A/N: I hope you can't tell that all my knowledge of Las Vegas comes from Fallout… Okay, Fallout and that episode of Warehouse 13 that takes place in Vegas. Which had Jean in it, by the way! What I'm saying is go play Fallout: New Vegas and watch Warehouse 13.
/
Bess had spent the flight mourning the loss of Bess Marvin and begging the universe to spare George.
She hadn't let go of the crystal the entire flight; it assuaged her guilt, was a constant reminder that she wasn't doing this for nothing, that there was someone who would still be there for her when all of this was over.
The first thing she did when the plane landed—the rush of the landing awakening so much excitement in Bess's chest—was stop by an electronics store. She fished in the bin out front for discarded receipts until she found one for a cell phone.
She didn't have to think too hard—this little trick was second nature, an old habit—to find the phone listed on the receipt in the store and bring it to customer service. She gave a well-practiced spiel to the tired employee about how she'd just bought this phone but heard another model was even better, and could she please return this one for another one?
It had taken less than twenty minutes to replace her old phone. She was feeling less and less sick about leaving everything behind.
She didn't have service anymore, true, but she could connect to the Wifi and check to see whether any deaths had been reported in Horseshoe Bay.
None.
No outpourings of grief on George's social medias, either.
Despite her guilt, despite the image of George's helpless body, the rush of new beginnings was undeniable. Travelling always reminded Bess of that first long flight she'd taken to America: the freedom of leaving everything behind and finally finding a new family.
So there wasn't a long-lost family waiting for her here in Las Vegas, or anywhere anymore, but there was Odette, and there was certainly an exciting future.
Bess had always wanted to go to Vegas. The neon lights, the glittering water of the Fountains of Bellagio, the clamour of sparkling quarters… And, of course, the unending potential that awaited a con artist in Las Vegas.
Being a con artist had been excruciating. She'd met some of the worst people that exist in the world, people who would gut their friends to make a few bucks. The lifestyle was bipolar and devastating, bringing in thousands of dollars in one day and then losing it all in the next. She'd stayed in five-star resorts and gotten her hands on the thickest wads of cash imaginable, then the next week would be dumpster diving, sleeping in Stephen's truck, and spending countless days holed up in the sketchiest motels London had to offer.
But here was another thing about being a con artist: It was sometimes the most fun Bess had ever had in her entire life.
She loved the weight of a new treasure in her hands, the way her winnings glitzed and glimmered.
She loved the rush of a con when she knew it was meticulously planned, that failing was impossible.
She loved blowing all her money with no regard for the future, because there would always be a new unsuspecting mark.
She loved inventing new identities to transform herself into. She'd devoted herself to a handful of reliable personas as a con artist: Chanel Celestine, Crystal Palm, Lillian Glitter, Lacey Love… None of them felt right anymore, though. They didn't feel as real as they once had; they all seemed transparent, fake.
No matter. She'd just have to invent someone else.
She loved feeling clever—in the real world, she never felt clever—and taking control of her life.
Because, please, fuck the Marvins, fuck her "husband", fuck her friends that wanted her to kill the one person who was going to stick by her, fuck a lifetime of poverty and abandonment and heartbreak.
She was in Las Vegas, and she was going to make herself a self-made woman. And when she had money and connections and an iota of stability, she would find Odette a new body.
She wasn't going to kill anyone for it, of course. And she shuddered to think about even just finding a fresh body. She had seen dead bodies before—once, with Stephen, that she'd pretended not to see, and then there was Tiffany Hudson, and the body that turned out to be the Lamia… The image of a corpse was raw, and each time it had changed something inside Bess. The memories still turned her stomach, made her shaky. She could remember each one vividly, as though it had just happened hours ago, and not years.
But that was a problem for future Bess.
Now, the Las Vegas Strip was even more dazzling than Bess could have imagined. She must have spent hours just wandering the boulevard and marvelling at the beacons that shot up against the hotels and the little glass lights on the signs that jumped merrily from one flashbulb to another.
The sunset lit up the clouds a vivid pink, the boulevard seemed to stretch right into the desert sky, and everything felt perfect. Her only job was to find a hotel that would have lax security and games she could fix in her favour.
Her plan was to win big at the tables—anything was possible with sleight of hand, especially for someone like Bess, who had always looked so irresistibly cute and innocent. Stephen had said she was the perfect find because even when she was almost grown-up, she still looked like a child. And no one suspects a little girl with wide eyes and a sweet nature.
She couldn't win too big, though, she reminded herself; that would raise suspicion. She didn't want a repeat of the time she and Stephen had been kicked out of Monte Carlo, however fun that week had been before it all crumbled.
