Time Spell Page 5

  Once I was out of the front door, I searched the hallway for Holden. Surely, he had taken the elevator to the lobby, so I ran to the elevator entrance. I saw the numbers running across the top of the elevator’s frame. Ugh! It was only on the second floor. I scanned the hall and noticed the stairs were at the end of the corridor. I decided to fly down the long stairwell in order to catch up with him. It would be quicker and I didn’t know how much time I had before he was out of sight.

  On the other side of the stairwell door, I pulled my arms in across my chest, hopped from the railing, and spun into a quick descent. An invisible cyclone whirled around me, while each floor whisked past my head as I plunged to the first level of the stairwell. I steadied my landing as the floor whirled into view. I touched my toes softly on the concrete passage. I tipped my head up to see how far I had jumped, grateful I didn’t have a fear of heights.

  I pushed the stairwell door open enough to squeeze through and exit into the lobby. I recognized the bellmen trio.

  “Man, did you see Mr. Chadsworth run out the front door? I’ve never seen him so mad.” One of the bellmen poked another near the front desk.

  “Oh yeah, I heard he was off to see you-know-who.” He gave a double wink to his buddy, who was loading suitcases on the buckling valet cart.

  Great, Holden had been through here a second ago and was headed to see Simone. But where was she? I barely knew my way around the Starlight, let alone 1968 Vegas. I had no idea where she lived.

  Then I saw the office sign on the other side of the reception desk. From what I had gathered, Holden was probably the owner of the Starlight and more than likely had an office for his regular business transactions and for running the casino.

  I dashed across the lobby and followed the arrows pointing toward the office. There was a row of individual office doors and a waiting area with a reception desk complete with typewriter and phone. Behind the desk on the wall, Holden Chadsworth was written on a gold nameplate.

  The casino, restaurants, bars, and hotel were now in full nighttime swing, and the little office was devoid of worker bees. I tried the handle. It was locked.

  “Open.” I pointed my witchy finger and turned the handle.

  Inside was a meticulous office. Leather chairs anchored by a full-size bar and bookcase were positioned under a sprawling painting of Las Vegas. I stared at the canvas for a minute before remembering my mission in Holden’s office—find Simone’s address.

  Holden’s desk was a massive mahogany structure. I could see what little bits of his personality I knew seeping through the objects in this room.

  I tried the top drawer, locked. I tried the side drawers, locked and locked. Again, using my Open Spell I pointed at all of the drawers. Where would an organized man keep his mistresses contact information? There was a leather-bound calendar littered with birthdays and business lunch meeting scribbles, a contract for The Temptations’ upcoming concert series, and a letter to Elvis for an inquiry to have him play at the Starlight. I rummaged through a few more folders and pulled out a thick file marked VonRue Diamonds.

  I was curious. I had seen the marquee for the diamond tour advertised in the lobby and I had never heard of them. How could I have missed knowing about the largest diamond collection in the world—a girl who loves sparkly things above all knows the best jewelry collections.

  My last trip to England prompted more than one return trip to see the crown jewels, and I couldn’t stop staring at the French Duchess Collection at the Louvre in Paris. I flipped open the folder for a peek, and I caught my breath when I read what was on the first page.

  VonRue Diamond Collection

  3000 diamond collection

  Total Value: $500,000,000

  Owner: Helen VonRue Chadsworth

  Collateral: Starlight Resort and Casino

  Signed: Holden W. Chadsworth

  What was going on? Helen owned the VonRue collection, and Holden had put the diamonds up for collateral for the Starlight? There was no way the Starlight was worth half a billion dollars in 1968. This was getting much more involved than I had realized. I pulled my phone from my pocket and took a quick snapshot of the contract. I needed to absorb this information and figure out how the puzzle pieces fit together, but first I needed to find Simone.

