Cheat the Grave

28

Despite my morning trek across the desert, I was the first in the wedding party to reach Valhalla, arriving so early the casino floor sported more patrons from the night before than those beginning their gambling day. Go ahead, chase your money, I thought, watching a bleary-eyed man battle a slant-topped bandit. Someone needs to keep my food cheap and my taxes low. He eyed me back, less interested in what my black roller suitcase contained than in the stretch of my T-shirt and jeans. A predictable response in a predictable environment, and just the annoyance I needed to calm me before attempted patricide. Gotta love Vegas.

But now I was dressed in an Indo-Western sari, an amalgamation of eastern and western influences, with a black sequined halter attached to a pink satin bodice and matching lily embroidery. The bottom of the dress was a soft lavender that lightened into pink and ivory as the body scarf swirled across my middle, ending in a dramatic drape over my left shoulder. It was an elegance that was almost impossible to pull off, even without rusted weapons tucked into every fold.

Meanwhile, Valhalla’s pool area, spanning the hotel’s center courtyard, had been turned into an outdoor cathedral with velvet chairs rimming the pool and a Plexiglas aisle leading to an equally translucent dais. Suzanne and Arun had worked hard to make sure both Indian and American cultures were well represented. Physically it wasn’t much different than a traditional western wedding. Giant floral arrangements in the softest of pastels dwarfed stunted heaters dotting the patio surface, and silk banners threaded the entire area to create an enormous tent, more to shield the ceremony from the curious gazes of guests in the looming hotel rooms than out of any eastern tradition.

Arun’s culture would be more fully represented in the ceremony than anywhere else. Prayers and hymns were explained in a wedding program, and garlands and embraces would be exchanged at preordained times. Though Suzanne would enter to the traditional wedding march, an artist would perform it on a sitar rather than a piano.

I sighed, wishing there was no need to plant weapons among the silks and flowers, but ordered the wait staff on a mandatory fifteen-minute break anyway. I had to be safe, though it wouldn’t necessarily preclude me from being sorry. I placed the saber within the vase of the floral arrangement closest to the side of the dais where I’d be standing-and the bladed cane along the back of a pillar bolstering one of the soaring silks. The trident was perfectly holstered at the small of my back, one quirley hidden in the depths of my cleavage, and the gun with its bubbling green vials also disappeared beneath my sari’s folds. If I had to be in an enclosed area with both the Tulpa and Sleepy Mac, I was damn well going to wear something that would make a more lasting impression than my borrowed tiara.

Yet, as the Tulpa was immune to all paranormal weaponry, and Mackie was both aware of my identity and that I was armed, my greatest weapon was offense. The defensive protectant would only shield me from one blow, but it might buy me enough time to pull the trident from my back or the cane from the bushes. I didn’t anticipate using the quirley, as I’d need time to both pull it out and light it-though the sole candle in the dais’s center might prove useful if given the opportunity. And though Io had reinforced the protective coating on my organs, my preference was to avoid even the tiniest of flesh wounds. I scarred now, I hurt now, and as evidenced by Luna’s sad demise, I could suffer a worse fate on this side of Mackie’s blade than mere death.

“Any second thoughts?” I asked the bride once I’d returned to her…probably because I was having so many. I did my best not to sound hopeful. We were ensconced in the elevated bridal chamber, as scented, soothing, and relaxing as the city’s finest spa, and with a panoramic view of the pool area.

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Suzanne replied from in front of the vanity. Twenty minutes from showtime, and she looked like a living goddess. Her dress was a strapless lengha with a full underskirt of tulle, and done entirely in gold silk and threaded appliqués. Her veil, also gold, was more of a headdress encompassing the full of her forehead. Diamonds lined the sharp arch of her brows, the sparkle warring with the yellow gold earrings and glossed, flecked lips.

“Forever’s a long time,” I answered, still considering a forever spent with a consciousness encased in neverhealing flesh. I shivered, causing Suzanne to laugh.

She folded ornately hennaed hands in front of her. “If you’re lucky, you find the one who makes you feel like forever isn’t long enough.”

“If you’re lucky, you don’t puke when someone says something like that.” Cher entered the room with a necklace so large I wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t a breastplate. Now that she mentioned it, I did feel a little queasy. However, Suzanne’s responding squeal helped take my mind off the crowd gathering like a storm outside, and I held up her veil as Cher fastened the gold clasp around her neck.

