The Librarians and the Lost Lamp (5 page)

“Only one?” Ezekiel asked in disbelief. “Live a little, Cassandra. What have you got to lose?”

An awkward hush fell over the office as his careless remark landed with a thud, reminding everyone present of the grape-sized brain tumor that threatened to make Cassandra's life a short one. An abashed look came over Ezekiel's face as he grasped what he'd said. It wasn't often that his trademark self-regard slipped, but this was one of those times.

“Um, I didn't mean it like that. It just slipped out.…”

“It's okay,” she replied. “You don't need to walk on eggshells around me. None of you do.” She boldly plucked a triple-chocolate doughnut from the box and bit into it lustily. “And you're right. Life is too short not to indulge yourself sometimes.”

“Roger that,” Baird said, hoping to break the tension. “Dibs on the deluxe apple fritter doughnut.”

Before she could snag her enticing prize, however, the Clipping Book grabbed her attention instead. Laid open atop its stand on the table, the magical scrapbook thumped momentarily as an unseen force turned its pages to reveal a couple of fresh news clippings that hadn't been there before.

“Heads up, people. Seems we've got a new mission on our hands.”

The Clipping Book was the Library's somewhat antiquated way of alerting the team to events that required their attention. A collection of newspaper articles pasted in an old-fashioned scrapbook, such as were once used in newspaper offices before the digital era, the Clipping Book's selections seldom spelled out exactly what kind of preternatural unpleasantness they could expect to encounter, but the mere fact that the clippings had magically appeared in the scrapbook indicated that there was more to the story than met the eye.

“Thank heavens,” Jenkins said. “Some peace and privacy at last.”

“Don't count on it,” Baird said. Jenkins rarely ventured into the field with them, but that didn't mean she didn't need him holding down the fort here at the Annex—and providing them with crucial intel as needed. “All hands on deck, including you.”

“Of course, Colonel. I'm at your disposal.”

“You bet you are.”

Along with their Guardian, the Librarians gathered around the Clipping Book to see what new mystery had presented itself. Baird quickly scanned the headlines:

LOCAL MAN WINS MILLION-DOLLAR JACKPOT.

LOTTERY WINNER IDENTIFIED AS VEGAS RESIDENT.

The team crowded one another to read the clippings, with only Jenkins staying aloof. A quick skim revealed only that one Gus Dunphy of Las Vegas, Nevada, had recently won a big payout in a state lottery. A black-and-white photo showed a grinning Dunphy accepting an oversized check the size of small billboard. That in itself didn't raise any red flags for Baird; people
did
win lotteries without magical assistance, and Dunphy looked like a thoroughly average, unassuming type.

But if the Library thought it was worth checking out …

“Aces,” Ezekiel said. “We're going to Vegas.”

“So it seems,” Baird agreed. “Get your game on, everyone. I want to be in Sin City in thirty minutes, tops.”

With their snack break cut short, she reached for the apple fritter doughnut, only to find it curiously missing.

“Hey, what happened to my doughnut?”

Jenkins wiped a crumb from his lips with a silk pocket handkerchief.

“I'm sure I have no idea,” he said.

 

4

2016

Las Vegas, Nevada

“Let your love be tender, let your love be true,” the Elvis said. “By the power invested in me by the great state of Nevada, and your own burning hunk o' love, I now pronounce you—”

The door to the wedding chapel slammed open, accompanied by a blinding flash of bright white light, and the Librarians (and Guardian) rushed into the aisle, which was decked out with flowers, garlands, and an excess of twinkle lights. Instrumental versions of the King's greatest hits played softly in the background. Resplendent in rhinestones, the Elvis paused in his pronouncement, while the bride and groom, who were wearing matching Graceland T-shirts and blue suede shoes, turned to gape at the new arrivals. Stone realized at once that they were intruding on some rather less-than-solemn nuptials.

“Don't mind us,” he said. “Carry on … and congratulations.”

The Back Door of the Annex could magically lead to most any other door on the planet, but dialing up the correct destination was something less than an exact science. Getting the right city was as easy as pie; guessing precisely which door in that city you might emerge from was more of a gamble.