  My witchy senses were tingling on overload as I carefully placed the file back as I had found it. Finally, in the last drawer on the left, I found a small, green book labeled Addresses. I started with A, not knowing Simone’s last name and still hoping the man was brazen enough to list his mistress in his personal book. The third name under D, Simone Davis, 2122 Vegas Blvd., The Diamond Towers, Suite 710. Scribbled below her address in what I guessed to be Holden’s writing were the notes: red roses, emeralds, size 4, chocolates. Well, he was a cheating man, but at least he was an observant, considerate cheating man.

  I took another picture in case I needed to reference the numbers again, slid the address book back into its snug spot, and left the office.

  I didn’t know where the Diamond Towers was located in the maze of casinos, but I took a gamble that, from the sky, I would probably be able to find it. Just in case, I brushed up behind an unsuspecting tourist in the lobby and peered over her Vegas map.

  “Hon, hon, if we take the fifteen out tomorrow, we can make it to Hoover Dam before lunch.” The husband looked none too pleased at this suggestion from his wife, but I hurried out of the revolving front door in a free triangle wedge before I could hear how the wife resolved their travel squabble.

  This time, instead of leaping into a downward spiral, I raced to the corner closest to the traffic-free zone, wrapped my arms tightly around my torso, and accelerated upward into the Vegas sky.

  I remember the first time my parents took me out into the night sky to try my wings. At eight years old, I was having a hard time dealing with my skills and my parents’ weird quirks. I felt more different and alone than excited about having magical powers. Granted, at eight, I could barely light a match with my finger or whip up a puppy love potion, but the magic inside me was growing and I was resisting. That fall night was crisp and clear. My parents waited for the right occasion, when I could fly with little interference from the regular world.

  “Honey, this is such a big moment for you,” my mother gushed repeatedly.

  “She’s right, you know.” My dad nudged me to smile. “Not every little girl gets to fly. You’re something special, Ivy.”

  I looked at both of them, arms crossed and resentful, because I wasn’t a “little girl,” I was a little witch. A little witch who had to keep secrets and spend time practicing magic and reading potions. And now, on a Saturday night in October, I was out after midnight in my backyard with my parents getting ready to fly over our neighborhood while my other friends lay soundly tucked in their warm beds. Humph!

  I laughed at that little girl now. Flying had become my escape, my way of coping with the magic. I loved it and the rush it gave me. On nights like this one, it came in handy.

  According to the map, Diamond Towers was west of the hotel, only a few blocks away. I managed my speed and only elevated two hundred feet from the ground so I could read the signs and recognize Holden if I had a chance to catch him exiting his car.

  The night desert air was cool, and my eyes started to water from the chill. I slowed down in time to see the Diamond Towers ahead of me. The towers were wrapped in glitter lights and were shaped like diamonds—two strange diamonds erupting from the desert ground.

  I surveyed the hotel entrance for a place to touch down. My eyes were still watering, but I thought I saw the back of Holden’s head through the glass doors of the lobby. The doorman nodded at him, and I could make out his lips moving: “Good evening, Mr. Chadsworth.”

  I reached into my pocket for a tissue to dab my eyes, and when I looked up, he was gone. The tears were really rolling—it must have been the combination of desert dust and the sting of the flight air. There was no tissue in my pocket of course. I tri
ed not to travel with anything other than my phone. I didn’t want to take the chance I’d leave something behind that shouldn’t belong in the past.

  I pulled on my shirt and dabbed each eye for relief, but the tears continued to flow. This was a time to be grateful for my invisible status. I’m sure I looked like a linebacker with mascara running down my face. Once I finally got the tears under control, I searched the lobby for Holden, but he was gone. At least I had Simone’s suite number, but I had hoped to trail Holden closely so I didn’t have to spell my way into her room.

  Diamond Towers wasn’t a casino like the other hotels I had visited on the strip. The Vegas construction rush was a bombardment of destination competition. Each developer had tried to create the next great oasis. It appeared the Diamond Towers had another approach altogether.

  There was a long bar at the end of the lobby, just big enough for a few guests to enjoy a cocktail. A lone man sang as he plinked out songs on a baby grand piano. On the other side of the bar, doors to a large ballroom were cracked just wide enough to allow me to see couples dancing. As they swayed side to side with the music, a bride and groom smiled from the center of the circle.

