Wilde Card: Immortal Vegas, Book 2

by Jenn Stark

  “Speaking of which, tick tock.” Nikki held up her arm. Her knockoff Rolex was completely at home on her large wrist, and she flashed the brightly polished face of it at me. “You still look like split-pea soup on toast, and you’ve got a party to crash.”

  I blinked at her, then remembered. The Rarity pregame gala was tonight. That was not going to happen. “I don’t care about—”

  “You may not, but that’s where the action is, sugar pie. Maybe if you get those thingamajigs for the Magician, whatever’s coming down on us will veer off in another direction…or stop in its tracks. C’mon.” She started to stand, but I waved her off.

  “You stay here. I can make it back to the Palazzo on my own.”

  Her lips turned down. “This saving-the-world shit requires the hardest of choices. I definitely don’t trust you to do your own shopping.”

  I glanced down at my scrubby clothes. Shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

  Of course, I didn’t have to.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rich people don’t walk anywhere.

  The limo that the Arcana Council sent to collect me was their standard sleek town car, but for a change, it wasn’t idling at a curb. Instead, I’d been instructed to take an elevator down to a parking level I didn’t know the Palazzo had.

  The elevator doors swished open, and a young man in a tailored suit stood at the edge of the tiled entryway. “Miss Wilde,” he said deferentially.

  I peered into the back of the car while he opened the door. No Kreios. I didn’t know if that made me feel more or less self-conscious. I half fell, half slid into the car, struggling not to flash the unflappable driver, who said nothing about my lack of coordination and merely shut the door with a decided thunk.

  I straightened in the seat, shimmying down my dress. Which, of course, wasn’t much on shimmying.

  Dragging in an experimental breath, I tried once again to decide whose choice this outfit was. The micro leather sheath that had been waiting for me in my room at the Palazzo was meant for a woman about six sizes smaller than I was, who’d apparently just had surgery to remove all her internal organs. It came down far enough on my thighs to render walking problematic, but not enough for anything remotely approaching propriety. If it had been any shorter, it would have passed as a halter top.

  The dress had no back to speak of, and its neckline dropped from a severe choker collar to reveal a slender teardrop of skin from neck to cleavage, though I supposed I should be grateful the slit didn’t extend to my navel. Either way, with so little in the way of material, Spanx had been out of the question. Which was too bad, since I hadn’t had time to break a rib.

  At least the boots made up for the dress. I stretched out my legs in the wide space and admired the knee-high stilettoed wonders, the leather as scrunchy as the dress above it was tight. I’d passed on the leather cuffs that had been helpfully sent along—again, not knowing if it was Kreios or Armaeus with a bondage fantasy, and not super interested in fanning that particular fire. But the secondary option, a string of stones that I hoped were crystals but had the weight and flash of diamonds, now glittered from one wrist. I felt like a star on Oscar night, only with half the clothes.

  The driver angled the car through the subterranean garage, lights flashing against the walls, and I checked the palm-sized clutch the Council had sent along, complete with a handy phone. I was fresh out of burners, so it was just as well, but it’d been the other items in the purse that had intrigued me. An ID card issued to my real name, and a slender clip of fifties and twenties. For tips, I assumed.

  The ID card bothered me, though it shouldn’t. Kreios was using his name, and surely some of the attendees at this little shin of diggery knew he was the Devil. Then again, until I’d begun working with the Council, I hadn’t known the group existed. I also hadn’t known that a former Council member was hanging out in the burbs, or that there were more in the wind, holding out on their contracts.

  What was it Roxie had said about Armaeus and the cloak of normalcy that he cast over the Council? No one questioned the Arcanans’ lack of aging, sure, but maybe it went beyond that. Maybe his skills extended to ensuring people saw nothing more than they expected to see. A fancy hotelier instead of the Magician; an international art collector instead of the Devil. Lord knew that no one ever took note of their real estate ventures on the Strip.

  Grudgingly, I had to give Armaeus some props. He might be the most megalomaniac micromanager I’d ever met, but he was covering a lot of bases.

