by Jenn Stark
Beside me, Ma-Singh and Jiao stiffened. “Madam Soo refused to be summoned like a dog,” Jiao said mildly, but there was no questioning the steel underlying her words. “To go now is to set a dangerous precedent.”
“Yeah, well,” Nikki cut in before I could respond, “she’s not the only one. The head of the House of Pents is already there, according to Simon. He looks forward to meeting you too.”
I blinked, my gaze going first to Jiao, then to Nigel. Both of them registered patent shock. “Any precedent for that?” I asked casually.
“The Houses have not worked together in more than five hundred years,” Ma-Singh said. There was no denying the undertone of reverence in his voice, his attitude shifting exactly that fast. “That you are already bringing two together…”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves—”
It was too late, though. Jiao was already turning, issuing orders in crisp Chinese, then English for an armored escort, alerts to the House warriors, pleas to the generals to stay close and stay alert. Even General Som watched me with grim satisfaction, the closest I suspected she ever got to a smile.
Before I could protest, I was handed a change of clothing that looked like an exact replica of my usual jeans-and-hoodie combo, and ushered into a sumptuous bedroom to change. Minutes later, I was out of the house and into one of the House’s armored SUVs, bouncing out of the compound. I sat with the Honjo resting on my lap, and Nikki watched me from opposite the large, open space.
“I never understood how people liked to ride backward in these things,” she said, scanning the scenery as it flowed by in reverse. “I’d flat-out refuse if I was drunk.”
I smiled, my face seeming unused to the expression after the bizarre events of the morning. Nikki had also changed, and was now dressed to impress in a jet-black sheath with silver-heeled platform pumps and enough jewelry to rival the High Priestess. I wondered who’d picked out her ensemble. My bet was on Nigel.
When we reached the Luxe’s faux Egyptian kitsch palace, though, we weren’t the first ones at the party. Monsieur Mercault’s opulent white Rolls-Royce sat idling in the valet parking area as we pulled up. When Nikki popped the door of the SUV and stepped down, that seemed to be the cue for the Frenchman’s vehicle as well.
I watched a driver exit the vehicle and hustle around to the side, and as I stepped into the Vegas heat, so did Mercault. The Frenchman was short, elegantly dressed in a suit that cost more than my monthly rent at the Palazzo, and smiling from ear to ear.
I’d done work for Mercault in the past, and we’d survived some sticky situations together. I was happier than I’d expected to see him again.
“You destroyed my château!” he exclaimed, striding toward me with his arms outstretched. “It was my mother’s.”
I winced. “I’m sure we can find a way to—”
“You misunderstand.” He leaned forward and bussed both of my cheeks in the accepted European fashion, while I gritted my teeth and scrunched up my face in the accepted American fashion. “I have never liked my mother. I could not be more delighted.”
He stood back, eyeing me with keen interest. “And now you have taken the place of Annika Soo. I can only hope that this will mean the House of Swords will stop stealing from me.”
“Right after you shut down your smuggling operation in Namibia, I’m sure we’ll take that under advisement,” I said wryly.
“Mon Dieu!” His expression turned to one of shocked dismay, even as he held out an arm to escort me inside. “So young to be cynical. It is a sad day for both our Houses.”
We entered the Luxor, and as usual, I had the disturbing moment of seeing the two realities converge—the gold glitz and outsized glamour of the Vegas casino that everyone could see, and the platinum-and-onyx sophistication of the Prime Luxe overlay, the Magician’s domain that was visible only to Connected eyes…and to those Armaeus allowed to see it.
Mercault stood back, watching me. Sudden realization hit. “When did you tell them you were the head of the House of Coins?” I asked. “I would swear Armaeus didn’t know.”
“He didn’t, until that ass Luc Banon allowed the right words to be spoken where the Magician could hear them. The House structure is one of the few bits of mortal magic the Council cannot break. But humans are the weak link, you see? They have been so over the centuries. That’s how awareness of the Houses surface, and it takes some time for us to drift back into obscurity again.” He shrugged, eyeing me keenly as I bypassed the Luxor elevator keypad for one that wasn’t completely visible to the ordinary eye.
