by Jenn Stark
The second question was the more interesting one, though. Who? Who was her supplier, and where was he based? He—or she. The technoceutical trade was an equal opportunity industry. Whoever created the newest, hottest product the fastest got the edge. I blew out a breath. I needed to talk to Mercault. The French kingpin had dipped even more deeply in the industry than Soo had, and had made a sizable profit on it. I’d never waded into that cesspool with him, and I’d frankly been avoiding him since I’d joined the House of Swords, but it looked like I wasn’t going to be able to be delicate about it any longer. I needed to better understand the industry, top down and sewer up.
The Luxor loomed above me in the bright sunshine, and as I looked more closely, I could see the shadow fortress of Prime Luxe soar above it, invisible to most anyone’s eyes, especially in the full daylight. It was the tallest of the Council’s residences on the Strip, all of them rising above the existing casinos to vie for a piece of the sky, and it was by far the most intriguing to me because of its owner: the Magician of the Council, Armaeus Bertrand.
An unusually happy-go-lucky Magician of late, to hear Nikki spin it. What was that about?
There was a bank of internationally sourced newspaper machines lining the walk just outside the entrance to the Luxor, one of the few places in Vegas you actually could catch wind of the outside world. I suspected Armaeus maintained them out of a sense of nostalgia, but I glanced at the headlines as I passed: Manchester United Wins, New York Subway Closes, Where is the Hanged Man?
I blinked. What?
Shaking my head, I looked again, more intently this time. The headline made far more sense on second viewing: What is the Hong Kong Nation? I didn’t know the answer to the question, of course, but I supposed that was why it was a news story.
I entered the Luxor with the feeling of split reality. There was the bright-bright kitsch of fake gold trappings and the glittering lure of the casino beyond, along with the glass, onyx, and steel splendor of Prime Luxe lurking in the shadows, just out of vision. I spied the keypad for the elevators easily enough and punched the only button in the carriage when I stepped inside. “P” for penthouse.
I whisked upward toward the sky.
The doors of the elevator opened a blink later, and I stepped out onto the plush carpeting of Armaeus’s office. I never knew exactly where I’d end up when I used this elevator, but the fact that I was in his office instantly reassured me. Despite Armaeus’s recent bout of happy, the Magician’s office meant he had a job for me, or at least was willing to hold a conversation as if everything was normal. His office wasn’t his bedroom or the deck overlooking the city. It was an office. Where business happened.
“Miss Wilde.”
Armaeus had even done me the favor of remaining behind the desk, which allowed me the illusion that meeting his gaze wouldn’t be a visceral jolt.
I knew better, though, and merely glanced in his general direction at first, fixing my attention on the far wall as I reinforced my mental barriers. Then I looked his way.
“Armaeus.” I nodded.
As usual, the Magician of the Arcana Council dressed as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ. In deference to the heat outside, his five-thousand-dollar suit was summer weight, the collar of his white shirt open. His thick, dark hair was brushed away from his bronzed face, and he regarded me across the opulent space of his office with eyes that shifted eerily between gold and black, the changing shades visible even from this distance. Those eyes raked over me with interest now, taking in every detail of my battered hoodie and worn jeans, my scuffed boots. He gestured to the wing-backed chair positioned nearest to his desk, but still didn’t stand.
Wary now, I moved forward. “What?” I said, seating myself.
He lifted a sardonic brow. “I didn’t summon you here, Miss Wilde. You came of your own volition.” He leaned forward on his desk. “I’m merely waiting for you to tell me why.”
“Oh.” I blinked, but he was right. He hadn’t summoned me here. I’d come because I’d needed to. Wanted to. As if the answers I sought were here, even if I didn’t know all the questions.
I settled back in my chair, trying to figure out how to play this. The easy questions should come first, but none of them were easy. There was Armaeus’s unusual behavior, but that had only been reported by Nikki, and now that I was here, asking the head of the Arcana Council why he was in a good mood seemed a little out of place. There were the French children who’d somehow been blasted into mundanity, but that line of questioning could get fraught quickly. There was the location of technoceutical production in the US, and Soo’s involvement in it, but just thinking about that made my head hurt.
So I went with the low-hanging fruit: the curious choices of one Dixie Quinn. “Who’s dealing technoceuticals in Vegas?”
If the question surprised Armaeus, he didn’t let on. “There are a number of go-betweens in the city, most of them operating out of the Fremont Street district. They stay away from the Strip, for obvious reasons.”
“Any recent startups?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No. All the existing players have been in motion for some time. They take turns cutting into their competitors’ market share, but they don’t encourage newcomers. Why?”
“How closely do you monitor actual technoceutical production as opposed to just the trafficking of it?”
“We don’t, if we can avoid it. The augmentation of Connected psychic ability is a fringe pursuit. We don’t encourage it, but we don’t pay attention to it either.”
That didn’t sound right, and I tilted my head. “Really? You don’t care if mortals develop better magical abilities through the wonders of science and Connected body parts? Since when?”
“The operative term here is mortals, Miss Wilde. As the Council, we do not intervene in mortal dabbling in the scientific augmentation of innate magic ability, as long as it doesn’t grow too extreme. We didn’t in the age of alchemy, and we don’t now.”