  Still, that didn’t excuse him from luring Connecteds to Vegas as bait for SANCTUS. If he’d truly done that...

  “Miss.” We’d moved out into Las Vegas Boulevard traffic, and the driver was watching me through the rearview mirror. “Mr. Kreios will meet you at the door of the Grand. He regrets that he was unable to accompany you—” The man stopped, shook his head a little, then glanced back into the mirror, his eyes shaded subtly darker. “He regrets nothing.”

  My attention sharpened as the driver’s voice dripped with the smooth intonations of Kreios’s rich Greek accent. He scanned what he could see of me. “You wore your hair down.”

  I frowned, lifting my hand to my head. I’d spent way too long in the shower, pounding the ache from my body. But I was clean, which had to count for something. “I wasn’t aware there was another option.”

  The driver’s smile was miles different from the deferential expression he’d worn at the door, and his eyes glittered with an otherworldly sheen. “It suits you,” he murmured.

  Then he blinked, hard, and returned his attention to the street. When he spoke next, his voice was once again blankly professional. “We’ll be there in a few minutes, miss. Las Vegas traffic at this hour can be challenging, but at least it’s a nice evening.”

  “That’s certainly true.”

  The limo came equipped with a tinted sky roof, opaque to outside viewers but which afforded me an unrestricted view of the Vegas Strip skyline. With night falling on the city, I couldn’t help but look up. Soaring above me was the white tower over Treasure Island. To the right, atop Caesars Palace, was an equally impressive monolith, a gray stone castle keep I’d begun to suspect was the Emperor’s domain, for all that it appeared dormant. Opposite Caesars was the Devil’s home, Scandal, which glinted and writhed in full neon splendor above the Flamingo. Beyond that, over Paris Casino soared another tower, black as pitch. Opposite Paris was the Bellagio, sprouting its fairy-tale castle.

  And finally, near the very tip of the Strip, was the Magician’s domain, Prime Luxe. It was an enormous holding, with spires of steel and glass reaching up to the heavens, proclaiming its dominance. How could any of the Connecteds who were here and who possessed any amount of ability not see it? Was Armaeus’s power that intense? It simply didn’t make sense.

  “Once again, you are asking the wrong questions, Miss Wilde.”

  “Hey!” I turned in my seat, but Armaeus’s touch on my mind slipped away. Instead, the limo slowed.

  “Here we are, miss.” We turned into the drive of the MGM Grand, which was lit up like a Christmas tree. A crowd milled in front of the entrance, but no one was dressed as painfully as I was.

  I frowned. “Are you sure this is the right place? Maybe they want us in the back or something?”

  “You’ll be escorted directly up. The ownership of the Grand preferred the entry to be public.” His smile was reassuring. “You’ll find that most people won’t notice you.”

  “I’ve made a living off it.” Still, when we eased to a stop and the door opened beside me, I didn’t think too much about the hand that reached in to help haul me and my microdress out of the vehicle. Until I touched it.

  The Devil was back again.

  Electricity sparked through me, rich and hot. Holding on to Kreios’s hand was like catching a live wire, but I gritted my teeth against the sensation that turned my nerves into silly string and used his grip to launch myself out of the car and onto the pavement. />
  “As I imagined in my wildest fantasies, Sara Wilde,” Kreios murmured, lifting my hand to his lips. He looked devastating, as usual, his golden-god hair drifting over the shoulders of his immaculately cut tuxedo, more gold glinting at his neck and wrist that somehow made him appear exotic, not like some seventies-era lothario. I never could figure out how he pulled that off.

  Then I focused on what he was doing. His lips connected with my fingertips, soft as a sigh. The double pressure of his mouth and his fingers made my head swim, and I pulled my hand away, smiling brightly.

  “And Armaeus has no problem with you squiring me around tonight.”

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Kreios tucked my hand into his arm, the thin protection of his suit sleeve doing nothing to shield me from the warmth of his sheer physicality. “Your arrival is well-timed. About half the guests are here, and all the important ones besides Fuggeren. He is an attention seeker of long standing, so I suspect he will be among the last to arrive.”