“I see it there—barely,” he said, his voice bemused. “How many times I’ve been in that infernal Bellagio lobby and looked, but never once could I pinpoint the location, though I knew there was something there. But here…” He eyed me. “It’s you, of course. It has to be. You should come to the Bellagio and show me so I don’t go mad.”
I grinned, despite feeling like I’d been summoned to the principal’s office.
We stepped into the elevator, the four of us—Nikki and Mercault’s bodyguard staring each other down. Nikki’s Glock was in her Kate Spade bag, and her Hello Kitty nail polish gleamed in the bright lights of the elevator as we shot up far beyond the tip of the Luxor’s pyramid.
“While we’re at it, you know why we’ve been called up?” Mercault asked. “I don’t mind—I can only count my money for so long each day, eh? But I find the Magician endlessly perplexing. He’s spoken to me twice in the last week as if I’m some kind of low-rent waiter, yet today he sends an engraved invitation. It’s perplexing.”
“He enjoys perplexing people,” I said. “And I have no idea. Be prepared to have your mind searched, though.”
Mercault lifted a finger—but not his index finger. A nondescript ring set with jade circled his ring finger on his right hand, almost austere. “Again, you forget the power of leading a House. The protection we’ve been accorded has lasted for millennia. If the Magician had any dominion over me, he would already have exercised it.”
My eyes widened, but I was truly impressed. “That’s way better than a secret decoder ring.”
Nikki’s barked laugh rang through the foyer of the Council conference chambers as the doors slid open. Mercault gestured to me to take the lead.
“Sissy,” I muttered, but his grin was his only response.
How many times had I entered the inner domain of the Council? It had to be dozens at this point, but today felt different—was different, I knew. And not simply because of the sword bumping at my hip, though that was, admittedly a comforting solidity as I walked into the room.
Armaeus stood at the head of the table, practically crackling with energy. The Devil stood beside him. They both turned toward me as I entered, then transferred their gazes to Mercault, who was seeing all this for the first time.
It was something to see.
Eshe and the Emperor sat at the near end of the table, as far away from Kreios and Armaeus as they could reasonably get. Armaeus looked devastating in a perfectly cut black suit with a brilliant white shirt open at the collar, portraying immortal chic down to his platinum cuff links. The Fool and the Hierophant sat at the midpoint of the table, both of them seeming far too entertained. I knew the Hermit would be a no-show, but that didn’t account for everyone currently claiming a Council position.
“Where’s Death?” I asked. “Or did she give this session a pass?”
“Says it’s not her time. I think she doesn’t like meetings.” Simon stood and walked toward me, his grin echoed in the bounce of his step. “You were awesome.”
“And you projected me all over Christendom and a few places off the Holy Grid as well.” I shifted my attention to Armaeus. “Why?”
The Magician’s expression remained unreadable. “Since you insisted on taking the mantle of the House of Swords, if you won, we stood to gain. If you lost, your successor would have been identified and we still stood to gain. Global observation was a simple decision.”
“Sacredieu,” he murmured, stepping forward toward her.
Eshe seemed to notice him in that moment, the Kardashian of the Council ready for her close-up. She turned her head and nodded.
“Another House leader,” the High Priestess said with what sounded like grudging admiration. “You’ve been busy, Armaeus. That’s two more than we’ve known in the past five hundred years.”
“Before you ask, we don’t know the others,” I said flatly. I realized I had set my feet wide, as if I was going to whip out the Honjo Masamune at a moment’s notice. I tried to adjust my stance but couldn’t. Every nerve was on edge.
“What’s the real reason you brought us here?” I asked, ready for anything.
Armaeus quirked his beautiful lips into a smirk. “Gamon has allied herself with SANCTUS.”
Okay, I wasn’t prepared for that. “I thought SANCTUS was dead in the water.”
