by Jenn Stark
“Simply this. If such work with Connecteds is handled by the Sentinel Group, I can assure you that those who volunteer will be treated with utmost care and consideration. If someone else attempts it, well—I can make no such guarantees. And so I would rather have your sanction to continue my work than your prohibition.”
“But you will accept my prohibition? Whenever and however I level it?” I asked. I knew how to negotiate too.
Henri didn’t hesitate. His eyes were clear, his brow unfurrowed, and though I couldn’t read his thoughts, I could read his energy. It was as steady as his words. “I would. I would not like it, as it runs counter to our stated mission. But I would honor it. I have caused you a great loss.” This time, he didn’t need to gesture to the video screen. “It was not my intention to do so. Further, I have certain…sway, as they say, with those leaders who might feel moved to engage in conversation that would lead to the…restriction of the Connected community, whether out of fear or simply to reassert their own power. I could, very delicately, of course, enter into those conversations and direct them more appropriately. This I would do regardless of your sanction or your prohibition. I give you my word as bond.”
We stared at each other a long moment, but the truth was, I believed him. Moreover, I believed him when he said he would not unnecessarily screw with the Connecteds who chose to submit to his research—whether for the money he was clearly willing to pay, or for the power they would seek either from Henri or a hundred others like him. I couldn’t police the Connected. But I could make their way safer.
“Then it looks like we have an agreement, Monsieur de Castille. I will leave you to your work.”
“And I will leave you to your day,” he said, giving me another short bow. “I must attend to the unexpected death of a man who had been a good friend to me, for all that he was blinded by the very rules that guided his every breath.”
We declined Henri’s offer of a limo back to Vegas, particularly when his newly awakened front gate guard reported that an unknown vehicle was entering the premises. Sariah was nowhere to be found, and as we exited the building, Nikki frowned at the newly lush landscape that stopped abruptly about a quarter mile away from the compound, give or take. “You think she left with Atria?”
“Probably. And she wouldn’t have done so if she felt Atria was off for any reason.” I didn’t have any real reason to trust Atria, but I did trust Sariah to take care of herself. Mostly.
The driver of the limo gave an irritated honk, and both Nikki and I jerked our gazes to it.
“Detective TrueHeart, gotta be,” Nikki said. “Maybe he picked up Sariah and they’re canoodling in the front seat?”
“Perish the thought,” I said, though it would have been good to knock one worry off my list. Not that I worried about Sariah, exactly. She could take care of herself. I totally knew that.
Brody didn’t get out of the limo as we approached, completely flaking on his chauffeur role, but I forgave him as we crawled into the car and there were two enormous cups of coffee and a bag of Danishes waiting for us in the console attached to the back of the front seats.
“I want to kiss you on the mouth, sugar buns,” Nikki crowed, sliding into the seat while managing to snag a coffee cup in one of her large hands before she hit the far side.
“Get in line,” Brody said, but there was no denying the relief in his eyes as he raked his gaze over both of us. “You’re not hurt. Mr. Wizard said you might possibly be hurt. He seemed a little jacked up over it.”
“He say anything about Sariah?” I blurted, before I could remind myself again that I wasn’t worried.
“He didn’t. She called me.”
Nikki’s hand paused halfway to her mouth, the Danish poised mid-lift.
“She called you?” I asked, cool as a cucumber, remembering my seventeen-year-old self imagining the very idea of calling Officer Brody, of calling him and him wanting to pick up… “She’s, ah, got your number?”
“Yeah. I gave it to her at the hospital. Said she was driving back into the city with some chick named Atria who is officially a member of your fan club. The woman was bawling her eyes out from what I could tell, and Sariah said to tell you not to worry, that she was fine. What the hell was that about? Who’s the chick?”
I focused on my coffee. “Just someone I met at work,” I said.
