by Jenn Stark
“But first…” I moved back to the wall, scanning quickly. Gleaming artifacts from every corner of the world greeted me, along with piles of rich fabrics and chunks of misshapen rock whose very insignificance probably meant they held the power of the universe within their knobby forms. I paused on a bit of gold fabric stitched with red silken threads, clearly some cutaway from a flag or standard.
None of Armaeus’s treasures featured little placards. He should fix that.
“That piece is Scots, Miss Wilde. The Fairy Flag.” I bristled, but he continued with a thread of impatience. “I don’t need to read your mind for something so simple. Was that what you were seeking when you came here today? Since it wasn’t the Mongolian crown?”
“No.” I gave up, pivoting back to him. “I, ah…I thought for sure you had some dragon kind of thing here.”
“A dragon?” His voice was cool, mildly amused. “Really?”
“Like this.” I fished in my jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. Not trusting my tossing skills, I stalked back over to Armaeus’s desk, then leaned over to smooth out the small sheet. It was a receipt from a bar at Charles de Gaulle airport, but it’d been the one scrap of paper I’d had when the image had flooded through my memory, crisp and sure. “This part’s in red,” I said, jabbing a finger. “The dragon—that’s a dragon, by the way—is blue. I saw a symbol like that on the plane you sent for Kreios and me in Rome. And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it here, before. What is it?”
The Magician frowned down at the paper. “A winged dragon on a red background.” He paused, clearly sifting through his mental Googlewoo results. “You saw this on the Council’s jet?”
The way he asked the question had me doubting my own memory. I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t screw with me, Armaeus.” I jabbed at the image. “I definitely saw it in the freaking Baikal Mountains, on the robe of the guy wearing the Mongolian crown. You’ve headed up the Arcana Council for eight centuries, so don’t tell me you haven’t seen this symbol before. What is it? Who is it?”
For some reason, I didn’t feel comfortable telling the Magician about the first time I’d seen the dragon. I’d only been a kid then. A kid who’d just had everything go up in a burst of fire and death.
“It’s no one for you to concern yourself with.” The dismissal in Armaeus’s voice was clear and decisive, and it rang through me so forcefully, my head came up. I took a step back.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Was that vocal projection? You know I hate that.”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t my intention.” His words were smooth, apologetic, and even though they didn’t resonate with me on a Connected level, every nerve in my body pinged in warning. Something was…off here. “I simply know what I keep in my private collection, and a dragon of the kind you’re describing isn’t one of the pieces I have. It’s also not a design currently used on our aircraft. If you saw it, that’s…very interesting.” He glanced back to the drawing, and I did too.
Embarrassment flooded through me. Had I seriously been seeing dragon symbols where they weren’t really there? What was wrong with me? I picked up the scrap of paper quickly, shoving it back in my pocket. I was so unbelievably tired. And my headache was pounding, stronger than ever.
“Right. So anyway, let’s get rolling.” As I stretched out my neck, I sensed Armaeus’s eyes on me once again. The usual rush of conflicted emotions stirred, which at least put me back into comfortable territory.
I didn’t know exactly what to think about Armaeus Bertrand. I recognized his power, sure. And I recognized his ability to heal—even if massive sexual overload was an unfortunate side effect of that healing. His magic operated at the basest level, stimulating the body from the core outward, and the more jacked up I got, the faster it worked. So Armaeus played the sensual card early and often, if it helped him get what he wanted. It was how he was built.
However, I also recognized that I was the most curious butterfly in the collection to him at the moment, nothing more. Any actual emotional attachment he had for me was illusion…my illusion. I knew that.
That should have been enough to keep things between us all business. Any normal girl would run the other way and not constantly subject herself to the seductive pull of the Magician’s presence, the sharpness of his mind, the mesmerizing lure of his golden eyes.
I wasn’t normal, apparently. I couldn’t deny my body’s reaction to him. My body’s or my brain’s. The constant push-pull to flee—or to give myself over completely, no matter the fear, no matter the pain, no matter the outcome.