Armaeus lifted a brow. “In a manner of speaking, they were, but understand the ancient ritual here. As a religious organization dedicated to stamping out magic, SANCTUS purports to be the messengers of the one true deity, the Judeo-Christian God. Though Gamon’s methods are significantly more arcane than any Jewish lore would accept, there is common ground there with her history. She could make a convincing argument to gain their trust. She apparently has done so. In return, SANCTUS has opened up its treasury, giving her access to its most arcane artifacts, many items of which they do not know the value. She does.”
He turned his attention to me. “In the immediate term, there is little action in the open, but much going on behind the scenes. Accordingly, to preserve the balance, it’s imperative for us to identify the other two houses so that we can help build mortal defenses.”
“Mortal?” Mercault had regained his senses enough to display some Gallic outrage. “Don’t you mean immortal? It seems you’re awfully concerned—”
“You misunderstand our role here.” Armaeus cut him off. “The purpose of the Council has always been—since its inception—the preservation and balance of magic. Both sides of that coin. Even when we have disagreed.” His glare shot to the Emperor, who watched him with distaste marred by his clear fascination with the proceedings. “Especially when we have disagreed, we have known that there is no balance in nothing. There must be magic to balance, or there will be a vacuum that will be filled with something else.”
“But Gamon is magic,” I protested. “She’s Connected.”
“She is Connected, yes, but her allegiances go far deeper. SANCTUS believes she will eradicate magic in the world, and she will. At that point, they believe, their mission is achieved. But they are not seeing what lies beyond that victory. We can.” He gestured to Eshe.
The High Priestess preened in the spotlight of our attention. “The veil between worlds will fall from the weight of too much external pressure. All who exist outside the barriers of this earth will be granted access.”
My guts clenched. I’d seen what lay on the other side. Fought with it. Still had the scars.
“The djinn.” Eshe smiled at Viktor. “They will return in droves. The ancient gods will hold sway. Llyr will even break his fiery bonds, returning to earth in whatever form he chooses.”
I stared at her, then at Armaeus. “All that because SANCTUS gave Gamon access to the cookie jar?”
“All that because she will gain access to the Houses,” Armaeus corrected with a lash to his tone. “Her lieutenant even now prepares to fight Soo’s successor. As of today, that seems to be you.”
“But that’s only one House,” I objected.
“Mercault has now betrayed his alliance with you as well—if one of you falls, the other will too,” Eshe cooed.
“Alliance?” I snorted. “He’s stealing me blind!”
“He won’t continue.” Eshe smiled at Mercault. “Sorry.”
Mercault seemed to be paying no attention to anything but Eshe’s face. “Sacredieu,” he murmured again.
“The truth is clear,” Armaeus said. “Before, our goal was to keep you out of the House of Swords, Miss Wilde. Now, for the moment, you must not only stay, it appears you must defeat all comers.”
He met my gaze over the length of the room, and it didn’t take Connected abilities to understand what he was thinking. For me to win, it would not be a battle fought solely with the sword…but with the magic that was growing inside me like an angry beast, desperate to break free.
And he was my only hope of controlling it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Council meeting shifted immediately to Mercault as I physically stood back, absorbing the blow that Armaeus had dealt me.
“The House of Coins has been in the hands of your family for how long, Monsieur Mercault?” the Magician asked sharply.
Mercault immediately bristled, dropping his hands to his belt. “I don’t see how that matters.”
Kreios stepped into the breach. “I think we can go about this a different way. First, some introductions, to allow Monsieur Mercault to feel more at home. The Magician you know, of course. And we have met many times, though you’ve not always known it.”
Mercault narrowed his eyes but was distracted as Kreios gestured lazily to Eshe, who was still attempting not to be blatantly flattered by Mercault’s obvious adoration. “You have already exchanged words with Eshe, but she is the High Priestess of the Council. She has served as our oracle and guide for—long enough to prove the value of her counsel several times over.” Kreios’s indolent smile only deepened as Eshe shifted murderous eyes at him. Apparently, even immortals didn’t like to be reminded of their age.