“You young women are so impossibly jaded,” Suzanne said in a breathy sigh. “But I choose to be eternally optimistic. That’s why I’m getting married on Valentine’s Day. That’s why red, representing the heart, and gold, representing my faith in love, are my wedding colors. That’s why the little cupids, poised with bows and arrows, are featured in all my centerpieces. I wish this sort of love for everyone who witnesses mine.”

Her words would have increased my nausea if they weren’t so sincere. I bit my lip and privately swore not to let my red-blooded heart mess up her gold dress…though I wished even more that I were armed with a bow and arrow. Little cupid bastards.

But Suzanne wasn’t done rhapsodizing. I supposed it was allowed on one’s wedding day, though it did nothing to assuage my guilt over compromising her ceremony. Even if Arun was a freak. “Yes, I believe love’s the greatest motivator of all. It’s the reason the sun and moon chase each other across the sky. It’s vital to the breath of the stars.”

I huffed. Too bad nobody ever told that to Solange.

Cher, tilting her head, considered her stepmother. “You know, you should have gotten a boob job for the wedding.”

Suzanne stopped cold, straightening like an affronted peacock. “Really?”

“Yeah, you’re totally bossier than your boobies right now.” Cher shook her head, eyes angled down.

“Well, shit.” Suzanne looked down too. She pursed her lips, thinking. “Maybe we can stuff ’em with toilet paper.”

“Oh, I’ll go get some,” Cher volunteered. “You didn’t hear that, Ms. Board of Directors…”

“Didn’t hear a thing,” I said, pretending to cover my ears as she sailed from the room.

“I wish she would have told me this sooner,” Suzanne muttered, bending over like she was flexing her pecs. It created a little channel in the front of her dress. From the way her eyes widened it must have looked to her like the Lincoln tunnel.

“You’re gorgeous,” I reassured, momentarily putting my life/death issues aside, and my hand on her arm.

“Really. I didn’t even notice your boobs-” I broke off, immediately realizing that was the wrong thing to say.

“And it’s the most beautiful wedding gown I’ve ever seen.”

Suzanne relaxed enough to fluff her skirt, and twirled to face the full-length mirror. “Did you know white is the color of death in India? It’s true,” she said, not bothering to wait for my reply. “The women primarily get married in red over there, head to toe. Even their bindis. Arun and I compromised on gold, but I could tell it bothered him. Do you think it’s bad luck? Am I going to be unlucky in love if I wear something on my wedding day that is only a shade away from a color some believe signifies death?”

“No,” I lied, earning myself an uneasy smile. “Hey, aren’t you the one who told me no gossip or naysayers were going to keep you from love? That’s all superstition is. Gossip, but on a global scale.”

After a long moment her expression cleared. “Darned tootin’.” She nodded once, took a long, shaky breath, and slumped. “Then again…there’s the whole death thing to consider.”

“Ah, but you also said true love never dies.” She’d also once said the reporter who uncovered the identity of Demi Moore’s plastic surgeon should receive a Pulitzer, but I didn’t bring that up. “Remember?”

“Even when love’s gone, its memory keeps you safe.” She closed her gold-dusted eyes, and after a moment opened them again and smiled. “Thank you for the reminder.”

“You mean thank you for the toilet paper!” Cher declared, holding two rolls aloft. “Boy, they don’t skimp on the quality here at Valhalla, do they? Open your shirt, Momma. This shit’s four-ply!”

I watched them through the mirror, these two mortals who had ended up in my life by default, and knew this was why I’d brought the weapons today. I didn’t expect to survive, not really. Mackie would attack me no matter where I was, and the only chance of surviving was to gain the aureole by killing the Tulpa. And since I believed Arun was somehow abetting the Shadows in his quest to marry Suzanne-or at least advancing some sort of personal, paranormal agenda-compromising this ceremony was my best chance to stop them all.

Yet I also believed the agents of Light would show up and do the right thing-help me battle Mackie and protect these mortals. I might die at someone’s hands today, be it Mackie or the Tulpa, but at some point on the trip here I’d become resigned to that.

But Suzanne and Cher would live. These women had done nothing more wicked in their lives than dream of love, and I swore-as toilet paper and giggles streamed across the room-that Suzanne’s worries over bad luck weren’t going to touch her. It might hit me with the force of a natural disaster, but it wouldn’t strike her.

