Getting Wilde

by Jenn Stark

  Or I could call Armaeus right now.

  The first decision at least made some level of sense. The second involved actually facing the nightmares that had pierced the mists of Fitz’s Oracle room. The soldiers of SANCTUS preparing their plans, and then that—that creature behind them, hovering in the darkness. Lying in wait. In my mind’s eye, I felt its gaze flicker over me again—and suddenly I knew.

  I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I had to warn Armaeus that SANCTUS was coming, and fast.

  I reached into my jacket for my cell phone, the movement feeling more momentous than it should, as if a ripple was shooting out across the universe, ringing some far-off bell.

  Then I remembered my phone was back in Fitz’s demon hole, blown to bits.

  Oh well. Leaving was probably the smarter idea anyway.

  I wiped my hand over my face and, limping, headed in the opposite direction of Nikki and her gaggle of exhausted, half-broken psychics. I’d find some place to hide for a few days, catch some sleep, and heal. Then I’d figure out how to meet my obligations without—

  I fell back from the curb as a car shot by me too quickly. Vertigo clouded my vision, and I staggered a little to the side, smoke and gorge rising up once more in my throat. The car braked and backed up, and panic shattered through me. With the visionary clarity of the Oracle, I saw myself stumbling to the pavement as the door opened, sickness overtaking me, never even feeling the hands beneath my shoulders, around my waist, barely able to discern the words sliding through my head.

  “A decision, once made, cannot be unmade, Miss Wilde.”

  “No!” I stood sharply back from the curb, shaking my head hard as the limo stopped beside me. The door didn’t open, though, and I didn’t fall down.

  Forget that. If Armaeus swept me away now, I’d be just as trapped as those girls behind glass. I knew the Magician, and I knew how he worked. If I didn’t go to him on my own terms, or at least healthy, I’d be overwhelmed. It’d happened before.

  “Miss?”

  I turned and squinted into the sunlight. A man was walking up the street to me, his gait so familiar, so self-assured, that for a moment I simply stood there frozen, unsure of where—or who—I even was. I took a step back, more out of self-preservation than anything else, and something changed in the man’s body as well. Recognition swept through me in a visceral wave, so electric that the air practically exploded around me, circuits popping in my brain, my heart, my joints, my bloodstream.

  The detective—and it was a detective; it had to be, from the cheap brown suit to the badge on his belt to the worn, tanned face, messy hair and squinting eyes—froze another moment as well. I felt rather than heard his next question, the word so quiet I could almost believe I’d imagined it. “Sariah?”

  Oh. Hell. No.

  I reached out for the door to the limo and wrenched it open, piling myself inside. “Go, go!” I gasped as the door slammed shut behind me, the pounding steps of a man fading into the background. The driver complied, bending forward to jump out into traffic, revving the engine hard to leave the detective in the dust.

  Holy shit. Brody Rooks. Had he really truly seen me? His voice had been uncertain, his eyes disbelieving whatever his brain was trying to convince him had just happened. He had to have known it was really me, though, right? Right?

  No sirens erupted behind us as we zipped along the boulevard, however. And the driver didn’t ask for my destination. Instead, Armaeus studied me in the rearview mirror . “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

  “Can’t you figure it out yourself?”

  “No, Miss Wilde, I can’t. Which, please let me assure you, I find more tedious than you can possibly imagine.”

  His unexpected candor threw me for a second, and I hunkered down in the backseat, alternating between attempting to breathe without pain and trying to unscramble my brains. Neither was working out too well.

  “Where are we going?” I asked instead, sounding like a thousand-year-old smoker.

  “To Prime Luxe.”

  I frowned at him. “You live in a steakhouse?”

  Armaeus didn’t honor that with a response, which was fine by me. I was hunched so low in the limo seat that I felt like I was five years old, seeing Vegas for the first time. Only I wasn’t seeing the Vegas that everyone else saw, I knew. We approached the Strip from the north end, and as we passed the Stratosphere, I squinted hard. “Who lives here?”

