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minds of their
own. Case in point: a two-inch-tall flutter of black and gold named Beanie. His
job is to fetch Starbucks coffee for the bikers too embarrassed to be seen in a
place without neon beer signs on the walls. They like him. I don't
—
not
after he filled my favorite black leather boots with pumpkin spice latte
.

Chapter
Five
     
    Uncle Phil lived in a working-class neighborhood about ten minutes south of
Las Vegas. Iron gates wrapped around gravel front yards. Mismatched 1970s ranch
houses sweltered behind the occasional brittlebush or chokecherry tree.
    His modest gray home hunkered under a television antenna that took up half
the roof. Statuettes of the Seven Dwarves marched through a rock garden that
was more sand than anything else. A woman two doors down ushered her children
into the house as we shut down our Harleys.
    Please don't let her know something we don't.
    If we could get Phil out of here—fast—well, I hoped we could
avoid trouble.
    Pirate inspected the lawn chair on the porch while I rang the doorbell once,
twice. I felt Dimitri's teardrop emerald warm against my neck. He'd given it to
me because it held protective magic. Too bad Dimitri was the one in need of
protection now.
    The bronze chain began to hum as it slid down my neck. In a million years,
I'd never get used to Dimitri's go-anywhere, do-anything jewelry. In the past,
it had turned into a breast plate—right before a witch aimed a loaded
rifle at my chest. It had morphed into a bronze collar around my neck, right
before a werewolf used it for a handle. And I'd never forget the bronze cap
that had kept my head safe from a skull-shattering blow.
    I held my breath as the metal slid down my side to form—a bronze butt
plate? I felt the heavy metal encasing my hindquarters. Maybe Dimitri's magic
was suffering along with him.
    Don't think about it.
    I leaned on the doorbell. "Please be home." We didn't have time to
hunt down Uncle Phil.
    "Damned lying she-devil," Grandma muttered behind me. "I'll
bet she's got her hooks in him right now." She motioned me away from my
assault on the doorbell. "Hold your horses, Lizzie. Deep breath." She
held her arms out to the side, her silver bracelets clattering. "Now, open
yourself up to the universe. Let yourself go. Can you feel her?"
    I glanced over Grandma's shoulder at the curtains fluttering in the window
of the house next door. She didn't know the half of it. I could sense each
demon that had invaded the Las Vegas metro area. All twenty-five of them.
    No way I could kill twenty-five.
    I blinked hard, tried to focus. "I can feel them. But I don't know
which one is her." How could I possibly get a lock on a demon I'd never
met? "Please say you can teach me."
    Grandma shook her head, her hair tangling around her shoulders. "That's
a sense you have to develop on your own. It'll come. In time."
    Yeah, well we didn't have time. Phil didn't have time. And Dimitri? I didn't
even want to think about it.
    At least there were none in the house. I tried to rub the tension from my
forehead. I could feel their rage and the absolute darkness they held.
Something horrible was going down in Vegas, and there was nothing I could do to
stop it. It was steaming toward us like a freight train and the only thing I
could do was get Uncle Phil out of the way—if we could find him.
    Focus
. I braced my hand on the door and willed myself to think
rationally. If we could get inside, we had a shot at figuring out where Phil
went with his demonic floozy. Maybe, just maybe he left his door open. People
did all the time down South. I twisted the handle. Unfortunately, we were a
long way from Georgia.
    "Okay, Grandma?" She had plenty of spells. Maybe one of them could
open a lock. "For the love of switch stars, tell me you have
something—anything—that can get us in there."
    "Sure." Grandma charged out to the rock garden, seized one of the
Seven Dwarves and heaved it through the front window. The glass shattered,
leaving a