by Liliana Hart
“Sorry, guys,” I muttered, knowing that no matter what happened in this room, I probably wouldn’t be keeping hold of this deck. Half the cards were on the floor, but the one topmost on the tabletop pile was face up. And I really wasn’t happy to see it again.
The Tower.
In a Tarot reading, being dealt the image of an exploding building was very rarely a good thing. Especially when you were currently trapped inside a building, with no discernible way out.
“Speak to me.” Fitz was right in front of me now, his bug eyes bulging as he held up something that looked distressingly like a hookah. He pushed the nozzle of the contraption into my mouth as one of the thugs clamped down on my jaw, pinched my nose shut, and then—with a sharp brutality I wouldn’t have thought he had in him—Fitz shoved his fist into my stomach.
Startled, I blew out a sharp gust of breath, then inhaled before I could resist the primal urge. Only, the gas from the hookah hose now stuck in my mouth was nothing like actual air. I instantly convulsed, going rigid in the guard’s hands as Fitz did something with the device that seemed to shoot more gas into my lungs. My head filled with images and noise, my stomach roiled, and when he finally yanked the hose out of my mouth, I lurched forward, ready to throw up everything I’d eaten for the last six weeks.
Instead, only words spewed out of my mouth, thick and hot.
“Death comes for you all,” I wheezed and took some satisfaction from how Fitz’s face suddenly went from cackling enjoyment to confusion. “Dead, destroyed. Your kingdom vanquished.”
“You haven’t been properly prepared,” Fitz growled, thrusting the tube at my mouth again despite my efforts to squirm away.
The gas poured into me once more, and I felt my eyes roll back, the images shattering through me those of destruction and pain, fire and noise. The black papal seal seared across my memory. I flailed forward, grasping Fitz’s wrist to where an identical seal was etched into his cuff. “You are betrayed!” I gasped.
“Get off me!” Fitz threw up his arm, and clearly his mods included some sort of steroidal component, because for a small man he really could pack a punch. I staggered back against the guards, barely coherent as they hauled my body up once more, Fitz beside me the whole time, blasting my face, my eyes with the gas. Mumbling words that made no sense, even to me, I was dragged across the carpet, slumped in the arms of the two guards. A door opened, and they tossed me to the floor. “Full dose,” I heard Fitz call out as the door slammed behind me, and I blearily turned to peer through the glass.
What I saw was a nightmare.
There was no longer just the sleazily posh room of Jerry Fitz and his thugs on the other side of the smeared glass, but the throng of dancing humanity beyond it as well, then the worn-down Binion’s casino beyond that, people hunched over faded baize-topped tables, acrid smoke heavy in the air. And I could see farther, to where the Devil reclined in some glassed-in penthouse, sipping from a golden chalice—then off again through streets and deserts and cities and oceans, until I soared far into the East, to the seat of power itself, amid a glorious palace. Beyond that treasure, as if lying in wait, something alien stirred in the darkness—a blue figure wrapped in a field of red. And in the midst of all of this, in the center of a great, arched room hung with gilded paintings and glittering treasure, I could see soldiers standing at attention around a black-robed man whose slight stature belied his strength. They all bent over a gleaming black console—as sleek and dark as Fitz’s wrist cuff, emblazoned with its grim seal. While gas filled the small chamber and the young women beside me sent up a keening wail, I lurched toward the glass. I know who they are! I know what they are doing!
“Speak!” The voice crackled over me, so loud it could be God himself demanding me to share my desperate vision.
“SANCTUS!” I cried, and I could sense Fitz stiffen, his guards still at ease, unaware of the meaning of the name, unaware of anything except the commands of their leader. I pounded against the glass, my words frantic now, panicked. “Death! Destruction! Your kingdom turned to fire!” I shook my head, frustrated at my own confusion. I need to be more clear!
