“Daeseong killed Ben.” Ethan slashes a hand through the air, cutting off my words. “And he’ll kill me, too, whether or not I’m with you.” He levels a steely gaze on me. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I ...” I fucked up. He’s already in too deep. We both know it. “You’re not wrong.”
“Like I said,” Ethan says with a grim smile, “end of discussion.”
“Fine.” I close my eyes to hide my relief. I won’t have to do this alone. “We stick together.”
If that makes him an idiot, then that’s his problem.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I catch a glimpse of myself in the locker mirror. My cheeks glow with a rosy flush, and my hair shines like black silk. Even after the sleepless night and loss of blood, I look better than I have in years. The brief spurt of magic I used has done wonders. I almost look like the eighteen-year-old girl I used to be. Almost. There is no hiding the scarred, weary soul looking out from behind my eyes.
Averting my gaze from the mirror, I unstrap my sword belt and strip off my soggy clothes. I gingerly rotate my shoulder and wince. The wound is an angry red scar. It won’t heal fully until I eat a proper meal or two. My stomach growls in agreement.
After glancing around the empty locker room, I spread out my dirty clothes on the floor and sprinkle the salt I filched from the bar over them. Humans in Korea use salt to ward off bad fortune by pelting it at people who come home from a funeral. In reality, salt merely masks magic traces when you’re in a pinch. Like deodorant for stinky magic.
I hide my hwando in my locker and bunch up my salted clothes. I bury the bundle at the bottom of the trash can and head for the showers. One perk about my shitty job is that the employee showers have amazing water pressure. As steaming-hot water rains down on my hair and aching body, I’m tempted to linger. A nice long shower sounds too good to pass up, but time isn’t on my side. After a quick shampoo and wash down, I dry off and walk back to my locker.
I pull out my emergency backpack from the bottom of the locker and tug on a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. I plunk down on the bench and put my wet sneakers back on. I didn’t have the foresight to have extra shoes handy. Then again, the chances of me taking a plunge in the Fountains of Bellagio aftermoon shiftinghad been slim to none. How the hell did I conjure high magic? What does it all mean? I dig the heels of my hands against my eyelids and blow out a long breath. I’ll worry about that later.
I rummage around my backpack. A passport, a dozen rolls of cash, a flashlight, some duct tape, and a few mini bottles of hard liquor. Not exactly Armageddon ready, but it’ll have to do. I stuff my hwando and belt inside my backpack since I can’t exactly wear a sword, even a short one, without Ethan’s shirt to hide it.
Slinging the bag over my good shoulder, I walk out of the locker room. The loud jangling of slot machines and cigarette smoke greet me like an old friend. I take a deep breath and release a contented sigh. I hated the same racket and stench just the day before. I guess what they say about perspective is true.
I check the casino for danger as I make my way toward the bar. Unless tackiness could kill, I find no immediate threat. Ethan stands leaning against the bar, his hair damp and heavy from his shower. Either Ford wears his clothes really tight, or Ethan is bigger than I thought. He fills out his borrowed Henley and jeans respectably. The short-sleeved shirt flaps open at his neck, revealing a triangular patch of golden skin with the jade disk blinking against it. My mouth goes dry.
When he spots me, his lips quirk into a grin, and I bite my cheeks to stop my answering smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my slimy manager scowling at me from across the floor. I’m late for my shift and out of my uniform. He stomps toward me with a pinched look that says I’m in for a firm talking to. At a roulette table behind him, a blonde goblin cocks her head as recognition flares in her eyes. Having used magic recently, there’s no hiding that I’m a being from the world of gods.
Shit.Hopefully, the goblin won’t be around later to be questioned by the Suhoshin. She isn’t Korean, but the Suhoshin are famous the worlds over. She’ll cooperate with them, more likely than not. I grab Ethan’s arm and lead us to the closest exit, shooting a glance at Ford. He nods and follows us after clapping one of the bartenders on her shoulder. She must be covering for him.
We slip outside, and Ford takes the lead. Ethan and I follow wordlessly, scanning the vicinity. Ford parked his car in an alleyway behind the casino. He unlocks it and gestures for us to get in.
“Are you fucking with me?” Ethan barks out an incredulous laugh. “A 1962 Oldsmobile Starfire?”
Ford’s barrel chest puffs out with pride. I take a small step back in case buttons start popping off his shirt.
“God, she’s beautiful.” Ethan runs a reverent hand over the hood. Ford nods like a proud papa, then looks expectantly at me.
“Um ... yeah. It’s very ... blue,” I mumble and hop into the back seat of the convertible.
“You can sit up front,” Ethan protests, even though he’s much too tall to fit comfortably in the back.
“Just get in.” I turn to Ford as he settles into the driver’s seat. “Thank you for helping us.”
“Are you kidding?” He rounds on me with something like hurt on his face. “After everything you’ve done for us?”
“It was nothing.” I look away, scratching my neck.
“If saving my niece’s life was nothing”—Ford scoffs—“then this is less than nothing.”
Ethan looks over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised. I pointedly ignore him. Ford’s niece was abducted a couple of years ago. I hunted down the bastard who took her and got her back before the police finished their coffee and donuts. It wasn’t hard. But I wish I could erase those few hours for Lily. I didn’t give the abductor time to hurt her, but she was afraid for her life the entire time. A fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to live with those nightmares.
“For what it’s worth,” I say to move past the unwanted gratitude, “I promise we’re the good guys.”
“Then tell me how to get you away from the bad guys,” Ford says with a stubborn jut of his chin.
“Head for the I-15.” I buckle in. “We need to get the hell away from this casino.”