The whispered promise calmed me somewhat. I even laughed, watching Cher stuff the wedding gown of a woman with hopes of being an honest-to-goodness princess within the hour. I frowned when they tried to do the same to me.

And then it was time.

“The candles,” I whispered to the nearest attendant. “You forgot to light the candles.”

He hissed and rushed off, and I bit my lip as I canvassed the pool deck. It was full noon and a gorgeous winter day, the slim bite in the air negated by the heaters and bodies now packed around the giant pool. There were stanchions to keep guests from falling in, and as I scanned the pool area one last time, mentally marking all the places I’d planted the weapons, safety was definitely my greatest concern. How was I going to keep all these people safe?

The fact was, I couldn’t. But the agents of Light could, if they chose. And so could the rogues…though I didn’t see Carlos or any of the other grays anywhere. I wondered if they’d yet to leave the compound or had trouble entering Valhalla, but it was too late for me to check on either of those things. The sitar player was already in place, and I heard from the walkie-talkies that the groom was on his way out. Showtime.

Glancing up, I frowned at the looming hotel. Its size made the pool area resemble a lion’s pit, and Shadow agents and Mackie could easily jump from the rooftop, yet there was nothing I could do about that. I only hoped the Zodiac’s paranoia about avoiding human attention would keep them from trying. Unless Mackie showed his face. Then it would turn into a free-for-all. Meanwhile, I was the only armed person in the room.

“It’s good to be queen,” I muttered, with a small, private smile.

As the head of Archer Enterprises, Valhalla’s COO, and an esteemed member of this wedding party, I’d ordered a metal detector and a small phalanx of security guards to check every bag and body entering the enclosed pool area. It was a precaution easily explained away by the august guest list, along with the groom’s wealth and world prominence. Any agent wishing to enter would have to disarm, and most would not. The Shadows weren’t even on guard because the Tulpa had no idea what was to happen here. And while there could have been some turnover in that troop in the weeks since I’d been expelled, only one agent I knew was patrolling the hotel’s halls, and it was his usual post.

As for the Light? Well, that was answered once Warren sidled up behind me.

“It’s official,” he whispered in my ear. “Someone is going to die this afternoon.”

I whirled, but he grabbed my arm before we could speak, forcing me into an alcove normally used to stock towels.

We faced off and his top lip lifted in a snarl. “Perhaps we can share a dance after the festivities, dear.”

I pulled away, rubbing at my wrist. “So last night you were a homeless man living off buffet scraps, and today you’re a South Asian livery boy.” I looked at his uniform, liveried for the occasion, stolen for the same. He was in white, distinguishing him from the guests, and his hair had been shorn overnight, shorter and cleaner than I’d ever seen it.

“Last night you were carrying a weapon you shouldn’t even be allowed to touch, and today you’re dressed like a South Asian Barbie. Also a dichotomy.”

Like my entire life wasn’t? “Well, you know. It’s important to keep up appearances.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, slouching as he stared at me. Most unliverylike. “You’re making life very difficult on me.”

“God forbid,” I said, echoing his flat tone. What did he want, an apology? Nothing I said could make me any more of an outcast than I already was-or less.

He turned his head, squinting out over the crowd, eyes lingering on the sitar player as the first song began. I’d have to go soon. “The rogue agents can’t be trusted. They’re using you, and as soon as they get what they want from you, they’ll either kill you or abandon you. Most likely the first.”

“They took me in when I had nothing and no one. You introduced me to a world that wanted me dead, then practically ensured the fate by turning your back on me. They saved me from Mackie. Where the fuck were you?”

His nostrils flared, but all he said was, “They’re using you for your knowledge of the troop, and the tools you can provide in combating us.”

“I don’t have any tools.”

“What about the defensive compound protecting them last night?” he said, expression dead and tight. “The one you’re probably wearing now?”

Oh, yeah. That. “I have a right to protect myself, Warren. Besides, maybe I had some protectant in reserve.”

“I went to the warehouse, Joanna. It was unarmed, and your scent was all over it. Yours and Tripp’s.”

He spat the man’s name out like it’d gone bad in his mouth, and I lifted my chin. I wasn’t going to talk to Warren about Tripp…a man he thought of as an enemy, but one who’d died saving me. The urge to pull out the quirley and blow venomous smoke in this man’s face was almost overwhelming. I refrained, but only because I was expecting a far greater threat than Warren. “The defensive protectant is not an offensive weapon. Again, I have a right to my own defense.”

