Wicked And Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 4

by Jenn Stark

  “I mean, come on,” I prompted when Kreios stayed uncharacteristically silent. “He’s an archangel, the right hand of God, right? Why is he hanging out in Hell, biblical overtones aside?”

  “How do you know he’s there by choice?”

  “No, no, no.” I shook my head. “No answering a question with another question. Straight up, I want to know. What’s he doing there?”

  Kreios’s grin belied his amusement at my interrogation. “Revelations holds a key to that mystery. ‘And war broke out in heaven: Michael and his angels fought with the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they did not prevail, nor was a place found for them in heaven any longer. So the great dragon was cast out, that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was cast to the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.’”

  By now I was staring. “You memorized the Bible?”

  “You might say I have a passing acquaintance with it.” He squinted into the sunlight. “And, too, I have had ample time for study.”

  I ran through his words again as Kreios pulled in front of the Flamingo and we exited the limo. “So, Michael fought…he fought Llyr, is what you’re telling me. The same Llyr that caused Atlantis to fall, who the Council banished from earth. That’s the dragon you’re talking about.” I scowled. “I thought Revelations was supposed to reveal the future.”

  “It was meant to record a story.” Kreios said. “A story that needed to be preserved throughout time. Arguably, it has been preserved, has it not?”

  “Okay, well… So Michael fought Llyr and kicked him out of heaven down to earth, and all his angels with him. That means, what… Michael is as old as Atlantis? He’s been knocking around that long?”

  “Once the Council was formed to counteract Llyr, Michael agreed to take a role as the Hierophant, from a distance. He said humanity required further study.”

  I stared at him. “From a sunny vacation home in Hell?”

  Kreios ignored that. “The first Magician granted his request and honored the Hierophant’s wishes to remain in the underworld. Every Magician since has petitioned for the Hierophant to return to the Council, when events seemed to demand it. Each time, they have returned empty-handed, never to make the request again.”

  “And this is the first time Armaeus has gone in?” At Kreios’s nod, I blew out a long breath. “Things are that bad.”

  “Or, that good.” Kreios stood aside as a doorman appeared at the main entry to the Flamingo. When the man opened the door, however, the lobby that greeted us wasn’t the retro-fab interior of the 1940s era casino, but a lush wonderland of marble floors, thick white carpets, and a forest of tropical plants. Enormous ferns spilled over large vases and draped down from wide bowls suspended from the high ceilings, rustling in the breeze from huge woven ceiling fans. As I gaped, Kreios continued. “The Magicians recorded the request, the results, and no other comments regarding the matter. It’s been a point of speculation for Armaeus for centuries, but he’s had no good reason to impose on the Hierophant’s seclusion. Now,” he waggled his hand, “he arguably does.”

  I scowled. “He’s using Viktor’s arrival as an excuse to find out what Michael’s been up to in Hell all these years? The Council doesn’t really need the Hierophant to return?”

  “Oh, we definitely need him. We need him and the Magician, and we need them both to be immortal.”

  Uh-oh. “And you’re telling me this…”

  “How did you render the Magician mortal?” Kreios asked companionably, as if we were discussing the weather.

  “I helped him drink from—”

  “No, no.” He waved me quiet. “In a general sense. What did you do?”

  Not being a stupid rabbit, I saw where this was going. My lips tightened into a mulish line. “I killed him.”

  He nodded. “You killed him, and he accepted that death. When it comes to turning him back immortal, the answer is as simple. You must attempt a death that he does not accept. He’ll call upon his magic to stop you, and the force of that magic will return him to his immortal state.”

  I stared. “Why me, though? Why does it always have to be me?”

  “I speak in generalities, I told you,” Kreios said, ignoring my scowl. “Merely a point of information.” He shrugged off the topic. “On another note, you are correct. Armaeus’s entry into Hell was noticed throughout the Connected community. To a greater extent than we at first realized.”

  “The dark practitioners tracked it, yeah,” I said. “Soo said they’re all upset about it.”

