Running Wilde

by Jenn Stark

  “But isn’t that going to make things more difficult for Armaeus?” I asked.

  “Things are already difficult for Armaeus. That’s the entire problem that sent me down this path, though he would not thank me for it.” The Devil’s smile was hard. “Don’t get me wrong. I seek chaos. I seek life. I will get what I most crave with the reunification of the scroll with its sacred case. But I get something more too. I get the chance for the Magician to live.”

  That sounded…important. Very important. Very important and dangerous. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Using slow, easy-to-understand language.”

  “The Magician is always preaching balance. But balance comes at a cost to him. He himself is an act of balance, and with the world now on the verge of war, he is expending too much strength outside himself, to the detriment of the battle within him. He cannot balance both forever, but unless he is motivated to see the value in making himself stronger, he will simply continue to weaken and fail. Whether he implodes or the Emperor moves against him, he will die, and I do not want him to die.”

  “And you think by putting this plan into motion, the Magician will, what, find his inner power?”

  Kreios’s smile had turned deceptive and a little smug. “Something like that,” he said. “But the cylinders do serve another, more prosaic purpose. You’ve seen the meteor showers. You know the cataclysm has already begun.”

  I flattened my lips into a hard line. Since I’d stood in front of the fire with Death, hearing the banshees wail, I had been filled with a cold, clammy panic every time I thought about the war on magic to come. Whether its agents would be the gods, government organizations too stupid or bullheaded to know any better, or the Connecteds themselves…I could see nothing but pain around me. Pain and almost certain death, if this war came to pass.

  And if this war came to pass, what would happen between Armaeus and me? He needed to be stronger—and more willing to use his strength. But did that mean he’d eventually decide to use his strength against me?

  “We have to stop the war from happening,” I said resolutely.

  Kreios shook his head. “You can’t stop it. You can, at most, manage it, if the veil tears in pieces. In the event of the veil tearing completely away, the world will be beset by the fabled seven suns. The seven suns will destroy the earth, eventually clearing the way for the enlightened one to speak the words of the scroll and restore peace to the realm.”

  Seven suns, seven steps on Happy Viktor’s mountain. I frowned at the Devil, my head beginning to hurt. “But Hap—but right now, the enlightened one is a piece of Viktor. If he’s the one doing the speaking, then Viktor’s going to be the one running the show after the dust settles. We don’t want that.”

  “We also don’t want the seven suns destroying the earth,” Kreios agreed amiably. “But they will, if you don’t stop them.”

  “Stop them by using the cylinders.” I flashed back to the image of Death’s green fire, the result of me wielding those wands. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let that happen. There had to be a better way.

  I didn’t realize I’d said this last out loud until the Devil leaned forward even farther, practically vibrating off the couch in excitement. “Using the cylinders is but one way,” he said, his voice back to that unnerving purr. “But now you know what it is I want, Sara Wilde. So you can find a better way. Because if you do, then chaos will reign on the earth again—the chaos of magic, the chaos of life. And that is all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Honey, I’m pretty sure I love you, but you are starting to make me think you’re also bald-assed insane,” Nikki said dryly. Kreios turned to her, all grins, but before they could start sparring, Nigel’s phone buzzed.

  He pulled it out, frowned at the screen. “It’s Ma-Singh,” he said.

  Putting the phone to his ear without speaking, he glanced first at me, then to Kreios. “We’ve got the Devil here.”

  That didn’t seem to matter to Ma-Singh, and Nigel crossed to the bar, where I realized he’d left his computer. Flipping open the screen, he hit a few keys, and the monitor flickered to life.

  “You’re going to want to see this,” he said.

  Kreios, Nikki, and I all stood and moved toward him. When I could see Nigel’s screen, I realized it depicted a drone’s-eye view of the back of the Swords’ Las Vegas mansion. The drone hovered just above human height, taking in the rooftop of the building.