And she wouldn't blow all the money right away, either. She had to save it.
The thought of saying goodbye to Bess Marvin completely still stung, despite the rush from flying and the glamour of the Strip and the glowing pink sky. She checked into the laziest-looking hotel and casino as Elizabeth Martin, and that was that.
She crashed in her room, hard and fast, the crystal clutched safely in her hands.
/
A couple of nights later, Elizabeth Martin was riding an incredible streak of miraculous-but-still-just-believable luck.
She had been checking the Horseshoe Bay news and George's socials periodically, wondering if she would get confirmation one way or another. The more time that went by without any news, the more assured Bess was that everything had somehow turned out okay.
She should have been shocked at how easy it was to forget the guilt, stop wondering what had become of her friend, who was already starting to feel rather distant. It was an acquired but necessary skill, like pickpocketing or sleight-of-hand.
"Okay, I have four a kind. But that's better, right?" she asked innocently, as if it was a strain to remember the rules of poker, laying down her perfectly manufactured hand and giggling when the dealer slid her an impressive stack of chips.
She had already been comped three drinks that made the casino floor crackle with excitement and a room upgrade, so that night she and Odette would be sleeping in luxury.
She had already spent an impressive sum at the shops on the Strip—she needed clothes for Elizabeth Martin, after all. At first, she'd wanted to be this sensible woman who was conservative with her money and would end up making smart decisions. But then she saw a shop with bejewelled dresses and fluffy fur coats, and she decided Elizabeth Martin could have a fun side, too.
She was draped in the fur coat now. Despite the heat of the Mojave outside, the insides of the casinos were blasted with refreshing air conditioning. The intent, Bess knew, was to keep the gamblers inside so they could lose more money. But tucked inside the fur coat's thick sleeves were stolen casino cards, so the house wasn't winning this time.
A group of men was sitting across the table. When they had come in yesterday, they were all fun and rowdy, but now they were all losing, and the disappointment was quieting them down. Now, one of the gamblers was eying Bess. He was a bit older than her, with messed hair and unchecked stubble.
"How're you doing that, kitten?" the gambler asked, pressing his tongue against his cheek thoughtfully.
Bess tried to look humble, surprised by the attention. "Just good luck, I guess!"
The gambler nodded at her crystal, which was peeking out of Bess's pocket so that Odette could see the table. "That some kind of good luck charm?"
Bess smiled at the thought. It would be appropriate; it felt as though Odette's soul had been tailor-made to be as comforting as possible to Bess, all warmth and shiny glow. Not to mention, it was the whole reason she was here. "Yeah, I guess it is."
Then, she won another hand, and the gambler scowled.
Poor guy didn't know it was all rigged.
Bess watched him stalk off, then ordered another flute of champagne.
/
George caught her breath as she strangled the life out of a bed of roses in front of one of the Strip's hotels. The Mark was burning nonstop, unbearably stifling when compounded by the desert heat.
It had been two days—two long, sweltering days the angry Nevada heat—and there was no sign of Bess the abandoner.
So much more than time had been wasted.
For one, there was the steep price of their last-minute redeye flight to Vegas, and there was the outrageous cost of the tacky motel outside the Strip where they'd been staying. There was The Claw, which was no doubt hemorrhaging money and customers without half of its staff. And, worst of all, there were her neglected sisters back at home, alone and without a guardian.
George didn't want to do anything she'd regret, though. Nancy and Ace were right; Bess deserved an opportunity to explain herself.
Well, maybe she didn't deserve the opportunity, George revised. But George felt inclined to at least hear some answers.
With every day they spent searching, each day lost in vain, George felt less and less inclined to hear Bess out. If she'd cared, even a little, wouldn't she have at least called, checked in to see that George wasn't dead in the ground?
Sending the plants to the Fen helped clear George's head. Feeling the plant's life force, its will being crushed against her own, felt as easy and as satisfying as crumpling an aluminium can.
On the plane ride that already felt so long past, she'd fallen asleep and dreamed of the monstera plant from the airport creeping peacefully across the Fen. Tonight, she knew, she would dream of the rosebush blooming on the edge of the water.
She was helping the Sentinel's domain, and she wasn't even taking human lives to do it.
Maybe this extra bidding would increase the Sentinel's favor and help when she finally told Nancy and the rest about the deal she had made.
She knew the rest of her friends were already suspicious. She kept seeing them exchange worried glances, and in the desert heat, questions about the gloves she never took off were inevitable. George had made up a lie about feeling chronically cold since nearly dying, despite the opposite being true.
