Getting Wilde

by Jenn Stark

  “Dante, if you can show Miss Wilde to the guest suite,” Armaeus said. “We can continue our discussion there.”

  “Or, you know, I could just be on my way,” I said brightly. Armaeus didn’t honor that with a response, and Dante moved dutifully to my side. “Claire does not sleep easily,” he said. “If you would like to rest while you wait, you will find the guest accommodations most comfortable. We have prepared our finest set of rooms for you.”

  Finally, things were looking up.

  The walk to the guest suites of the mansion was long enough to make me wished I’d packed a lunch. But with Armaeus distracted by his precious petite-fille who wasn’t really his granddaughter at all, I figured this was the optimal time to strike. Unless he reached out and strangled his own family member, Dante should be safe. Or safe enough.

  “So, the Fourth Crusade?” I asked as Dante stood aside to let me enter the guestroom through the large doorway that looked like it had been carved out of a single block of wood. Show-offs. “Not really a great time to take up the banner for all things magical.”

  Dante laughed. It was a rich and rolling sound, and I realized I’d never heard the Magician laugh. In fact, the open affection with which he’d gazed at Claire was the closest he’d come to seeming like a human as opposed to some sort of demigod.

  That wasn’t entirely true, of course. I’d seen him in my dreams and in a few scattered hallucinations, which had generally occurred at the worst possible time for me. He’d definitely not appeared stoic then.

  We walked into the spacious sitting room. I could see another door, closed, and assumed it led to an equally palatial bedchamber. This room was fancy enough, with its thick carpet over rough stone floors, its tapestry-hung walls—and the imposing chest that stood against the far wall, lined with crystal decanters and gleaming metal tankards. Apparently, the guests of Le Sri were heavy drinkers. Good to know.

  Dante’s words finally penetrated my brain. He was answering my question. “It is the lore of the family, but I am not surprised he has not told you. We do not often have the chance to share our tales with outsiders.”

  “And why is he letting you do so now?”

  “I suspect so that he does not have to tell you himself.”

  I snorted. “Probably.” Curiosity warred with irritation inside me. I should just wait and make Armaeus tell me, but I could be an old woman by the time he got around to it. Unless…

  I smiled winningly at Dante; he looked more than willing to be won. “Tell me more about you, instead.”

  I could almost hear the warning bell sound, somewhere deep in the house. It was clear and light, but apparently on a frequency that wasn’t audible to family members. Instead, Dante looked bemused. “Myself? There is nothing to tell.”

  “Oh, come on. Do you live full time in this maus—mansion? You and Claire.”

  “No, not at all. I live in Paris with my family. I only work at the mansion—Grand-mére as well—when we have work for le seigneur. Otherwise we both have our own homes, and the house is given over to other guests.”

  “Other guests?” The warning bell came more crisply now, urgent. Closer. “You mean, what, like victims of SANCTUS?”

  “Mon Dieu, non,” Dante said, his face aghast. His surprise grated on me more than it should have, and of course he kept talking. “Le seigneur is adamant on that score. There must be no direct connection of aid or assault among the public. That is not within the purview of the council, and he has worked too long for the council to do anything that would run counter to his position there.”

  “Then who?”

  “Members of the other families, Mademoiselle Wilde. Other council members as the need arises, but mostly the families.”

  I frowned. “You mean families like the Mercaults?”

  “Miss Wilde.” Armaeus sounded more irritated this time. It made my heart happy.

  Dante shook his head. “Bien sur, non. I mean the families of the Arcana Council. Each has their trusted emissaries, who must travel in secret. We simply provide that secrecy as it is needed, the same that it is provided to us whenever our need is great.”

  “Their…emissaries.” I tried to keep my eyes from flaring, my voice neutral, but this—I’d never heard of this. It was one thing to have a knot of half-baked demigods running around Las Vegas, declaring themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy. But an entire network of non-Connected relatives? “And how does that play with the non-fraternization-with-ordinary-people policy, exactly? That’s got to be one hell of a loophole.”