Which, this being Vegas, was only fitting.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Baird added. “We'll be going now.”

The team retreated from the chapel with all due haste, exiting the building to step out onto a sunlit sidewalk somewhere along Las Vegas Boulevard. Palm trees sprouted beneath a bright blue sky, while the temperature was a good deal warmer than it had been in Portland, even though they were still in the same time zone. Low-rent strip malls, fast food joints, and a pawn shop indicated that this stretch of the boulevard was not exactly at the heart of the famed Vegas Strip, with its celebrated casinos and mega-resorts. Stone figured that was just as well; they weren't here to party.

“An Elvis wedding?” Ezekiel snickered in amusement. “Talk about retro. What century do they think this is, anyway?”

Stone bristled. “You got something against the King?”

“Hey, I'm sure he's great, if you like moldy oldies that your grandparents used to make out to.”

Stone couldn't believe his ears. “You've got no respect for the classics, you know that, man?”

“Too busy being on the cutting edge, I guess.” Ezekiel grinned at Stone. “Send me a telegram from Backwardsville when you get a chance.”

“I think it's sweet,” Cassandra said, “that the happy couple obviously have so much in common.”

“Assuming that they didn't just meet in a bar two hours ago,” Ezekiel added, smirking. “I mean, this
is
Vegas.”

“Don't be so cynical,” she chided him.

“Don't be so naïve,” he shot back playfully, “or this town will eat you alive.”

“That's enough, all of you,” Baird said, playing den mother as usual. “Let's stay focused on our mission. Jones, did you manage to track down Dunphy's home address?”

“Easy-peasy.” He consulted his phone. “According to the local DMV database, he lives on the outskirts of town, about”—he switched to another app—“sixteen miles from here.”

Stone wished the Back Door could have gotten them a little closer to their final destination. “Guess we need to hail a cab.”

“A cab?” Ezekiel scoffed. “You really do need to get with today, mate.” He keyed a new command into his phone. “Uber is where it's at these days.”

“Just get us there, Jones,” Baird said. “The easiest way possible.”

“Leave it to me,” he said confidently. “But you're paying.”

A crowded car ride brought them to a dingy trailer park, far from the glitz and excess Vegas was famous for. Rusty mobile homes, in varying states of repair, squatted along both sides of pitted blacktop roads. Drying laundry hung on clotheslines. Barbecue grills, toys, and cheap plastic playground equipment littered patchy brown lawns. Weeds and potholes infested the pavement. A chained mutt growled at the Librarians, who took in the run-down neighborhood.

“Not exactly where you'd expect to find a guy who just won a million dollars,” Baird observed.

Stone shrugged. “Guess his luck changed.”

“See, that's just wrong,” Ezekiel objected. “Picking out random numbers doesn't require any smarts or skill or daring. You want a million dollars, you ought to go about it the right way.”

“By stealing it?” Cassandra guessed.

“Naturally.” Ezekiel gave her a puzzled look. “How else?”

Stone let that one pass. “The real question is whether Dunphy's big win was really just a stroke of luck, or if he owes his change of fortune to some kind of magic instead?”

“Like a rabbit's foot,” Cassandra speculated, “or a four-leaf clover?”

“Kind of early for Saint Patrick's Day,” Baird said, “but I'm guessing it's something like that. The Clipping Book wouldn't have sent us here otherwise.”

Locating the correct trailer took a few inquiries, but they soon approached a beaten-up aluminum trailer that had clearly seen better days. Rust discolored its once-shiny exterior. Duct tape patched cracked windows or covered them altogether. Weeds infested the lawn, which needed mowing.

“I'm going to go out on a limb,” Stone said, “and predict that Dunphy has upgraded his living situation since winning the lottery.”

“You're probably right,” Baird said, “but we've got to start somewhere.”

She walked up to the trailer and knocked on the door. “Mr. Dunphy? Anybody?”

“If you're looking for Gus,” a raspy voice interrupted, “you're fat outta luck. He skipped out a couple days ago, without even saying good-bye.”