  “And the items in question? You’ve seen them?”

  His smooth, rolling chuckle enveloped me. “Everyone has seen them. If I didn’t have your report, I would assume they were merely part of the show. They seem quite…muted.”

  “Muted?” I stared at him. “Kreios, those things practically blew me across a room.”

  “Then my congratulations are due to the men and women of Techzilla, Inc. Because, though they are kept in clear glass, the cases presently give no indication of their power.” He nodded to me. “I’ll be interested to see you experience them yourself. An interest I harbor about so many things I would enjoy watching you experience.”

  When I tried to shift away out of a belated sense of self-preservation, he held me close, his mouth hovering over my hair. “You have nothing to worry about from me, Sara Wilde. Not yet. Once you say yes to all that I might offer you, then your worries will begin.”

  The doors to the elevator chose that moment to open, and we boarded along with a small selection of other guests, men and women alike dripping designer couture and bling. The women, though, were dressed…differently from me.

  “Umm…”

  Kreios’s hand firmed on my arm, but he didn’t speak until the elevators opened again. There was nothing more magical than an elevator for rendering its occupants mute.

  The moment we stepped into the showroom, however, he bent to me. “Look around. As I said, your attire is perfection.”

  I scanned the room and noticed two things immediately. First, most of the women were gowned and tiaraed to the hilt, except for a tiny fraction who looked like they’d taken the wrong turn in a Resident Evil screen test and found themselves here. Those women were not hanging on the arms of their dates, but staring around the room, picking out competitors. And not for Miss Congeniality awards. The other female guests faded into the background by comparison. So did most of the men. But not all of them.

  “That’s Mantorov, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Grigori Mantorov was among the first to arrive, and he received a personal walk-through from the organizers. He is rumored to be interested in acquiring the entire collection, without singling out any specific item.”

  “The entire…” I stared at the treasures under glass. “No one could have that much money.”

  “His work appears to be uniquely profitable.”

  I considered that, rage firing in me anew. I hadn’t seen the man’s face before this moment, but I’d seen the face of what he’d done. “Who else?”

  “Annika Soo is watching you, so it’s less advisable for you to observe her at the moment.” Instead, Kreios took the opportunity to pull me around to face him, appearing for all the world to be a young man in love. Never mind that he’d been kicking around for nearly a hundred years. Still, there was nothing ancient about the way his gaze raked over me. “Your mind is too active, Sara Wilde. You must learn to cloak your emotions. Particularly those about the Council.”

  I lifted my brows. “You really want to do this now?” I didn’t wait for his nod. The Devil seemed uniquely designed for confrontation. “You—the Council—have been driving people here. To Vegas. This week. Forget these stupid artifacts; that’s just icing on the cake for you. You wanted SANCTUS, first and foremost. And you’re getting them too, aren’t you?”

  Kreios shrugged lazily. “There are two low-level lieutenants on the guest list, Vatican priests who are artifact experts. They appear to be here for nothing more than reconnaissance. They do not appear to anticipate any play for the cases tonight.”

  “Which experts?” I took the opportunity to intercept a passing server’s tray full of champagne flutes and scanned the room as I selected a glass. I saw the two men almost instantly, once I started searching for them. The priests’ robes were a dead giveaway. “Not exactly subtle.”

  “They don’t need to be. Their official role here is for the Vatican, nothing more. But what they’re fixated on is not surprising.”

  The scroll cases did not command the center case of the room, but a small highlighted case to the side. Lined fully in purple velvet, it featured the cylinders on raised glass stands. I didn’t catch the slightest murmur of power from the scroll cases. “Simon has seen these?”

  “During the walk-through this morning.” Kreios nodded. “The security is top of the line, every item chipped, the glass unbreakable. The wards within are the trickier subject.”

  “Well, they’re definitely doing their job.” I frowned, peering at the gold glinting in its case. “It wasn’t this heavily protected in the warehouse.”

