Born To Be Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 3

by Jenn Stark

  I stared, wholly absorbed, the beginnings of excitement starting to warm the cold rock of loss in my stomach. “Actors?”

  “Negative. The facial projections match. These are the sixteen- and seventeen-year-old versions of your missing kids, down to dental imperfections. However, they might not realize they’re missing.”

  I jerked my head up, staring at Armaeus. “Can he do that? Wherever he stuck them?”

  “He, who?” Simon asked as Armaeus nodded.

  “He could.” He shot Simon a glance. “Viktor Dal, Simon. That’s who abducted the children, and that’s who, it would appear, now wants it known they were abducted.”

  “The Emperor,” I added.

  “The prodigal child returns.” Simon whistled, rocking back on his heels. “In more ways than one. Viktor’s been off the grid for about, what, two decades? Not practicing at all.” He frowned at the images on the table. “At least not anywhere we could keep tabs on him. That’s…interesting.”

  “What exactly are the Emperor’s powers, Armaeus?” I cut in. “Or his abilities or whatever PC term you guys are using these days to explain your psychic skills? Because to convince traumatized children that they haven’t experienced anything bad is kind of a scary trick, you ask me. Especially if you’re the one traumatizing them.”

  Armaeus studied the posters with renewed interest. “The Emperor is one of the most skilled mental manipulators I’ve ever met, and I’d lived through my share of military and scientific revolutions by the time he was introduced to me. He was an adherent to Mesmer, but he’d taken his studies far beyond anything Mesmer had attempted. Brainwashing and implanting false beliefs are Viktor’s stock-in-trade. Add to his considerable scientific skill the fact that he is a powerful Connected, and he is a formidable force indeed.”

  “Did he work for the Nazis?” I asked. There was no escaping the possibility, given the time and place where Viktor had surfaced. “Is that where he honed his skills?”

  Armaeus’s head came up at my tone, but his gaze remained impassive. “There are truths about the Council that are difficult to understand, Miss Wilde, without a perspective of history that spans millennia, not decades.”

  I shook my head, turning away. “You people should really listen to your own drivel some time.”

  Armaeus did not seem to take my censure personally, which was a shame, since I’d intended him to.

  “In addition to Viktor’s memory work, he became adept at managing perception of pain, pleasure, and physical challenge.” Armaeus drifted his fingers over the old photo of me as Sariah. “He could make athletes stronger and faster without any pharmaceutical intervention. He could make militaries stronger. He could make the brightest minds smarter, all with the use of the power of suggestion. The human mind was his playground in 1937, and his work was invaluable to scientists and psychologists the world over.”

  I wasn’t mollified—until a new realization clicked in place. “You put him on the Council to keep him in check, didn’t you?”

  Instead of answering me, Armaeus turned to Simon. “Have you located him?”

  “I did, actually.” Eshe’s imperious whine echoed off the conference room walls as she sailed into the room in a puff of entitlement. “He’s in Turkey. Surrounded by his fawning attendants, but not these children.” She waved a dismissive hand at the missing persons photos. “These reek of normalcy. I can’t imagine why he would waste his time with them.”

  There was too much derision in her words, even for the High Priestess. Like she took Viktor’s actions personally. “What, were you and Viktor tight?” I asked.

  “Hardly.” Oh yeah, they were so tight. “But he is a part of the Council, and he has been sorely missed. He left when Roxie Meadows did, decades ago, and while she stayed close enough, he hasn’t returned.”

  “We haven’t needed him to return,” Armaeus said, and his voice had an unmistakable edge to it.

  “Now we do,” Eshe countered with equal determination. “It’s time that we provide a united front, Armaeus. You know that as well as any of us.”

  “But how can Viktor remain on the Council?” I asked. “You guys should be punishing him for abducting children, not wondering whose kickball team he’s going to captain.”

  Eshe regarded me with familiar disdain. I found that more satisfying than insulting.

  “We know he took these kids ten years ago.” I jabbed my finger at the posters lining the table. “If he worked with the Nazis, he did a hell of a lot worse than that. According to Brody, he’s suspected of trafficking drugs, humans, and military-grade weaponry. Don’t you guys have any standards for the people you accept onto the Council?”