  “The families have been a part of the process for thousands of years, perhaps before such rules were made,” Dante said, supremely unconcerned. “And there certainly have been compensations.” He gestured to the building that surrounded us, a veritable castle in the shadows. “When le seigneur committed himself to service, he was a foot soldier, and our family impoverished. Now he is arguably—”

  Armaeus chose that moment to stride into the sitting room, his face dark with annoyance. “Thank you, Dante. You have been most hospitable.”

  “Of course, mon seigneur.” Dante bowed, the gesture one of fierce pride more than servitude, then nodded to me. Without another word, he departed the guest suite, shutting the door definitively behind him.

  “You never fail to surprise me, Miss Wilde.”

  “Twenty-one families?” I stared at him. “You mean to tell me there are twenty-one families like this one in service to the council, and I didn’t know they existed? Families whose entire job it is to help a sister out? You don’t think I could have used that help down in Sierra Leone? Or that holding tank in Dubai?” I curled my lip in derision. “And don’t even get me started about Budapest. Surely one of the council Members had some extended roots of the family tree curled around that place. And you didn’t breathe a word.”

  “You were quite convincing in your desire to express your independence.”

  “From you, yes. From normal people? Totally different story. Twenty-one families. I’ve probably tripped over a few of them without realizing it. And they never reached out, though I was openly working for you people.” I tried to tamp down my outrage, but it was growing like a living thing inside me. Everything was suddenly too big, too awful. Why did it matter that there were families dedicated to assisting the council? Why did anything with the council matter at all?

  Armaeus shrugged, apparently unfazed by how close I was to full-on tears. What is my problem? “We do not have the full council intact, not anymore,” he said. “And not everyone has a family, Miss Wilde. But if you are finished with your outrage, we have much to discuss. Starting with your next assignment.”

  Chapter Six

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You really think I have any interest in working for you right now, after learning all this? I have to get to Father Jerome, warn him. Hell, warn all of them about these crazy SANCTUS people. I don’t see you guys putting out a bulletin anytime soon.”

  “Then I propose you think a little more broadly.”

  “Do you now.” I really hated it when Armaeus became sanctimonious.

  He nodded. “Our interests are not mutually exclusive in this case. As it happens, the greatest amount of assistance you can provide Father Jerome and your compatriots is to assist me in recovering a particular lost item.”

  “Yeah, somehow I don’t think—”

  Armaeus continued as if I hadn’t said a word. “One of SANCTUS’s recent acquisitions is an item of great personal value to me, and necessary for the council’s continued work,” he said. “I need you to recover it.”

  That did catch my attention. The members of the council were collectors in their own right, and they were as avaricious as any client I’d ever had. But what the Arcanan Council bought, it tended to keep. So far, I’d met the Magician, the Fool, and the High Priestess of their merry little band, though there were rumors of other council members lurking in their hallowed halls. None of the ones I’d met, however, seemed too likely to
give up their toys without a fight. “SANCTUS stole something from you? And you let them?”

  “Not exactly. But the result is the same. The item is a very old gold-wrought box, a reliquary no larger than the size of your hand. It is unadorned except for the inscription on its seal, which is Aramaic and not important for your purposes. It will be heavy for its size and can grow heavier or lighter as you carry it. But it will not be unmanageable.”

  I nodded. The longer I was in this business, the less surprised I was by anything I learned. “Why turn to me?” I asked. “Why not tap one of these amazing family members you guys have apparently got scattered around the globe?”

  “Understand this, and clearly.” Armaeus’s words were clipped with irritation, and I’m not going to lie: that made me feel good. “The families of Council members who are involved in our work do so at enormous personal risk, because they do not, in the main, possess any innate magical ability. The fact that one of their number rose to service in the council does not at all mean that any of the remaining family members could do the same.”

