Mass suggestion was difficult, but drinking had made this group weak-willed. And honestly, they might have helped anyway in the name of romance. They started chattering about true love, and the bride-to-be waved us toward the taxi. “Take it, take it!”
As Adrian and I were getting in, the Alchemists appeared at the bank of glass doors and pushed them open. “Hey,” I called to the girls, waving my bouquet. “Get some early practice!” I chucked it toward them, purposely aiming over and past them—right to the Alchemists coming out the doors. The girls screamed in delight, turning into a rabid pack as they all went after the bouquet and collided right with our startled pursuers. I didn’t see how it resolved, because by that time, I was in the car, and Adrian was giving orders to the Blue Lagoon. The cab pulled out.
“Let’s hope this is as simple as getting a ride down the street,” said Adrian grimly. “How did they find us?”
“Hard to say. Could’ve been as simple as their eyes and ears catching sight of us somewhere.” I sighed in dismay. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t gotten so silly about a ‘real’ wedding, we would’ve been out of this city a long time ago.”
He slipped an arm around me. “No way,” he said. “I’m glad we did this. They’ve taken so much from us already. They can’t take this day from us too.”
“At the very least,” I said wryly, “I should’ve anticipated something like this happening and picked a dress that was easier to move in. This mermaid style does not have a lot of leg mobility, but that lady assured me if she laced it up correctly in the back, she could make it look like I have more of a figure than I do.”
“Your figure looks pretty good from where I’m sitting,” he said, running his fingers along the beads on my shoulder strap.
I smiled up at him and then glanced around as I noticed something. “Why aren’t we moving?”
The driver gestured irritably at his windshield. “Typical this time of night. Everyone’s going somewhere. You kids aren’t trying to get to a chapel appointment are you?”
“Already been,” said Adrian.
“Good thing,” said the driver as we inched forward. I saw his eyes look up to the rearview mirror. “Because you may be waiting here a little bit. Only way to get around all this is on a motorcycle, like those nuts.”
Adrian and I peered behind us. All I could see at first was a sea of headlights on the crowded road, but then a ways back, I spotted four individual headlights moving and weaving in and around the stopped and idling cars. Adrian, his vision superior to mine at night, grimaced. “Sydney, I’ve got a bad feeling about that.”
“We need to get out,” I said decisively. “Now.”
Adrian didn’t question me and simply handed over money to cover our current fare, much to the driver’s astonishment. “Are you crazy? You’re in the middle of a million cars!”
That became obvious when we got out and tried to cross to the nearest side of the road. Horns blared at us as we darted across Las Vegas Boulevard, but at least most of them were stopped, so we weren’t posing too much of a risk. In fact, the only vehicles that seemed to be getting anywhere were the four motorcycles. They kept moving on their earlier trajectory, simply trying to get farther down the road, and I thought maybe we’d eluded them. But then, just as we reached the curb and stepped up on the sidewalk, I saw one of the motorcycles turn sharply in our direction. The others soon followed suit.
The sidewalk was packed with people, and like the road, no one seemed to be moving. “They won’t mow down a bunch of pedestrians with their bikes, will they?” asked Adrian as we hurried through the crowd as fast as they could.
“Not likely,” I said, “but they’ll probably gain on us pretty fast once they get on foot. And they won’t have qualms about just abandoning the motorcycles.” We halted as a knot of camera-snapping tourists refused to part, forcing us to make a wide circle around them. “Why is everyone just standing around?”
“Because we’re in front of the Bellagio,” said Adrian, staring up at a sprawling hotel. “Their fountains are probably about to come on. Pretty sure there’s a tram or monorail here that’ll get us up the Strip if we can get to it.”
“Beats running,” I said. I was fully aware that not only my dress but also my shoes were slowing our pace. I’d at least had the sense to decline the five-inch-heeled “to die for” shoes that the consultant had initially recommended, but even these little kitten-heeled ones were starting to pinch and take their toll.
Adrian and I made the Bellagio’s main door our goal, a journey complicated by the excited crowds growing thicker as we neared the fountains. We had to go considerably around them to make any sort of progress, which also took us away from the most direct route to the door. We’d just made it to the far side of the fountains from the road when I glanced back and saw the foursome running toward us, much more uncaring of whom they pushed aside than we had been.
“I didn’t know the Alchemists had such buff recruits,” remarked Adrian.
“Sometimes they outsource extra security forces for—”
My words were cut off by exclamations of delight as the fountains suddenly sprang to life. Streams of water shot hundreds of feet in the air, and the opening bars of “Viva Las Vegas” sounded. Adrian started to run again, but I held him back. “Hang on,” I said.