Which, of course, triggered another one of her friends' concerned looks and sent a wave of heat up George's body.
George knew that she probably should have told her friends about the Sentinel's deal right when she woke up. Knowing the darkness that lurked in Horseshoe Bay, George knew that it was a real possibility that she had made a deal with an evil demon.
Her mother would be furious.
But there were still bigger matters at hand. Namely, Bess. And then…
And then, there was the fact that the whole ordeal had felt so personal. Her soul had been laid bare in the Fen, in total isolation. Then, the Sentinel had granted her the Mark, her alone. He wouldn't have given the power of a god to just anyone. The Mark itself felt deeply intimate, an extension of her very soul.
And she wouldn't say it, didn't even dare to think it in complete terms, but with every day that passed, George was less and less certain that she'd even need to revise the deal she'd made with the Sentinel. The world was full of people who did more harm than good. The criminals they always encountered, her father, and maybe Bess now, too.
She kicked a discarded beer bottle into the gutter, cursing the lowlives that cluttered the city.
The gambling addicts were everywhere. The city's fun façade was blatantly broken by their image, these dead-eyed, dejected old men who had frittered all their money away.
Why had they thought they could win? George had heard the old saying that the house always won, and she knew firsthand that it was true. Some people hadn't been made to win, had been born doomed.
The numb addicts reminded her of her mother, all the money she'd wasted on alcohol, and she gritted her teeth wishing her mother would step up and stay at the house, look after her daughters, while George was away. But she knew her mother wasn't stepping up, no matter how much the Fan family needed it.
She searched another casino, grateful for the rush of air conditioning that hit her when she walked through the doors. The group had split up to search, and George had gone off on her own instead of with Nick, claiming they'd cover more ground that way. (Cue another classic concerned look from her friends, of course.) The truth was, she wasn't interested in talking or bonding, she was only interested in searching. Plus, Nick kept asking her about her feelings, if she was okay. The concern was appropriate—George had nearly died, after all—but it felt like a waste of time and energy. The days were passing, but George was still somehow certain that Bess was close, she could feel it in her blood.
And, like she didn't want anyone's eyes on the Sentinel's Mark, she didn't want anyone around when she confronted Bess. The same way she knew she was close to Bess, George knew she herself would be the one to find Bess.
Another casino searched and empty, and George was getting twitchy again. The Strip was getting progressively shittier the further she walked, and there were no plants around for her to choke out. So be it. The process was only slowing her down.
She continued the search systemically—Bess had to be close, she could feel it, she could feel it, she had to be getting closer—and in the next hotel and casino, it happened.
Bess's familiar figure was perched at one of the Texas Hold 'Em tables, wearing the tackiest glittery dress George had ever seen, swaddled in a soft fur coat, a hard drink in her hand and an impressive stack of chips in front of her.
Worse, her face was split in an open-mouthed laugh.
The force of rage that hit George almost knocked her over.
Here was Bess fucking Marvin, guilt-free, living it up in Vegas, getting lucky, something George had never, never been, after LEAVING HER TO DIE.
Karma was a lie, justice was a lie, Bess's friendly exterior had been a lie, and their whole fucking friendship had been a lie.
George was shaking with rage, and the Mark was sending shots of fever and pain up her left arm, through her chest, into her head.
The plan, of course, had been for anyone who found Bess to call the others, and then they'd all have some civil fucking conversation and sing Kumbaya and resolve everything with forgiveness and the power of friendship or something.
George had never intended to wait for the others to talk to Bess, but now she didn't even approach. She wanted to wait and watch, to see if Bess would give any indication of regret. She didn't want to give Bess a chance to launch into some false apology, to try to fake her out again. George wanted to see her for what she really was, to watch her like a predator watches prey.
The rest of the world faded away. The silvery glow of the casino lights fell, the din of slot machines and criers and dealers vanished. The only thing in the world was Bess, sitting at that table and laughing without a care in the world.
George watched as she won two more hands. Un-fucking-believable. With every win, the world seemed to turn sideways, and the more George could feel heat pulsing through her with every fiery heartbeat. The Mark was pulsing behind her eyes now, and she was seeing red.
Finally, Bess got up from the table, waved goodbye to the dealer and the sulking losing gamblers as if they were good friends. George watched as she cashed out, as she was just handed a wad of cash that was probably more than George's mother saw in a year.
Bess was starting toward the elevator.
Fuck no.
With more power than George thought her body could contain, she stormed toward Bess, pushing past pissy unlucky gamblers and anyone else who got in her way. She could barely even see them.