  “Okay, fine. Then why didn’t you go after this little box yourself?”

  “My initial attempts to retrieve the reliquary have met with…failure,” Armaeus said with a rare display of candor. “I had hoped not to involve you in this particular mission, but your presence in Paris made it an easy decision. It’s time that we increased your work with the council, and this is an ideal opportunity to do so.”

  “Increase, huh?” That sounded promising. Lying, backstabbing asshats or not, the council paid well. “So where is this little box? Here in Paris, or are you sending me somewhere more charming?”

  “Rome,” Armaeus said. “The relic has been temporarily stored in a holding cell for purification. I am given to understand that it will be moved again shortly, however, which makes its retrieval tonight necessary. It’s located in the necropolis beneath Vatican City.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I held up a hand. “The necropolis. Under Vatican City. As in the home of those whack jobs back in Paris—”

  “Your compensation will be the full amount for the seal of Ceres you were demanding from Monsieur Mercault, and more.” His golden eyes were flat. “You will also cease any arrangement with the Mercault family, until we have identified who within their walls is providing information to SANCTUS.”

  “Or I could go tell Mercault he has a snitch and let him sniff it out.” I tilted my head, considering my options, while Armaeus gave a disgusted snort.

  If magic was a two-sided coin, Jean-Claude Mercault was on the dark side of the toss, one of the grittier adherents of the practices of the occult, rumored to specialize in unique drug concoctions that assisted with demonic possession. He wasn’t yet involved with the trafficking of psychics, so he did have some standards, but still. He was one nasty customer. Which begged the question: “You mind telling me what this ‘leverage’ is that Mercault thought he had in getting the seal of Ceres? What’s so special about that thing, anyway?”

  Armaeus’s mask of cool civility had slipped back into place. “In addition to the amount you intended to extort from Mercault, I will provide you with another fifty thousand euros. Payable to you—or directly to Father Jerome, as you wish.”

  I thinned my lips, suddenly catching on. I was good at what I did, and I was used to being paid well. But fifty thousand dollars for a few hours’ work was not my standard day rate. It wasn’t even my night rate. “What’s the catch?”

  Armaeus lifted a haughty brow. “There is no catch, Miss Wilde. If you take the job and return the reliquary to me within the next twenty-four hours, you will be paid handsomely. It is generous compensation for work quickly rendered, and, if I am not mistaken, timely payment is of the essence to you. I can have the money transferred to your account immediately upon delivery.” His smile turned a shade more predatory. “In addition, I have information on two of the young psychics you are seeking.”

  A cold prickle iced my nerves, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “What information? And which two?”

  Armaeus waved a lazy hand. “There is reason to believe two teenaged females of exceptional abilities have recently been transported to Las Vegas. Sisters, if my information is correct, from the Greek city of Kavala, who have been purchased as testing subjects for—”

  “Sisters!” I straightened, my mind instantly ping-ponging back to my discussion with Father Jerome about the two girls who’d been taken weeks ago. “From Kavala. Where are they now, specifically? Who has them?” The rest of his words registered, and I frowned. “If they’re in Vegas, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

  “The council’s role is not to dictate how magic is used.” Armaeus shrugged. “Merely that it remains in balance. Where there is light, there must also be dark.”

  Anger flared within me. Not this again. “That’s what you call balance? Those girls were abducted, Armaeus. If they’ve been in Las Vegas for any length of time, they could already be dead. Or worse. You know that.”

  “Then it would appear you have urgent business in the city after all, Miss Wilde. And, additionally, the need for the funds and transportation I can provide you.” The Magician’s gaze flicked to mine, and I read nothing but calculation in them. “I will give you the young women’s location and assist your efforts to extract them, once you’ve delivered my reliquary intact. And I will pay you well to help with their relocation. Do we have an agreement?”