“Yeah, well, what about this Henri de Castille guy? What I can get from the brass, he’s the real deal, richer than God and wielding twice as much play with power brokers. What did he want from you?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Nikki said, taking a long slug of her coffee. She stared at her coffee cup, and when she spoke again, her voice was strangely soft. “He just wanted to see if Sara was stronger than anyone else in the world. And she was, of course. Stronger and better than all the rest of us combined.”
I held up the hand that didn’t have a chokehold on my coffee. “Well, I don’t know about—”
“Yeah, you kind of do,” Nikki said, cutting me off. “We all do, if we’re being honest. We’ve known for a long time. And it’s time that you knew something else, too. Something we’ve been meaning to tell you for awhile, that needs to be said so you never forget it.”
Whoa. What? I blinked at Nikki, then glanced forward to Brody. He was eyeing me steadily through the rearview mirror, and unaccountably, I felt another surge of tears well up.
“Nikki?” I managed, shifting my gaze back to her. But she merely slanted her glance out the window, her throat working. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”
That question seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to say, and a strangled sob slipped from Nikki’s mouth before she smashed her lips together. I swung my gaze to Brody. “What?” I demanded. “What am I missing?”
“Sara…” Brody’s hands clamped on the wheel hard enough that his knuckles turned white, but before I could ask again what was wrong, he kept talking. And what he said made me grip my own coffee cup so tightly that a tendril of electricity danced across its lid.
“I knew you were special the very first time I saw you. Did you know that?” Brody began. “Freaked-out kid, dragged into the precinct house by your loudmouth mother, a woman who would not give up until she’d bent the ear of everyone in shouting distance, insisting that you were who we should talk to, that you knew what was going down with the missing kid case, that if someone didn’t talk to you and talk to you quick, she was going to call Oprah and Howard Stern and Judge Judy all together until someone let you have your say.”
I eyed him over my coffee cup. “I remember that. I was there.”
“And I was there too, a stupid punk rookie with a stick up my ass and my head puffed up with my own importance, and I knew—I just knew that the other cops were going to pull rank on me and dump me with the kid and her crazy mother, knew that this was going to be a nightmare, that my life was going to be turned upside down the moment I swiveled around in my chair. And you know what?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. There was that whole big cup of coffee in front of me, and more Danishes in the bag, and Nikki sitting across from me with her fist jammed up against her mouth and—and Brody kept talking.
“I was right,” Brody said, his eyes now fixed on the road in front of him as if it would lead him to the Pearly Gates. “You and your loudmouth mother completely and totally changed my life from that very first moment I laid eyes on you. Because I looked across that crowded room filled with shouting cops and ringing phones and stale java and three-day-old takeout and I saw you standing there with your hands clasped together around a deck of playing cards—what I thought were playing cards—and your eyes were huge and your face…your goddamned face…”
He lapsed into silence then, and I couldn’t help myself. “What was wrong with my face?” I whispered.
“You were so wrecked,” Brody fairly groaned. “You looked like the entire weight of the world had just slammed down on your shoulders, and you just needed someone—anyone�
�to help you shoulder that burden, to help take some of the pain away. And I looked into your eyes and saw the truth in them, and knew—flat-out knew that you could help me find the kid we were searching for, knew we would find that kid and other kids after, or you would literally kill yourself trying. And in that moment, I realized that nothing was ever going to be the same again for me.”
His gaze flicked back to mine in the rearview mirror. “Once again, I was right.”
I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. Tears were rolling down Nikki’s face now, her broad shoulders shaking.
“I don’t understand,” I finally managed. “Why’re you telling me this?”
Brody peeled his hands off the wheel, then resettled them. “I’m telling you this because you changed my life that day, the same way you change everyone’s lives you touch. And because you’re going to keep on doing that, no matter how much we’d like to keep you safe, no matter how much we’d like you to be more careful, to not run headlong into every crisis and not throw your own body and soul on the line to save whoever you think needs saving.”