  I walked toward the ballroom, drawn to the enchantment of the young newlyweds. Just as I reached the cracked door, I heard the ding of the elevator. I looked left and saw a sign that read Private. The elevator light glowed at number seven, and I knew Holden had reached his destination. Forgetting the happy couple swooning on the dance floor, I turned toward the elevator.

  The elevator lobby was secluded. I decided to use a spell to override the elevator restriction that required a key for this particular tower. I guessed that the private residences were stacked in this tower and that the Diamond on the other side was for the hotel guests. Tonight’s newlyweds would probably be staying in the other tower in a Vegas-style honeymoon suite.

  I pushed the button for the seventh floor, and the elevator glided up the tower. Unlike the Chadsworths’ floor, there were no guards walking the corridors and the hall seemed empty. I scanned the room numbers for 710 and quietly let myself in the front door.

  A low light glowed in the foyer, and I noticed mirrored wallpaper behind the bubble-shaped lamp. The Diamond Towers took its theme all the way to the walls. There were two doorways on either side of the foyer table, each equally as dim. I stepped left and scanned the kitchen, eat-in breakfast area, and large dining room for Holden. The rooms overlooked the lively city below. I retraced my steps through the foyer and went through the doorway on the right.

  Sometimes this was my favorite part of my Time Spell trips. I wanted to absorb all the trappings of 1968, but I had a mission to complete. There was a lavishly decorated living room, with a slender television cabinet, turntable, speakers, and fully stocked bar. I could see behind the couch a pass through to the kitchen with barstools. A giant clock hanging above the bar window told that it was eight o’clock. I heard muffled sounds coming from behind the door across the living room. I took a chance that Simone and Holden would be too wrapped up in their conversation to notice the door move as I cracked it.

  An enormous golden bed dominated the center of the room. Dark purple curtains cascaded from the ceiling and wrapped like coils around the bed’s four pillars. The fabric pooled on the floor in a heap of purple velvet. I don’t think I had seen anything like this except maybe in a movie. White fur rugs splayed across the floor, covering marble tile in some sort of intricate inlay design. I performed a sweep of the room, but didn’t see Holden or Simone.

  I stopped mid-search and tilted my head toward a crackling sound. My ears strained to identify what the noise was. It sounded like glass cracking. There was a loud thud and a woman screaming. I ran past the purple bed, to the door of the suite’s spa.

  Holden’s arms were wrapped around a petite, dark-haired woman. Her red dress was pushed up past her thighs, and her legs were tightly wound around his waist. His shirt was lying on the floor, and her head was buried in his neck as he rhythmically thrust her back and forth on the counter of the vanity, grabbing her and forcing her hips higher into his.

  Remnants of the mirror fell to the floor around his feet. The moans coming from Simone’s throat were intensifying toward another scream. He ripped at the side of her dress until it was completely in shreds and fell to the floor with his shirt. They both were so absorbed in the rapture of the moment, pulling each other tighter, moaning louder, and cracking the mirror into a million slivers of a spiderweb, that they didn’t hear me bump into the bedpost. As quickly as I had stumbled upon the lurid scene, I turned and ran to the foyer. I let myself out of the suite and decided to wait in the hall while I collected my thoughts and tried to erase the glimpse of ecstasy I had witnessed from my mind.

  I shook my head in my hands, confused. Holden was in complete control of the situation, definitely in control of Simone. What was the plan Helen was talking about? The corridor was quiet and light piano music echoed through the hallway from an overhead speaker.

  I waited. Young couples strolled through the halls, arm in arm, on their way to dinner or to catch a show. I even heard a few talking about the big announcement that, in another year, Elvis would have his own show in Vegas. There were room service deliveries, a valet luggage collection, and a frantic maid with an armful of towels.

