Puzzling Plots (A Luna Thorn Witchy Mystery) by Amanda M. Lee

Author:Amanda M. Lee [Lee, Amanda M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WinchesterShaw Publications
Published: 2025-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

14

FOURTEEN

I’d triggered the idea on my own, so I headed toward Greektown Casino. Caesar was no longer in power there, but I was familiar with the person—or gorgon—who had taken over in his stead.

“I’m here to see Bethesda,” I told the security guard next to the private-residence entrance in the parking garage. He was big, mean-looking, and smelled like a golem. I found it weird that Bethesda was creating guards out of scratch, and I filed away that information to dwell on later.

“And who are you?” the golem asked. He wasn’t any smarter than Juniper. He was, however, fixated on a singular task. That meant that if I tried to get past him into the elevator, he would physically try to remove my head from my body. And if I wasn’t quick enough, he had the power to make the attempt.

“Luna Thorn,” I replied.

The golem’s face remained impassive. “She’s not in her quarters,” he offered rather than shut me down. “She’s on the casino floor.”

Confused, I hesitated. “She allows you to volunteer that information to random people who ask for her?”

“Not random people,” the golem replied in an even, almost disinterested voice. “We’re allowed to tell you where she is, however.”

That was interesting. “Why?”

“Ask her.” The golem waved me off. “She’s by the blackjack tables.”

Apparently, I’d been dismissed. I gave him another look—a dark one—then gritted my teeth as I started for the side entrance. Another security guard stood by that door. That one was human. He didn’t even look up from his phone when I breezed past him.

Bethesda wasn’t worried about security, obviously.

The hotel was thirty stories. The casino kept most of their operations on the first floor. I had to follow the signs to the blackjack tables, which meant sliding around all the people playing slots. I’d never understood the appeal of gambling—it seemed like a gross waste of money since the house always won—but Lincoln had explained it to me once.

“People want to believe in the dream,” he’d explained. “They can’t see a way out of their predicament unless they get lucky. Deep down, they know that they’re unlikely to be the lucky one, but somebody is.

“They don’t have a way out of their circumstances because someone working as a janitor isn’t suddenly going to be elevated to CEO of a company,” he continued. “They might hit it big on the slots, though. Eventually, somebody will.”

I’d thought about what he said for a long time. Those words, however basic, had helped me better understand the people in the nearby neighborhoods. That was always one of the things I grappled with. Understanding people was hard for me. I’d gotten better at it over the years, but I always felt as if I was at a disadvantage.

The landscape of the casino floor changed when I moved beyond the machines and toward the tables. People yelled and cheered at the craps tables, and they were stoic and tried to hide their faces at the Texas Hold’em tables. Things were dour at the blackjack tables when I approached.

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