No wonder my cerebral cortex shut down every time the guy got close.
“Miss Wilde.” The Magician’s words flowed around me, pushing at all the places that needed pushed, caressing everything that needed caressed. “You know I can help you feel better.”
“Yeah, that never works out so well for me.”
“This time it will.”
I glanced up, startled, and sucked in a sharp breath. The Magician stood beside me now. Too close. Close enough to—
“Touch me,” he murmured.
Chapter Four
“Armaeus.” My voice sounded like gravel, but I couldn’t deny the draw of his body, his energy, surrounding me in a halo of light and comfort. I stood there, wobbling in my own convictions, and Armaeus lifted a hand to my face. Not touching me, not forcing.
“You’re not wearing your Tyet,” he said.
“I…” I swallowed. I’d thought about putting it on, I really had. When I’d stumbled off the airplane this morning, late for this appointment, I’d realized I could have gone back to my hotel for the twisted knot of silver, with its highly specific properties of sexual protection. But I hadn’t. I hadn’t wanted to. As damaged as I’d been these past few weeks from serving Eshe, part of me had secretly wanted Armaeus to stand this close to me, ready to touch me, ready to heal. Part of me had craved it more than breath.
And part of me knew that the Magician operated by his own Byzantine (literally: Byzantine) code of honor…even though that was a slippery slope. “You won’t do anything I don’t want you to do.”
“I will not.” There was no denying the increase in Armaeus’s intensity, though. He edged nearer to me. “Touch me, Miss Wilde. It is the simplest of connections. But one that you must make. You know that.” His eyes darkened. “I want that connection very much. I want to help you.”
My resolve began to fray, my brain and body warring with each other. It wasn’t simply my mind that was broken and hurting, however, despite the thundering headache. I flinched against the renewed pain. “Why do you do this to me?” I whispered.
Armaeus’s lips twitched, but his golden gaze didn’t waver. “You are a mystery that should not exist. Your body, your reactions, your strengths, your weaknesses, are something I must understand. Everything I do, all that I do, is to reach that understanding.”
Without warning, an entirely different ache welled up inside at his words. It wasn’t entirely physical; it wasn’t entirely psychic. I didn’t know what it was, but it hurt enough to take my breath away.
Grow up, I implored myself. Stop making this personal. I shouldn’t care what Armaeus thought about me. I didn’t care. He was a businessman. And I happened to be his business right now. Nothing more nor less.
“Touch me,” he urged again quietly, apparently oblivious to my internal smackdown. “You don’t have to be in the pain you endure, Miss Wilde. It makes you weaker, not stronger. It slows your mind and your reflexes. For your assignment to be a success, I need them both to be operating at peak abilities. I need you to be stretching to your potential, not hiding behind your fears.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I muttered, stung to the quick. Before I could consider his request more rationally, I shifted my body slightly and touched my cheek to his palm.
Energy jolted through me, so electric that both my hands lifted reflexively, settling against the fine silk of Armaeus’s shirt. I could feel the heat radia
ting from his body, so strong I nearly passed out. My blood vessels somehow expanded, suffusing my body with heat, oxygen, and a healing wash of energy powerful enough to permeate every inch of my body—my face, my skin, my heart, my…
Uh oh.
“Armaeus,” I gasped, but the word sounded like an entreaty, and he took it as one, lifting my hand from his chest and pressing his lips to my palm. The resulting shock to my core nearly melted everything south of my solar plexus, and I sagged against him. Armaeus’s mouth moved against my hand. If he spoke actual words, I’d long stopped listening. But when his lips drifted up my fingers, I shuddered again, my bones disconnecting at the joints.
“So much of your energy is in your fingers.”
I didn’t know if he said those words or if I sensed them, but when his mouth closed around my fingertips, I could no longer tell what was real and what was pure fantasy.
