by Jenn Stark
I sagged back against the wall, the ringing in my head building to a crescendo, while Armaeus slumbered, oblivious, in my lap. My heart seemed to crack open a little, to see him resting easily, no longer racked in pain. Nothing could matter other than he was healthy and whole again, I decided. Nothing could ever compare to that.
“Oh,” I muttered, my eyelids drifting shut. “Is that all?”
When I woke again, it was with the disconcerting realization that I’d been moved.
7
Ordinarily, this should never have happened. You didn’t get to be Justice of the Arcana Council without being aware of where your body was at, dammit, at least if you weren’t under the influence of some pretty impressive drugs.
Then again, I was on a plane with arguably two of the strongest sorcerers in the world, the Magician and the Devil. So I supposed I could be cut some slack. Nevertheless, it was a challenge to get my bearings, partly because I was in a darkened room in an actual bed on an airplane, a combination I would never get used to, and partly because of the disco lights reflecting beneath my doorway.
I pushed the covers back and got to my feet, finding my boots easily. I hadn’t been stripped of any clothing, except for my boots. With my advanced abilities of Justice, a full-on disrobing would have woken me up, no matter how much magic had been in play. Or at least, so I wanted to believe.
I crossed the room to the door and gently eased it open. The undulating flickers and shimmery pops of light were visible under another doorway, and in its reflected gloom, I saw Sariah leaning up against the wall in the corridor. She nodded at me.
“I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep through all this forever,” she said, and I peered at her, taking in her drawn face.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“I don’t need much sleep anymore,” she admitted, surprising me. “I may want it, but I don’t need it. And it’s kind of hard to catch some z’s with all the Disney Plus action going on out here.” She gestured to the doorway.
“How long has he been at it?”
She shrugged. “An hour or so, not much more. Kreios got him to the room while I hauled you to yours, and bedded him down. We argued a little bit more about how injured you were, and then about the inappropriateness of Kreios using his mad Devil skills to keep you knocked out. I lost the argument, and the light show started about thirty minutes later.”
I regarded her with curiosity. “How is it Kreios didn’t knock you out? He’s stronger than you.”
“He is stronger than me,” she agreed, her smile hard. “But another cool thing I’ve learned: if you point your mad skills directly at me, I can access them more thoroughly than if I siphoned them off you by just walking by. So Kreios had to weigh the value of putting me to sleep to avoid dealing with me for a short period of time, versus knowing that I might be able to knock his ass into next Tuesday if he gave me access to his mojo. Not much beyond Tuesday, but I could do it. And he knew without a doubt that I’d give it a try.”
I nodded, still uneasy with the level of anger that Sariah held for Kreios. “What aren’t you telling me about him?” I asked quietly.
To my surprise, Sariah merely sighed and stood straighter, shrugging herself off the wall.
“That’s the problem,” she admitted. “I’m telling you everything I know—and I don’t know enough. I have a bad feeling about what’s going on between Kreios and Armaeus, and I don’t know if it’s a bad feeling I’m picking up from them, or Eshe’s stupid dreams, or my own native-born instinct that something’s about to go seriously pear-shaped. This is the problem with my shiny new skill set. It’s not quite cut and dried as to what’s me or what’s not me.”
I heard the soft truth of that complaint in her voice, even if she didn’t. Before I could talk myself out of it, I lifted my hand and gripped her shoulder.
“What’s inside you is the real deal, Sariah,” I assured her. “It always has been.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t you be putting more of your airy-fairy healing powers on me. I’m good. Seriously—you can’t even help yourself, can you? Justice heals the injured. Justice rights wrongs. But I am wrong, Sara. Broken too. I have been since the start of all this. I’m okay with that, so that means you’ve gotta be too.” She nodded toward the door. “Go in there and figure out what Dr. Manhattan is doing, and try to keep him from taking our plane down in an electrical storm before we get back to Vegas. I’ve got a serious need for a buffet.”
