by Jenn Stark
She was gone. I was too late.
Always too little, too late.
I reached out, and another explosion of activity on the monitors penetrated my consciousness. On the table, a ripple shuddered across the girl’s face, and I heard—felt —knew her last moments: the screams, the cries, the prick of the needle in her neck, and the long spiraling crash toward—
“No!”
I jolted awake, sprawled out on Armaeus’s chair. Scrabbling like a crab, I crouched back into the cushions, my gaze swinging around. “What?” I said, too loudly. “What happened! Why am I here? Why did you—”
“I brought you out of the session early.”
Armaeus’s voice was a rock in the middle of a stormy sea, and I floundered toward it, shaking my head, trying to see. Gradually, too gradually, my eyes cleared and the vertigo edged down long enough for me to breathe.
“Where… what…”
“Eshe has departed. She received the information she needed. You did well, as you always do.” He studied me with his inscrutable gaze, and every one of my nerve endings flared with warning. “Perhaps too well.”
“I—oh. Good.” I realized I was clutching a pillow, and I forced myself to unlock my hands from it, ordered myself to breathe. Carefully, deliberately, I set the pillow on the chair’s armrest. Patted it. “We’re good, then.” I drew in a long, stabilizing breath, and willed myself to pull it together. “We’re good.”
“You didn’t need to flee the city to avoid Eshe.”
Irritation crackled through my system, healing me faster than any positive affirmations ever could. I flicked my gaze to Armaeus, glad to note that my eyes were focusing again. “I didn’t ‘flee.’ I got bored.”
“Bored.” Armaeus twisted his lips around the word. “How intriguing that your ennui coincided with the call Father Jerome placed to you, advising you of the new flood of Connected children on his doorstep. Children who, through his intercession, had barely avoided getting kidnapped, killed, and dismembered for the use of their body parts, whether by dark practitioners, SANCTUS, or both.”
I winced, seeing their faces. So many kids, their expressions tight with confusion, their eyes hollow with fear. How many had Jerome already hidden away? How many more would he need to hide as the war on Connecteds continued to heat up?
And why hadn’t we known about the pale, fragile blonde, dead on some table in Istanbul because we hadn’t reached her in time?
Armaeus continued, oblivious to my distress. “I presume you are far less bored now, given that Father Jerome’s bank accounts have been increased by more than a hundred thousand dollars?”
I scowled. “Nothing in my contract says I can’t take on additional work.”
“If you needed additional work, I could have supplied it. My assignments will always take precedence over Eshe’s, as does my protection. Had I known you were avoiding her, I would already have intervened.”
I closed my eyes to avoid having to respond to that one. Armaeus’s “assignments” came at the price of me being around Armaeus. And that had its own set of challenges. He wasn’t merely sex on a stick. He was dangerous at a primal level, gigging my lizard brain even when I wasn’t in the throes of a viselike headache.
Man, my head hurt.
“Miss Wilde.”
“Just resting my eyes. Carry on.”
He sighed with irritation. “Your instability is becoming a problem.”
Oh? I opened up my right eye, the one that hurt less. “Not to me.”
Armaeus scowled at me in monovision. “You’re on retainer to the Council.”
“Not true.” I opened the other eye, then squinted. “You talk a good game, but right now, Eshe is the only one of you guys paying me. Trust me. I keep track of that stuff.”
“And I would suggest that to take advantage of additional work opportunities, you must actually be here.”
Finally we were getting somewhere. I scooted upward on the chair, which was so soft it threatened to swallow me whole. “If you have an actual job for me, why didn’t you tell Nikki? She’s my people.”
“Nikki Dawes is not your ‘people.’ She’s barely her own people.” He scowled at me. “I’m not sure you’re sufficiently prepared for this new assignment.”
“Does it pay?”
“Of course. Further, it involves a direct response to SANCTUS. ”
I sat up abruptly, Cardinal Rene Ventre’s image giving a face to my pain, all spectacles, squinty eyes and tight lipped grimace. “Then consider me prepared.” I worked out a kink in my neck. “What’s the gig?”
