Magical Mistrust: Vegas Paranormal / Club 66, #5

By C. C. Mahon

The secret that protects the existence of the supernaturals is threatened from all sides.

Can Erica prevent humans from discovering the existence of a world they are not ready to accept?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allure Editions
• Release date: Jun 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9791095394471

Book preview

1

The night is never dark in Las Vegas. Not with millions of neon lighting the sky. And certainly not since Customs had put a lid on Sin City.

The dome that covered Las Vegas isolated the city from the rest of the world. It was an invisible, ultra-resistant barrier, created by Customs to contain the magic flowing out of the ley lines, the rivers of energy that ran beneath Sin City. As a side effect, it blocked the passage of any supernatural being, one way or the other.

Beneath this bubble, a perpetual cloud of energy glowed day and night, its changing colors tuned to the casino’s neon signs, glittering in harmony with the spirit of the place. And the inhabitants were barely recovering from the storm that had swept through their lives. Like everyone else, I searched for a new normal in a battered city.

In this fake psychedelic night, the streets looked like a video game set. The wheels of my motorcycle skidded on the mud that still soaked the asphalt. Only old cars drove around me. The magical storm that had raged for days had destroyed the most modern electronic components.

As the GPS service was no longer working, I had to stop once in a while to check my paper map.

"Trust your intuition, said the sword I carried across my back. You have to be able to feel where your Valkyrie work is calling you."

Blah, blah, blah, I muttered under my helmet.

I was still a beginner Valkyrie, okay? Until that night, I’d had two missions—two people, dead in battle, whom Odin had found worthy of joining Valhalla. My divine boss had taken me there each time, and only the second dead girl had accepted the offer. For my third mission, Odin had just deigned to send me a message with an address and a time. 3655 South Las Vegas Boulevard, 4:08 a.m.

In the center of the city, raw magic escaped from the ley line in a column of light. The energy rose straight into the sky before colliding with the dome, a few hundred meters above the Strip. The magic spun around like a caged beast before finding the breach in the barrier. Then the energy fled over Lake Mead, into the Grand Canyon, and up the Colorado River, a storm that only supernatural beings could feel. At least, that’s what Britannicus’ contacts had told him. No one I knew had ever been that far.

On Flamingo Road, the traffic lights were still out. At every intersection, a policeman in a bright yellow poncho ran the traffic.

"Turn right!" said the sword.

I changed lanes in a hurry, setting a horn-honking concert as I went by, skidded into a puddle of mud more viscous than the others, and restored the balance of my motorcycle with a flick of my hips. I headed right onto the Strip.

Almost immediately, I ran into a traffic jam. A dozen vehicles had stopped in front of the Bellagio fountains. The water had finally thawed, and a handful of employees were standing in the empty basin, their feet in the mud, busy clearing the brown deposits.

Look the other way! grunted the sword.

A traffic island planted with palm trees divided the boulevard. Beyond the poor trees, mangled by the storm, three fire trucks blocked the way. The largest had spread out its ladder, and I looked up to see what that was all about.

In Las Vegas, most casinos have a theme, like adult amusement parks. One establishment dedicated to ancient Egypt took the shape of a pyramid. Another disguised itself as a fairy-tale castle. A third had reconstructed the streets of Paris indoors and displayed a reproduction of the Eiffel Tower on its facade. The tower was only half the original but still rose five hundred feet high. And it was towards this tower that the fire truck extended its ladder.

Pull over, ordered the sword.

I hadn’t waited for its command. I slipped the motorcycle between the stopped cars, their drivers hypnotized by what happened on the other side of the boulevard, climbed onto the sidewalk, and parked against the Bellagio’s stone railing. I left my helmet on the bike and crossed the street. A group of firefighters was storming the ladder. I followed their gaze. Several dozen yards higher, a guy in a fancy suit hung on the tower structure.

The guy turned to assess the firefighters’ progress below, and his foot slipped on a beam. I let out a gasp of fear. The guy recovered somehow, his forehead now pressed against the metal of the tower.

This won’t end well, the sword predicted.

I had the same feeling.

2

The guy in the suit had reached the second floor of the tower. At this level, the metal structure curved towards the street to make way for a panoramic bay window. This must not have been ideal for our climber. From the middle of the boulevard where I stood, and despite the multiple neon lights, it was difficult to distinguish the details of his situation. But he had just stopped in an uncomfortable position: his left leg stretched to the maximum, only the tip of his shoe resting on a metal crosspiece. His right leg was bent against his torso, and even if his foot made contact with the tower, the poor climber would never be able to transfer his weight to it. Not in that position. His body concealed his left hand, and I hoped that it provided a good grip, for his right hand groped up and down for a hold on the window. From below, the surface seemed perfectly smooth, and the guy looked as if he was stuck.

