Jack and Djinn (The Houri Legends, #1)(50)
Miriam glanced behind her to see Ben standing on his tiptoes, scanning the crowd. He saw her, and set out after her, shoving people aside, spilling drinks and earning hateful looks. Her dress made her stand out, she realized, the silver in stark contrast to the street clothes of the rest of the crowd. She’d hoped the bustle of people milling around her would be a hindrance to Ben, but it was just as much a problem to her as it was to him.
Ben was closing in, his suit coat buttoned now, concealing the weapon, but she could still see the butt distorting the line of his jacket. A rush of panic shot through her; she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t use the gun, even here. He was striding with bullish purpose through the crowd, eyes fixed on her, rage burning, jealousy and hurt and confusion stamped on his face. He hated her now, and he wouldn’t stop until he had her. God knows what he would do if he caught her.
Miriam turned back to glance back at Ben, and in the process ran smack into a huge, sweating, pear-shaped man in overalls, dragging an oxygen tank with cannulae inserted in his nose, a pumpkin-round face covered in a thick beard that hung over his broad chest. Beady brown eyes glanced down at her, and he spoke in a gasping voice so deep it made her bones rattle. “You in trouble, little miss?”
She saw Ben a few feet away, shook her head, and pushed past the man. She heard him stop Ben, heard the man grunt in surprise as Ben shoved him to the side. It was enough of a distraction to let Miriam get farther ahead, and that enraged Ben even more. There was a clear area ahead of Miriam, a break in the crowd; she broke into a run, not caring about the stares she drew. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, flowing in brown waves behind her as she ran. She wanted to glance behind her to see if she was getting any farther away, but she was afraid of running into someone again and losing her momentum.
Miriam realized she had no idea of where she was going. She was running blindly, trying to get away from Ben. The casino was mammoth and expansive and maze-like, row after row of slot machines all lined up and marching off into the distance. Panic blinded her from seeing any directional signs. She passed by a darkened lounge with blue low-lights, people swilling booze from highballs, oblivious to her plight. She rounded a corner, glancing back as she did so to see Ben less than ten feet away, striding confidently, his hand on the pocket of his suit coat, holding the pistol, a smirk on his lips, a hungry smile offsetting the glittering anger in his eyes. He saw her glance at him, and his grin widened. He curled a finger at her, beckoning. She shook her head in denial automatically, not meaning to respond.
She slammed into yet another body, this time a smaller, softer one. Miriam was suddenly doused in drinks. She saw an attractive, Arabic-looking girl about her own age standing there in shock and outrage, an empty tray in one hand and a pile of foaming beer bottles on the ground, her skimpy black waitress uniform soaked.
The waitress was wearing a bodice that did little but prop her breasts up, and an apron that covered her thighs, and black tights, but little else. Miriam wasn’t sure she was actually wearing a skirt at all, just a shirt and the apron. Despite the fear gripping her, Miriam felt a strange kinship to the woman, a connection she couldn’t explain, a kind of familiarity, even though Miriam was sure she’d never seen her before in her life. The waitress was a little taller than Miriam, beautiful in an exotic way.
“Do I know you?” the waitress asked, curiosity written plain on her face.
The waitress reached up and touched Miriam’s forehead with the tip of her index finger, and Miriam felt a bolt of electricity rush through her, felt her magic respond to the girl’s touch, reaching out for the similar magic floating in a silvery tendril toward her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben stalking after her, the pistol in his hand now, held against his leg. Slipping on the spilled beer, Miriam stumbled into a run, bounced off another man, barely hearing his yells of surprise.
A bank of doors appeared in the distance, and Miriam headed for them, Ben hot on her heels now. Miriam shoved an overweight older black woman out of the way and slammed into the door, felt it bounce off her as she careened into a wall. She was in the back area of the casino, an employee’s-only section of white walls, white linoleum floors, and white drop-tile ceilings, clean, too-bright hallways startlingly silent after the clanging bustle of the casino.
Alone now, Miriam sprinted flat-out, her feet slapping loud, her breathing ragged. She heard the doors behind her bang open, followed by fragments of casino noise and shouts of “you can’t go in there!” as Ben continued to pursue her. He had the gun out now, and he lifted it to point it at her, still walking with long strides after her, not running, not hurrying. Miriam heard her own panting breath mix with whimpers, smelled the pungent aroma of Pine-Sol from the freshly mopped floor. The hallway ended at a T-junction, and Miriam crashed into the wall and turned left, choosing arbitrarily, hurtled around another corner and another, each time at random, hoping to lose him. She heard Ben’s feet pounding now as he ran to catch up; she heard the unmistakable ratcheting click of the pistol safety being pulled back and released.
She saw an exit sign bathing the hallway red and reflecting off the floor, and Miriam bolted through it to emerge into the low gray darkness of a parking garage, cars scattered between yellow lines, ramps leading up and down. Miriam headed for the downward ramp, hoping it would lead her outside. The door banged open behind her again, and she knew Ben had found her. At least she was alone out here. If Ben caught her, she’d use her powers. She might destroy a few cars, but no one would die.