Armaeus regarded me a long moment more. He did that, sometimes when he thought I wouldn’t notice, sometimes blatantly, like now. Eyeing me as if I was some sort of bug in a specimen jar, batting against the lid to escape.
Despite my bravado, I knew what the Magician was seeing: I looked like crap. Skin white and pasty, enough coffee in my system that I practically vibrated, my eyes hung with fatigue, my hands twitchy. I was cold too. Constantly, ridiculously cold, the ache of some deep chill starting in my gut and rising up to put a choke hold on my lungs, my throat.
And then there was this blasted headache.
“I can help you with that.”
I riveted my gaze on him. “Help me with what? I didn’t say anything.”
He sent me a withering glance. “Please. I don’t need to read your mind to know you’re in pain. I didn’t realize it was so extreme, however.” He paused. “Perhaps it’s time we employed another Finder.”
Hold the phone. “What are you talking about?”
“Nigel Friedman, I believe, was interested in working with us. You remember him, don’t you? He proved quite resourceful in Rio de Janeiero, what, fifteen months ago?” Armaeus flashed his teeth in a predatory smile. “I suspect he could have use for a quarter million dollars for one week’s work.”
“A quarter million? You’re about to pay out that kind of scratch and you didn’t tell me earlier?” I stared at him, struggling further upright. “I had to fight off a corpse three days ago, Armaeus, for way less money. You could have said something.”
“I had no idea you were planning to leave the city.”
“Well, I’m back in the city.”
“And how long do you plan to stay this time? Or have you already begun preparations to run once again?”
I tiptoed right around that shard of broken glass, though I could sense the trap of his machinations closing around me. “C’mon. I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to. Everything. You can’t say I haven’t.”
“And you’ve been compensated handsomely for your work. But this job is different. The rules are different.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Different in what way?”
“We will be going after SANCTUS directly.”
“I like that kind of difference.”
“Perhaps, but a rogue employee has limited charm in this scenario. If you want this next assignment for the Council, there is no room for improvisation. I need you to be strong, and I need you to follow orders.”
“Check and check.”
His smile was grim, almost sad. ”And I need you to cease your panicked resistance long enough for me to touch your mind, should I need to do so. As I need to now.
Chapter Three
I stared back at Armaeus, willing the completely unreasonable dread his words caused to compartmentalize itself.
I couldn’t let him crawl inside my brain. I couldn’t. From his very first attempt to Vulcan mind-meld me to the time I’d tried to get extremely up close and personal with him in bed—an attempt I’d made exactly once—an insurmountable wall of noise and fear had practically leveled me. It was as if the touch of his mind on my inner thoughts triggered an all-out war.
“Or maybe I simply don’t get into a situation that would require you to touch my mind. How ’bout that? You tell me what to do, I do it. Easy peasy.” I punched down my fear, ordering myself to chill out. If he wanted to crawl around in
my thoughts, why shouldn’t I let him? Especially if it meant I could snare two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a week’s worth of work? I could toe a whole lot of line for that kind of green.
And yet…
The faintest smile creased Armaeus’s lips, as if he knew exactly the kind of battle I was waging internally. But I knew he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was used to getting an all-brain access pass to everyone he met. No way had he ever experienced giving up that kind of control himself.
“Your fear is quite unfounded,” he said, almost conversationally. “I’ve never sought to harm you. I seek to help you reach your fullest potential.”
“Yeah, well, right now you’re sounding way too creepy overlord. Trust me, I’m good for anything that shuts down SANCTUS. In case you missed the important part of Jerome’s call, the refugee situation is out of control over there. He’s out of room, and more children are coming in by the day. I know that money won’t solve that problem, not for long. But gutting SANCTUS will. So let’s talk.”