Why did Odin send us here? I wondered. I’m sure he doesn’t want me to spread my wings in front of all these people and fly to get the poor guy?

For the supernatural community, discretion was the order of the day. The Great Secret, as I called it, was that we existed: the Valkyries, the magic swords, but also the metamorphs (like Nate, the bouncer at my nightclub), the harpies (like Barbie, my best waitress), the trolls (like Gertrude, my other waitress), or the dragons (Vera, who worked in the kitchen). All of these species and individuals formed a community of a few thousand members in Las Vegas. A community that did everything to remain ignored by humans. History had shown us what humans did when confronted with what they didn’t understand. Usually, they destroyed it. Launching a new witch hunt in the age of electronic surveillance and genetic profiling did not seem like a good idea. For this reason, I hid my big crow’s wings and magic sword under an illusion. So I didn’t see how I could intervene in the present situation…

Don’t be stupid, the sword replied. It’s not the suicide risk that interests us. It’s the firemen.

Three firefighters were climbing the ladder, approaching the guy in the suit at high speed. Unfortunately, their ladder was a good ten yards too short. So the first of the firemen decided to climb the tower, bare-handed and with equipment so bulky I did not dare to estimate its weight.

He’s the one we have to save, I said.

Stop lying to yourself. You know perfectly well why we’re here.

When Odin gave me my Valkyrie wings, he ordered me to protect the people of Las Vegas from magical dangers. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my only mission. As a Valkyrie, I was to recruit spirits for Valhalla. This was going to bring me into contact with too many dead people for my taste. Preventing people from killing each other, I was willing to do that. Waiting until they’d massacred each other to get the bravest souls…the very thought of it was destroying my morale.

On the tower, the fireman was moving towards the guy in the fancy suit. Their lives were hanging by a thread, and since I was there, I knew that thread would break. A human being was about to plummet towards the concrete sidewalk, and…

My stomach went into a series of somersaults, and I crossed my arms over my torso as if to control the acrobat organ.

I can’t watch this, I muttered.

I spun on my heels, turning my back on the drama unfolding on the tower. I tried to focus on something else, anything else. Palm trees and bushes once adorned the traffic island I was standing on. Now it was just a pile of mud with dead plants on it. Across the street, a woman in beige watched me—my personal Customs officer. Ever since I had tried to sabotage the dome that held the magic in the city, one was always nearby to monitor me. Odin had managed to keep me out of Customs’ jail, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. One slip up on my part and they would arrest me. I doubted Becky would show mercy a second time. Even Odin had his limits.

My personal Customs officer stood by my motorbike in front of the Bellagio fountain. Behind her back, employees were emptying the mud from the pools. One of them threw the contents of his bucket into the gutter. The dirty water splashed on the Customs officer, and she turned to the origin of the spray. Still, the man had already gotten back to work, untroubled by the beige uniform’s state.

All over the city, employees and volunteers alike were trying to make the streets of Las Vegas look normal again. Flooding and polar temperatures had left their mark. FEMA had stepped in, but their trucks and generators could not cope with the magic. Staff had shoveled mud and rubble out of the area. Unable to repair the infrastructure, FEMA withdrew, leaving behind broken equipment and a few dozen employees. Most had no intention of staying in Las Vegas. But when time came to go back home, they had run into an invisible wall. If they were human when they arrived, they had already become supernatural by the moment they tried to leave. That’s how the contamination worked: magic awakened long-forgotten genes, and humans suddenly found themselves a werewolf, like their great-great-grandfather, or a harpy, like their grandmother. The dome wouldn’t let them out anymore. They were doomed to start a new life here. And it was up to the supernatural community to explain to them…

A collective cry of fear rose around me, immediately followed by a thud. I forced myself to turn around.

3

The firefighter’s body lay on The Strip’s sidewalk, his neck twisted at an angle too painful for me to dwell on. Several dozen yards higher, the guy in the suit clung to the tower with a strength born of despair. The two firefighters still on the ladder were once again focused on their task. They had just lost one of their own, but their mission came first.

Speaking of mission…

I altered the illusion that concealed my wings to hide completely. The protection was far from perfect, but no one was paying attention to me in the present situation. I had to zigzag between the onlookers and the policemen who kept them at a distance from the body, taking care not to touch anyone. Already the fireman’s spirit was rising above his corpse. He had the appearance of a guy in his early fifties, with a manly jaw and a short haircut. Around his eyes, crow’s feet betrayed a propensity to smile. None of this was surprising: the firefighter’s spirit resembled what he was like in life. With one exception: the silhouette of a wolf superimposed itself on that of the man.