“You lie!” Fitz roared back at me, and I felt the tears pool in my eyes, the warm rush of them falling down my cheeks as another burst of gas streamed from the vents. “I have delivered them their Devil and they have paid me for my work. I am one of them!”
“They despise you,” I cried, gagging on the gas that filled the space. “They won’t let you live. They cannot let you live!”
“I have met my obligations!” Fitz strode toward the glass, shoving his finger at me. “And you are not ready. I felt the Sight in you, but it’s too wild, too broken. You’re a shattered toy that no longer serves its master. You cannot partake of the Pythene mists if you’re not pure of heart, and you are not prepared!”
The laughter welled up inside me as I reached some new level of hysteria, something snapping within me like a too-frayed string. “And you have been betrayed,” I hissed, my words silken with threat. I crawled along the glass wall, my fingers grasping at its smooth surface. “You have been betrayed, and you will suffer, Jerry Fitz, undone by fear and treachery.”
“Shut up!” Fitz snapped, but he stumbled back from the glass at whatever he saw in my eyes, grabbing for his console.
“Did you think you could deceive the prince of lies?” I continued, slithering against the glass, tracking his path. “That there would be no price to pay? That pain would not rain down upon you in a storm of fire, engulfing your very soul?”
Fitz’s fingers twisted knobs on his console, and a new mixture flooded into the room. Even in my hallucinating state, I recognized a shift in the gasses, my body sagging forward as Fitz grinned in unholy triumph. Foggily, blearily, I realized his leering mug would be the last thing I would ever see on this earth.
That was a little depressing.
Right up until the moment that his head blew apart.
The glass shattered with the force of the blast, and oxygen rushed into the space as the noxious fumes spilled out, creating a deadly cocktail of gas and fire. The guards, realizing too late the carnage that was about to ensue, still managed to get almost to the door before being blasted through it, and I could hear the screams of the dancing throng in the world beyond.
And then, for a long and horrifying breath…there was nothing but smoke and darkness, and a distant, shifting blue figure, trapped on a field of red.
Watching me.
“Sara!”
Nikki was at my side, hauling me up as my eyes blinked open again, one of the body-modded guards at her side. Somewhere, he’d found trousers, I noted through my delirium, and he gathered up the two girls on the floor, one under each arm, then pounded for the door.
I tried to make my feet move, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate, slipping and sliding on the scorched carpet. Nikki used her not inconsiderable strength to throw me over her shoulder in an impressive fireman carry, giving me a unique upside-down view of the room. I blinked and stared, trying to make sense of it.
It wasn’t burning nearly as much as it should have been, given the destruction that immediately surrounded the bomb, but the only thing left of Fitz was a few of his hardier modifications—and the smoking wreckage of his exploded wrist cuff. Lying next to it was an equally pulverized…Magic 8 Ball.
I grinned, drunk on vertigo. Let the police figure out what to do with that.
The outer room of the demon hole was impressively empty by the time Nikki dragged me through it, her mouth now going a mile a minute. “Hans and Franz—whoever they are, I appreciate muscle like that, you know? And no inhibitions about putting it on display? I mean did you see those guys’ asses, I’m telling you,” she began, stilettos clumping over the now-doused labyrinth of fire, smoke still heavy in the air. It seemed like we were going in the wrong direction, and I suddenly felt…not so good. Not so good at all. “Still, they agreed Dixie’s psychics weren’t going to be good to anyone dead, after I practica
lly promised I’d have their babies. They’re going to be so disappointed when they figure out the plumbing doesn’t connect that way. Such nice shoulders.” She sighed. “By the time I got back to you, all hell had literally blown up and half the planet had fled like rats on fire.”
A door opened and closed, and we were in some sort of hallway, lit by dim blue light. Nikki picked up speed as we moved, and I focused on not throwing up on her while she continued her chatter. “But kudos to Fitz’s interior decorator, right? The back of Binion’s opens up into a maze of underground tunnels that extend out into points all over old Vegas. You can get anywhere from anywhere down here, looks like. And most importantly, we can get out.”