  “You couldn’t possibly understand the requirements of being on the Council.”

  “Uh huh.” I scowled at her. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were playing Ring around the Globe.”

  Her startled glance to me contained just enough pain that validation scored through me. “Hurts worse than you thought it would, doesn’t it?”

  “I have a new appreciation for your work and the work of the oracles, yes,” she said, with more grace than I would have expected. “But it is a skill, like any skill. You improve with practice.”

  “Yeah, well, you have fun with that. I’ve astral-traveled enough for a lifetime.” A sudden thought struck me. “Wait a minute. Please tell me that’s not how I’m expected to find Atlantis.”

  “Atlantis?” Simon’s eyes flared wide. “I’m going with!”

  “Council members are forbidden.” Eshe looked at me with curiosity, then slid her gaze to Armaeus. “It’s also quite dangerous for mortals.”

  “She’ll have a map,” he said, but Eshe shook her head.

  “The price is too high for a map such as that, Armaeus. You know it, and so does Death. There are rules, and you cannot break them. Not even to maintain the balance.”

  Simon’s brows lifted so high I thought they might fly off his face. I kind of knew how he felt. “Whose rules, exactly?” I asked. “And when were they made? Because if you guys are somehow okay with bringing on people like Viktor Dal, your rules suck.”

  Eshe rolled her eyes. “As I said, you couldn’t possibly understand.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m beginning to consider that a badge of honor.” I shifted my gaze to Armaeus. “I’m out of here.”

  He nodded, but Simon frowned, clearly certain he was missing out again. “But where are you going? And when are you coming back?” He poked his finger at the posters. “Aren’t you going after them?”

  “First, I’ve got to sleep. Then I’ve gotta see a woman about a map,” I said, not missing Eshe’s patent concern as she snapped her gaze back to me. I smirked. “Have to admit, I’m dying to meet her.”

  “Yes,” Eshe said tightly. “You will be.”

  Chapter Eight

  The parking lot between Dixie’s chapel and Darkworks Ink was empty when I reached it the next morning, and I breathed a sigh of relief that Brody’s car wasn’t parked in any of the chapel’s visitors’ slots. I didn’t think I could handle another of his and Dixie’s meet cutes anytime soon.

  I paid off the cabbie and stepped into the shade of the overhang of Darkworks Ink, noting the “OPEN” sign.

  The public room of the shop was about what you’d expect from a tattoo parlor. Walls lined with panels of flash tattoos and pictures of happy customers, posters of superheroes and fantasy villains. All of it was dark and kind of grungy, with the not-so-faint scent of patchouli hanging in the air.

  A bell gave a sharp ping as the door closed behind me, and I busied myself looking tattoo-curious.

  I’d seen one man here before. A thin, long-haired smoker with sunken facial features and hollow eyes. Jimmy Shadow, the man we’d thought owned this place. The man who I’d secretly suspected was Death, when I’d first seen him beneath the flickering neon lights of the shop, next to a poster of a grim, flag-bearing warrior on a white horse—all Death, all the way.

>   Apparently Death was a she, however, and apparently she was busy. No one came forward from the back room, and I double-checked the neon sign—yup, the place was open. And there was the fact that I’d gotten in the front door without having to pick any locks.

  Idly, I flipped open one of the large hanging panels of flash tattoos, sizing up my options. I could get one of literally a hundred bumblebees, hummingbirds, or butterflies, or a full garden of flowers. I could go all tribal and have jagged, swirling lines inked on me for life, or imprint the complete works of Shakespeare on my skin. Eventually, I gave up on there being any sign of life in the place and focused on convincing myself that Hello Kitty deserved to become a permanent part of my dermis. That or a Gandalf symbol. Toss-up.

  “Those wouldn’t be nearly enough.”

  I have a lot of practice getting surprised in stupid places, and I drew on that wealth of experience as I managed not to jump out of my skin. Instead, I glanced over to the woman speaking…

  And nearly jumped out of my skin.