Metamorph? I asked my sword.

Odin has always had a soft spot for wolves.

The spectral wolf came and went on the sidewalk, his snout raised to sniff the wind. The human seemed as lost as the animal. I stepped forward.

Hello, I said.

That was a lousy greeting for a newly deceased person, but I could not think of anything better. The guy shot me a look full of questions. The conversation would be painful. But I had to do it. I took it upon myself to continue.

My name’s Erica. What’s yours?

Bill, stammered the ghost. Sergeant Bill Paterson, Clark County Fire Department. What in the world…

He noticed the corpse that lay between us and knelt down as if to examine it. The wolf approached to sniff the body, and Bill’s ghost scratched the animal distractedly behind one ear.

I’m sorry, I said. You’re dead.

Bill leaped to his feet and turned an angry red face towards me. He waved his index finger under my nose, appeared to be looking for his words, and deflated like a balloon.

You’re…the Grim Reaper?

I’m a Valkyrie. I’ve come to make you a proposition. Have you heard of Valhalla?

Is it an opera with fat ladies singing?

It’s a part of the afterlife known as Odin’s Hall. You know Odin?

A Viking god?

Yes, he is. Odin rules over Asgard, the domain of the gods. In Asgard, there is one place where Odin invites his most valiant warriors: Valhalla. There they eat, drink, and have a good time, waiting to return to duty at the end of the world.

Bill grimaced. Look, miss, I don’t mean to offend you. But I’m a good Christian. And your heathen story there…

He shook his hands as if to refuse the advances of an overly enterprising salesman.

No problem, I said. I can understand that. Can I ask you a question, just out of curiosity? How long have you been a metamorph?

A meta-what?

A werewolf, I said, pointing to the animal.

Oh, him? He’s been in my dreams for a few weeks now. I didn’t expect to find him here, but it’s not really my primary concern…

Shall I explain? I asked my sword.

Forget it. There’s no time. Someone will eventually enlighten him…

Bill swiveled his head around. What about the Christians? he said. What should I do? How do I know if I’m going up or down?

I shrugged. No idea, I confessed.

But there is a paradise, isn’t there?

I don’t know any more about it than you do.

Bill turned around and looked up, as if he hoped to see a cohort of lyre-bearing angels in the night sky. Then he frowned and looked down at the sidewalk at his feet. Finally, he stared at me suspiciously. It’s a trap, isn’t it? You want to know if I’m ready to renounce my faith, and then you send me to hell?

I’m not asking you to renounce your faith. And I’ve told you where I propose to take you. As far as I know, it doesn’t sound like hell. A little noisy when the Vikings open a barrel of mead, but pretty convivial.

Bill examined his shoes. After a minute’s reflection, he said, That place, Valhalla…you said it’s for warriors. I’m not a soldier.

You’ve spent your career risking your life to protect complete strangers. You died trying to save one more. I think that falls under the ‘brave’ heading. For the rest, you’ll have to deal with Odin. He sent me.

And what’s all this about returning to duty at the end of time?

Ragnarok, I said. It’s the Apocalypse. The gods will face the monsters. It is for this fight that Odin offers the warriors to join him.

Monsters?

Bill ran his hand across his face. His feet slipped gently above the pavement towards the east.

Erica, the sword whispered.

I saw it.

Whatever you decide, I said, I suggest you make it quick.

Bill raised his head. Why? Is this a limited-time offer?

I pointed to his feet, which were still slipping on the pavement. For the time being, you’re still attached to your body. But that’s not going to last. A magical wind is already starting to blow you out of town. Once it carries you away, you will not be able to come back here.

Where does it take me?

Geographically, to the Grand Canyon. Spiritually, I have no idea.

Bill sighed, though he had no lungs.

And these monsters, they’re going to kill people?

I’m guessing. They’re supposed to destroy the world.

The fireman repeatedly nodded, looked around one last time, and finally let out, Okay. I’m with you.

I took the ghost by the hand and spread my wings. On the opposite sidewalk, the Customs officer frowned.

4

Itook my time to fly over the city, Bill by my side. The night air was sweet, and the magic shimmered all around us.

Since Las Vegas was stuck under a dome, only one way remained to take souls to the kingdom of Asgard: through the breach my friends and I had made in the dome, above Lake Mead. 

The dome was invisible, and only the accumulation of magical energy betrayed