“Mmph,” I muttered as Nikki finally clattered to a stop. She slipped me off her shoulder, steadying me as I swayed.
“You look like shit, sweet cakes, but the moment we step outside these walls, the council is gonna be on you like rubber on a duck.” She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes until I pushed her hand away.
“Why?” I managed, then squinted as she waved at the high-tech fixtures blinking down at us over the large door.
“Fitz may have been a bastard, but he wasn’t cheap. That unit’s from Techzilla, Inc.” She grinned. “Psychic jamming device, top of the line. I suspect the council will want to get their hands on it, since it clearly blocks their asses too.” She waggled her brows at me. “Unless Hans and Franz strip it out of here first, which I sincerely hope they do. You ready for your close-up?”
I nodded, and she opened the door. We were in an alley that ran behind the Binion’s building, crowded with delivery trucks and a dozen or so half-clad clubbers. Smoke puffed out of some of the doors as they banged open, smelling of sulfur and too-sweet gas. There’d been so much gas—
“Up you go, babe.” Nikki had a strong arm around me, keeping me steady when I would have slumped to the ground. “I got a feeling we’re not out of this yet.”
She was right. We hadn’t moved ten feet when my vision was obscured by two perfect feet shod in luxury leather sandals. Laughter floated down around my head.
“I have so missed this city.” I squinted up into sunlight as the Devil stared down, his gaze full of warm admiration. “And all its many charms.”
“You’d better not have been kidding about that invite to your club, yo,” Nikki said, affording me a few additional moments to steady myself as she distracted Kreios, taking his proffered handkerchief to wipe the worst of the grit off her face. “I’ve earned a serious VIP suite.”
“I will personally see to all your needs.” His gaze swiveled again to me as Nikki managed something that sounded suspiciously like “meep.” “You were hurt worse than I expected,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice. “But you killed him, I assume?”
“Fitz? He is definitely dead.” Nikki snorted, speaking for me. “Unless he got modded to regenerate himself from bite-size pieces, anyway.”
“We didn’t kill anyone,” I half coughed. “You’re the one who planted that bomb.”
He frowned at me, looking genuinely confused. “Me?” he asked. “The council doesn’t kill mortals, Sara. Mortals kill mortals.”
“Right.” I had no patience for the council’s loopholes right now, or its effed up code of honor. And, truth to tell, SANCTUS could have been behind that bomb instead of the Devil. Fitz’s wrist cuff had been as destroyed as the Magic 8 Ball. My vision blurred again as I sagged, my hands on my knees, overcome with a sudden hacking fit that teetered just on the edge of something far worse.
“How much did she ingest?” Kreios asked over my wheezing. I missed Nikki’s answer as I spit into the street, pretty sure I should be concerned at the vivid blue hue of my bile.
“What was that shit,” I muttered. Kreios, of course, heard me clearly enough.
“In addition to the gasses Mr. Fitz no doubt mentioned, the mixture contains a cocktail of high-end designer hallucinogenics,” he supplied. “The very latest coming out of southern Asia, where they’ve somewhat cornered the market on the trade. Now that the wards are down on his lair, we will send in our analysts, at least once the police have—”
“Police!” I jerked my head up, panic finally cutting through my nausea. That couldn’t happen. “Okay, I’m out. Give Armaeus my love.” I straightened up painfully, willing my head to stop spinning. “He knows where to reach me.”
“So it is the police that centers your fear, Sara Wilde,” Kreios mused, looking at me with renewed interest. “And your fear is far greater than I find useful, as it shrouds your mind from me.”
