you're going to risk your life, you ought to at least look good doing it. The shoes weren't holding up well under the abuse, and they'd been no-name knockoffs to begin with- I'd blown out of New York with no time for quality shopping. Ah, for the good old days of Djinnhood, when I'd been able to conjure Manolo Blahniks out of the aetheric... What did heroic last stands call for, anyway? Versace? Jimmy Choo? I was still steaming over Lel's last jibe at my shoe savvy. Those had definitely been knockoffs.
"Come with me," Kevin said. He shot me a brief, hot sideways look. "You try any shit with me, I'll do you like I did... Yvette." He had trouble calling her Mom these days. I was amazed that he'd ever been able to choke the name out, the kind of hell she'd put him through. My sympathy for him didn't make him any less threatening.
I had a vivid red memory of what had happened to Yvette. I didn't think I'd ever really be able to forget the sound of her skull crushing. "I'll be good."
He started to turn away, hesitated, and said, "What's your name? For real, yo. None of that Lilith bullshit you pulled last time."
"Joanne."
"Oh." A frown layered his forehead. "For real? Huh. I thought you had a better one than that."
"Better?"
A vague gesture. "You know. Hotter."
I took offense. "You mean like Vanna LaTramp or something? Some pole-dancer name?"
Shrug, and two hot little circles in his cheeks. "You don't look like no Joanne to me."
"Yeah, well, you don't look like a Kevin. Okay, you would if you had a haircut and some decent clothes..." I knew my mouth was running off with me, but I couldn't stop it, and then he was turning on me, hand raised.
I froze. He didn't hit me, but it was a close thing.
"Bitch, don't act like my fucking mother unless you want to die like her." Ouch. His tone had gone opaque and steel-cold, edged with fury. So much for the light conversation. He was trying to be those dangerous, badass villains he'd watched in movies. The problem was that he was dangerous, and I knew it better than anybody. The image of Yvette Prentiss came back to me as she screamed out her last moments of life. Kevin had watched her die without so much as a blink. However much he might look like just another Generation X punk, he was more than that. Worse.
Chapter Nine
She'd made him that way.
I didn't dare push him. I gestured politely and said, "After you."
He grabbed my arm and towed me toward the lobby of the Bellagio.
With enough money, everything can be made tasteful. The lobby of the Bellagio was a good case in point. I couldn't imagine the mind-boggling amounts spent on this place... the fantastically ornate blown-glass floral ceiling for a start, which would have been beautiful if it had been two feet across, but at forty feet was so overwhelming it nearly whited out the mind. Soft, soothing carpet underfoot, edged with bright, shiny marble. Well-scrubbed tailored staffers. Endless rows of counters waiting to do nothing but serve paying customers. The place was thick with tourists, most outfitted in whatever the latest Abercrombie amp; Fitch ad told them would make them cool.
"Chill Factor"
Too bad for me that nobody seemed to notice me, Kevin, or the way he was twisting my arm to get me to keep up with him. I wasn't sure if it was a standard don't-see-me glamour or just people minding their own damn business.
"Like it?" Kevin had noticed my look around. He sounded proud, as if he'd designed it. "I coulda stayed anywhere, but this was the best."
Like he was paying for it. "How do you know?" I asked him.
"Cabdriver said."
If there was anything that spoiled the elegance of the Bellagio's image, it was the constant musical chatter of slot machines. Beyond the lobby stretched the casino...and it stretched, filling a mall-like expanse with a sea of multicolored flashing slots and quiet harbors of blackjack tables, roulette. Dark paneling gave the place a quiet nineteenth-century elegance. Lack of windows made it eternal early evening. Bars-and there were three I could immediately spot-were doing a brisk business. The thought of a steadying drink made the back of my throat ache. C'mon, Lewis, help me out here. Throw me a bone. I had one faint hope: Lewis had some kind of clever, deeply ingenious plan for getting me out of