That made me raise my brows. “Alchemy didn’t work out so well,” I said, and Armaeus’s eyes flashed a little darker.
“Alchemy got appreciably closer to achieving its stated goals than most people realize. But ultimately, not the province of the Council.” He studied me. “You’re asking for a reason, I assume.”
I shifted in my chair. “I need to find out who makes this stuff. All the way up to the highest grade.”
He considered that, smiling. It was—a happy smile, I decided, as he leaned back in his chair. Armaeus did seem unusually relaxed, appearing genuinely pleased to see me. The tension between us, so familiar by now, had somehow vanished after I’d gotten past the first blast of connection. Was this some new trick or spell the Magician was trying out? If so, I wasn’t sure I was a fan.
“The Council doesn’t make it a practice to know everything, Miss Wilde,” he said, amusement still lacing his voice. “We have attempted to track down this trade, however. And we haven’t been successful.”
The frank admission startled me. “How is that possible?”
“Primarily because we haven’t tried all that hard,” he said smugly, and I unwound a notch. Smugness definitely was more Armaeus’s usual style. “But to give credit where it’s due, the mortals engaged in the manufacture of technoceuticals, particularly at the higher grades, are very good at remaining elusive. Arguably, they are taking advantage of their own product, augmenting their abilities to remain hidden.”
“Uh-huh. And that hasn’t intrigued you at all?”
Armaeus spread his hands. “Of course. But to learn more, we would have to interfere. This isn’t a simple acquisition of information or the recovery of an artifact for study. It’s an intricate web of mortal organizations outside the province of the Council. Until we are given cause for concern regarding the worldwide balance of magic…or unless a non-Council member in whom we took personal interest chose to make it her job to track the trade to its source…”
I couldn’t help it, I rol
led my eyes. I slouched in the plushly upholstered chair, not sure who I was more disgusted with—Armaeus for his manipulation, or me for wanting to take the bait. “And you’d pay that non-Council member for this non-job?” I asked, despite myself. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted the Council to know the truth of what I discovered about the technoceutical market, if I chose to go after it. Then again, I had to at least ask what the price tag would be for such information. I’d been in the recovery business too long for some habits to die.
Armaeus’s smile was slightly craftier this time, and I felt better for it. “The technoceutical market accounted for more than ten billion dollars last year, from our calculations,” he said. “It would seem reasonable that a point-one percent finder’s fee would be awarded for learning who was behind it. Not that you need additional income given your recent assumption of the leadership role in the House of Swords.”
“I always need additional income,” I said automatically. Math wasn’t my strong suit, but money certainly was. “Ten million dollars. You’d pay me ten million dollars to dish on whatever I find for this non-job.”
“Consider it a donation to the pursuit of higher education.”
“Oh-kay,” I said, changing tack before I committed myself to something I couldn’t take back. I still needed to work out how I wanted to play my role with the Council now. Taking on this particular job didn’t seem like a good way to start.
I moved on to the next question uppermost in my mind. “What do you know about the two children Interpol intercepted, the ones we sprung from that hospital near Lyon? They’d been drugged to the gills, supposedly, and under surveillance for months.”
“Interpol is not an agency that has merited our attention recently. In years past, yes. But up until this incident, they’d shown no significant interest of late in the Connected community that pinged any of our parameters. However…” He lifted a hand to ward off my hot rebuttal. “Simon, of course, gave us the information he pulled on the children as soon as he returned. The children were rumored Connecteds who displayed the psychic abilities of telekinesis, clairaudience, and mental persuasion, first noted with somewhat problematic results, among their classmates. Their parents removed them from school to further monitor, then reported them missing about two weeks prior to Christmas. It was considered a local issue and did not bubble up to Interpol in Lyon, despite the proximity of the missing children to their headquarters. When two nonverbal teens were discovered wandering through a train station weeks later, with no papers, no identification, no way to communicate, but clearly sick and suffering mental trauma, they were taken to a local hospital. The anomalies in their scan suggested drug-induced illness, but the specific drugs could not be identified. Additional tests were ordered, and the situation progressed to where you saw it.” He broke off and studied me again. “Why did you go after them?”
“They were children.”
“Held by the government, not SANCTUS or even Gamon. Held, arguably, for their own safety. They could have been a threat to themselves or others in their condition.” He tapped a folder on his desk. “Reports from their case file, also obtained by Simon. The children’s abilities proved out of control unless they were contained in a lead-lined room, separate from each other. That discovery was made early on, quite by chance. Separation produced catatonia, but that was a preferable result to an unpredictable manifestation of psychic phenomena. Their ankle bracelets contained lead-laced injectables. Nasty stuff.”
“And you wonder why I needed to free them.”
He peered at me. “The safe house you took them to was not one of Father Jerome’s usual haunts. Simon was unfamiliar with it.”
I groaned. “How many bugs did he leave behind?”
Armaeus chuckled. “Enough for us to realize that the plight of the Connected now extends to the youngest members of their population—the unborn.”