  Death leaned up against the doorframe, her gaze raking over me like she was going to have me for lunch. Taller than me by about a half a foot, she was clad in black leather jeans and a tight-fitting muscle shirt that showed off every heavily muscled inch of her. Her hair was cut in a severe up-shaved style with a shock of platinum blonde falling over her eyes. One arm was completely covered in a colorful sleeve of tattoos, the other one almost starkly bare. Her ears were pierced all the way along the curve, but her face was free of metal. She wore no makeup, so all there was to focus on was a double-barreled dose of her piercing white-blue eyes.

  I was getting used to the touch of an Arcana Council stare, but this was different. This was…old.

  “Cigarette?” She waved a battered pack at me, her faintly British accent a surprise. “I’m taking a break anyway. Come on back.”

  Without waiting for me to agree, she turned on her heel, leaving me with no alternative than to trail behind her. Death walked with the easy grace of an athlete or warrior, loose limbed and long-legged, easily navigating the narrow hallway despite the fact that it was stacked with boxes and photograph albums. One large room opened off the hallway with multiple chairs, then private rooms followed, a half dozen in all. I’d never seen any tattoo artist other than Jimmy coming in and out of this place. Clearly, though, they must get some traffic to justify all the workstations.

  Or the landlord was willing to let someone nicknamed “Death” slide on the rent, which I could totally understand.

  The hallway ended with an industrial-strength door, and Death turned against it, hip-checking the door as she gave me another grin. It wasn’t a friendly grin, nor a sexual one, despite its hunger. But it was primal, and as she held the door for me, I felt my adrenaline jack. Passing that close to the woman—demigod, whatever she was—took way more chutz than I’d planned on pahing today.

  If she noticed my nerves, Death didn’t mention it, instead nodding to the room beyond.

  “Big enough room to smoke in, great ventilation,” she said, the odd accent to her voice strangely fitting for the large, utilitarian chamber. “Need it for the paint.”

  The place was the size of a small airplane hangar, and the paint she referred to was being applied to vehicles—muscle cars, specifically, each of them surrounded with a bristling forest of airbrushing equipment, the cars themselves in various stages of heavy metal heaven.

  “You do this too?” I asked, if only to fill the empty space around us with words. Behind me, I heard the flip of a lighter and the suck of smoke, but I couldn’t bring myself to face her directly.

  “It’s what’s kept me away so long, you want to know the truth. Grab a chair.” Death hooked a folding chair with an easy grip and settled it next to a second chair, close enough that we could have been the first two attendees at a twelve-step meeting. Punching down my nerves, I pulled a different chair forward and sat opposite her, keeping five or so feet between us.

  It wasn’t enough. I forced myself to not lean back as Death hunched forward toward me, her elbows on her knees, her hands dangling. The cigarette hung loosely from her fingers, and the smoke wafted up around her, too much smoke, really. Then again, I suspected she was probably dragging on something a little stronger than Marlboros.

  “Car shows all over the goddamned country, you’d think I’d invented the art. ’Course, helps that I look like this.” She gestured to herself unselfconsciously. She had a point. She currently was doing a mean impression of Charlize Theron in full-on Mad Max attire, only taller. A lot taller. And without the metal arm. “Business is good.”

  “And that matters?” The question could have been rude, but Death didn’t seem to mind. She grinned, and the only imperfection I’d been able to catch was visible, a slightly uneven smile, the teeth not perfectly straight. Not enough to detract from the overall severe beauty of her face, but enough to make her seem real, attainable.

  Almost human.

  I felt the frisson of connection stir between us, followed by the hiss of panic. Fortunately, she chose that moment to start talking.

  “Matters enough. I’m having a good time. The ink, it comes and goes in waves. There’s always enough of the flash business to keep the front up, but the more intricate stuff has been getting a little out of hand recently.” She took another draw on the cigarette. It didn’t seem appropriate to suggest it might kill her. “Lot of Connecteds using ink these days. Think it’ll enhance their abilities.”

  “And you help them with that?”