  “Upset, perhaps. Intrigued, certainly. Hell hasn’t been entered since the Dark Ages. There has been some speculation as to whether or not it has changed, and great anticipation about what might be found there. Despite a decided lack of sorcerers able to enter the dimension and then return, Hell has remained a popular dumping ground for unwanted artifacts and souls, as well as a way station of sorts for those not quite willing to leave this life on their assigned schedule.”

  “You mean like purgatory?” This was getting weirder and weirder. No wonder Armaeus had kept mum on the details of the place. He couldn’t have known I would be heading in myself.

  Could he have?

  The Devil strode over to a gleaming elevator bay. “As I mentioned, Hell is easy to get into, relatively speaking. Not so simple to exit. And there may be those on the other side who wish you to remain with them, versus letting you return. Or who might prefer you don’t succeed at your stated task.”

  I hadn’t thought about that, but he had a point. “Especially if I’m going in there after Soo’s family heirloom. That was supposed to stay hidden.”

  “The twin to the jade amulet around your neck.” Kreios nodded. “In addition, there is Armaeus to consider. He will not be expecting you.”

  “Ummm.” I glared at him. “And you’re not sending me down there to kill him, right?”

  “That isn’t necessary.” Kreios shook his head. “We merely need him to return.”

  “Well, okay, then.” I nodded. “I go in, I find him after I complete my own job, we get out. Easy-peasy.”

  “Ideally, yes.”

  I frowned at him as he punched the button for the elevator. “Meaning?”

  “Armaeus has not reported in after making initial contact with Eshe, yet he knew precisely where to find Michael. The records were explicit. There is no reason for his silence or his delay. Accordingly, we do not know what he is doing, or why, or what condition he’s truly in.”

  “Well, maybe…” I faltered. “You think he’s in trouble?”

  “It’s impossible to say.” The elevator shooshed open, and we stepped inside the chamber. “But it’s a potential concern. To ensure your own safety, you will need someone to ground you in this plane, no matter how deep into Hell you travel. Much as Armaeus has Eshe, though he’s choosing to ignore her at the moment.”

  “Yeah, no. I don’t need a study buddy.” The elevators opened onto a familiar sight. The Devil’s penthouse floor was full-on Arabian Nights, complete with sand-strewn walkways covered by thick Persian carpets, and a teak center deck beneath a billowing tent. Kreios’s earliest days had been spent in Constantinople, now Istanbul, and he’d never quite gotten over his penchant for all things Middle Eastern.

  He turned, offering me a small shrug. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. She sees what you see now. And what she’s seen distresses her.”

  “She who?”

  My question was interrupted by a piercing whistle, the kind intended to divert packs of rabid dogs.

  “Yo! ’Bout time you showed up,” Nikki Dawes yelled from the center of the room. “C’mon back, dollface. You’ve got to see this.”

  Chapter Five

  The Arcana Council’s part-time chauffeur and a full-time seer in her own right, Nikki wasn’t merely my best friend in Vegas, she was my only real friend in the world, outside of Father Jerome. And I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her until right
this second.

  Leaving Kreios’s side, I headed toward the cabana tent in the middle of the Devil’s oasis. “What are you doing back there?” I asked, pushing aside a fern.

  Nikki’s cackle caused me to shift direction. “A hundred-year-old demigod in fine repair asks me to spend the afternoon getting my nails buffed while waiting for your delinquent ass, who am I to say no?”

  I cleared the last of the foliage to find Nikki sitting in an enormous massage chair, her feet attended to by a shirtless, tattooed man whose muscles rippled in a veritable symphony of skin as he bent to his task. There were a lot of muscles and a lot of tattoos. Nikki grinned at me. “I have to say, the view is superb.”

  “Jonas.” At Kreios’s word, the man at Nikki’s feet sat back. Her toes gleamed with melon-colored nail polish that matched her fingernails, evident as she waved her hands at me in a five-fingered salute. Her powerful calves glistened with oil all the way up to the hem of her knee-length terry-cloth robe.

