Page 39 of Too Cursed To Kiss
Two burly men in striped pants and shirtless vests stood ominously in front of closed doors at the end of the casino floor. Britannia went right up to them and leaned over,whispering something. One man opened the velvet rope, nodding at me to move forward.
Inside, the lights were low, but with the glasses, I had no trouble seeing. The theater’s setup was all full-service tables set around the stage in tiers. On the stage was a massive coffin with a sling hanging over it. A greeter whispered, “Follow me” and led us down the right-hand aisle. He gestured to an empty table in the center of the second tier. We slid into the seats, and Britannia tugged on his jacket and whispered into his ear.
The super tall woman exuded a commanding presence. The bushy false eyelashes and a sequined scarlet gown slashed to her waist to display ample cleavage gave a spellbinding effect. The dress clung like a second skin as she walked around the coffin, the train dragging on the floor behind her. Black platform stiletto heels peeped out from underneath. She was larger than life with a grand room-filling aura. I couldn’t look away.
The coffin rose up on a clear Lucite column, and helpers brought out matching stairs.
She arched her arm dramatically toward the audience. “Anyone want to die tonight?”
Hands shot up, including Britannia’s. I pulled her arm down. “Are you crazy?” I hissed. She slapped me playfully, but it stung, and then she raised it up again.
Agatha pointed at her. Assistants approached the table and escorted her up the side of the audience and onto the stage.
A minute later, a waiter delivered drinks to the table. Frozen frou-frou things with fruit garnishes. I sucked tentatively at the straw and gagged. Of course it was pineapple, the flavor of death since an ill-fated Captain and rum pirate-themed Halloween party five years ago. I signaled for thewaiter and ordered a double bourbon on the rocks. Britannia was helped up the stairs to the coffin. It was going to be a long night.
It was no big surprise that Britannia disappeared, and then a minute later, she came back to the table. The spotlight hit us as she sucked on her straw and waved.
“What the hell did you do that for?” I asked.
“You never know when there’s a talent agent in the audience. Besides, it’s fun to go backstage. The guys are hot. You’ll see,” she said as my bourbon arrived.
I threw it back in four burning gulps, regretting not asking for a cherry.
Agatha took another encore, and then the house lights went up.
“Time to meet the boys,” Britannia said, standing up and perking up her cleavage.
Oh good. Apparently, we’d come to Vegas so she could get laid. I was hoping that was on the table for me too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Backstage, Britannia chatted up the two body builder guys who led us down a utilitarian white hall to the dressing rooms. Every tittering laugh and hair flick sucked away parts of my soul. What was I even doing here?
Agatha had a red sparkly star on her door. Britannia opened it while the muscled boys took a place on either side of the doorframe. She rubbed against the guy on the left, and he fondled her ass as she passed him. I gave him a hard glare as I walked through the door. If the guy had done that to me, I would have bitten his hand off, or other parts. Britannia would love Tyre. I should introduce them.
Wald sat on a low couch with his long legs sprawled out, reminding me of when I’d seen him inside the Signet. That seemed like days ago. My eyes flicked to his crotch before the woman in front of a dressing table smiled into the light-framed mirror, captivating me.
“My dears, what a pleasure it is for you to visit.” She turned to us, uncrossed her legs, and stood up, opening herarms. Britannia threw herself into Agatha’s embrace, like she was five.
Agatha was six foot four—at least. Her fluffy white robe matched her slippers, which had massive red sparkly pom-poms on them. On the other side of the room was a five-panel dressing screen with the sequined gown she’d been wearing tossed over it. Agatha’s stage hair sat on a wig stand, holding court over an array of bottles and cosmetics on one side of a dresser. She appraised me with sparkling amber-brown eyes, which I was convinced were contacts, and released Britannia. Her shiny red lips opened to reveal shockingly large white teeth.
“And you must be, Harlan.” She stretched out a red-taloned hand. Between the fangs and the claws, I was frozen. Her eyes narrowed, and it broke me out of the weirdness. Avoiding the claws, I grabbed her strong hand and firmly shook it. She looked surprised, then threw her head back with a low throaty laugh. But the sound stopped as her eyes met mine. Still holding my hand, she turned it over and dipped her head drawing a talon over my palm.
“Oh my. That is quite unexpected. You were not supposed to be here yet.” She released my hand and sat down, fanning herself with the other hand as if she were overwrought.
“What?” I asked, my mouth going dry as Britannia looked at Wald.
Wald shrugged his shoulders. Who the hell knew what he was thinking?
Agatha focused on me, then leaned closer, giving me a whiff of gardenia as she whispered, “Victoria said you had the artifact with you? Apparently, time is precious.” She got up and walked behind the dressing screen, chattering to Britannia about clothing designers as she changed.
I pointed at my offending palm, thrusting it at Wald. “What?” I asked him quietly.
Wald shrugged and shook his head.
Great.
“Agatha, what did you mean about my hand and the unexpected part?” I hollered over the screen.