He shook his head in disgust, and I realized he was right; this was futile. Despite my ejection from the troop, Warren believed I’d betrayed him, and nothing was going to sway him from the belief.

I turned to walk away.

He raised his voice. “What I’m most concerned with is the other weapon you’ve so generously handed them. You.”

I turned slowly, disbelief oozing from every pore. “How do you figure?”

“You can still touch the conduits, Joanna. You shouldn’t be able to, not as a mortal. And not as a rogue.”

“So how?”

Another look overtook his features, one both softer…and harder. “Come back into the troop, and we’ll figure it out together.”

“Now you want me back?” Like being thrust underwater, I could see his mouth moving, but his voice was distorted, the words that unreal.

“I’m holding out an olive branch, Joanna,” he said, a tight smirk stretched over his weathered face. “You should take it.”

I laughed so loudly a small clump of wait staff turned to stare. “You’ve found another use for me. Is that it?”

“You’re making a scene,” he said, jaw clenching so tightly I knew I was kicking off some potently bitter emotion. But I was just trying to figure out what about me would be so useful to him. I mentally ticked through everything he’d learned lately-the grays, their hideout at the Test Site-but only one thing truly clicked as a matter of urgency. I laughed again. “Oh…I see. You know there’s a child in Midheaven, and Hunter-a man you also discarded-is your link to that child. And I’m your link to him. Because we share the aureole.”

“You don’t share the aureole,” he snapped so quickly I knew he wasn’t entirely sure. “That’s impossible with a mortal.”

I’d done a lot of things in the past year previously thought impossible. Pursing my lips, I watched him another few seconds. “And I suppose my return to the troop is conditioned upon telling you everything I know about the cell?”

“Of course.”

Wow. I shook my head at the hubris. This man wanted it all his way. “Not going to play out that way, Warren.”

“Really?”

“Hell, no,” I snapped, so angry I was shaking. “I might not be an agent, you arrogant prick, but I’m human and I have my rights. Primary among them? Freedom. Choice.” I spat the words at him, remembering the ones Hunter had given me too. “The ability to create the world as I want it to be.”

He lunged, his nostrils flaring wide, and tugged on my arm. “Not this one.”

I jerked from his touch, but it was too late. A sharp pain pierced my palm, and he scored my hand all the way down to the newly printed tip of my middle finger, giving an especially hard yank. The print didn’t come off as the blood welled, but my defensive protectant did.

“You wanna live by your own rules?” he said as the fine netting rippled, then dissipated. “Then you’ll die by them too. Good-bye, Joanna.”

And he left me defenseless in an open-air venue I was sure Sleepy Mac would find before the ceremony was over. Holding my palm closed, I winced and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. I told myself the wound was so shallow it wouldn’t make a difference. Not when it came time to grab a weapon. I’d even almost convinced myself of it.

And that’s when the Tulpa arrived.

He paused as he spotted me inside the entry of the pool area, then angled his wheelchair my way. You still have weapons, I thought, trying not to panic. But as the mechanical whirring of the Tulpa’s chair grew closer, every aging conduit seemed so far away. It was impossible to be in this being’s presence and not wish for protection-full-body armor would do nicely-and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Even the mortals he passed straightened, then slumped, his power making them squirm without precisely knowing why. The instinct of prey caught under a predator’s stare had been bred out of the mostly urban population, but it still flickered beneath the cool, sophisticated veneer, like a carp’s tail catching the sun before diving lower.

If you were watching the scene from a distance-or, more likely these days, on a reality show-the knee-jerk flinch would be hard to understand. The Tulpa looked weaker than ever. He was confined to that chair, devoid of the power he’d exhibited in Xavier’s office, and the first two fingers of his gloved left hand were unnaturally stiff.

Still, just like a cockroach, the menacing fucker just wouldn’t die. Afraid of telegraphing my intent to stomp him in the very near future, I smiled like I was happy to see him.

“Olivia dear,” he said, holding out one gloved hand as he pulled to a stop before me. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. I read the news reports about the unfortunate events in your home last night. I hope you weren’t too badly injured?”

“I-I bumped my head at some point, I think. I don’t remember anything at all.” Lindy had no doubt already told him that, but his gaze still sharpened fractionally, and the softest mental probe whispered over me.