  Nikki changed direction, flapping her hands at Jonas. “I’ve got your number, sweetheart. I’ll call.” Jonas scooted back from the chair, then helped her up. He stood taller than Nikki’s impressive height of six foot four, and she patted his bare chest with appreciation, tossing her chestnut hair. “There’s also the small matter of my tip, which you’ve definitely earned. Give me a few days to catch my breath first.”

  Jonas grinned, then turned on his heel under Kreios’s watchful regard, moving silently back into the fronds. A small battery of white-smocked attendants replaced him, trotting up to the teak platform to wheel off the massage chair. Nikki gazed after the monstrosity with clear animal lust.

  “I could have one delivered to your home, but it would leave you unsatisfied,” Kreios said. “There is something to be said for luxuries you do not have at your disposal every day.”

  “True enough.” Nikki clapped her hands together, flicking her finger pads along her nail tips to satisfy herself they were dry. She whipped off her pink robe to reveal tight black high-waisted shorts and a silky orange short-sleeved top. As I watched, she sat down on a long teak bench and strapped on a set of high-heeled gladiator sandals with straps that went all the way up to her knees.

  The result: instant knockout. A knockout who was fairly bouncing out of her skin. “So, when do we get started?” Nikki asked, turning to Kreios. “Because now that my nails are done, I can leave any time.”

  Kreios hesitated. “Unfortunately, entering Hell will require a bit more preparation than that. Since Sara is not the Magician, there is a small matter of a key,” he slid his glance my way. “Happily, a solution has already presented itself to that challenge.”

  I scowled at him. “How did you know about Soo’s key?”

  “Your mind is only partially blocked—” His smile deepened. “Was only partially blocked to me.”

  “Uh-huh. So if you knew the key was sitting in evidence, why didn’t you steal it already?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nikki interjected. “You need an honest-to-God key to get into Hell? And it’s in a Vegas lockup? This just keeps getting better.”

  “A key is not always required.” Kreios shrugged, still regarding me with interest. “In his mortal state, Armaeus has the ability to enter Hell at will. He also has the incantations to do so. With a key, those are not needed.” His eyes lit with avaricious interest. “The key that Soo has identified amid the Rarity’s collection is very old. I didn’t know it possessed such properties though. I shall look forward to examining it.” He let his smile widen as he nodded to me. “I would hurry, however, if I were you. I’ve scheduled our flight to Prague for tomorrow morning.”

  “Prague?” I groaned. “The portal to Hell couldn’t have been in Tahoe?”

  “The Clementinum Library in Prague, to be precise,” Kreios said. “I’ll be going with you.” He lifted a hand as my brows shot up. “Not to act as chaperone, I assure you. I meant what I said that it was easier to get into Hell than it is to leave it. Nikki will be your guidepost to return to this plane. I’ll serve as Armaeus’s, should he require it, since he is no longer in communication with Eshe.”

  I frowned. “You really think something has happened to him?”

  Kreios shrugged, his casual demeanor belying the urgency of his words. “It’s impossible to tell,” he said. “But of all the members of the Council, Armaeus knows me best after Eshe. I am the natural candidate.”

  “Right.” Suddenly, the prospect of the underworld seemed…a little darker than it had before. I didn’t know enough about this dimension I was about to enter, and Kreios’s information about Hell so far had definitely put the “brief” in debriefing. Worse, every probing question I now sent his way was met with a conditional answer, and conditional wasn’t helpful. I needed harder data, and I didn’t want the Devil on my shoulder when I found it.

  After a few more rounds of all Qs and no As, Kreios let us go with suspicious good cheer, no doubt dreaming of the key I was slated to steal. Within minutes, Nikki and I found ourselves on the sidewalk, the sun finally setting low on the horizon. She tossed her head back, drawing in the pungent aroma of beer, fried food, sweat, and skin.

  “Kreios has sweet digs, but nothing beats the real Strip,” she said, hooking her arm into mine. “So where do you need me to take you?”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Only after Kreios cock-blocked you for the fifth time in your attempt to understand what lies behind door number Six-Six-Six,” she said. “I actually don’t think he knows. Which is a little disturbing.”