I grimaced. I’d known that was the danger of reaching out to Armaeus when I had, to save the lives and limbs of these two young teens. But it still made me uneasy. And I also couldn’t help but think: if I’d brought him in when Chantal had experienced her terrible reaction to her pregnancy, would he have been able to stabilize her better than the mortals taking care of her? Might she still be healthy, and…
And, what? Not Connected anymore? Was that better?
Oblivious to my thoughts, Armaeus continued, his reflective voice rolling through the room. “The technoceuticals available on the market now is beyond what we originally realized. It…changes things.”
The tone in his voice was resigned, and I sat up, taking notice. “Changes things how?”
“We’ll come to that presently. First, how has your transition been? Any issues we need to address?”
I frowned at him. “Transition to…”
“To being immortal, Miss Wilde. You’re handling it better than most.”
Most? “That surprises you?”
“On some level, yes. It’s an unfortunate aspect of the transition that there is no way to predict the impact on the mortal when it happens. The Council stopped providing guidelines shortly after our first incarnation began choosing its successors. It was better to let the converted find their own way and meet their own challenges. You, however, have had no appreciable issues. It has made for fascinating study.”
By now, I was staring at him. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I knew. There’d been nothing in Armaeus’s history with me to indicate that he had any shred of human decency. And yet, I couldn’t help but feel betrayed, especially since he’d been apparently jollying it up with Kreios while I’d been potentially on the brink of some sort of breakdown.
“You…expected me to what, get sick? Have a reaction?” I breathed in, then out again. “And you didn’t warn me?”
“Warn you of what?” Armaeus asked. “The first mortal ever to make the conversion died of an internal conflagration. The second committed suicide. It didn’t take long for the Council to refine its selection methods, become more discerning. But there is never a set reaction. Some—most—experience a heightening of their abilities. A great many others experienced debilitating mental collapse.”
“Mental collapse.” I didn’t keep the horror from my voice. “And you just randomly flipped my switch without asking me?”
“It’s a little more sophisticated than that.”
“You know what I mean.” I stood and paced over to the wall, which conveniently was where the bar was. Equally convenient, a full setup of bottles of scotch lined the countertop, and I grabbed the nearest one. “I could have died, is what you’re saying.”
“No,” Armaeus said quietly. “We have progressed beyond that. The worst reactions happen immediately, as the mind and body reject the transition. If you survive the first few minutes, you will survive, period. It then becomes a question of degrees of acceptance.”
“The first few…” I shook my head. “I didn’t even realize what you were doing to me.” I grimaced. “I simply thought it was normal. I was with you.”
“Which is why you wouldn’t have died,” he said, matter-of-factly. “We can reverse the process in those initial few moments quite easily. After that, it’s not as simple, but also not as necessary.”
“Right.” I took a deep drink of the scotch. “So what were you expecting me to do? Quack like a duck?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Hallucinations are not uncommon. Perceptions of pain or euphoria, nausea or fright. All mental, but no less daunting while you’re going through them. As you’ll note, you experienced none of those.”
“Okay.” I frowned. “What else?”
“Delusions of grandeur, of an unreasonable heightening of power, feelings of invincibility. Loss of emotional sensitivity, of fear, of depression—or, conversely, compounded feelings of same are not uncommon.”
“None of that.” I rolled the amber liquid in the cut-crystal tumbler. “What about hunger? I remember being pretty hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.”
“Fair.” I blew out a breath. “Okay, what else? I can’t seem to get enough sleep, but I haven’t lost my hair or developed hives, I haven’t gotten the shakes or developed a fascination with QVC.” I held out the hand that wasn’t clutching my drink, studied it. Nope, not shaking. “I haven’t changed, from what I can see.”
Armaeus lifted his own hand, and a sterling silver letter opener levitated on his desk. As I watched, it turned in place, until the blade pointed at me. “I could try to kill you, if you need additional proof.”
“What? No.” I pushed out mentally against the blade, and it dropped to his desk again, inert. He lifted his brows.
“Not funny,” I said. “How can you tell that what you did…took?”
“Well, you are alive, and you no longer have the stain of dark magic clouding your energy signature.” He pointed to my arm. “You haven’t completed your tattoo with Death yet, but you can now. Her needle won’t pierce into darkness, because that darkness is no longer there. You’ve been purified through the process of becoming immortal.”
I thought about that. It sounded nice. Tidy, even. “Purified.”
“It’s the most apt word.” He nodded. “The magic that transforms a mortal to an immortal state is born of pure energy and affects you at the cellular level. Your body is fundamentally changed at that most basic level, enabling certain processes to work better, others to reverse. You have access to the interconnected energy of all known matter and thought.”
And, just that quickly, we’d moved one step beyond my tolerance for crazy. “If you tell me I have excess midichlorians, I am seriously walking out of here right now.”
Armaeus smiled. “Perhaps it would be better if I showed you.”
He unfolded his long, elegant body from the desk, and I straightened. “There’s no need for showing. I’m good with telling,” I said hurriedly, but he simply raised his hand.
“I promise,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming black and gold. “This won’t hurt much.”
Chapter Sixteen
