by Jenn Stark
“Sara.” Armaeus’s voice sounded strangled, and then I realized my thoughts had not been mine alone, here in this quiet moment of peace before we drew the shroud of the world around ourselves again. I looked up at him quickly to see him staring down at me, his eyes wide now, almost desperate, his skin flushed.
“I love you, Sara,” he whispered, his arms tightening around me, an invincible circle of protection. “And I will never stop loving you as long as I draw breath, as long as there is even the tiniest spark of energy within me, far too stubborn to die. I am yours—and you, finally and forever, are mine.”
Tears sparked in my eyes at the intensity of his voice, but I managed a quavery smile. “You know, it doesn’t mean as much if you’re just parroting my own words back to me.”
Armaeus laughed then, the sound low, dangerous, and primal…and filling me with so much joy, I felt my insides melting into a puddle of molten happiness.
“Then it seems I need to do a better job of showing you how I feel,” he murmured.
He leaned forward, and though I’d been kissed by the Magician many times before, it was as if this new touch was a revelation. Armaeus’s breath played over me with a whisper of sparking magic, his mouth, his tongue, his teeth following behind. As he spoke words against my quivering skin in an ancient tongue even I could not decipher, he drew one hand down the curve of my naked body, lingering on the slight swell of my breast, the planes of my ribcage, the flare of my hip. Where his fingers went, once more a trill of magic followed, the eddying whirl of sensual energy that was the core of his strength, the wellspring of his power.
But he was no longer alone in that power. I lifted my hand to Armaeus’s face, cupping his cheek. I reveled in the heat of my fingers as his magic responded to even that light touch. He angled his head back until our gazes met once more, and that was perhaps the most staggering connection of all. His body stiffened anew, the evidence of his desire plain, while my own body seemed to open up, the centermost part of me pulsing with a need as ancient as the dawn of time. A need that would no longer, could no longer, be ignored.
“How is this possible?” I gasped, and there was no denying the desperation in my voice.
Armaeus’s words seemed to reach me from a great distance, barely discernible above the growing roar of magic in my ears, the pounding surf of energy coursing through my veins. “It’s possible because you are made of many things, Sara Wilde. Fire and will, recklessness and wonder, faith and hope and fierce determination. But more than any of that, you are made of love. And that is the greatest magic of all.”
Then, once more, he dropped his lips to mine.
And for a precious, stolen hour, there was nothing and no one but us.
***
The Magician dropped me at what looked like a guard station in the middle of the desert, a location that made absolutely no sense until I realized that there was another car boiling up the road behind me—a self-driving Tesla.
As if on cue, a phalanx of guards burst out of the guard station. The one in the lead drew up short, jerking a thumb skyward when I turned toward him.
“Madame Wilde,” he shouted. The other men obligingly pointed their weapons toward the sky and stopped in their tracks as well, their attention split between me and the car behind me.
I nodded. “And you are?”
“Theodore.” Apparently, we were on a first-name basis, which worked for me. Theodore was probably one of the better-looking thugs I’d seen in a while, tall and clean-cut, bulky without being a meat sack. He wore a white button-down and khakis that somehow managed not to look incongruous with the pistol he still carried in one of his large hands.
He didn’t holster that pistol when the doors opened on the Tesla, but he did once the two women inside emerged.
First came Sariah, looking so young, I blinked. Had my healing ability actually turned back the clock on her? Or was that simply what a good night’s sleep or three could do for a girl? Something I probably needed to check out. She was dressed simply, in a black T-shirt, jeans, and boots, her hair swept back in a ponytail. Clearly, she shared my uniquely utilitarian sense of style. She squinted around the bright desert landscape, scowling until her gaze landed on me and my escort.
“Figured you’d be out here waiting for us,” she said. “Please tell me we’re not walking anywhere. This place is hotter than Hell, and I can say that as a certainty.”
“It’s all in how you dress, sweet buns, I told you that.” Nikki emerged next, and though I’d been working with the inimitable Ms. Dawes now for long enough to know what to expect from her, it was all I could do not to burst out in a startled laugh. Theodore and his crew weren’t so circumspect. A few of them nearly popped an eyeball.
Nikki Dawes paused with clear mastery of the moment as she gazed around the arid plane. True to her word, she was ready for the location, her face shaded both with oversized cat’s-eye sunglasses and a wide-brimmed sunhat that sported a multicolored scarf fluttering jauntily in the breeze. Beneath that hat flowed a Godiva-worthy tumble of rich red curls, curls that spilled over her bright white button-down blouse with rolled-up sleeves, tied high on her waist, the front of it open to reveal a siren-red bikini top. The top matched the white micro miniskirt, and below that were miles of leg that ended in fire-engine-red-and-white high-heeled wedge espadrilles. She looked like she should be sunning on the French Riviera.
“That was what you decided to go with for the meeting?” I asked, because someone needed to break the tension before one of the men fainted.
“Hey, I’m officially here to spectate,” Nikki countered. She extended one well-muscled leg. “And I’ll have you know, these are spectator espadrilles.”