  “No one,” Armaeus said curtly. “You should rest. There will be plenty of time for you to explore your new home once you have recovered.”

  “I’m not staying here.” Every time I spoke, I expected the words to come out of my mouth on a puff of smoke, like a cartoon dragon. “There’s too many people in this city.”

  The silence from the front of the car was noncommittal, but I knew Armaeus was anything but. Which irritated me as well. He didn’t know me, not really. He’d used me for a half-dozen jobs, and I was a reliable finder to him, nothing more. He had no right to ask me to stay anywhere I didn’t want to stay, and if he threw the whole SANCTUS war at me, I’d call bullshit.

  Oh God. SANCTUS.

  I struggled upright, the movement hurting more than it had any right to. “You need to know this.”

  “If it isn’t about the man who was following you, it can wait.”

  “It can’t wait.” I clenched my hands into fists and pressed them against my belly. Why wasn’t I feeling any better? “Jerry Fitz was working with SANCTUS. He had a cuff on his wrist that was imprinted with the same glyph that I saw tatted on that Swiss Guard lookalike. Pope hat and tails, the whole bit. His also had a dagger at the bottom, for what that’s worth. He was transmitting to them the whole time I was there. I have no idea what, but when I was…in that room…”

  “Rest is the best way you could serve right now, Miss Wilde. Do not make me force you to do so. As you requested, I am asking you nicely first.” Armaeus’s haughty golden glare pinned me to the rich leather seats. “But I’m only going to ask you once.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Fine.” I flopped back in my seat, my bones jarring with pain. “I shouldn’t hurt this much, by the way. Just sayin’.”

  “Do you know why you do?”

  “Because Jerry Fitz is—was—an asshole? That about covers it, I think.”

  “There is more to it than that, I suspect.” Armaeus cruised past the Wynn Casino. I blinked down the Strip and saw the negative reflections of the half-hidden homes of the council. The white tower soaring above Treasure Island, the black tower that dominated Caesar’s Palace. Scandal, the only arcane casino that chose to advertise, flickered above the Flamingo. An elegant castle of fairyland proportions glittered in the harsh sunlight above Bellagio, with its masculine twin across the street surmounting Paris.

  Farther down, the ancient and somehow techno-modern steel-and-glass monstrosity of what was apparently called Prime Luxe, the Magician’s home. It didn’t have its name flickering in neon along its towering spires, but with a name like Prime Luxe, I couldn’t blame it.

  Still, the palace towered over the Luxor Hotel with its gleaming pyramid and golden sphinxes, and I had to smile at the nod to a lifetime that could never be restored. Armaeus had been Egyptian before he had become Arcanan. Some memories were worth keeping alive, apparently.

  Up in the front seat, Armaeus was waiting for me to continue. Loudly.

  I sighed. “Yeah, well, forgive me for stripping it down for you. Fitz stuffed his Pythene gas tube into my mouth and turned the jets on full. That much hot air did a number on my lungs, not to mention my nervous system.”

  “Certainly, but that’s not the only reason.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “We’re here.” I looked up and, as always, Armaeus was a master of the understatement. He cut the wheel and sped into the drive of the Luxor like he owned the place. Which he did, after a fashion. The valet-service boys jogged up to us, their Luxor uniforms flickering between the garis
h gold of the beloved casino and the deep navy of Luxe. Armaeus stopped and glanced back at me. “Can you walk? I can assist—”

  “I can walk.” The door swung open, and a masculine hand reached out, which I grabbed with perhaps a bit more force than expected. Still, I was half lifted out of the vehicle with admirable grace, and I didn’t have the mental strength to figure out how Armaeus had managed to move from the front seat to my car door in a split second, replacing the valet boy. He folded my hand over his arm, snugging me to his body. The contact with him short-circuited my system from the tip of my head to my toes, and, too late, I realized I no longer wore the Tyet around my neck.

  Armaeus’s chuckle was soft. “I’m not going to accost you when you can barely stand, Miss Wilde.”