Finally, the Magician nodded. “Very well. One of the most important events of the season is starting this week in the city. There’s something we need from it, something you are well positioned to get us.”
“Mr. Olympia?” I frowned at him, deliberately misunderstanding. “I didn’t think you guys were in the market for pumped-up boy toys. Then again, I haven’t met everyone on the Council.”
Armaeus’s lips tightened. “Not Mr. Olympia. The Rarity.”
“Ahhh, the Rarity.” Out of sheer perversion, I clamped down on my thoughts, reveling in the spurt of power it gave me. It was childish, but so was I. The upshot, however, was that even as I claimed not to have heard anything about the most celebrated ancient gold and rare jewels show in the western hemisphere, Armaeus didn’t know if I was joking…or if I was just that ignorant.
Another beat, and he decided he couldn’t take the risk. “The Rarity typically draws investors, collectors, and arcane artifact marketers for four days of trading, selling, and alliance building. This year, it will also do something more. Something most of the attendees won’t notice. Something the Council will need to manage carefully, restricting its knowledge to a highly select group of people within the city. And no—spare me your quip.”
I grinned. “But it’s a really good one.”
“I have no doubt. You do know what I’m talking about, I assume?”
His exasperation was a balm to my shattered nerves. “Yeah, I’ve been to the Rarity before. Never in Vegas, though. They held it in Dubai last year. Really cut down on the riffraff.”
In truth, the old gold show wasn’t typically super useful to me in my line of work. The sellers were usually there for networking and publicity, not trying to sell stuff so much as form the kind of connections that would pay off down the line. So everyone tended to be on their best behavior. On the buyer side of the house, the collectors ranged from the curious to the shrewd, most of them loaded to the gills with money to spend—but in the market for artifacts with unassailable provenance. Not really my cup of tea. “I’m sure you got a catalog,” I said, shrugging one shoulder. “Why don’t you simply order what you want?”
“This year, the action will be much more dynamic. Several new vendors have recently joined the convention, with booths in the public sector and VIP suites off the floor.”
“Vendors like who?”
“The Mercaults. The Fourniers. The Kuznof Family.” He rattled off a laundry list of Who’s Who in the arcane black market, and I straightened—as much as anyone could straighten while sitting in a cream puff.
“Those people are legitimately trying to buy and sell stuff at the Rarity this year? Why? That’s totally not their crowd.”
“They would not have been invited to attend otherwise. They are also interested in the same collection we are, a set of unique artifacts which purport to give their bearers highly specialized abilities.”
“News flash, Armaeus. That’s every magical artifact ever created.”
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. He did that. “I need you to acquire these particular artifacts—quietly—and bring them to me for study. If they’re judged to be of no merit, you’ll then return them to the Rarity, with no one the wiser.”
“And if they’re judged otherwise?”
“Then the Council will utilize them to help address the power of SANCTUS.”
“‘Address’ as in blowing SANCTUS up, I hope.” I didn’t wait for him to respond. “This is the job you thought Nigel could do in my place? Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that.”
“Mr. Friedman has shown a remarkable ability to follow instructions.”
“He’s shown a remarkable lack of creativity, you mean.” I lifted my brows. “So who else is after these toys? Maybe I could get a bidding war going, if you really are set on someone else being your Finder.”
Armaeus’s eyes turned a shade cooler. “I would advise against it.”
“Just thinking out loud, you know, examining the angles.”
“The job, as I said, can be yours. However, utmost discretion is required on this assignment. We want nothing traced to the Council, especially given our proximity to the convention site.”
“Why not?”
“If we are to take action against SANCTUS, any action, it must be with the utmost secrecy. The goal of the Council is balance.”
“I’m sorry, did you miss the part where SANCTUS is hunting down and killing the Connected—especially kids?”
“We don’t know if they’re behind this newest surge of attacks. Heretofore, those crimes have been laid at the feet of the dark practitioners.”