  She scurried into the suite two doors down from Simone’s with a distressed look on her face. My cell phone’s satellite connection was no use in 1968, so I couldn’t check the time, but I estimated that maybe an hour had passed. I gathered enough courage to try the suite again, hoping Holden and Simone would be dressed and more interested in dishing secrets than swapping sex moves.

  I picked myself up off the floor and headed back to Suite 710. My witchy instincts started to tingle. Something propelled me to move more quickly. Simone. Had something happened to her? I dashed through the foyer and headed straight for the purple gilded bedroom.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted Simone draped in a fluffy spa robe, her long, dark tresses wrapped in a towel piled high on her head. At least she was covered this time. It appeared the wild, mirror-breaking lovemaking was over. She sat at her dressing table in the bedroom, delicately applying mascara to each long lash. Her eyebrows were cocked, and she tilted her head from side to side to examine her handiwork.

  I studied her face. Earlier, I had been too embarrassed and stunned to look at her. I had only seen legs, skin, and a lot of hair, but now I saw what a beautiful and alluring woman she was. A part of me understood why Holden wasn’t interested in giving her up, although I knew that was no excuse for his infidelity.

  She finished her primping routine by dabbing raindrop amounts of perfume on her neck and wrists, and then placed the crystal bottle on a mirrored tray. She gathered her robe and walked into the bathroom. I expected to see Holden emerge in a towel or neatly put back together in his tuxedo, but he wasn’t there. The shower wasn’t running. Hmm, I must have missed him in the kitchen. I retraced my steps and walked through the foyer and into the kitchen, but it was dark. One more sweep of the suite and every witchy instinct I had was on fire.

  Holden Chadsworth was gone.

  THE TWINKLING lights of the Vegas strip filtered through Simone’s bedroom window. I did my best to stay out of her way while searching the suite for Holden. Simone was dipping one leg into a floor-length gown and admiring her silhouette in the broken mirror. The tattered red one had been tossed into the trash. Like her surroundings, she was draped in a floor-length velvet gown with a plunging neckline. She nestled a starburst brooch at the base of her cleavage. Her olive skin was radiant in the purple, and from her smile, I could tell she knew it. Once she clasped the last shimmering bracelet around her slender wrist, she reached for a black leather bag. It was flat and looked empty. She clutched the handle, folded it in half, and slid it under her arm. Simone must have heard about the fierce desert winds tonight, because she wrapped a half fur, half velvet cape around the tops of her shoulders and headed
for the door.

  Ugh! I had to decide if I should follow her or stay in the suite and do some snooping. I needed to find out what had happened to Holden. He wasn’t here, he didn’t walk out the front door of the suite, and from what surveying I had done, there was no other way out. Hesitantly, I decided to let Simone leave, hoping I could find her downstairs later or at least plant myself and wait for her return tonight.

  Once the door locked behind her and the click clack sounds of her high heels faded, I walked room to room.

  “Reveal! Reveal! Reveal!” I pointed to the center of each room.

  The small glittery particles of the Reveal Spell began to form throughout the suite. The kitchen was dark and glitter free, so I moved over to the living room. A small loop around Simone’s French phone began to swirl, but nothing else. I moved on to the bedroom and bathroom where I knew I would have to untangle Simone’s trail.

  “Reveal!”

  The vanity countertop, the shower, her dressing table, and the bed glowed yellowy-orange as I had predicted. I looked at the closet where a cloud of reveal dust hung in the air. The double doors were closed, but there was a particle trail wide enough to account for maybe three people.

  I opened the doors and waved the Reveal Spell again. One by one the shimmery particles formed; first around the entrance, then across a scattered line of Simone’s shoes, and then along the back of the closet, swirling around a collection of long coats. Some of the designer coats still had tags on the sleeves and looked like they were on display in a boutique. Situated above were rows of hatboxes, shopping bags, and several stacks of gloves. Miniature buttons poked out from the sides, revealing more dangling price tags. I pushed the lavish and extravagant coats aside to discover they were guarding two wooden paneled elevator doors and a small elevator button. The glitter trail clouded and stopped at the doors.