  “Mmph.” If anything, my vertigo grew worse, not better, here in the Magician’s lair. I squinted and shook my head, trying to reconcile the tone-on-tone overlay between the very real Luxor and the not-quite-as-real Prime Luxe. I hung on to Armaeus shamelessly, and he provided a solidity I hadn’t experienced in far too long.

  Don’t get used to this, I warned myself, but any attempt at intelligence was not really tops on my list right now. Not after what I’d been through over the last few days. Not after what I’d been through over the last ten years. Not after what had happened to me a decade ago, on a sun-blasted day in Memphis, when everything I’d thought I was and everything I thought I’d be had blown up in a surge of smoke and fire.

  Bake my biscuits, Brody Rooks. Of course he’d be called in to investigate the one place in Vegas I most needed him not to be, before I could escape cleanly. Of all the gin joints in all the world…

  But it wasn’t that surprising, I supposed, that he would get the freakshow detail for Vegas. Back in the day, he was the cop who’d made his name working with the kooks in Memphis. Back in the day, he’d been willing to give the time of day to people who didn’t merit much more than a snickering reference on cable news.

  Back in the day…

  I shoved those thoughts away as Armaeus shouldered me closer to him. He punched the button to a bank of elevators that shimmered slightly out of alignment with the other elevators in the Luxor lobby. I peered around, trying to get my bearings, which was impossible with the cases of kitschy Egyptian trinkets all around me and the wildly colored carpet that assaulted the eyes along with all the gold.

  The doors swooshed open, and he ushered me inside.

  I really did mean to stop leaning on the Magician then, to support myself on one of the four very capable walls surrounding me. But that seemed like an awful lot of work.

  “I can help you heal, Miss Wilde, but you must allow me to do that.”

  “So what are you waiting for,” I muttered against his chest. It was a very nice chest. “You got insurance paperwork for me to sign or something?”

  “Not exactly. But your mind is closed to me.”

  “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? It being my mind and all.”

  The slightest trace of irritation laced the Magician’s sigh as the carriage slowed, an amber light glowing on the console marked “P.” I was pretty sure we weren’t heading for the Parking garage. The doors opened, and my suspicion was rewarded with a flood of light from windows on all sides. “You don’t have to make this so difficult. I’m not going to attack you when your guard is down.”

  “Oh, give me a break. That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

  “She’s right, of course.”

  The Devil’s rich voice floated over us, full of laughter, and the Magician’s entire body went rigid. Given my proximity to said body, it was a good reminder of how strong the guy really was. And how hot.

  Back it down, sister. You’re operating in a moment of weakness, here.

  “Now you decide to show up?” Armaeus refused to let go of me until we reached the main sitting area of the opulent space, a collection of overstuffed couches that were built for giants. Nevertheless, I held off on being deposited on one. The moment I sank into that much luxury, I was going to pass out.

  “I don’t suppose you have a bathroom somewhere closer than a quarter mile away in this place? I’m pretty sure I still have glass shards in my hair.”

  Armaeus twitched with irritation. “Of course. We need to assess your condition anyway.”

  Before I could comment on how wrong that idea was, a woman emerged from the side of the room. Built like a discus thrower, she was dressed in the same liveried uniform as the valet, but she had the firm, no-nonsense manner of— “Oh for God’s sake, Armaeus,” I groaned.

  “You have two choices, Miss Wilde.” He didn’t elaborate on option number two. He didn’t need to.

  “Gotcha. Nurse Ratched it is.”

  The woman smiled. “I’ll do my utmost to ensure you’re not lobotomized while in my care. Sir?” She gestured to Armaeus, who was still holding on to me like I was his prized stuffy. He reluctantly handed me into her arms.

  We hadn’t cleared the lobby before he started laying into the Devil, once more using the strange language I had heard them speak on the phone. Really, I was going to have to look into the Google Translate options for ancient Sumerian.

  “You’ve done quite a number on yourself.” The nurse exited to a long, quiet corridor, the hushed lighting and plush carpet a balm to my senses. “Your first time in Vegas?”

  Despite myself, I laughed. I was leaning harder on her than I wanted to, but she seemed unfazed by my weight. “You get banged-up guests a lot in here?”