  “Well, good for Ma-Singh, he’s figured out how to use a drone,” Nikki drawled. “Is he preparing to put the house on the market? Because ain’t nobody going to be able to get through my closet, I’m telling you that right now.”

  “No,” Nigel said tersely. “You remember your directive, Sara, that we put out that you were returning to Las Vegas? He did as you asked. Didn’t make a big deal out of it, sent a few emails, held a few conversations. All on private lines, not public. But lines that we haven’t checked for bugs or trackers in the past few weeks.”

  “And?” I prompted. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

  Nigel’s fingers raced over the keys, then he picked up the phone and lifted it to his ear again. “Go ahead and show us,” he said.

  Obediently, the drone moved up, slowly lifting above the roofline of the house. After another few feet, we could see the yard and driveway of the impressive front entrance to the mansion. I went still as the drone soared even higher, its wide-angle view covering the entire quarter-mile stretch of the property from the highway on up.

  “What the hell am I looking at, Nigel?”

  I needed clarification because I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing.

  There were people, dozens and dozens of people, some of them with tents, some of them with packs, some of them just standing either alone or in small groups talking among themselves, seeming completely at ease with what they were doing. They were quiet, not demonstrating, and for the most part, they looked like average, ordinary people. Maybe a little on the young side, some of them clearly ditching high school or maybe college for this gig, but they weren’t a bunch of thugs or rabble-rousers or any of the usual type that you would expect to gather somewhere unprovoked. It was as if a mosh pit of book bloggers had gathered in front of my house.

  “They started showing up this morning,” Nigel said. “The first groups were so quiet, it took the security getting tripped for anyone to notice them. They were out at a far distance, parked along the road. When we sent a car out to question them, they said they were here for you.”

  “For me,” I repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ma-Singh spoke now, his voice patched through the laptop. “To help you,” he said gruffly. “That’s all the information they would give. That they had been called to help Sara Wilde in the war on magic, and they were going to help you. And that there was nothing we could do short of having them arrested to stop it.”

  “And is there a reason why you didn’t arrest them?” Nikki asked.

  “We considered it,” Ma-Singh said. “We contacted Detective Rooks, let him know that there was a peaceable gathering happening near the property. He informed us that Interpol was watching the house, and to invite the people in, make it look like it was our idea. Anything that we did on public property would give the authorities cause to move in. There’s no law against a peaceable gathering on private property, however, especially this far out of the city. We invited them in, then more arrived. And still more. And they keep coming.”

  I groaned. “There’s no way we can tell them to go home, that the war isn’t until next Tuesday?”

  “We attempted a variation on that, and then they received word that Sara Wilde had protected a group of her followers who were being assaulted in Nepal. After that, we were informed that there was no way they were going to move until their leader told them to.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” I rubbed my eyes. “What about one of the doppelgängers? Can we try her out and attempt to disperse the crowd?”


  Ma-Singh hesitated. “It appears that during the assaults in Nepal, Sara Wilde used magic to help save her people. I suspect that a show of such magic will be required by anyone we put up before this crowd.”

  “It appears you have an army at your disposal,” Kreios said, eyeing the monitor with so much relish, he could run his own hot dog stand.

  “We can’t let them stay there, though,” I said, staring at the screen. “They have to stop.”

  Ma-Singh’s voice was relentless. “We have monitors at the airport and vehicle surveillance in a five-mile radius around the house. There are more coming in every hour.”

  “Shouldn’t they be in school?” I demanded, then put my hands behind my head, trying to think while keeping my brains inside my skull. I turned to glare at Kreios. “What the hell is Simon trying to do, sending them out in public like this? Viktor is going to notice that.”

  The Devil shrugged. “It’s possible that Simon doesn’t so much care anymore. It’s possible that the game has done what he needed it to do.”

  “But these are Connecteds, Kreios. They’re going to be targeted. It’s like rounding up the rebel resistance and dropping them into a box canyon to be shot at.”