The voice came from an older woman reclining in a lawn chair outside the trailer across the street. Her wizened features reminded Stone of a Rembrandt painting, although none of Rembrandt's models had been taking a drag on a cigarette while soaking up the sun. Dunphy's neighbor had a silver beehive hairdo that would have done the Bride of Frankenstein proud, a tank top, shorts, sandals, and pink sunglasses. An open can of beer sat within easy reach atop a plastic cooler next to her chair.

Stone and the others strolled over to talk to her. “Thanks for letting us know, ma'am. I don't suppose you know where we might find him?”

“Who's asking?” She held up her hand to fend off any replies. “Wait, let me guess.” She lifted her shades to reveal canny brown eyes that looked the team over. “Bill collectors? Loan sharks? Ex-wives? Girlfriends? Distant relations looking for a handout?”

“Nothing like that, ma'am,” Stone said. “We're … Librarians.”

The woman blinked in surprise. “Come again?”

“He has a number of books overdue,” Cassandra offered by way of explanation. It wasn't the most far-fetched excuse they'd ever volunteered for snooping around where they didn't belong. Not by a long shot.

“Is that so?” the woman said. “Never took Gus for much of a reader.”

“How
would
you describe him?” Baird asked, fishing for intel. “If you don't mind me asking, Miss…?”

“Call me Naomi,” the neighbor answered. “Everybody else does.” She took another drag on her cigarette. “Guess you'd call Gus a confirmed gambler, and not a very good one, honestly. Strictly small time and always in hock to somebody. Then again, he
did
win that lottery, so who am I to talk?”

“Any chance he left a forwarding address?” Stone asked.

“Not that I know. Like I told that other crew, he put this place in his rearview mirror the minute he got that big payout. Can't say I blame him, really.”

Stone's ears perked up. “Other crew?”

“Yeah. Some Arab fellas just came looking for Gus yesterday, along with this bossy looker who was way out of Gus's league, frankly, and had something of an attitude. I told her and her boys just what I'm telling you, that Gus had hightailed it out of here in search of greener pastures, and that I never expect to see his sorry mug again.” Naomi shook her head. “Some people get all the luck.”

“Don't they just.” Stone glanced back at Dunphy's trailer. “You think it would be okay if we poked around a bit, just to try to figure out where Gus might have gotten to?”

“Because of those library books,” Cassandra added. “There's a waiting list, you see, of people just dying to read those books.…”

Enough is enough, Cassie,
Stone thought.
No need to lay it so thick.

“Go ahead.” Naomi shrugged. “No skin off my nose.”

A baby wailed inside her trailer, calling her from her chair. She stubbed out her cigarette and rose creakily to her feet. “Now if you don't mind, I've gotta see to my grandnephew.”

“Understood, ma'am,” Stone said cordially. “Thanks again for your assistance.”

“Coming all this way for library books,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Now I've heard everything.…”

She vanished into her trailer, leaving the team free to talk openly among themselves.

“Seems like we're not the only people looking for Dunphy,” Ezekiel said. “Who do we think that other crew is?”

“From the sound of it, it could be anybody,” Stone said. “Nothing like a million bucks to bring plenty of interested parties out of the woodwork: creditors, scam artists, you name it.”

A worried expression came over Cassandra's face. “You think we have competition?”

“Too soon to tell,” Baird said. “This other crew could just be after Dunphy's money, not anything magic. Heck, we don't even know what we're actually looking for yet, let alone if somebody else is after it.”

“My money's on a lucky horseshoe,” Ezekiel said. “What with Gus being a gambler and all.”

“I'll take that bet,” Stone said. “Baird's right. It could be anything. A lucky coin, a crystal ball, a deal with the devil, or something else entirely.”

Ezekiel grinned. “Care to make it interesting?”

“Wow,” Baird said, rolling her eyes. “One hour in Vegas and you're both infected with gambling fever.”

Stone shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a friendly wager.” He smirked at Ezekiel. “Twenty bucks says it's
not
a horseshoe.”

“You got yourself a bet, mate. Better keep a twenty handy.”

“Well, leave me out of it.” Baird sighed impatiently, like a harried schoolteacher trying to ride herd on a passel of unruly kids on a field trip. “Maybe we can get on with our investigation?”