  We were heading away from the Flamingo back toward the Palazzo, and Nikki walked with a determination that seemed promising. “You know anyone who can help?”

  She shrugged. “A couple of someones, actually. Hell’s kind of a dark place, and we do have our share of Connecteds who swing that way.”

  That made me glance toward her sharply. “You’re friendly with dark practitioners?”

  “Well, friendly is overstating it. But Vegas is a small patch. The dark practitioners here color outside the lines, sure, but they don’t traffic in kids or women.”

  I snorted. “Merely technoceuticals.”

  “Hey, nobody’s perfect. And between you and me, the techno pill poppers are about to get a whole lot of competition for their stash. The city’s already going through the mother of all detoxes, and it’s going to get a lot uglier before it’s done.”

  “The Magician’s pulse is wearing off, isn’t it?” We rounded the corner on the Strip, and the Palazzo loomed above us, the Wynn waiting beyond it. In the far distance, glinting in the deepening gloom, lay the SLS Casino, all that was left of the once fabled Sahara. When it was active, the Sahara Casino had served as the primary meeting ground for the Connected community. Was that where Nikki was taking me?

  “The pulse is definitely wearing off,” Nikki agreed, her stride lengthening as the crowds began to thin. With the relatively recent addition of the SLS Casino, the stretch of the Strip between the Stratosphere and the main cluster of hotels was not as sketchy as it used to be, but it still offered a lot of wide-open spaces, best for enjoying in the full light of day. “Dixie has been fielding frantic calls for the last couple of days from Connecteds who’d been enjoying the upgrade your little face-off with the Magician afforded everyone in the city two weeks ago, and ain’t nobody happy. She’s trying to keep everyone calm, but it’s no picnic.”

  If anyone could rein in a host of stressed-out psychics, it was Dixie Quinn—noted astrologer, proprietor of the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars, and self-appointed Mother Hen to the Connecteds of Las Vegas. Dixie made it her business to be in your business, but she did it with such genuine concern for you that you almost forgave her Southern accent, pink cowboy hat, and bouncy blonde beauty. Almost.

  “Is everyone losing their edge?” I asked. “Or only some of the Connecteds?”

  “So far as we can tell, not everyone, but most. I’m flying high still, for which I’m e
ntirely grateful. Dixie and Brody are fine. The rest of the Vegas Connecteds, not so much.”

  “Why the differences?”

  “Dix and I are trying to run that down,” Nikki said. “So far, you’re the sole nexus between all of us, the single person we all have in common with extended contact.”

  “Me?” I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “’Fraid it does, dollface,” Nikki said. “You were at ground zero when it all happened, and you helped push the pulse out. So what if you didn’t plan to be there when the Magician worked his mojo? That doesn’t change matters. You were there, and you’re close to everyone who still has amped abilities. You might be the lucky rabbit’s foot.”

  “Great.” I scowled. “I’ve seen what people do to the rest of the rabbit in order to get to that foot.”

  “My thoughts exactly. So let’s not advertise your bunny benefits where we’re heading, mmkay?”

  We strode on past the SLS Casino, and to my surprise, we kept walking. “The Stratosphere?” I asked, peering farther down the Strip. “Please tell me we’re not going all the way to Fremont Street.”

  “Stratosphere is it, thankfully. It’s Wednesday night.”

  “So?”

  “Wednesday is poker night for the local swells, specifically the kind that prefer to play dirty. They don’t call themselves dark practitioners here, by the way. They prefer the term Spinners.”

  I eyed her. “You’re making that up.”

  “Hand to God. Apparently, they consider themselves different from run-of-the-mill sorcerers because they take fate into their own hands. Fate, evolution, DNA—they spin the whole mix together to create the outcome they want. Spinners.”

  “Whatever helps them sleep at night, I guess.”

  “Yep. Anyway, they spend a lot of time in the guts of the city beneath Fremont Street, places where you can’t really get a lot of oxygen unless it’s hooked up to a tank. Up on the observation deck of the Stratosphere, they can breathe. And, you know, ride a few coasters.”