  “On occasion. My name is Margaret Sells, by the way—Dr. Margaret Sells, if it makes you feel better.”

  “Sorry.”

  “My fault for not wearing the white coat. I didn’t want to alarm you until I could introduce myself.”

  “Armaeus call you on the Batphone or something while we were en route?”

  I could hear the smile in her voice, though my eyes had drooped to half slits. “Something like that. I am on retainer with the Luxor. When Mr. Bertrand has a need for me, I’m happy to help. You’re the first bomb victim in a while, though.” We turned into a room that could have served as anything from a massage parlor to an operating suite, and she eased me over to the sink. “Let’s get some of this glass out first, before I examine you.”

  “You’ve got the com.”

  The next several minutes were accompanied by the pinging sounds of shrapnel landing against stainless steel as the woman dictated a laundry list of my injuries into what I assumed was a digital recorder. Either that or she just liked the sound of herself nattering on. Either way, I learned that I suffered several minor contusions and lacerations, a probable slight dislocation of the right shoulder, a left ankle sprain I hadn’t even noticed, and probable significant gas poisoning. The green tint to my lips was apparently a key indicator.

  By the time we’d gotten to that part, I was sitting on the massage table, blowing into a device that looked impressively like a Breathalyzer. The nurse clucked as she watched the readings. “I’ve never seen anything like this, and I’ve been at it awhile,” she said. “The makeup of these toxins…”

  “Pythene gas,” I managed after she took the mask from my face. “Ever hear of it?”

  Her gray eyes flicked to mine. “Pythene, as in the oracle of Delphi?”

  “You know your mythology.”

  “It’s becoming an occupational necessity.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t prescribe an antidote for this kind of poisoning, though. Deep breathing of purified oxygen will help, but otherwise it’s just time.” She frowned as she looked into my eyes, and in my peripheral vision, I saw her pick up a slender penlight. With a murmured warning, she shined it in my eyes.

  I didn’t flinch.

  “Your pupils aren’t reacting. Has your vision changed since your exposure to the gas?”

  I grimaced. “You could say that. But I can see you and the rest of this.” I waved tiredly around the room. “Even though the rest of the world can’t.”

 
“The transdimensional paradox, yes.” Dr. Sells spoke as if I should know what the hell she was talking about. “Our initial perception is that we should be standing in the middle of thin air, but the transdimension, where this building exists, is quite real, if you know where and how to look. And if you have Connected capabilities.”

  My blinking had nothing to do with her penlight. I reached out and touched the only exposed skin in easy reach, her arm above her plastic glove. Sure enough, there was the slightest zing. “I didn’t know.”

  She smiled. “You’ll find minor ability throughout the medical community, I expect. There’s a reason why intuition plays such a powerful role in a doctor’s success.”

  “And are you part of the community community?” I asked. “As in, here in Vegas?”

  The idea appeared to startle her. “You mean, do I interact with the psychics?” She frowned. “I don’t have much call to do so.”

  “Yeah, well.” I thought about SANCTUS and the visions I’d seen at Binion’s while sucking on that infernal gas. The visions of a war in the heart of Las Vegas, of blood and spirit and fire. “You’re about to.”

  “Miss Wilde.”

  We both startled like girls caught out gossiping, and mentally I kicked myself. For whatever reason, the Magician couldn’t crawl around in my own brain, but that didn’t stop him from riffling through Dr. Sells’s mind like a deck of cards. I scowled up at him, and Armaeus smiled.

  “I see you’re feeling better,” he observed mildly. He regarded Dr. Sells. “Other than the reaction to the Pythene compound, are there any other concerns you didn’t mention in your report?”

  The mind of the Magician. Better than a digital recorder any day. Beside me, Dr. Sells shook her head. “She needs rest, and she should avoid eyestrain.” That merited me a startled glance from Armaeus, and I pointedly didn’t strain my eyes looking at him. “Otherwise, she should be fine in a few days, depending on how her body processes the gas.” She considered him. “Have you collected a sample? What I have from her lungs is pretty degraded.”