She didn't have a plan for what she was going to do or say, she couldn't think of anything except getting to Bess and making her realized what she'd done.
There were mere feet between them. George's entire body buzzed with satisfaction. She was going to win this.
"HEY." Every ounce of anger and betrayal went into that single syllable, and it sounded more like the cry of a wild animal.
Bess leapt and spun around. Her stupid eyes went wide, wide with fear now and not feigned innocence, and George noticed all the blood drain from her face.
"George!" Bess squeaked with a waver and a fake smile. She was trying to sound pleased, like thank-god-you're-not-dead, but George wasn't fooled. She was afraid, afraid for her own selfish life, afraid like she hadn't been when George was the one in danger.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?" George shouted, making Bess flinch. Good.
"I—" Bess looked outright panicked now, sheet-white and glancing around quickly for any escape.
"You left me to die."
"I knew Nancy would take care of you and look! She did! Everyone's soul is—is still here, right?"
"You didn't even check in to make sure," George growled. "You just took off."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't believe you."
"What do you want me to say? That I'm a terrible person? You got it!"
"Stop it."
"I am! I've done this kind of thing before, George, okay? I'm selfish and I run off, and—"
"Shut up." It didn't help when Bess pretended to be innocent and it didn't help when she took responsibility, either. Words couldn't do anything now. George's head was swarming.
The elevator doors opened, and Bess staggered in, pounding the close door button with an open fist, but of course she was too slow. George pushed her way into the elevator.
"What, you're trying to run away from me again?" The doors finally closed, too late, and George grabbed Bess by the collar with both hands and shoved her against the wall with a thud. The mirrored wall of the elevator broke into one hairline crack against Bess's weight.
Bess spouted a series of fake flustered apologies, clawed at George's gloved hands, trying to break her grip all the time. But it couldn't be done. George was unrelenting, powered by the burning mark on her left hand that was so close to Bess's face now.
Bess must have been able to feel the heat radiating off of George's left hand, because she kept glancing down at it and pulling her neck as far away from it as possible. George hoped she could feel the heat and the hatred coming off of it in waves.
"Tell me what you were thinking. Tell me how you possibly could have justified leaving me to die."
"I—"
"I thought we were fucking friends, Bess."
"We were—we are—"
"Bullshit."
"I—I trusted Nancy, I—" Bess stopped to gasp for a breath, but George didn't let up.
"You knew what you were doing."
"I—I've never had someone who—"
"Don't." She was vaguely aware of something happening behind her, maybe a crowd was gathering, she didn't care. She didn't want excuses. She didn't even want answers anymore.
In the heat of the moment, she just wanted Bess to suffer.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"
"GEORGE." A strong hand on George's shoulder. She was pulled into the real world again, pulled to face Nick. She lost her grip on Bess, who crumpled to the ground, coughing melodramatically. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Nick?"
While George was stunned, Bess was given a chance.
Of course, she took it.
George was forced to watch as Bess slipped past them and down the hall, leaving a pile of crumpled playing cards behind her. Of course she was a cheat, too.
"Stop," Nick said, holding her back. "Breathe."
"I don't want to breathe, Nick, I want an explanation!"
"Didn't look like you were giving her much of an opportunity to—"
"What's going on?" Now, Nancy and Ace were here. And they were wearing those matching concerned faces George was so sick of seeing. Fantastic. She knew that they'd been keeping an eye on her, like they didn't trust her anymore.
Well, they didn't understand. They hadn't been left for dead, they hadn't been given the power of a god.
"What's going on is she's getting away," George growled. She shoved Nick off of her.
"George!" "George—"
George practically couldn't hear them, in relentless pursuit of Bess's rapid footsteps.
/
Bess flew down the stairs three at a time.
The good news: George was alive. She had been genuinely relieved to see George, however unexpected it was. Until, the bad news, it turned out George wanted to kill her.
Okay, maybe she didn't actually want Bess dead, but Bess wasn't about to stick around and find out for sure.
She had a lot of experience of screwing people over. A flash of friendly families who'd let her into their homes just so she could later steal form them, clueless tourists who didn't have a clue that she and Stephen were robbing them blind… And for none of them had Bess ever been there to see the fallout.
That was a general rule of thumb for conning people. Or it was when you had a conscience, at least.
How many other people out there hated Bess with the same passion that had been burning in George's eyes.
Fuck. This was so bad.
The truth was that with every hour of every passing day, Bess had been becoming less and less inclined to return to Horseshoe Bay; it was more natural to just move on. But now, she knew she could never go back, and that feeling was different.
