Running Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 9

by Jenn Stark

  The Devil lifted his brows, then inclined his head toward me. “And that.”

  Chapter Four

  We were interrupted then by more members of the staff, who not only brought in great covered platters of food and bottled water, but who gave Kreios an enormous file folder filled with papers. The three of them then stood with their heads together for a while, apparently engaged in extreme yacht strategy.

  I eyed the folder now sitting on the table next to Kreios’s chair. I had a bad feeling about those papers, since Kreios usually preferred to gather his information from rummaging around in people’s minds. He acted like it was to cater to their deepest desires, but I knew better. He was just a nosy old woman.

  Across the room, Kreios choked. I smiled into my drink.

  It took another few minutes for us to be left alone again, and by then, my thoughts had had a chance to catch up with the reality of the Devil’s little field trip.

  “What’s happened, specifically?” I asked as he settled into his chair. “What was so important that, after two months of letting me careen around the world unimpeded, you had to interrupt me now. At Rift, of all godsforsaken places.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it was merely close enough to easy transportation.”

  “No. You could’ve whisked me off the sidewalk after I’d had my little meet and greet, or never let me go into the building at all, if you were worried about it. But you weren’t worried about it, because I’m no longer the kind of girl you worry about in the traditional sense.” I narrowed my eyes. “What did you want from Cyrus? He’s not big enough to be of any interest to the Council.”

  “You’re getting distracted from the point,” Kreios said. “I need you to understand where it is we’re going if you’re going to have any hope of processing the information you’ll find.”

  “The Library of Alexandria. Which was destroyed.” I scowled. “Right?”

  “The Library of Alexandria with its tens of thousands of scrolls and codices, cataloguing all that was true and real of the ancient world, since the moment writing was first invented?” the Devil asked sardonically. “Quite destroyed. It took a while—probably a dozen sacks and fires altogether—before the white flag was finally flown over the ruins of the collection. Millennia of learning, lost to humanity.”

  “Lost to humanity well before your time,” I put in. “You’re not going to tell me a remnant of the library was still in working order when you started kicking around in the early 1900s.”

  “Not at all.” Still, Kreios was grinning, which meant I was closer than I realized. I racked my brain for any recollection of the library’s collection, but my history recall on the famous site was sketchy, as could be expected for a building that’d been demolished two thousand years ago. I could barely remember what I ate yesterday for lunch. Scanning back over the specific slice of that history that Kreios had already served up, however, I stiffened, then stared at him.

  “Someone kept copies, didn’t they?”

  “Ah! An intriguing possibility. There have been several libraries known throughout antiquity that claimed to have additional manuscripts spirited out of the Alexandrian collection, either at the behest of the emperor or to spite him.” His lips turned down in mock consternation. “Of course, so many of those fabled hoards are gone as well. So sad.”

  “No, not public copies. Not copies that were held in the hands of humans. That’d be too risky, and the Magician…” Kreios’s gaze swiveled toward me, bright with interest as I continued. “Armaeus wasn’t the first Magician to seek the obstruction of mortal access to the mysteries of the universe. Fires, floods, sorcerers, and occultists being accused of witchcraft, heresy, or worse. All of it was a misdirection, because the Council had access to the books—the scrolls, whatever—all along.”

  Kreios inspected the buffet, selecting a tidy bunch of grapes, then holding them up to the light as he pointedly declined to contribute to my musings.

  I shook my head, realizing my logic path ran straight into a brick wall. “But if the Council has that kind of access, why hasn’t Armaeus told me about it? I could have found Rangi and his boy band a long time ago if I’d known the ancient identity of the House of Wands. There had to be some kind of record of who made up the House of Wands all those years ago, right? There had to be.”

  Even as I said those words, something still felt not quite right. “But you didn’t know about Rangi. Armaeus definitely didn’t know. So—what?” I furrowed my brow. “You guys lost your library card?”

  Kreios’s smile was thin enough I was certain that I’d hit the mark. I stared at him, not bothering to hide my own amusement. “You don’t know how to get in anymore, do you?”

  “The collection itself was considered a myth for centuries,” Kreios said, finally deigning to respond. “It’s only quite recently that we’ve been given any reason to believe it still exists in any dimension.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Dimension,” I echoed. “You mean like Atlantis? Or somewhere beyond the veil?”

  “Definitely more the former than the latter,” Kreios hedged. “The codices and scrolls in this library are very old, but they are mortal constructs. They could not survive beyond the veil without special provisions. There’s no reason to believe those provisions were made.”

  “And you think I can find this library.”

  “You can,” Kreios said, absolutely no doubt in his voice.

  “But I don’t even know what I’m looking for!”

  “It’s not a question of what, so much as who.”

  “Who…” I trailed off, sorely aware of the fact that my glass of scotch was empty. As I watched, the vessel slowly filled, the dark liquid bubbling up like a fountain in the center of the crystal tumbler. “You know, that’s way more creepy than necessary. Couldn’t you just poof a bottle into existence at my side?”

  “Couldn’t you?” Kreios mimicked my dry tone. But, he had a point. And the scotch tasted refreshingly scotch-like, so really, I didn’t have much room to complain.

