is it because of Matteo?

Lola shook her head and emptied half her glass. No, it’s because of the commissioner, who is a first-rate racist and can’t stand ‘one of his men’ going out with a vampire. He put me on traffic duty ‘until I come to my senses.’

What does that mean?

That I have three days to break up with Matteo. If I don’t, he’ll fire me with a reprimand.

He has no right! I cried.

Lola pouted. That won’t stop Commissioner Godzilla.

His name is not…

She shook her head. Commissioner Robert Rodney Gorzala. A first-class asshole that everyone is happy to call—

Godzilla, I see. And what does Matteo think?

I haven’t talked to him yet. I don’t know what to say.

What do you mean?

I refuse to choose between Matteo and my job. I refuse to choose between supernaturals and humans. I don’t see why I should have to give up one or the other. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like we’re back in the days when kids would throw rocks at mixed couples they passed on the street. This city has enough problems already. We’d be stronger if we all faced it together, don’t you think?

Supernaturals and humans together? I was finding it harder and harder to believe.

I decided not to tell her about my telephone mishap with the police station. If a human being is