“But you’re fine now?” he asked, all concern and sweetness beneath the soft, and hard, pulse.

I smiled. “Perfectly. Ready for a wedding!”

His brows winged down and his gaze narrowed on my palms. “Then why are you bleeding?”

He inched closer, nostrils flaring. My heart jumped as he reached again for my palm, and a quick glance up revealed Warren smiling smugly over the Tulpa’s left shoulder. Agents, including the Tulpa, could scent out their enemies through blood, though they all had olfactory blind spots when it came to their own. I had the Tulpa’s blood running in my veins, so I was safe. Thus, my nervousness curdled into bile. “Thorns,” I said, meeting the Tulpa’s darkly inquisitive gaze. “The rose bouquets are enormous, and the florist accidentally left some of the thorns on mine, so I had to pull them off myself. See?” I made sure he got another good glimpse of my fingertips-printed, mortal, obviously harmless despite anything else he may or may not be smelling-and had the pleasure of watching Warren’s face fall when the Tulpa released my palm.

“You should wash up quickly, my dear,” he said, angling his chair away. “The ceremony’s about to begin.”

“Yes, but first…” But first I had an idea. Furrowing my brow, I let my gaze soften again as I stared into his eyes. It was easy to bring back the feeling I’d had last night in Xavier’s office, and in the conference room when the board of directors had fallen so completely under his spell. I swayed, blinked slowly, and repeated his demand to tell him anything I remembered about “…the Serpent Bearer.”

His expression shifted, skin thinning over the sharp bone. Even his vocal cords tightened. “What about it?”

Another pulse of thought energy had me swaying for real, and I swallowed hard before flattening my voice into a liquid roll. “A man…he gave me the photo of that symbol. He was so strange, talking in riddles…”

“What exactly did he say?”

“I didn’t understand…but he said he planted the treas ure chest for me. The bachelorette party was his opportunity…” I frowned, like the thought was escaping me. My next words slurred. “Because I’m an Archer…Xavier’s daughter, which makes me somehow special.” I tilted my head and let my gaze slide from his face.

The Tulpa squeezed my arm until I refocused. “What man, Olivia?”

Keeping my gaze liquid, I smiled softly, then pointed over his shoulder. “Why…him.”

The Tulpa whirled in his chair. Warren’s eyes widened and he visibly jolted and started backing toward the exit, but they’d shut the glass doors leading back into the hotel to keep the photographers and gawkers out…and the rest of us in. Warren licked his lips, considering his options. He finally settled against a faux pillar lining the groom’s side of the pool. As if on cue, the preceremony music swelled.

“Well, I guess it’s time,” I said brightly, shaking my head as if coming out of a daydream. I smiled down at the Tulpa, who was overly still as he considered his own next move. I made it for him. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m going to make sure you have the best seat in the house.”

And before he could object, I motioned to one of the attendants. “Center aisle, front row, closest to me,” I instructed, and while the Tulpa paused, what could he really say? I was smiling sweetly. Warren was in the same room, though he didn’t know why. And as he was supposed to be Olivia Archer’s advisor, appearances had to be upheld.

So he rolled away, and I headed back to the bridal chamber. This could all go very, very wrong. But the new seating arrangement would definitely keep the Zodiac leaders busy. Maybe, I thought as I headed back to the scrolled staircase, they’d be so busy watching each other that I would be a mere, and deadly, afterthought.

My foot had just struck the bottom stair when the gilt door opposite me opened to reveal Arun Brahma, looking handsome and rich and imposing in silhouette. He looked… well, like a prince. Flanked by two bodyguards, one holding the door, the other at his back, he also looked nervous.

My mind winged back to all the home videos I’d seen of brides bursting into giggles and grooms falling into faints. If I had to put money on it, I’d bet the pot on Arun Brahma going down.

Maybe I’d get lucky, I thought, shooting him a smile, and he’d even do it before the vows.

Then a scream shattered my thoughts. It broke off as I whirled, turning into a series of thumps before ending in one hard crack. It took a moment for me to recognize Cher, half airborne, tumbling down the marble stairs like a helpless rag doll, but I was running before she even stopped.

“God. Cher, you okay?” I cradled her face as Suzanne wailed from the top of the staircase and began her dangerously hurried descent. She was covered in so much gold tulle it would be miraculous if she didn’t join Cher in a crumpled heap. “Someone call an ambulance!”