His gaze met mine again in the mirror. “You’re going to the Council, Sara, and you’re going to do what you need to do to keep your people safe. And we’re going to be with you. The way we’re always going to be with you. Whether you’re a small-time artifact hunter or the goddamned mistress of the House of Swords or whatever it is that you think you need to be next. I’m standing with you, and that loudly sobbing gumshoe over there is standing with you—”
“Shut up already,” Nikki choked out.
“And no matter what you decide you have to be next, we’ll still go into every burning building, every blacked-out back alley, every temple or taco stand or tidal wave. Anywhere. Everywhere. Not only because it’s the right thing to do. But because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Me too,” Nikki whispered.
“And we thought you should know that,” Brody said. “That we’ll be there wherever your road takes you. Whenever, however, whatever you need us to be. That’s all we wanted to say.”
Silence filled the cabin of the car between us, the scent of rich coffee and sugar mixing with the salty aroma of tears. And I knew what I needed to do, now. I’d known for a long time, probably. I hadn’t known how I’d pull it off, exactly, at least not until now. But it suddenly was laid out in front of me as if I’d planned it all this time. All the pain, all the questions, all the doubts. All of it, leading to this.
“How long till we get to Vegas, Brody?” I asked as I looked out the window into the wide stretch of desert.
He checked his gauges. “An hour, give or take. So, what. We go straight to Prime Luxe?”
“We go straight to Prime Luxe,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Council was waiting for us. All of them.
The elevator doors swept open on a conference room of conventional size, the large bank of windows taking up one entire side of the chamber, flanked by solid walls. A single archway had been cut into the wall to the right of the Council table, a doorway without a door, filled with swirling shadows. Armaeus stood beside it.
Our gaze connected across the room for one glorious moment before everyone started talking.
“So it’s the Empress, right? I knew she would try for the Empress, the moment she took Roxie down,” Eshe said haughtily. Then she turned to me. “Well, if you’re the new Empress, you’re going to have to dress better. I cannot be forced to look at hoodies for an eternity, I won’t do it.”
“Oh, please,” Viktor sneered, but his gaze, when it briefly flicked to me, was hard. “She no more took Roxie down than you did. Roxie was weak. She is weak.”
Anger curled within me. I knew what I had to do, all right, and Viktor was part of it. But not yet. Not…yet.
“She’s many things, but weak ain’t one of them.” Simon sat back in his conference chair, his feet up on the table, eyeing me with satisfaction across the room. “I think this is going to be good.” Beside the Fool, the Hanged Man, Nikola Tesla, studied me over peaked fingers. He didn’t speak, but I didn’t miss the camaraderie he now appeared to share with the Fool. When he’d first come back from the ether, Tesla had gravitated to the Emperor. Clearly, he was moving up in his selection of friends.
Kreios, as usual, stood leaning up against the windows, silhouetted against the bright sun. Beside him stood Death, her face carefully blank. I had the feeling she wasn’t happy about being back in the Council's conference room so quickly, but I hadn’t summoned her. I hadn’t summoned any of them. Armaeus had.
Beside the Magician, the Hierophant stood impassively, once more without his sword. The positioning wasn’t a mistake, I thought. These were the two strongest Council members, followed by Death and the Devil. After that, the High Priestess and Emperor, and after that…
I glanced down the long table. Willem of Galt, the Hermit, sat in one of the farthest seats, his eyes on the tablet before him. He was still dressed in his nerd scientist attire, and his mouth was moving, though he wasn’t attempting to be heard by anyone in this room. Probably still trying to quell the hysteria of the solar outburst. That would take a while.
Still, as if he sensed my eyes upon him, the Hermit looked up suddenly, and caught me staring. His lips quirked into a weary smile, and I stiffened. I…recognized that smile, I realized. It was the same smile Sariah had given me, right before she’d left with Atria. His eyes were shaped the same as Sariah’s too. Another trill of strength curled inside me, and I returned his smile—slowly at first. Then I nodded. Willem of Galt. My…father. I would need to get to know him better.