“Practitioners who have been funded by SANCTUS, which my little trips around the world for Eshe have proven to anyone with eyeballs to see. They’re stamping out magic faster than we can get people out of their way, Armaeus. Worse, they think they’re on a mission from God. That’s not something you need to balance, that’s something you need to end.”
A smile flickered over his lips. “As I believe I mentioned, the ultimate goal of this assignment is to enable us to confront SANCTUS. Using the artifacts you will help us obtain.”
“What am I missing here? Why the whole business with this show?” I waved around his palatial office. “You’ve gotten your hands on every trinket worth coveting for the past nine hundred years. And you wouldn’t sell any of it to save your own mother. None of you collector types would. So who exactly are the people pawning off these goodies, and why don’t you deal with them directly?”
“The owners of these items have long held themselves out of the fray of arcane commerce. But word of SANCTUS’s campaign against the Connected has begun to draw notice among the upper level of practitioners, both dark and light. Demand is higher than it has ever been. Those with items of interest sense the unique economic climate and are finally ready to entertain bids.”
“Finally?” I narrowed my eyes. “Exactly how long have you been after these—what are they, actually?”
“Egyptian scroll cases. Anywhere from four to eight inches long, two inches in diameter, wrought of gold. This particular set has been missing since the Napoleonic era.” Armaeus gave me this information with deceptive nonchalance. I’d been around enough artifact junkies to know the signs when they thought they were onto a big score. Armaeus’s eyes were overbright, his hands doing that reflexive twitching thing. Somewhere in South America, an entire colony of butterflies was spontaneously combusting. But over scroll cases?
“Lot of scroll cases in the world,” I said evenly. “What’s so special about these?”
Armaeus didn’t hesitate. “The person who reads the words contained within these cases will, temporarily, wield the language of gods.”
“Sure they will.” I rubbed my jaw. “What gods are we talking about, specifically? Because that’s a pretty wide swath.”
“All of them.” His lifted hand forestalled my next question. “In a sense, for the time that the language’s esse
nce consumes you, you become a god. In the hands of the knowledgeable practitioner, every thought would become reality, every Connected would be swayed by his or her words, and every demigod, demon, angel, or spirit could be called up and bent to the will of the summoner.”
I thought about that. “I could see how that would be handy. I can also see why I wouldn’t be selling such items at a public auction.”
“It would appear the seller, Jarvis Fuggeren, wishes the pieces to be sold in the open. With witnesses. No private showings, no backroom deals.”
Jarvis Fuggeren? That was a name I didn’t know. And I would have remembered it if I’d run across it. “Okay, but how could any amount of cash counterbalance the voice of God? Seems kind of shortsighted.”
“If it is a voice you cannot use yourself…”
My eyes widened. No wonder I hadn’t heard of the guy. “He’s not Connected? But still—that’s kind of a heavy responsibility, isn’t it? Keeping that kind of trinketry out of the hands of the dark practitioners can’t be a fun job.”
“Even in the hands of the light, they are a danger. While locked in a private collection, they were no concern. Now, however…”
I blew out a breath. “Everyone and their brother is going to want those cases, if they really do what you say. When does this circus come to town? I want to check out the convention center. Or wherever the event will be held.”
Armaeus tilted his head, considering me. “The Rarity will be hosted at the MGM Grand, in its conference facilities.”
“That’s not one of your casinos.”
“Not at present.”
“But that’s where I’m going?”
His lips twitched. “Not at present. I would prefer you to acquire the scroll cases at their current location.”
I liked the sound of that. “Which is?”
“A warehouse at McCarran International Airport. Today, if you would. I will send—”
“I can go alone, Armaeus. I don’t need a babysitter.”
He paused just long enough for me to realize my error, and I beamed at him, full-frontal toady. “I mean, of course, Mr. Bertrand. Send along whoever you would like, Mr. Bertrand. I’ll follow your orders to the letter. And I can start right away.” I turned toward the door. Something bright and blue caught my eye—and I finally remembered what I’d wanted to find here.