  I bit my tongue, pretending to consider the matter. Armaeus was certainly playing to all my weaknesses: greed, speed, and need. In the final analysis, I figured he’d get the better end of the deal, but still: my end was looking pretty good.

  And, of course, the money wasn’t the most important part of this transaction anymore. If the Kavala twins were in Vegas, they wouldn’t last long. The practitioners of dark magic were not known for their restraint. The fact that the girls had been alive upon delivery to the city meant they weren’t just being harvested for some low-level ritual, at least, but that was cold comfort. They’d be used as tools somehow. Vessels or conduits, their psychic gifts strained beyond endurance, their minds and bodies eventually broken in the process. If I wanted to get to Vegas fast enough to make a difference, I had to accept the Magician’s offer.

  “Fine,” I said, nodding to him. I held out my hand. “Now give me back my Tyet.”

  Armaeus tossed the silver amulet to me. I caught it easily, feeling its cold reassurance in my hand. He hadn’t switched it out for another piece. The necklace was definitely mine, and it felt the same as it ever did. I slipped it over my neck.

  “All right,” I said. “What else do I need to know about this little job of yours?”

  The Magician’s expression grew a bit darker, right along with the ambient lighting. I glanced around as the lamps dimmed in the room, and my fingers twitched, my heart rate picking up.

  “Knock it out, Armaeus. What else do I need to know?”

  “You know everything you need to about the assignment in Rome.” Had Armaeus gotten closer? He felt closer. “But since you’ve replaced the Tyet, I confess there is something I have a burning need to know. Namely, whether or not that amulet can truly perform the task for which you purchased it.”

  “It’s doing fine.” I stepped back, knowing I needed to put distance between myself and Armaeus. It was warm in the sitting room now—too warm. Too close. The Tyet amulet lay against my chest like an oasis of ice, but around it, my skin was fairly blazing. “Did you do something to it?” I crossed to the wet bar and picked up a bottle of single malt scotch. Splashing some of it into a glass, I didn’t miss the fact that my hands were shaking.

  Armaeus didn’t either.

  I didn’t hear him move, but a breath later, he was at my back, his arms reaching around me. He took the bottle from my right hand and steadied my left on the glass, encasing me in a cage of sensual heat. His mouth grazed my neck as he leaned forward to pour the scotch, the scent of fire and cinnamon drifting ar
ound me, heightening every one of my senses. “Miss Wilde,” he murmured. “What precisely were you told the amulet could do?”

  He let go, and I held the glass in both palms, willing it to stay steady as I raised it to my lips. Unfortunately, as the scorch of alcohol hit my tongue, Armaeus’s hands lifted up to rest on either side of my waist, pressing beneath my open jacket to the thin material of my shirt, his heat searing through the fabric. “Because it does not appear to stop me from doing this—” He slid his hands up the sides of my torso until his fingers drifted along the curve of my breasts. “Or this,” he breathed, bending his head down to draw his lips along my ear, the movement instantly reducing my brain cells to a quivering pulp.

  “Armaeus,” I said warningly. Or at least I’d intended it as a warning. The soft sigh that came out of me sounded distressingly like an invitation, even to my ears.

  “I think I like this amulet of yours,” the Magician said, the words vibrating against my neck. “I wonder if it will let me do…this.”

  Chapter Seven

  Armaeus’s body surrounded me suddenly, his hands reaching forward to take the full weight of my breasts in his palms. His whispered words were so quiet that only my subconscious heard them, and instantly the scene shifted in a slight but critically important way.

  Namely, we were still in the sitting room, still standing in front of the large chest with its glittering crystal decanters, and Armaeus was still pressed up against me, his mouth at my neck, his fingers playing over my shivering skin.

  Only now we were naked.

  I glanced down, horrified and fascinated at once to see Armaeus’s bronzed fingers flat against the swell of my breasts, with nothing but the glinting silver Tyet remaining to adorn my skin. In some distant part of my brain, I knew all this was an illusion…