The Future Falls by Tanya Huff Page B

matched Jack’s rhythm.
    She half turned.
    Then turned again.
    Jack had Allie, and Graham, and Joe, and four aunties more than willing to interfere in his emotional well-being, but Auntie Catherine wouldn’t wait. If Charlie ignored the window of opportunity provided, there might not be a second chance. Charlie could no more lose Jack’s song than she could lose Allie’s, but Auntie Catherine could go to ground like a ninja.
    Mixed amid the crazy and the phlegm, Doomsday Dan had said,
“I think we’re all going to die.”
    Auntie Catherine had said,
“He’s right.”
    Murmuring an apology Jack would never hear, Charlie took up Aunt Catherine’s song again . . .
    ...and emerged between two enormous ferns outside Caesar’s Palace. Given that she was by no means the weirdest thing that had ever happened in Vegas, she headed inside without bothering to charm her sudden appearance away. The lack of crowds midmorning in the casino should have made it easier to find an older woman with a three-foot silver braid and a fondness for lime-green clothing, but the layout had been designed to confuse and confine. It was a maze of bright lights and noise with a five-star steak house at its center instead of a minotaur. Charlie finally closed her eyes, cocked her head, and headed for the sound of a consistently winning slot machine.
    When she bounced off the first three bars of “Mandy,” she opened her eyes to see a middle-aged man holding a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. He stood frowning at her, a polyester-covered barrier preventingher from covering the last few feet to the Lucky Seven slot machine with the good luck charm gleaming on the glass.
    â€œYou’re carrying a guitar.”
    â€œWow.” Charlie’s lip curled. “It’s like you can actually . . . see.”
    Unwashed hair flopped over his forehead as he shook off her tone and said, “Why do you have a guitar?”
    In spite of the hour, that wasn’t his first beer. “Go eat something healthy.”
    â€œI should go eat something healthy,” he muttered, and wandered away.
    â€œYou’ve lost your edge.” Silver bracelets chiming, Auntie Catherine entered her bets. “You should have told him to go get a tattoo. Or a hooker.”
    â€œOr a tattoo of a hooker?”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Charlotte.” She touched the icon to double up, then leaned back waiting for the machine to run through half a dozen complicated patterns before settling on an enormous flashing seven and what sounded like a midi version of six bars from around the middle of Tchaikovsky’s
1812 Overture
. “I think that’ll do it for now.” The number on the strip of white paper was pleasantly, but not impossibly, high. Auntie Catherine had learned that lesson some years ago and Auntie Jane still brought it up whenever she wanted to stress the irresponsibility of her youngest sister. Rubbing the charm off the glass as she stood, Auntie Catherine caught up Charlie’s hand and tucked it in the crook of her arm, holding it in place. “We’ll talk while we walk.”
    Given the rarity of one-handed guitarists, Charlie walked. “Where are we going?”
    â€œThe cashiers’ cages, of course.” The wide legs of her black linen trousers whispered secrets as they crossed the casino.
    â€œOf course.” Away from the slot machines and cutting through the closed section that catered to the more serious weekend gamblers, it became obvious Auntie Catherine wasn’t going to begin the conversation. “So, Doomsday Dan is right?”
    â€œHas all that loud music damaged your hearing?” Silver hoop earrings glittered as Auntie Catherine shook her head with exaggerated sympathy. “Did you come all this way to have me repeat myself?”
    â€œFine. Dan’s right. He thinks we’re all going to die because the