I didn’t move. “Seriously? You’re just going to pretend like you don’t have a problem?”

“Because I do not. Domingo! Telly!” he called toward the door.

The bodyguards reentered. I wondered if Silvio told them when to sit and stay, too. “Please escort Miss Bernard out of my building,” he said to them, gesturing at me.

The two beefy guys advanced on me, popping back into my radius. I had learned all I was going to. I finally stood up. “I can find my own way out, thanks.”

“I’d feel more comfortable,” Silvio said evenly, “if you were to make sure Miss Bernard leaves the building, gentlemen.”

The two big guys hadn’t even broken their stride, and now they were both reaching for me, obviously intending to each take one of my arms.

Eh, fuck it. I wasn’t making friends here anyway.

I had palmed my knives the moment Silvio diverted his attention to the guards, and now I flashed out my hands to throw both, burying one blade in each bodyguard’s shoulder. I was weaker with my left hand, so whichever one of the thugs was on that side got his knife a little higher, but he still staggered back with a howl, as though I had ripped off one of his limbs.

Silvio’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head with rage. “How dare you—” he began, but I overrode him.

“What? Poke your bodyguards after you told them to put their hands on me? Don’t be a baby. We both know they’ll heal in ten minutes.” And if you didn’t want me to stab them, you should have respected me enough to check for weapons. I didn’t say that part, but I’d like to think it was implied in my tone. I stepped over the coffee table and right between the two guards, who had both sat heavily on the floor, clutching at their wounds. They were going to have to take the blades out in order to heal anyway, so I bent down and plucked out both knives at the same time, prompting a new chorus of moans. The one on the right looked like he might cry, but they let me saunter past without further interference. I thought about saying something like “don’t forget to tip your waitress” on the way out, just in the spirit of Vegas, but there’s only so far even I can push my luck.

Chapter 17

“Miss? Miss!”

“Grkgne,” I mumbled, or something very close to it. I made an effort to open my eyes as wide as possible. “What?” I managed to say. “Sorry, I think I drifted off there.”

Of course I had. I was operating on five hours of sleep, I’d been putting a lot of effort into my radius, and someone had put me in a heated bed and rubbed my back.

It was my first time getting a massage, and I’d been a little shy about getting mostly naked and letting a complete stranger rub oil on me. But the process had been a lot less sexual and a lot more soothing than I’d thought. Of course, it didn’t hurt that my masseuse was a benevolent woman in her early sixties.

“Our time is up, miss,” she repeated patiently. “Shall I get you some water?”

I propped myself up on my elbows with the sheet pulled up to my shoulder blades. “Uh, sure. Water. Yes.”

My masseuse nodded and slipped silently through the door. I blinked, trying to reorient myself.

The spa at the Venetian was as beautiful and opulent as the rest of the resort. There was everything you could imagine having in a spa, and a lot of things I had never thought of, like a giant climbing wall and a bunch of different “environments” that were supposed to detox your body of various . . . things. I was still a bit fuzzy on what I was detoxing from, but everyone made it sound very important.

As impressive as it was, the spa also shared the casino’s commitment to spatial confusion, which meant someone had to guide you everywhere. After I dressed in the spa robe and opened the door, my masseuse was waiting for me with a cup of water. “Your friends are gathering in the igloo room,” she said, smiling and gesturing for me to follow her.

“The igloo room?” Please be a clever name, I thought.

Nope. A few moments later I was opening the door to a freezing cold and very round chamber, where Juliet, Bethany, and Laurel were standing in a little circle in their robes, rubbing their hands together. “What the what?” I sputtered as the door swung closed behind me. “Why are we standing in the Arctic? People pay real human money for this?”

Juliet laughed. “It’s part of their whole schtick. They alternate hot and cold, which is supposedly good for you . . . somehow.”

“It’s European,” Bethany said airily. “They do this every winter in Scandinavia, with their saunas.”

“Tara’s back in the conservatory, because of the baby,” Laurel added. She sounded a little wistful.

Bethany, meanwhile, was studying my face. “God, you look terrible. Was the massage that bad, or did you just stay out partying all night?”

“That’s me, big party animal,” I muttered. “But please don’t call me God. I hate to reveal my lack of European sophistication, but can we get the hell out of here?”

Bethany opened her mouth to say something, but Juliet and Laurel were already moving toward the door. “Yes, please!” Juliet said, laughing a little.

We began to file out of the pointless torture that was the igloo, starting with Juliet and Bethany. Before I could follow, though, Laurel reached out and got a loose grip on my arm, giving me a meaningful look. Reluctantly, I let the igloo door swing closed and turned back to face her, shivering.

“Wyatt said he came to see you last night,” Laurel began. She was watching my face with an intensity that made me nervous. The cold didn’t seem to bother her anymore.

“Yeah.”

“And that you agreed to help him find Ellen’s killer.”

“Try,” I corrected. “I said I would try to find Ellen’s killer, while I’m here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “He also said you were going to help him die.”

Ah. That was what this was about. I held up a hand. “Not sure about that last part. Assisted vampire suicide isn’t exactly on my résumé.”

“So don’t do it.”

I thought of the pain in Wyatt’s face, his longing to be reunited with Ellen. “What do you care?” I asked.

Laurel’s eyes hardened. “My daughter refers to him as ‘Uncle Wyatt.’ She’s already lost Ellen. I don’t want her to lose him, too.”

“That might not be up to you,” I said, edging toward the door. “Regardless of whether or not I get involved.”

She put a hand on the glass door. “All I’m saying is, don’t help him destroy himself. It’s going to be hard enough to talk Wyatt out of it without you making it easy on him.”

I set my jaw. Historically speaking, Scarlett did not like being told what to do, but I was trying to see things from Laurel’s perspective. Go, me. “I’m not going to do anything until we find the skinners, but I’ll tell you what: if I decide to help Wyatt die, I promise to give you a call beforehand so you can try to talk him out of it.”

She pursed her lips, thinking that over. Juliet chose that moment to poke her head back into the freezing room. “Everything okay, guys?” she said, looking back and forth between us.

“Great,” I said. “I was just asking Laurel for a restaurant recommendation.” I herded her out of the room as I talked, and Laurel lagged behind us. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, I have to work again today.”

“Oh no!” Juliet said, crestfallen. “Did drinks last night go badly?” She pointed down one of the short, labyrinthine halls, directing me. We entered a room with several large stone lounge chairs, sort of like the adjustable kind you see at the pool. There was a small hot tub in the center of the room, which smelled pleasantly of eucalyptus. Bethany and a beaming Tara were already sitting in the stone chairs.

“Hi, Scarlett!” Tara chirped.

“Hey, Tara,” I replied, happy for a way out of the conversation with Juliet. “How’s the baby this morning?”

She put both hands flat on her stomach. “Oh, wonderful. No nausea at all.”

But Juliet wouldn’t be deterred. “You met with the building manager, right?” she continued, sitting down at the side of the hot tub and dangling her legs in.