“Hang on a tick,” Nikki interrupted the Devil’s complaint, peering down the alley. “That’s the ride for my girls. And since I also have no interest in dealing with the boys in blue, let me get them out of here.” She strode off to where the narrow avenue intersected with a main street, where a bright pink bus emblazoned with “Love in the Stars Chapel” now idled. The two highly pierced guards stood guard over a clutch of women huddled together on the pavement, and the still-unconscious twins as well. I should go to them, I knew, make sure they were all right. But the sound of sirens pounded through me, igniting me with a wholly unreasonable fear. I need to leave! To leave now, before I’m seen!
I turned back to Kreios, but he’d already slipped away—no doubt to explore the building for himself before the police poured through it. The alley was finally clearing of smoke, and dizzying heat beat down on me. I hated this city, I decided. Hated everything to do with it. And everything it held. I wanted nothing more than to leave it behind for good.
But as nausea crashed over me again, pinning me in place for another moment, I also couldn’t deny what I’d seen while under the influence of Fitz’s Pythene gas. SANCTUS was coming. Whether they had killed Fitz or the Devil had, I was no longer sure, but their darkness was stretching toward Vegas—was already in Vegas, I suspected. No way was Fitz the only dark practitioner on their payroll. Somebody needed to tell the council that—as well as the carnies, Nikki’s people. If SANCTUS was going to wage war in Sin City, the carnies would be the first to fall.
Father Jerome would want me to stay here as well, I was sure. At least until the young sisters from Kavala were stabilized. They would require hospitalization—perhaps more—before they could return home. How long had they been in Fitz’s lair? And what had they endured before they’d even gotten here?
I sighed, the familiar pull to run gnawing at me, matched by the equally oppressive obligation to stay. Those were my options: I could just leave, disappear. Hole up somewhere at least until I could inhale without hearing blue slime rattle around in my lungs.
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 had to warn Armaeus.
I reached into my jacket for my cell phone, the movement feeling more momentous than it should, as if a ripple shot out across the universe, ringing some far-off bell.
Then I remembered my phone was still 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, still limping, headed in the opposite direction of Nikki. 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 sleek limousine pulled up in front of me. Vertigo clouded my vision, and I staggered a little to the side, smoke and gorge rising up once more in my throat. A door opened, and I stared at it, not able to process anything anymore. I sank to my knees as the sickness overtook me, never even feeling the hands beneath my shoulders, around my waist; barely able to discern the words sliding through my hea
d.
A decision, once made, cannot be unmade, Miss Wilde.
Jenn Stark is a Golden Heart award-winning author of paranormal romance and urban fantasy. She lives and writes in Ohio. . . and she writes a LOT! In addition to this brand new novella to launch the Immortal Vegas series, she is also author Jennifer McGowan, whose Maids of Honor series of Young Adult Elizabethan spy romances are published by Simon & Schuster, and author Jennifer Chance, whose Rule Breakers series of New Adult contemporary romances are published by Random House/LoveSwept.
Find Jenn Stark online: Twitter | Facebook | Website
Acknowledgments
The journey of Getting Wilde from idea to finished story is a long and winding one, nearly a decade in the making. So the trail of my thanks could extend just as long. But to keep things a bit more brief, I will limit my thanks to these gracious souls, without whom there would be no Sara Wilde, in all her many incarnations: Misti Adams-Barnes, Liz Bemis, Kay Cassidy and Kristine Krantz, who have all listened to me tell this tale far too many times; Rachel Grant, Bria Quinlan, and Darcy Woods, who helped me make the leap to Indie Publishing (especially Rachel, without whom this story would probably be formatted in Comic Sans with animated gifs); Robin Perini, for inviting me into this amazing Boxed Set; the 2007 Romance Writers of America final round Golden Heart judges, who awarded the story with a Golden Heart in its incarnation as “Black Jack”; my editor Linda Ingmanson and her team, for their willingness to take on this new series despite my devout love of em dashes and random capitalization; my cover designer Gene Mollica, for contributing his extraordinary skill to bring the world of Immortal Vegas to life; and, finally, Geoffrey Girard, for his storytelling insights and guidance every step of the way. You have made my world more magical.