“My arm…” Cher wailed, squeezing her eyes shut as she turned in to herself, hugging her right arm to her chest.

“You, back in your room,” I ordered Arun. He frowned, probably some aristocratic response to being accosted by a plebeian. “You’re not supposed to see her,” I said, jerking my head at his bride, now crouched next to Cher, murmuring and stroking her stepdaughter’s cheek.

Suzanne lifted her head, caught his eye, tears in her own. “Just go, Arun.”

He hesitated, his desire to be by her side apparent even despite the circumstances, before turning mutely. I inched closer to Cher, now rocking and wailing in sharp staccato breaths. We were beginning to draw a crowd, and I scanned the faces, worried about Mackie, but it was all hotel personnel and, moments later, medical staff.

“She fell down the stairs,” Suzanne was saying as we moved aside, her own sobs warring with Cher’s for the limited airspace. “She was right next to me, but when I turned to check my reflection one last time at the top of the stairs, she was gone.”

“No,” argued Cher, wincing. “I didn’t fall! I was pushed.”

I stilled. “Pushed?”

Suzanne leaned closer, smoothing the hair back from Cher’s beautiful, red, pained face. “Darlin’, there was no one near us.”

“I know when I’ve been pushed, Mother!” Cher snapped. “I did not fall down those stairs.”

Then she moaned, leaning over herself, and the paramedic edged Suzanne back. We gazed at each other over Cher’s head, before I broke to canvass the top of the staircase. Anyone could be up there. Just because Suzanne hadn’t seen someone push Cher didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Agents could cover the entire pool area in a blink. But to a mortal mind, one used to making sense only of that which they could see and touch and sense, there had to be some other explanation. Suzanne searched for one now.

“Maybe it was my dress,” she fretted, running her hands along the full skirt. “Maybe it pushed you with the force of its layered tulle, beads, and endless beauty.”

Cher’s head shot up, eyes hot. “Or maybe it was the hands planted on my back!”

Suzanne began to weep openly. “Somebody tell Arun the wedding’s off.”

“No!” Cher’s anger evaporated as she lunged toward Suzanne, crying out when the movement jarred her broken arm. The attendants moved in closer, but she shooed them away. “You can’t do that! You have to get married.”

“But my baby is injured.”

“No, Momma. I won’t be responsible for ruining the happiest day of your life. So much planning went into it. And all these people are here-”

“All these people,” I interrupted, “will be happy to come back.”

But Cher wasn’t hearing it. She grabbed Suzanne’s arm, her face etched with pain, but her voice pleading.

“Momma, Arun is the love of your life. He is a prince. And I am going to call him Daddy. Please, please, don’t call it off.”

Suzanne let out a great sigh, turning her head to the vaulted, gold-brushed ceiling, then closed her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered, though she was shaking her head.

The paramedics worked quickly, stabilizing Cher and picking her up when she refused a stretcher. It would make too much of a scene, she said. Yet even leaving via the back doors couldn’t prevent that. The yells of reporters, the click of cameramen, and the surprised gasps of onlookers swelled as they realized it was the bride’s stepdaughter being carried from the room. Then the door clicked shut, the security guard stoically planted himself in front of it, and a sniffle sounded behind me.

“Maybe wearing a color only once removed from white wasn’t such a good idea.”

I turned and grasped Suzanne by the shoulders. No, I didn’t want her marrying Arun Brahma. But with both the Tulpa and Warren in the house, and Mackie surely on the way, it was the lesser of all present evils. It was also my best opportunity to rid myself of half that paranormal foursome.

“Nonsense,” I said, squeezing until she looked me in the eye. “That accident had nothing to do with some eastern superstition. Besides, you’ll have a weeklong Indian wedding next month, and Cher will be well enough to attend that. Right now, you’re on American soil. White is lucky, but gold is divine. Now. Let’s go back upstairs, touch up your mascara, and tuck in your toilet paper.”

Suzanne turned and I placed one hand on her waist supportively, the other on the gun at my back.

“Oh God,” she sniffled again. “Please don’t let anything else go wrong.”

I didn’t say there were other wannabe deities involved in this disaster. She could pray all she wanted for nothing else to go wrong, but she’d be lucky if, from this point on, anything else went right.