At that moment, my mind shuddered with a touch that was unbearably sensual, perfect—and impossible. I couldn’t lose myself to Armaeus Bertrand. I couldn’t. I’d been running for so long from my past, I wasn’t even sure of who I was anymore, not really. And I’d never learn that if I was swept up in the Magician’s thrall. I’d simply become whatever he wanted—needed—craved—
“Stop.” I stepped back sharply, breaking the connection between us. “Stop. Party’s over. I’m good. We’re done here. Stop.”
“As you wish.” Just as abruptly Armaeus stood back, his gaze sweeping over me with smug satisfaction. “As I am at your service whenever you wish. You feel better.”
I straightened. I did feel better, damn the man. Demigod. Whatever he was. “That’s not the point. I could have grabbed a doughnut and triple latte and accomplished the same thing.”
“Of course.” His golden gaze lifted, focusing on my forehead. His lips pursed into a frown. “Your headache has not abated, though.”
I couldn’t help it, I swayed toward him. I couldn’t say whether my body subconsciously needed the help he so willingly and blatantly was offering me, or if I was truly becoming addicted to his touch, or if the three-day migraine was finally wearing me down. Some pain is so intense that it takes up residence in your body like an unwanted guest, intruding into every corner of your being. And the Magician could take that pain away with a caress, a whisper. A kiss…
This time, Armaeus didn’t give me the opportunity to reject his offer. He caught me when I fell into him, my body jerking rigid in his grasp as another flood of electricity scorched through me. His head bent, and his lips brushed against my forehead, my knees inexplicably buckling in response.
The Magician’s chuckle was hard, almost triumphant. But I didn’t care. Soothing coolness flooded my brain, starting at the front of my skull and arcing backward, turning fire to snow. The pounding in my head ceased, lulled to a thump, then a pulse, then nothing at all. Armaeus’s mouth moved down my forehead, his lips brushing first the closed lid of my right eye, then my left.
Instantly, tears welled up, washing away the grit and ache from everything I’d seen in service to Eshe these past few weeks. The death, the torture. The bound and the weak. The Magician’s hands firmed on my shoulders, gathering me close, and he lifted his mouth back to the center of my forehead, his lips warm and sensual. When he reached the center point above and between my brows, he said something in a language I’d never heard before.
A new sensation whirred in my brain, another wash of awareness sluicing away the fatigue and pain that were my constant companions. I wanted to cling to Armaeus, to bury my head in his chest and turn all my thoughts into tapioca pudding, but instead I drew in a long, shaky breath and pulled back from his mouth. I didn’t realize I was staring at that mouth, though, until it twitched into a smile.
Then the sight within my sight fluttered open, and I jerked back, the moment shattered. “What the…?” I blinked, suddenly dizzy. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What did you do?”
“Nothing you couldn’t have done yourself, were you but open to it.” Armaeus let me stumble away from him, his beautiful long-fingered hands dropping back by his sides, his manner loose, attentive. Back to the scientist staring at his prized bug. When I tried to glare at him though, I didn’t know where to look. I was seeing everything double.
“Um, I think I’m broken.”
“Oh?” His words were too casual, and I tried to refocus on him. The weird shimmery light receded around his body, until finally I could see only one of him. One Magician was definitely enough.
“What was that, exactly?”
“How do you feel?”
“Off-balance.” It wasn’t untrue. I put my hands out to the side, testing my equilibrium. Everything was brighter, sharper, clearer. The palatial suite, Armaeus’s incredibly beautiful face, his damnably curious eyes.
“What was that?” I asked again, reaching up to rub the center of my forehead. It was dry and warm, too warm. But nothing hurt anymore. Not exactly. “My headache is gone, but I feel weird.” My brain belatedly caught up to where my fingers were, and sudden awareness galvanized me. I refocused on Armaeus, squinting into the glow that surrounded him. “You mucked around with my third eye, didn’t you?”
“It was woefully untapped. I merely reminded it that it could help you see.”