George wouldn't have her, and even if the others could somehow, undeservedly convince George to forgive her, Bess wouldn't be able to show her face. They knew who she was now.
She burst out of the stairwell, hearing the terrifying clang of George on the staircase above, and into the street.
It was hot, even in the night, but Bess couldn't slow down. She veered into an alley, hoping she could lose George in one of the back streets.
Instead, someone else found her.
Despite herself, Bess screamed out when the man pulled out of his car and grabbed her by the wrist.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?" It took a moment in the dark for Bess to recognize the stubbled face sneering at her. It was the bitter gambler from earlier. "Give it to me," he said angrily, giving her a shake.
"I'm—What?" Bess could recognize that this man was a new threat, but her head was still spinning with George's vitriol and the consequences of her actions.
"The charm."
Bess could only stand there blankly, brain working overtime trying to figure out what to do.
"The thing that's making you win," the gambling man growled, his tone growing more and more urgent. "Give—" the man looked around, as alarmed as Bess was at the sight of George approaching.
Then, his look turned into cruel resolve and Bess was dragged into the gambler's car.
Before George could catch up, they took off, and Bess wasn't sure whether to be terrified or relieved.
/
Reality crashed down on Bess as she stared numbly out the window of the car. The drive was short, but it was obvious that nothing good would come from it. The man was not rescuing her, he was abducting her.
It was too dark out, and all she could see was her own reflection looking nothing like herself. This was the life of a con artist, she realized with horrifying clarity. Making enemies—never friends, not really—and stumbling from one horrific situation into another.
When she was forced in, he'd shoved her back, hard, and she felt the extent of his strength. She wasn't about to try to attack him, even by surprise, and if she was going to make a move, she couldn't get caught. She wondered if she could open the door and roll out the next time the car slowed.
When the car slowed, however, it came to a stop in front of a cluster of motels and Bess was marched inside.
This was horrible. Her mind was only just now catching up with the events of the past few minutes. She should have just surrendered her money in the street, claimed she had nothing more. She thought of a thousand other things she should have done, but now that she was alone with this violent stranger, she couldn't think of a single thing to do in the moment.
"What do you want?" Bess asked. She hated how she sounded so small and childish.
"Okay," the gambler said. His voice was strained and angry and Bess could tell he was making up the plan as he went. "Thought you were better than me, didn't you? Thought you deserved to win, and I deserved to lose, did you?"
"No?"
Without warning, he lurched forward and drained Bess's front pockets of her money.
Fine.
"Second thing. Where's the charm, the thing that's making you win?" The man's patience was obviously already worn thin. "It's mine now."
He held out one hand.
Bess was intimately familiar with this type of man. He had anger in droves and always felt as though any inconvenience was a personal vendetta against him. Resistance, Bess knew, would only make it worse. Go limp, give him the control, and he might not feel like he had to do anything drastic.
She didn't make eye contact—that could be construed as challenging him. Instead, she stared down the floor at the leg of the ratty old couch across the room.
She didn't try to get up. She didn't scream for help. She didn't try to reason with him.
She gave him the crystal.
Another soul she was giving up to save her own.
"It's all yours," she said in that small voice that she hoped would sate the man.
It didn't.
He still stood there, leering.
"That's all I have," Bess said with every ounce of sincerity in the world. She didn't look up from the couch. "That's all I have in the world, please let me go."
The men stepped forward.
Bess didn't know what, exactly, he was about to do, but all she could do was beg in a pathetic whimper, "Please don't."
The next parts happened in slow motion.
He was about to get his hands on her.
And then someone grabbed him across the face, and he went slack, dropped the crystal with a clatter.
As he shuddered and spasmed, foaming at the mouth and buckling to his knees, Bess spotted George over his shoulder.
She had one hand gripped fiercely over the left side of his face, and this force alone seemed to be killing him.
"What are you doing?" Bess screamed, voice hysterical. "George, stop it!"
George removed her hand as the man dropped for the last time, facedown on the floor.
George staggered backwards, stared at the palm of the offending hand. She didn't look angry anymore. She looked surprised by her own power, afraid.
Slowly, she looked forward again, and Bess met her gaze. George's eyes were still wide, maybe looking for forgiveness, maybe wondering what to do.
But Bess was not going to stick around to see if George was genuinely shocked. Bess paused only briefly to grab Odette up off the floor, and then the two of them were on the run again.
/
A/N: Oops! All Bess experiences violence!
By the way, if you picked up on one or both of the two very obscure references I snuck into Bess's past fake names… PLEASE let me know so I can congratulate you thusly.