“Viktor Dal is the Emperor, and one of the most cunning minds on the Council. His strategic vision is one I think you will appreciate, given your own far-flung enterprises.”
Unlike Eshe, Viktor did not appear to be mollified by Mercault’s attention. He did bark a few questions at the man, asking mostly about his genealogy, which made sense given his Eastern European upbringing and the fact that he’d lived through the First World War. Mercault didn’t know that of course, but he would if he hung around Viktor enough. The Emperor had been…if not in league with the Nazis, then definitely in mutually beneficial collusion with them. Reason number four thousand and sixteen I detested him.
Kreios moved on before Dal turned my way, and I gave him my profile as the Devil introduced Simon. “The Fool is a technological master and can be relied upon for the most innovative of solutions, if not always the most practical ones.”
Simon grinned. “You’re going to want to get a new phone after you leave here,” he said, tapping his computer. “It’s been bugged. Not a very good job either. My bet is someone in your operation, if only to keep tabs on you.”
Mercault reached for the device, squinting at it. “What do you mean?”
“The bug’s got no audio,” Simon said. “Which means the tracking is intended only to LoJack you, but it’s more souped up than a typical tracker and doesn’t rely on the phone being on or within cell range. Plastic disk, no larger than a pinhead. Not fancy but effective.” He flashed a grin. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe someone is worried about you, doesn’t want you to go paws up without anyone noticing. If that’s cool, then cool. If not—”
“No one plants tracers on me without my knowledge.” Mercault scowled. He turned back to his goon, who stared at him with deceptive impassivity. Nikki, on the man’s other side, watched with a smile playing around her face. She saw what the man saw. Her eyes connected with mine, and I nodded.
“I’d start with your girlfriend,” Nikki said, and her grin widened as Mercault’s attention whipped to her. His guard, meanwhile, stiffened only a hair’s breadth, not even noticeable unless you were looking at him, which I was. “Your man here doesn’t trust her farther than he can throw
her, and my hunch is he’s on target.”
Mercault’s eyes widened, first at Nikki, then at his own man. “Charles-Jerome, you warned me.”
“Yeah, well, don’t let her show up in the Seine,” Nikki said. “Better to use her nosiness against her.” She shrugged and leaned back against the wall, tipping an imaginary hat as the bodyguard scowled at her. “Good instincts,” she said to him, and he turned back to Mercault, shaking his head.
“And I am Michael,” the Hierophant said, foregoing Kreios’s introduction, and using the far shorter version of his name, perhaps thinking the addition of his Archangel title might make the Frenchman’s head spin. Given the man’s religious icons in most of the homes I’d visited, he wouldn’t be wrong. “The Hierophant, at least for this time on earth. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Sir—” Mercault caught himself from genuflecting, and I grinned. Michael had that effect. Though he’d begun assimilating into life in Las Vegas—and kept his wings from manifesting, which was a blessing all around—he still carried the ethereal expression of a being truly meant for worlds beyond our understanding. The longer you looked at him, the happier you got, if only because he was proof that such brilliance, such perfect joy did exist in this world. Or at least it existed for the moment, which was more than we probably deserved.
“We shall have to discuss your homes in France, Monsieur Mercault,” the Hierophant said, his eyes glazed with a look of faraway satisfaction. “You’ve done much to keep them true to the goals of their original builders. That much patience is a rarity among men, even those who are Connected.”
“It is a trait common to the House of Coins as well,” Kreios put in, bringing the conversation back to him. “In all its numerous incarnations.”
“You are still asking questions to which there are no answers,” Mercault said stiffly. “The heritage of the House of Coins begins and ends in my line, I’m afraid. It was a gift conferred, not unlike the transfer of the House of Swords by Annika Soo. Nothing was left of the original House—it had been destroyed for centuries. The gift consisted of a small amount of money and a promise of riches untold if we kept the secret of the House.”