  “And now?”

  I shrugged. “We’re all still upright, and at least half the people in here are Connected. So they’re doing something right.” I lifted my glass to my lips, aware of another gaze on me. I turned and caught the cold, black stare of a beautiful Asian woman across the room. Like me, she was dressed in a black sheath, though hers was crafted of thickly embroidered silk, and her boots were low. Low and much more serviceable. She surveyed me critically but didn’t appear to pass judgment, despite my ridiculous getup. Which made her more dangerous still.

  “So what’s the—”

  “Miss Wilde, what a surprise.”

  I shifted back, instantly on the defensive, but there was nowhere to go but against Kreios’s body. He, predictably, didn’t move, absorbing my weight as if born to the task. “Detective Rooks,” I managed.

  “For a woman new to Vegas, you’re showing up in the most interesting of places.”

  “Oh?”

  “First that terrible tragedy at Binion’s, then the hospital, then the airport…and now here. Funny how that works.” He shifted his hard gaze to Kreios. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Detective Brody Rooks, LVMPD.”

  He reached out his hand, and Kreios took it in a brief, hard shake, the action not a competition but not a sterling demonstration of camaraderie either. “Aleksander Kreios,” the Devil practically purred. “But then, you probably know that already.”

  “One of the perks of the job.” Brody shifted his gaze to me. “If your date will excuse you for a moment, I’d appreciate the chance to catch up. For old time’s sake.”

  I shot Kreios a glare, but he merely inclined his head. “Of course, Detective. I wish you good hunting.”

  Good hunting?

  Brody didn’t seem to catch Kreios’s jibe, or he didn’t care. The detective reached for my arm, thought better of it, then gestured for me to precede him to the side of the room.

  “It’s not a crime to go to a party,” I muttered as we walked.

  “Give it a half hour and I’m sure you’ll make it one,” Brody snapped. “I don’t want to arrest you, Sara, but you’re making it awfully difficult.” He jabbed his thumb at the cases. “Why are you here? And while you’re explaining that, tell me exactly how you managed to show up on the arm of one of the sleaziest players in Vegas.”

  “Not anywhere close to being your business.” Over Brody’s shoulder, I could see Kreios clearly as
he leaned toward the case in the center of the room. There was no mistaking his grin. Whatever buttons he’d pushed on Brody, he’d pushed them hard.

  Brody noticed my distraction and also turned. Kreios saluted him with a raised champagne glass. “Christ,” Brody muttered, his voice thick with disgust. “Who the hell are you?”

  My gaze sharpened on him. The confusion and fatigue of the past two weeks coalesced into diamond-sharp pinpoints, whether ready to poke holes into this man or to jab myself, I wasn’t sure. Brody shouldn’t be here, not in this nest of Connected vipers. Not when SANCTUS and the Council were about to square off. And not where there was a big glass box of mystical mayhem that I suspected was about to be cracked wide open. “What I am is not breaking any laws. Remember that part? That’s the part you should care about.”

  “Like I said, not yet.” He didn’t have to flick a glance at Kreios, but he did anyway. I didn’t know what pissed me off more. That Brody thought I was sleeping with Kreios or that it was the one thing the detective could imagine me doing with him. Then understanding struck him.

  “You’re using your gifts for Aleksander Kreios? But how and why could he need you to find anyone? He’s richer than God.” It would have been comical if it wasn’t so heartbreaking watching Brody play connect the dots. “You don’t just find people anymore, do you? You find things. Expensive things. He’s a collector.” His eyes hardened. “And you’re here to collect.”

  I widened my hands. “You’re more than welcome to search me.”

  “Don’t think I don’t plan to.” He stepped closer to me, and I sensed it again, the heady rush of desire that had barely begun blooming in my hormone-fogged brain over the last year of our work together when I was Psychic Teen Sariah, combined with the very real, very grown-up reaction to him now. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not here to steal some of this gold, Sari—Sara. Because I do have the authority to arrest you, on suspicion of becoming a pain in my ass if nothing else.”