Ally
Ally Dazs rolled the heavy silk sleeves of her Census Agency robe back and crossed her arms. She’d never cared for Las Vegas. The casters here were shifty. Not only that, their dealings and allegiances, were tenuous at best. If left up to her, all the branches of her Agency would converge on the city in an unprecedented audit.
She smiled at the thought of the slimiest of the city’s creeps crumpling under the weight of all their dark dealings being brought out into the light for the starwise of the world to see. She smirked at the thought of the order that would come from the momentary—in the grand scheme of things—chaos.
But that wasn’t why she was here.
The Census Agency had received notice that ownership of the Nexus Bar & Grill had changed hands, and it was her job to figure out who now owned one of the most powerful buildings in the city.
Taking a moment for herself, Ally reveled in the new spring sunshine peaking over Sunrise Mountain and warming her skin. Her smile blossomed wider. The local chapter of her alma mater had a guest house on the mountain. Perhaps, once done here, she’d stop by to visit with the Sisterhood and use their guest dorms to recover from the spell.
Bringing her focus inward, Ally ignored the hum and exhaust from the few mundane cars driving Las Vegas Boulevard, and began to gather her focus to cast Temporas Illum Orchalance. While not the strongest post-cognitive divination spell she knew, it was the most thorough.
Had she been at a lesser structure, she’d be worried about casting even the simplest spell with so many mundanes within easy breach distance, but The Nexus Bar & Grill was one of the city’s oldest nodes. Not only that, but there had once been a dueling platform out back; so the Mystique had been laid so thick here that she could almost feel it. The only way a mundane would be able to see or find this place is if they were invited, and—besides being highly illegal—only a true idiot would ever do that.
If in operation, the Nexus Bar & Grill wouldn’t be open for another couple hours and, since no one in this city could really be trusted to give her the answer as to who owned the place; it was up to her, and her divination, to ferret it out.
While Temporas Illum Orchalance would reveal everything that transpired during the transfer of ownership, the information would be jumbled and a little loose at first; but she’d get it woven together. Making sense of the independent timelines as they came together was something few could do well, and Ally stood amongst the top in her field.
Transfer of ownership. What a nice and innocuous phrase.
The higher ups at the Agency never dug into the high rates of Paramountcy—the worst kind of legalized theft—that took place in Las Vegas every decade. If North America was on the scale, Las Vegas would rank up there with Cairo, Hong Kong, Paris, and Rio de Janeiro. If anyone really studied the numbers, they’d see that Las Vegas was completely rotten. But, of course, that kind of thing never happened in North America.
Perhaps she’d find a thread, like she had in Montreal, that she could use to make the Agency take notice.
Hoping that would be the case, Ally pushed all thoughts out of her mind so that she could recite the fifteen-minute incantation. She knew the spell well. With so much desire for the information, Ally made sure to take her time and not rush.
She’d know. She just needed to… take… her… time.
The wonderful scen of daisies pillowed the area as her eyes rolled back and the threads of all involved came to her. “Five beings,” she whispered. The spell began to weave them together and two slipped out. She nodded. “Three partook.” Mist fell from the braid of mindsets as it thickened into a circlet that came to rest on Ally’s brow.
She inhaled, and breathed, “Show me.”
The Boy
Like stepping into a cross-section of time, Benjamin Baxter pushed through Nexus Bar & Grill’s squeaky, rough, old-fashioned saloon doors. Imagining, as he usually had, that he was in a Western, he squinted and growled through gritted teeth. “I’m lookin’ for the man who shot my pa’”
No one answered. Could’ve he beaten all his classmates here?
His favorite part of the diner—the magical ice cream scoopers—floated up from the ice cream bar. Normally at the ready, they hovered in the air to entice any who came in and only went dormant after an hour of non-use. He must’ve been the first one.
As usual, he rubbed the tall, narrow, jade saber-tooth tiger tiki totem at the end of the entryway. He shuffled across the retro, pink-and-red checkered 1980’s tile to toss his school pack into the deep, 1950’s-era booth closest to the 21 and older sign near the rear wall.
His pack deep into the corner, Ben—as though caught by the nose—rose up onto his toes to take in the scent of the eternally-grilling onions. His stomach growled.
Kevin, LeRoy, and Neil would give him crap for ordering without them… But he was ready to eat.
Shrugging off the social pressure, he bounced into the booth. “Should’ve gotten here faster, guys.” He nodded. That’s what he’d say to them between bites. They’d probably make a play for his golden steak-cuts fries, and he wouldn’t stop them. While delicious, if he ate all of the golden goodies, they’d be nothing but unwanted squatters where ice cream, pie, or cake should go.
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