Once again, his words were too mild. “What else did you do, Armaeus? There were lights, but the colors were muted, indistinct. It wasn’t your aura, I’m pretty sure. There wasn’t enough asshat in it.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “Not my aura. Rather, it’s a case of relative energy fields. The more power a Connected item or individual has, the more it radiates energy. You could liken it to a heat signature picked up by military surveillance tools.”
I thought about Zee’s heat sensor, his reassurances that had proven totally false about the Ninja Death Mask Squad. “Those aren’t super reliable.”
“It depends on the kind of heat you’re measuring.” Armaeus shrugged. “In this case, you’re not looking for vital signs, but ability. You already had some of that sensitivity. Now you’ve opened to it further.”
“Great, so every time I see a Connected, I’ll be staring into the sun?”
He lifted a brow. “Is that how I appear to you?”
“Close enough.” I passed my hands over my eyes. “At least I don’t feel like dying anymore. That’s always a good start to the day.”
“Take these.” Armaeus turned and picked up a small package on the desk. He tossed it to me. “I understand they are helpful for your headaches, and yours might well come back.”
I caught the bag of cinnamon candies in one hand, even as my mind raced through a hundred questions. Cinnamon candies? I hadn’t used cinnamon candies as a headache cure-all since I’d been a kid. And how in the—I mean, who—
The answer rocketed through me a split second later. My hand spasmed on the bag, crushing it.
“You didn’t.”
Armaeus watched me without expression. “It’s much more useful for my research into your unique characteristics when I can find someone who knew you. Someone who was there to witness your history. So helpful.”
Someone like Brody Rooks. The one man I’d left standing back in Memphis all those years ago. The one man who didn’t need to be a victim of my crazy once again.
“Look .” I jerked toward Armaeus so quickly, any normal guy would have flinched. The Magician, of course, was nowhere near normal. I jabbed my finger into his face anyway. “What you do to get your kicks is your own business. You want to crawl around in some broken-down cop’s mind to steal answers you can’t get from me, knock yourself out. But you more than anyone should know how flawed memory is. Brody’s a basket case. His answers aren’t going to help you.”
“Detective Brody Rooks, Las Vegas Metro Police. Formerly Officer Brody Rooks of the Memphis Police Department, who worked with a very bright, very skilled young Connected named Sariah Pelter.”
“I’m not that girl anymore, and it’s ancient history. Ancient and
irrelevant.”
“You’re protecting him. Why?”
I snorted. “Brody doesn’t need my protection. You do. Whatever he says or thinks he remembers, don’t bet on it being accurate. He was a good cop, a cop who tried hard to find missing kids, and I let him down big. The fact that he got tangled up in my mess in the first place was his own bad luck.”
“He has feelings for you. Feelings that extend beyond nostalgia.”
I ignored the strange pang those words caused. “He thought I was dead, Armaeus. And he’s seen a lot more death than anyone should. So yeah, me showing up in Vegas ten years later caught him off guard. You may have forgotten what it was like to be human, but not everyone has.”
The moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were the wrong thing to say. So I held on to them with both hands and pummeled forward, using them like a battering ram. I squeezed shut my newly opened third eye and glared at Armaeus with my normal ones. “You don’t get to play around with people just because you’re bored. Get out of Brody’s head and stay out unless you’re there to help him. Which we both know you’re not. I want your word on that. He’s not a toy.”
“You have feelings for him too.”
“Oh, give me a break. I’d have feelings for Tickle Me Elmo if he were hot enough. Are we done here? Or when does my babysitter arrive? And please don’t tell me you assigned me to the Devil. Because my ‘feelings’ for him would put you in traction.”
That arrow seemed to hit its mark. Armaeus’s face shuttered again, his tone perfectly even. “Kreios will, in fact, accompany you to the cocktail party hosted by the Rarity tomorrow evening. Given his interest in art, he has several secular dealings with the collecting community’s richest families, and he possesses a collection that is renowned the world over. His attendance won’t draw attention.”