  “Me? No. Council rules, remember? But that’s why I have Jimmy, and that’s how I keep tabs.” She waved her hand through a cloud of purple smoke. “Easier for me not to be super attached to the Council, though, given the circles I run in.”

  I decided not to ask if there were nine of those circles. She didn’t give me a chance. “You know what I am. You want me to tell you what you are?”

  “What? No,” I said automatically. Then I hesitated. “You can do that?”

  “Could.” She shrugged. “Not what you’re here for. You want the map to Atlantis. Armaeus sent you.” She grinned as my gaze whipped to hers. “Been around a long time, sweetheart. He can’t read your mind because he hasn’t really tried. I can. It’s a good mind. You’ll need to work harder at shutting it down, but you can keep me out too if you stay focused.” She let her gaze trail down my face. “And you are my type, since you’re wondering.”

  I felt the touch of her mind then, and blanked my thoughts. It was exactly what I did with Armaeus without thinking, but the effort was more challenging here. More intense.

  “Good girl.”

  “Do you have a name?” I asked, happy to move the conversation back to her. “Or do you only go by ‘Death’?”

  “Not likely,” she snorted, rolling the cigarette. The smoke had turned a soft azure. “Most call me Blue, though I’ve been given the moniker Blue Ice for more formal occasions. Originally I was called Crow, so I guess I’m moving up in the world.”

  “Banbh,” I said, pronouncing the word “banuhvuh.” Her quick grin told me I was correct. “That’s your accent, then. It’s Irish.”

  “Close.” She grinned. “Now it’s a lot of nothing, sullied by centuries away from home.” She settled back on her chair, her long legs outstretched. For someone who’d been around since before recorded history, she looked surprisingly good. “But don’t call me Crow. Too many old memories. Blue is fine, and keeps things simple.”

  She eyed me over her cigarette. “So, what has Armaeus told you about me?”

  “Not much. He says you can help me get to Atlantis, or whatever is left of it. And he told me there’d be a price for it.”

  “There’s always a price.” She shrugged. “Why Atlantis?”

  I hesitated. She’d just been in my mind, but maybe she hadn’t looked around much. “Short version, weapons. He’s gearing up for the return of Viktor Dal to the Council. I’m gearing up to beat the crap out of Dal.”

/>   “The dark mage.” Blue nodded. “That’s who took those children, the ones you have foremost in your mind. Six of them, ten years ago. Viktor was a busy boy.”

  Irritation riffled through me. “Look, I get that six lives probably don’t mean a lot to you, given how long you’ve been doing…whatever it is you do. But they were kids, and they had families.”

  She lifted a sardonic brow. “Families like yours?”

  I bristled. “It doesn’t matter what kind. They were taken from their parents, their siblings, and put God knows where. I want them back. If going to Atlantis will help me confront Viktor and do that, I’m all in.”

  “And if it won’t?”

  “Then Armaeus wouldn’t be sending me there.”

  “Fair enough.” Blue’s grimace was a grudging one. “And you’re not wrong, though the Magician is ever one for having multiple reasons to do everything. The weapons you gather from the ruins of Atlantis will help you achieve your goal. When it comes time, Armaeus will have very specific instructions for what he seeks. I’d advise that you follow his guidelines, and not to tarry. Atlantis is filled with both truth and deception, most of which would do better to stay where it is, buried out of time.”

  “Okay.” I frowned, considering her words. “Why else is he sending me there?”

  She dropped forward again, elbows on her knees. “When Armaeus ascended to his seat on the Arcana Council, he was barely a boy, for all that he’d lived to be a man. What he saw in the years since is what ruined him.”

  “Ruined?” That didn’t sound right.

  She shrugged. “You can’t look into the face of evil for so long and so hard without making some sacrifices.”

  I sensed the truth of her words, but I wanted details. “What sacrifices has he made, exactly?”

  “Not my tale to tell, but he’s taken precautions to protect himself. To protect the Council,” she said. “His immortality alone is a boon for that. It provides the ultimate safety.”

  That was news. And a problem since Armaeus was now mortal. “It does?”