I made the introductions, watching as Theodore communicated our location via his radio then summoned a vehicle, which emerged from behind the guard station. We all piled in dutifully, Nikki doing her level best not to flash our escort. With a puff of desert sand, we roared off down the road to the facility—a squat, sprawling compound in the middle of miles of nowhere.
Theodore and his well-dressed thug army escorted us through the silent facility. Dozens of doors were cut into the bare walls, reminding me of the portals we’d last seen in Armaeus’s conference room, only all these doors remained firmly closed. He finally stopped at one at the far end of a long hall and knocked. A second later, he pushed it open.
The doorway led into a brightly lit room, the sun spilling into our corridor. Theodore glanced into the chamber with a smile and straightened, and I realized he suddenly looked a whole lot less like a thug and a whole lot more like a one percenter. Who were these people?
“Monsieur de Castille,” Theodore said, stepping into the sunlight. And then he turned to his left. Bowed. “Cardinal Ventre.”
I froze, but not quickly enough. The guard behind me put his hand into the small of my back and propelled me forward. Nikki and Sariah followed, and the door clicked shut behind us.
In front of us, face rapt with fascination, was Henri de Castille, spokesperson for the Sentinel Group. Beside him stood the leader of the organization that had committed itself to destroying everything Connected in this world.
SANCTUS.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I would say welcome, but you do not look very pleased to see me, Madame Wilde.”
The cardinal was looking the worse for wear, but the last time I’d had word of him, he was barely rocking a pulse. So things were improving. “I didn’t realize you’d received a second lease on life. Divine intervention?”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways.” Ventre smiled, and I didn’t miss the dark cast to his teeth or the faintly blueish hue to his skin. He wasn’t healthy by any means, but he was alive. I had a sneaking suspicion there were powerful pharmaceuticals at work in his system. Either that or prayer had started having some really nasty side effects. “But the time for the aberration that is the Connected community, the collection of the faithless, is coming to an end.”
Idiot.
“Madame Dawes, it is a pleasure to meet you. But you, Madame Wilde, you are…” He frowned, glancing back to me. “Your twin?”
“Hardly,” Sariah scoffed. “Think of me as her more civilized little sister.”
Henri looked sharply at Theodore the bodyguard, who remained stone-faced. “We had no intel on a sister, Monsieur de Castille. The first we received word of her name was at the guard station.”
“Well, your intel is clearly for shit,” Sariah said, now making a show of examining her fingernails. “Sara’s got a protective streak a mile long, but I begged and I begged, and whaddya know. She let me tag along.”
“But we should have known…” Henri began, clearly fascinated. “Are there more of you? An entire family of powerful psychics?”
“Impossible.” Cardinal Ventre bristled, but I held up a hand.
“With God, all things are possible,” I intoned, smiling as the man shot me a dirty look. Henri, for his part, appeared delighted with the possibility of an entire tribe of Mini-Mes. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I sent a glance to Nikki. Nikki grinned back.
“Perhaps you will be so kind as to allow us an interview of your own, when all this is through?” Henri pressed Sariah.
“You got it, big guy.” Sariah gazed with wide-eyed interest around the room, her focus lingering on a pile of jade stones stacked in a tidy arrangement on Henri’s desk. “Hey, those are pretty.”
Henri stared, fascinated, as she moved toward the desk, but I didn’t miss how he signaled Theodore to shadow her. Apparently, the head of the Sentinel Group was a look-but-don’t-touch kind of guy. Sariah merely leaned forward when she reached the desk, eyeing the rocks appreciatively. “Where did you get these?”
“They were a gift, you could say,” Henri offered. “Do you know what they are?” From his tone and interest, I could tell he didn’t have a clue what they were—I certainly didn’t either.
Sariah did.
“I…” She frowned. “I feel certain I’ve seen them before, but…” Then she shrugged, looking genuinely confused. “My head… Sorry, I just—it’s right on the tip of my tongue.” She lifted a hand to rub her forehead, easily the worst acting job I’d seen since Nicolas Cage in Wicker Man.
Henri, however, appeared taken in by the bad acting—or maybe he was simply that polite. He nodded again to Theodore to keep an eye on her, then he shifted his gaze to me. “But at the moment, I’m sure you must have some questions, Madame Wilde.”
“Probably fewer than you’d expect. The first is the most relevant. We had a deal. Are you still going to honor it?”
Henri spread his hands. “But of course. We made outreach to the Council on open channels the moment we sent you the invitation and detected action that you’d responded. We haven’t had sufficient time to do more than make that outreach, but we anticipate a response any time now.”
Detected action? These guys clearly had eyes on us. Simon needed to schedule a touch base with our security system in the near future, along with a one-on-one with our firewalls. Maybe they could double-date.
“They haven’t responded yet?” I asked with a frown.
“Alas, no. But you are here, now. Perhaps they merely wished to demonstrate they were honoring our contract.”
I thought about that. Whatever tech the Sentinel Group had for the Council, I suspected it would be taken from them summarily once they gave Armaeus even the remotest access. That was why the offer of outreach hadn’t been responded to. Knowing Armaeus, he was crawling around inside Henri’s head right now to get what he needed to steal the tech before Henri even realized it.