  After I’d convinced myself of the alcohol’s quality a second time, Kreios continued. “When you enter the library, there are two specific pieces of information we require.”

  “We as in you and your imaginary friend, or you and Armaeus?”

  To his credit, Kreios appeared to actually weigh his answer before unleashing it on me. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. One of the more charming aspects of the Devil of the Arcana Council was that he had an almost unnerving dedication to speaking the truth. The truth being, in general, so much more devastating than a lie.

  It certainly was in this case.

  “We, as in myself and the Hierophant.”

  I stopped with my drink almost to my lips, then put down my glass. “The Hierophant. As in the Archangel Michael. Not exactly who I’d pick as your recess buddy.”

  Kreios shrugged. “Michael ascended to the Council almost immediately after helping to dispatch Llyr to beyond the veil,” he said, referencing perhaps the biggest, most obnoxious god hanging out in the stratosphere, an ancient dragon who was the one-time ruler of the fabled Atlantis until his thirst for power and domination finally stirred the nascent population of mortal sorcerers to band together and bounce his ass skyward. Now Llyr wanted nothing more than to spread his wings over earth again, and he was doing a darn good job finding every popped button in the veil to wriggle through. “Shortly after that, Michael descended to Hell, where he studied the evolution and devolution of man throughout the millennia. He too has a passion for learning, and a quite refined sense of discernment.”

  I sent Kreios a baleful stare. “Because discernment is such a big thing for you.”

  “Culturally only, in my case,” he acknowledged. “But knowledge—truth, if you will—is something in which the earth is sadly lacking. The Library of Alexandria contained two repositories of spells that now rest in the Arcanum Library, as we have taken to calling it, spells that can only be spoken by a master sor
cerer. The spells are inscribed on cylinders and stored within very distinctive cases of jade and amber. We would like those cylinders and their cases brought to us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they are meant for mortals—not to be hidden away. Mortals to use—or abuse, admittedly. They were crafted to help humans reach their higher centers of power innately, purely. Without them…”

  “We create work-arounds,” I finished for him. “Like technoceuticals.”

  He curled his lip. “And worse. The spells may not work anymore, but it seems reasonable for us to try. And, as I think you may recall, you owe me.”

  I settled back in my chair, feeling strangely at home once more. For easily five years before I’d met the Magician, I’d been considered an artifact hunter of some renown, using my Tarot deck to discover objects both mysterious and arcane. In this case, I knew what I was looking for, and where I’d find it, but there was still something Kreios wasn’t telling me. I reached in the pocket of my jacket, pulling free a single card from my brand-new Tarot deck. I tossed it on the coffee table between us, then glanced at it.

  Death.

  Well. Wasn’t expecting that.

  “Death?” I asked, lifting my glance to him. “That’s where she’s gone on sabbatical? She has access to this library that you guys, um, don’t?”

  Kreios didn’t answer for a moment, merely took another drink. A rather robust drink.

  Despite myself, I couldn’t help but grin as I picked up the Tarot card and returned it to my deck in my jacket pocket. Death was one of the more reclusive members of the Arcana Council, operating out of Darkworks Ink, the tattoo parlor next to an all-night wedding chapel and a second-tier liquor store well off the Vegas Strip. Death was an artist, though, no question. In addition to operating as “Blue,” an airbrush artist renowned at auto shows across the United States, she also inked plenty of skin. I personally had been tattooed on more than one occasion, both by her and by Jimmy…

  I stilled, then looked at Kreios with more interest.

  “You’re kidding me, right? You got Jimmy on the payroll?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Kreios admitted. He gestured to my arm, and I felt the zing of awareness skate along my most recent ink, courtesy of Jimmy. “The additional artwork he provided you recently was not tacitly authorized by Death, yet he did it anyway.”

  “How’d you know that?” I resisted the urge to rub the mark on my left arm. Jimmy had told me that it was a completion of a design that Death had started the last time she’d worked on me. That she would have wanted me to have it, for all that she hadn’t authorized him to complete the work. “Did you ask him?”

  “No.” Kreios shook his head. “He’s a particularly difficult man to read. And I’ve had my share of practice. But Jimmy Shadow, for good or ill, does things because he’s decided they’re the right thing to do. And by right, I don’t mean morally right, I mean according to whatever labyrinthine code he’s applied to himself and those around him.”

  That gave me pause as well. “What do you mean, ‘whatever’?” I asked. “You couldn’t parse out the details when you flayed open his mind?”

  “In this case, regrettably, no. I presumed Jimmy was mortal, allied as he is with Death in her relatively human incarnation, but the one time I was able to get close enough to him to scan his emotions, I came back with…anomalies.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Meaning, what? He’s a demon?”

  The question was a half-joking one, but Kreios merely smiled.

  Time for more scotch.

