Billy the Kid & the Vampyres of Vegas (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5.5) by Michael Scott
Authors: Michael Scott
Ads: Link
1.
“Billy, let me be very clear,” said the white-bearded Elder Quetzalcoatl. “You do not open the jar.”
The young man in the faded Route 66 T-shirt and weathered blue jeans nodded. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, fingertips resting on the ornate buckle, he leaned over and looked at the beautifully decorated earthenware vessel in the center of the table. Its wide mouth was sealed with what looked like black wax etched with sticklike writing.
“Don’t open the jar,” Billy repeated quietly to himself, then asked, “Why—what’s in it?”
Quetzalcoatl remained expressionless. “You do not want to know.”
“I do, actually.” Billy the Kid looked at the slender figure with the hawk nose and solid black eyes standing across from him. “If you want me to deliver this, the least you can do is tell me what’s in it.”
A look of irritation flashed across the copper-skinned Elder’s face. His long serpent’s tail, bright with scales and feathers, swished beneath the hem of his white cotton robe and rasped back and forth over the floor.
Billy reached out to poke the jar with a calloused finger. But before he could touch it, a spark crackled from one of the ornate decorations ringing its surface. Billy leapt back, shaking out his suddenly numb fingers. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked. “That hurts.”
“I told you not to touch it.”
“You told me not to open it,” Billy corrected the Elder.
Quetzalcoatl’s black eyes fixed on Billy. The American immortal shrugged. “ ‘Don’t open,’ you said, not ‘don’t touch.’ ”
“Do not touch,” Quetzalcoatl snapped.
Billy grinned. “Then how am I going to carry it?”
The Elder’s mouth opened and his black tongue flickered through razor-sharp teeth. “Your smart mouth is going to get you killed one day.”
“Maybe,” Billy said. “But only when I’m no longer of any use to you.”
Quetzalcoatl leaned toward the Kid, wisps of his beard brushing the jar, which gave off tiny blue-green sparks. “Do you know how many humani servants I have?”
“No.” Billy’s cold blue eyes stared, unwavering, into the Elder’s face. “How many?”
Swirls of oily color moved across the surface of Quetzalcoatl’s black eyes. Then he leaned back and his mouth opened in what might have passed for a smile. “Maybe I should let you open it,” he said. He tapped the jar with his black-nailed index finger. “This is a pithos.”
“I thought it was a jar,” Billy said. He looked back at the table. The jar was about four feet tall, with a wide mouth above a bulging body narrowing to a circular base. The body of the artifact had been etched with horizontal lines of ancient script and spiral decorations resembling waves.
“A pithos a jar. Didn’t you learn anything in school?”
Billy shook his head. “We spent a lot of time on the road when I was young; there wasn’t much time for schooling, and I went to work when my ma died. I was fourteen. Anything I’ve learned I taught myself.”
Quetzalcoatl shook his head. “I sometimes wonder why I made you immortal.”
“Because I saved your life,” Billy reminded him with a grin. He held up his forefinger and thumb. “If I remember correctly, you were this close to ending your ten thousand years upon this earth.”
Quetzalcoatl spun away and moved across the low-ceilinged room. Late-afternoon sunlight washed in through the large open windows, and the air smelled of exotic spices. “Just remember, Billy, I can take away your immortality just as easily as I granted it.”
Billy the Kid bit back his response and folded his arms across his chest. He’d never asked for immortality, but he’d come to enjoy his extended life span and knew that if he was careful he could live for another one or two or even three hundred years. He’d heard stories of European immortals who had lived for more than half a millennium. His friend Black Hawk had told him that he’d once met an immortal
“Billy, let me be very clear,” said the white-bearded Elder Quetzalcoatl. “You do not open the jar.”
The young man in the faded Route 66 T-shirt and weathered blue jeans nodded. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, fingertips resting on the ornate buckle, he leaned over and looked at the beautifully decorated earthenware vessel in the center of the table. Its wide mouth was sealed with what looked like black wax etched with sticklike writing.
“Don’t open the jar,” Billy repeated quietly to himself, then asked, “Why—what’s in it?”
Quetzalcoatl remained expressionless. “You do not want to know.”
“I do, actually.” Billy the Kid looked at the slender figure with the hawk nose and solid black eyes standing across from him. “If you want me to deliver this, the least you can do is tell me what’s in it.”
A look of irritation flashed across the copper-skinned Elder’s face. His long serpent’s tail, bright with scales and feathers, swished beneath the hem of his white cotton robe and rasped back and forth over the floor.
Billy reached out to poke the jar with a calloused finger. But before he could touch it, a spark crackled from one of the ornate decorations ringing its surface. Billy leapt back, shaking out his suddenly numb fingers. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked. “That hurts.”
“I told you not to touch it.”
“You told me not to open it,” Billy corrected the Elder.
Quetzalcoatl’s black eyes fixed on Billy. The American immortal shrugged. “ ‘Don’t open,’ you said, not ‘don’t touch.’ ”
“Do not touch,” Quetzalcoatl snapped.
Billy grinned. “Then how am I going to carry it?”
The Elder’s mouth opened and his black tongue flickered through razor-sharp teeth. “Your smart mouth is going to get you killed one day.”
“Maybe,” Billy said. “But only when I’m no longer of any use to you.”
Quetzalcoatl leaned toward the Kid, wisps of his beard brushing the jar, which gave off tiny blue-green sparks. “Do you know how many humani servants I have?”
“No.” Billy’s cold blue eyes stared, unwavering, into the Elder’s face. “How many?”
Swirls of oily color moved across the surface of Quetzalcoatl’s black eyes. Then he leaned back and his mouth opened in what might have passed for a smile. “Maybe I should let you open it,” he said. He tapped the jar with his black-nailed index finger. “This is a pithos.”
“I thought it was a jar,” Billy said. He looked back at the table. The jar was about four feet tall, with a wide mouth above a bulging body narrowing to a circular base. The body of the artifact had been etched with horizontal lines of ancient script and spiral decorations resembling waves.
“A pithos a jar. Didn’t you learn anything in school?”
Billy shook his head. “We spent a lot of time on the road when I was young; there wasn’t much time for schooling, and I went to work when my ma died. I was fourteen. Anything I’ve learned I taught myself.”
Quetzalcoatl shook his head. “I sometimes wonder why I made you immortal.”
“Because I saved your life,” Billy reminded him with a grin. He held up his forefinger and thumb. “If I remember correctly, you were this close to ending your ten thousand years upon this earth.”
Quetzalcoatl spun away and moved across the low-ceilinged room. Late-afternoon sunlight washed in through the large open windows, and the air smelled of exotic spices. “Just remember, Billy, I can take away your immortality just as easily as I granted it.”
Billy the Kid bit back his response and folded his arms across his chest. He’d never asked for immortality, but he’d come to enjoy his extended life span and knew that if he was careful he could live for another one or two or even three hundred years. He’d heard stories of European immortals who had lived for more than half a millennium. His friend Black Hawk had told him that he’d once met an immortal
Similar Books