“I’m insulted,” Armaeus’s voice purred in my mind. “But keep talking, if you would.”
I narrowed my gaze on Henri. “Explain to me why you’ve thrown in with SANCTUS? I thought you guys prided yourself on your connections. Last I heard, SANCTUS wasn’t doing too well. Looking at Cardinal Ventre right now, he isn't, either. Seems to me they’re bringing down your credibility, not amping it up.”
Ventre didn’t react, though he watched me with a feral glare, while Henri chuckled indulgently. “Cardinal Ventre and I are not so dissimilar, eh? Ancient organizations dedicated to a single-minded cause, a history of wealth and education, and, it must be said, privilege. It is not so hard to believe that we would find each other, connect with each other, secure ways that we could mutually benefit each other. As you well know, the world is advancing at an ever more rapid pace. It’s good to have allies.”
“Uh-huh. Well, your ally here is circling the drain. I’d maybe consider a new recruitment plan.”
This time, Ventre did bristle, and I felt better about myself. Henri remained easygoing, almost affable, but I didn’t miss the way he gauged the animosity between me and the priest. There was something assessing in his eyes that went beyond simple interest in this conversation, and it occurred to me that whatever information Ventre had been supplying his little buddy with might not have been wholly complete. If that meant Henri somehow had underestimated me, then good. Because the more I considered the “office” where we’d ended up, the more sketchy it became.
First, while we still were technically in Nevada, this location was beyond isolated, and relatively well protected, given the guard house and all the guns. Secondly, we were on the ground floor of whatever building this was. That was more concerning. I knew from experience that megalomaniacs liked to be situated high, in penthouse suites and mountain mansions. A dirt-level complex on the edge of Tumbleweed Junction… We had to be here for a reason. I was pretty sure it’d be a reason I wouldn’t like.
Henri was talking again, and I feigned interest as I scanned the rest of the room. Not much to help me there. The place looked exactly as it appeared to be: a director-level office in the middle of nowhere.
“—and we take some pride in that,” Henri was saying, though I had no idea what he was proud of. I suspected the list was long. “SANCTUS has always been more than the sum of its parts, as indeed so is the Sentinel Group. Between our organizations, we have influence over fully three-quarters of the industrialized nations of the world, including the largest and most powerful ones. That said, we have long had the dispute over the question of: why are we here? I know we aren’t alone in that.”
He paused, apparently looking for validation. I shrugged. “That isn’t covered in your mission statement?”
Henri’s grin widened. “But yes, of course it is. SANCTUS was created for the greater glory of God, the Sentinel Group for the advancement of humankind. Yet our two organizations are thriving—and yes, yes, I know. SANCTUS has been damaged. But it will return, Madame Wilde. Surely you must know that. And so our age-old argument continued. Not who is better—we don’t think in those terms. But who is the greater inspiration to push humanity to success—man or God? It was an impossible question that absorbed us completely. And then a new challenge came to the fore when SANCTUS ran into its, shall we say, challenges. Challenges brought about by a people you call the Connecteds.”
“Heretics,” Cardinal Ventre breathed.
“Exactly so.” Henri nodded. “We’d long since discounted psychic phenomena, of course. Those who professed to practice it had been on the fringes for so long, they were almost aberrations, so rare in natural occurrence that they didn’t need to be taken seriously except by those who viewed them as a sin against God. But the world grew smaller and, perforce, there were fewer places to hide. Or, as with all things, evolution finally took hold of this aberrant group and pushed its members to greater natural strength. And then came the technological renaissance, a flowering of science and technology that is agnostic when it comes to those
whom it can aid. To challenge an organization like SANCTUS, the Connecteds have become a very real force indeed, none greater than the most advanced Connecteds, the secretive group of the Arcana Council.”
I rolled my eyes. “And this matters to you why?”
He smiled with unfeigned enthusiasm. “Ah! You must see it. Because of these Connecteds, the impasse between Cardinal Ventre and me has grown. Now we have the wrinkle of humans who are, shall we say, neurotypical versus humans who are…not. Who would win?”
“The war on humans,” Nikki muttered, not quite to herself. “Box number two, prepare to be checked.”
Henri flicked Nikki a glance, enough curiosity in his gaze that all my nerves tightened. Ventre completely ignored her, but then, Ventre would. Of the two, Henri’s reaction was the more disturbing. I wanted to like this guy, I really did. He had tech that could help the Council, and that counted for a lot. But enough was enough.
“Cut to the chase, Monsieur de Castille,” I cut in. “You have to know there’s no love lost between Cardinal Ventre and me. But I don’t have a problem with you. I didn’t really know you existed until two days ago, except as a sort of urban legend. I’m pretty good with those.”
The Frenchman smiled. “I am sure you are.”
“So what is this test you want me to take?” Not something that will lead to a war, I pleaded internally, no matter what the Hierophant had said and Nikki suspected. Surely no war could launch in a civilized boardroom among three chatting adults. Surely the lives of hundreds of thousands of people—perhaps millions by now, but only just—didn’t hang in the balance over a conversation held in a stream of bright mid-morning sunshine.