  “That would get you back to Las Vegas, arguably,” Kreios returned.

  “They can’t be sitting there that long!” I snapped. Another problem struck me. “What about Hale? Hayley Adams, have we picked her up yet?”

  “The tracker you dropped on her is doing its job,” Nigel said. “She’s on the move. She apparently had a vehicle ready, but she didn’t go to the airport in Kathmandu. Instead, she’s headed overland to Bharatpur. Presumably, she’ll fly out of that airport.”

  “All right, all right. What about Arcania?” I winced at the name. “We got anyone who can break into that stupid game?”

  Ma-Singh spoke again. “We do. We can’t get at the base programming, but the system is set up to allow high-level users to upload mods that other users can apply to their gaming experience.”

  “Okay, then make a…mod or whatever, with me telling everyone in the game to disperse, that Interpol now has them on their radar, and if it…” I broke off, expelled a deep breath. “Does Interpol have access to this game?”

  Ma-Singh didn’t hesitate. “We assume yes. Especially if they have any psychics in their custody.”

  I grimaced. “So scratch the part about Interpol. But tell the players to go back home and be chill, to watch and wait and be careful. And to stay in touch with each other. They’ve got a higher profile now, and there are people out there who want to cut them up for flavoring. I need them to be aware of that and to stay the hell home.”

  “If I might suggest, that approach may not be appropriate,” Kreios said. “These are young men and women on a crusade. Advising them of danger is not likely to do anything but strengthen their resolve.”

  I opened my mouth, shut it. Kreios was right.

  “Son of a bitch. I’m so going to kill Simon,” I muttered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  We made plans to return to Vegas, with Nigel going first and Nikki and me following out of Bharatpur. After he'd gleefully watched me seal the scroll of enlightenment into its golden case, Kreios announced he'd be traveling with Nikki and me, as well.

  Nigel, to his credit, wasn’t buying that this setup was purely so we could trace the steps of a seventeen-year-old sort-of gamer, even if she had seen Shangri-La.

  “Do not let Sara out of your sight,” he growled at Nikki. “Especially carting around those artifacts the way she is, I don’t trust that she won’t do something foolish.”

  “Hello, standing right here,” I put in.

  “If she does that out-of-body thing, that’s fine, but you hold on to her carcass until she returns into her own self or whatever.”

  “Yup, still here.”

  “If you’ve got the body, she’ll find it eventually,” Nigel said. “She always has before.”

  Since Nikki had caught my charred, bleeding, or otherwise wrecked body upon many an astral return, I expected her to pop off with a quick, snarky comment. To my surprise, she answered seriously. “I’ll keep my eyes on her,” she said. “And my hands if she tries to make a run for it.”

  I grimaced. I hated to make a liar out of Nikki, but there were places I needed to go and people I needed to see that might not include her.

  Instead, I turned to Nigel. “Look. I’m going to be fine, and more to the point, I’m going to be in Vegas right on your heels. I really don’t want to wade through crowds of true believers to get to my front door.”

  “Your house.”

  “My house, whatever. So, do what you can to clear those people out, but…” I blew out a hard breath. “We’re getting their contact information, right?”

  He grinned, not unkindly. “We are. And we’re reallocating House resources to ensure that they’re okay. As you say, some of them are old enough to take care of themselves, but a lot of them aren’t. And even the ones who are legally of age aren’t necessarily as ready as they think they are.”

  “That’s certainly true.” Nikki patted me on the shoulder, and I realized how tense I was. In part because of the kids in Vegas, yes. But that wasn’t the only reason.

  Nigel set off toward the first car idling in the driveway, while Nikki, Kreios, and I piled into the second. Nikki took the wheel, naturally. Kreios, lounging beside me, raised the specter I’d been dreading since I’d first seen Happy Viktor.

  “You want to see Sariah,” he said, with such assuredness, I flinched.