I’d have time now.
“What? What can you possibly mean!”
My gaze jerked to the other side of the table, where Hera was struggling to rise. The one-time goddess of the Greeks had retained all her beauty in this version of her glamour. Tall, statuesque, with flowing dark hair and lush features, she was wrapped in a toga that she owned far better than Eshe ever had, and her green eyes flashed with anger. “She is not the Empress. She cannot be.” Her gaze turned toward Armaeus, her face beseeching. “You brought me here for that.”
“And instead you chose to join in power with the father of all gods,” boomed the man beside her, still seated. Big and bulky, Zeus had foregone the ancient Greek attire for a suit as elegantly cut as Armaeus’s, for all that it stretched over the body of a thug. His face was swarthy, his features broad and gruff, but his eyes possessed the same sparking fire as Hera’s. “It was a trade you’ll find to your advantage.”
“You!” Hera collapsed back in her seat as the two of them started to argue, and beside me, Brody gaped.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” he murmured. “They can’t really both be—”
“The Lovers,” Nikki said. “Choice after trial. And from the looks of things, they’re going heavy on the trial side.”
I scanned the room, nodding. They were all here. The Fool, the Magician, the High Priestess, The Emperor, the Hierophant. The Lovers, though I didn’t know if they had fully ascended yet. They would. They would not be suffered to remain on this earth if they didn’t. The Hermit, the Hanged Man, Death, and the Devil.
And me. For now, but not for long.
“How is it you would serve, Sara Wilde?”
The words seemed to flow out from the Magician to fill the whole room, and everyone went still—even the bickering Lovers, at least for this moment. The Fool watched me with almost feral intensity, Kreios was nearly bursting out of his skin, the Hierophant’s gaze was icy cold, and the Emperor…
The Emperor.
My lips curved into a smile.
“For millennia, the Council has watched the people of this earth, has protected the world’s magic, has done what it had to do to survive, to flourish, to thrive. But what it hasn’t done was engage in the world of magic it sought to protect. The Connected of humanity were left to founder, untended, as the tides
of their fortune rose and fell, first exalting those who could create, the alchemists and astronomers, the sorcerers and spirit walkers. Then conspiring to destroy them. Throughout all this, the Council did nothing. But it doesn’t have to be that way. It can’t be that way any longer, in fact. Not now. Not with the return of the gods and their magic. The time of change is upon you.”
Viktor shifted irritably in his seat. “You have no right to speak of change.”
“I have every right. Because I am that change.” I lifted a hand almost casually, my third eye snapping open. Across the table from me, Viktor froze, caught in a web of electricity that I pumped with scathing force along the energy circuits pulsing through the room. His face turned purple in rage at the restriction, but there was no pain that I sent him. No pain. I wasn’t here to judge Viktor. I was no good at that.
But I could see the truth in front of my face. See it and…finally…force it to be accountable. “For too long, I’ve told myself lies about what happened when I was a child, Viktor. Lies about what you did to my family. Told myself that the woman I thought was my mother had presented herself as something she wasn’t, had put herself in danger all to feed her own ego, her own need for validation. I told myself that it wasn’t your hand that struck her down, wasn’t you who threw her body away like garbage into the Memphis River. And so I could not judge you. And—worse—the Council needed you. Needed your strength, your ability. Needed your keen mind. Armaeus brought you to the Council to keep you from harming the world around us, to channel your energy into better purposes. And it was only when his attention grew lax, that your penchant for abuse, for violence got the better of you. You kidnapped, you enslaved, and yes—you killed.”
“I did not—”
“Silence,” I breathed. “It is not me you must answer to. I’m only the messenger. The finder, if you will. I’m the one who brings the dark into the light, who lays bare the hidden and recovers the lost. I am Justice of the Arcana Council, and I will find whatever I am set upon.”
