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Malkiel Nixa exited the astral portal in a flash of light, marveling that a little less than two hours had passed since he had received the frantic call from his elder brother, Eli. Mal had been in bed with a stunning blonde whose name he had already forgotten in the time it took for her to approach him at the nightclub where his band had just finished their performance, proposition him, and take him back to her apartment. She had been upset when he’d answered his cell phone, but the blonde had been extremely angry when he rolled out of the bed and threw on his clothes. In his need to get to the ancestral home and the center of the Nixa Coven, he hadn’t been tactful in prying himself away. With a rueful shrug, Mal pushed the woman from his thoughts, knowing there would be an endless number of others just like her, parading through his life night after night. However, he had only one father, and that thought focused him sharply on the task at hand. He pushed back the sense of helplessness that assailed him, knowing it would do no good to give in to the emotion. It was up to Mal to acquire the only antidote to whatever poison some cunning bastard had used on his father. That task had led him to Las Vegas, and he set out through the desert just outside of the Strip, his leather boots stomping through the loose sand. He dodged an occasional palm tree and wished it had been possible to materialize right on the Strip. He daren’t risk that, since people would notice the flash of light and his sudden appearance through an astral doorway. Las Vegas was a city where just about anything could happen, without anyone blinking an eye, but someone would have noticed his dramatic entrance. By the time he traversed the few miles to the Strip, the sun had set completely, and sand had seeped into his boots. Mal cursed the annoyance, but didn’t pause to empty his boots when the flashing neon finally bathed him in its garish glow. Without moving, he stood where he had entered the Strip, orienting himself and allowing the invisible tug of the spell that he had performed in L.A. to lead him to the antidote. After a second, the cord binding him to the object of his mission tugged him south, and he joined the crowd of people strolling the Strip. Though only a Thursday night, there was a bustling crowd, and he was inconspicuous among them. As he neared the nightclub for paranormals, Darkness, the hairs on Mal’s neck rose, and his gut tightened in response to the feeling of the pressure dropping. The vortex of various powers mingling in one location was almost strong enough to break the connection of his spell, but he focused on maintaining and strengthening the link. Once he was past the club, the connection returned with nearly enough force to knock him off his feet. Mal stumbled and might have fallen if not for a friendly hand bracing his shoulder. “Bit too much to drink?” drawled a cowboy-type with a knowing grin. Mal nodded, said a word of thanks, and waited for the man and his companion to pass before turning to cross Las Vegas Boulevard. There were no crosswalks leading from Darkness to The Liege casino, but he walked between the cars as they waited impatiently for the light to change. When Mal stepped onto the curb in front of The Liege casino, the cord pulsed, urging him to rush inside at a pace that earned a few askew looks. Caught as he was in the grip of the locating spell, he was powerless to resist the compulsion to break into an almost-run. Just as Mal was afraid he would have to dash recklessly through the promenade of shops, he skidded to a halt, drawn to an abrupt stop by an invisible string. He stood outside the door of a tattoo shop. A purple and gold sign labeled the shop as “Divine Inspirations”. With a deep breath, he walked inside. The woman behind the desk failed to register any reaction or tug of the cord, so he knew she wasn’t whom he sought. “I’d like a tattoo.” She nodded, tucking a stray strand of purple hair behind her heavily-pierced ear. The rest of her hair was mousy brown and as unremarkable as her features. In stark contrast, the woman who appeared from the back at the girl’s page was anything but ordinary. Unlike the receptionist, this woman hadn’t made her body a shrine to bizarre body art and piercings. She didn’t need to, he conceded with purely male interest that had nothing to do with his reasons for seeking her. She was slightly shorter than average, with deep ebony skin. The simple white tank was a perfect foil for her dark skin, as was the intricate white tattoo adorning her left bicep. The small flowers and curves teased his fingers, making them itch to trace each line of the band of ink. His gaze slid to the right to check out her breast without his permission, and he exhaled raggedly. The beaded nipples pressing through the layers of fabric tantalized him, making him as hard as he’d ever been in a split second. With some difficulty, he forced his gaze higher. Her delicate features and generous lips were worthy of hours of inspection, but he contented himself with mere seconds. The sight of her bald head gave him a moment’s pause. Curiosity made him want to ask why she had opted for the style, but he bit back the question. It struck him that she was standing there awkwardly, looking a bit confused, and he realized he had been gaping at her like an idiot. A flush of embarrassment warmed his cheeks, and he tried to pretend it wasn’t there. Plowing a hand through his long hair, he said, “I’d like a tattoo.”
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