  In front of the vehicle, Nikki jerked her gaze to the rearview mirror.

  “You can’t,” she said flatly, and I wondered how much she’d been worried about the same thing. “At least not if she’s still hanging out in Hell. Remember, Armaeus had to turn mortal in order to get in there, and you’re no longer mortal, unless I totally missed an upgrade email.”

  I turned and looked expectantly at Kreios. “She has a point.”

  “There are different ways around that problem,” he said, still gazing out the window. “In my line of work, there usually are.”

  “Are any of those workarounds feasible? Or am I going to regret even asking this?”

  “Yes…and yes, of course. Your alter ego Sariah Pelter has remained in Hell since you split at age seventeen. You didn’t intend for that to happen—you didn’t even know that it could happen, and she’s aware of that. She’s rather preferred being apart from you, if you must know. She would never have survived the five years you spent in the RV community with the retirees and hippies, and she certainly wouldn’t have left Brody Rooks well enough alone for all the years you did.”

  “Well, that’s interesting.” Suddenly, Nikki sounded a lot more intrigued. “How’d you manage that, exactly? From your description of Viktor and Simon in Shambhala, that took some pretty heavy Council magic. Magic you didn’t have when you were all of seventeen.”

  “I definitely did not,” I agreed, but Kreios merely smirked.

  “It would seem you had more than you realized,” he said blandly.

  Nikki started drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, clearly buying what Kreios was selling. “You know, dollface, I always wondered how you could have kept Detective Delish hanging like you did. Split personality makes total sense in that case.”

  “It’s not a split personality,” I grumbled, then shot a look at Kreios. “Is it?”

  “Not precisely, no,” he agreed. “It’s a sectioning off of emotions that in your state of stress you couldn’t manage. The sectioned-off portion is typically not a wholly functioning entity, much like you saw with Viktor and Simon in Shambhala. That’s a shard. But Sariah is…arguably…different.”

  I frowned. “Different how?” I wasn’t a big fan of different. I especially wasn’t a big fan of it when it came to Sariah. I hadn’t thought of her as an alter ego so much as a cautionary tale when I’d first met her, but she had helped me navigate Hell, in her o
wn twisted way. She was me without boundaries or limitations, except for those imposed on her by her living quarters. She wasn’t driven to save anyone but her own skin, but she wasn’t a bad person, exactly.

  Of course, she wasn’t a good person either. Not exactly.

  I blew out a long breath. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Sariah Pelter was created in the fire of the destruction of your old life,” Kreios said. “Her existence sprang from the moment the explosion swept your house off the map. You saw Llyr in that moment, the arch god of Atlantis, though you had no idea who or what it was roaring at you through the fire. But it was a traumatizing moment, for both you and the Sariah within you. You ran from the fire—she ran into it.”

  “Ran into it.” I stared at him, horrified. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m not. You were being summoned by a god, Sara, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. Because of who and what you are, your parentage, you responded to that call. Or, the portion of you that wasn’t quite sane in that moment did. The conflict this created was so great that Sariah Pelter was formed, formed and then banished from this earth because your two personalities were too powerful to remain together while you were so diametrically opposed.”

  “But we were together,” I said. “We were in Hell together. It’s not like one of us perished when the other appeared. There was no shattering of the space-time continuum.”

  “Correct, but you both also remained apart—and that’s not usually how shards act. When…if…the lost Simon and Viktor shards reunite with their owners, they will assimilate into one being. You did not. The two of you remained your own selves. Twins, in a sense.”

  Nikki snorted. “Puts a whole new spin on Twisted Sister.”

  I kept my eyes trained on Kreios. “But what about in the real world? Could Sariah—coexist out here? With me? And lead a normal life…or as normal a life as she would want to lead?”

  The Devil looked genuinely intrigued at the question. “The short answer is, she could try. There are four likely outcomes. One, she dies a horrifying death in fire.”