  Contrary to popular belief, there weren’t that many supernatural creatures in the world. Those that were could be categorized as demons—not aliens, vampires, shifters, Fae, goblins, gremlins, gnomes, or ghosts. But strictly run-of-the-mill demons. And of those, there were only two types. Long-timers, scrabbling out a life on earth while trying desperately to stay under the radar…and drop-ins like the six djinn who’d hitched a ride back from the dark side of the veil. Drop-ins who apparently had an expiration date, if what Kreios had said earlier was true…which, of course, it must be. Nothing else.

  Even as I reminded myself of that hard line, however, I considered the Arcanum Library again…and Jimmy…and Death. Two thousand years ago, maybe demons had roamed the earth more freely. Maybe other species had too, races that now existed strictly in mythology. Death had joined the Council right around the dawn of the Common Era, but I’d never gotten the story of her ascendancy. Had she known things, seen things that were no longer visible in the modern world? Like interracial harmony and Members Only jackets?

  And had Jimmy been with Death a lot longer than any of us realized?

  I tried to picture the stringy-haired, chain-smoking, kind-eyed man as a Roman centurion around the time of Death’s human incarnation, or, more likely…some sort of laborer…or maybe a priest. I frowned, thinking of the beautiful designs he inked on his customers, such a dichotomy from his own appearance. I attempted to conjure up his thin, sallow face, his flat eyes, nicotine-stained teeth, and wiry body. He called himself Jimmy Shadow, after all. Was he something more than mortal? And if so, how in the hell had I not picked up on this?

  Even as I thought the question, I knew the answer. Jimmy Shadow didn’t want anyone to know him as anything other than what he was—a low-level human minion for Death, running a tattoo shop and serving Vegas’s finest, as well as any tourist brave enough to venture that far off the Strip. Even if he was something more—or less—than mortal, he wasn’t about to go advertising that fact.

  Except, you know, when he took the initiative and looped another few bands of ink on my arm, telling me Death would have wanted it this way, when Death was nowhere in the frame.

  The Devil had stayed quiet during my mental gymnastics, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t active. I glanced up to find him peering at me with intense focus.

  “So you see, Sara Wilde, we have several items of curiosity here,” he murmured. “Death has disappeared, and Armaeus can’t find her—can’t find her because she’s in an oubliette warded specifically against other members of the Council, most likely due to past infractions.”

  I rubbed my hand against my brow. “Oubliette.”

  “Consider it a portal—a shallow dimension, if you will. Not dissimilar to Hell.”

  “Hell wasn’t exactly a hidey-hole,” I groused. “That place went on for miles.” I knew, because I’d spent some quality time in there at the behest of the Magician. “And, wait a minute. Armaeus went to Hell. So did the Hierophant. You got me in there too. That place was way more Grand Central Station than oubliette.”

  “There is a difference between knowing of a place and being able to know anything going on in that space. We knew the Hierophant was in Hell—had known for millennia. We couldn’t bring him out, and, as you’ll recall, the Magician had to be mortal to enter.” He placed a self-deprecating hand on his chest. “Which is why I could not go there myself—and why you cannot reenter, in your current state. Michael could, but he is an archangel. The rules are different for him.”

  “And Death?”

  “The Arcanum—what we believe is the Arcanum Library—does not appear to have the same rules as Hell. And, admittedly, Death is a creature none of us have explored too closely.”

  “Yeah. It’s not like she’s going to show up for an annual physical.” I blew out a long breath, but the truth of the matter was, I liked Death. A lot. She kept to herself and suffered no fools gladly. So her hanging out in the Arcanum Library to get away from the Crazy Club in Vegas made a certain amount of sense to me, no ulterior motive required. “Okay, so let’s say I get in—somehow—and let’s say Death lets me stay in long enough to check your spell scrolls out of the library. Then what? I bring the books back to you? To Armaeus?”

  “To me,” Kreios said, a little too sharply. Every nerve ending in my body prickled to high alert. What was going on here? “They won’t be large scrolls, and they’ll be held in ornate tubes inscri
bed with curses.”

  “Curses.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Kreios said, his mouth easing into a beautiful smile. “They can only be invoked if you can read them. Your staggering lack of ability with languages should serve you well.”

  I considered that, frowned. “Death can read them, though, can’t she?”

  The Devil shrugged. “Only if she finds them first.”

  Chapter Five

  There was still one last detail to work out, at least for me. Okay, two.

  “Where are we doing this?” I asked. “And perhaps more importantly, why am I doing this, especially if you want me to steal from Death?”

  Kreios held up a hand. “You misunderstand. Death is in the library, yes. For reasons we don’t know. But the scrolls I seek aren’t hers. She has no more claim to them than any member of the Council—or any mortal, for that matter.”

  “Fair enough,” I conceded, not missing the glint in his eye. Kreios was seriously jonesing for these scrolls, no matter how chill he tried to play it. “And what do I get out of this, again?”

  Kreios didn’t need me to diagram what I meant. “Your compensation begins with an act of grace on my part. You’ll no longer be in debt to me.”

  I snorted. “Dude, no matter how much money you give me, you’re completely going into the red on this one. You’ll owe me, full stop.”

  He didn’t dispute that. If anything, his eyes glittered at the possibility of a loan that might one day come due. I made a “give it to me” gesture with my free hand, and he leaned forward.