She turned back toward her room, and only then did I notice the thin line of blood snaking along her collarbone.
“Sariah?” I asked sharply, reaching toward her neck even as she ducked away and waved me off.
“I always forget that you’re a fucking empath on top of everything else,” she muttered. “This is nothing. Apparently, Armaeus got a particularly bad owie on his left shoulder that you decided to take on for yourself. Going forward, you can keep that little ability to yourself. I’ve got enough injuries to deal with. Though thanks for the instant-healing thing—I’ve been around you enough that I’m my own walking tube of Neosporin. It helps.” She turned into a shadowy doorway and clicked it shut behind her.
I stared after her for a long minute, but I suspected that Sariah had been close enough to me to pick up my mind-blocking skills. I didn’t think she was seriously hurt, and she’d expressly asked me to butt out—so I would. For now.
Instead, I turned and tried the door to Armaeus’s room. It wasn’t locked, and the latch turned easily, the door opening to a room only slightly bigger than my own sleeping quarters, dominated by a large bed, but with an appreciable amount of open carpet and an ornate desk pushed against one wall.
Armaeus stood between these two visual anchors, and I winced to see that Sariah’s characterization of him wasn’t completely off. He glowed as much as any nuclear superhero, his ordinary golden-bronze skin now a steel blue, with white and blue arcs of electricity rippling along his body and extending a good two feet into the room surrounding him.
Orbiting his powerful form were symbols of every language, letters, hieroglyphics, mathematical squiggles and squares, arcane imagery, the works. They danced in circles, merged together, and split apart, making a hundred thousand different combinations, it seemed, in the space of a few breaths. I thought back to the Devil’s assertion that I was stronger than the Magician now. I deeply, deeply hoped that wasn’t true. It looked like way too much math.
Armaeus didn’t show any indication he knew I was there, but I had no doubt he tracked my progress across the room, all the way to the bed, which was unusually high. I climbed up on it to watch him. With my legs bent and my feet dangling a good foot off the floor, I decided I could watch this movie forever. Because in the middle of all that swirling magic was Armaeus Bertrand—the man, demigod, whatever he was, the being I had come to love more than life itself. The one person on this earth I would do anything for.
Something of my thoughts must have reached Armaeus, or perhaps it was just the quickening of my heart, but he turned to me, his eyes glowing gold and rimmed with black, his perfectly formed mouth curving into a smile. He no longer looked haggard, at least. Despite the blue skin, he looked reborn—like he’d gone to a Vegas spa for some serious TLC.
Had that been my doing? I peered down at my left shoulder, palpating it with one hand, but of course there was no wound there. I hadn’t noticed it in any event. Dangerous, not to be aware of your own injuries. But it was what it was.
“Sara,” Armaeus said, and I refocused on him, noting that the corona of magic was lessening, as if he was coming out of his fugue. I didn’t respond, but Armaeus’s hands slowly lowered after another few moments, and one by one, the spinning symbols disappeared. In a mere matter of seconds, he stood alone in the center of the room, illuminated only by the glow of candles that I now noticed had been set up at either side of his bed. Pretty sure candles weren’t supposed to be lit on airplanes, but then again, chances were good that nuclear
fission magic was also not supposed to be tucked into your carry-on bag.
Armaeus stretched, which gave me the chance to admire his naked body a few seconds longer, an opportunity I gladly took. As the Magician of the Arcana Council, Armaeus could adopt any form that pleased him, but, unlike Kreios, I’d never seen him stray from the same basic form that stood before me now.
Tall, well over six feet, but so perfectly proportioned that you didn’t notice his height until he came up against a more ordinary-sized human. His dark hair flowed over his shoulders, curling to his collarbone, and his bronze skin stretched wrinkle-free over a face that spoke of far-off lands and magical heritage. His eyes gleamed with a mix of black and gold, and his high cheekbones, winged brows, and sensual mouth turned his face into a work of art. His broad shoulders and chest tapered down to a narrow waist, and long sleekly muscled legs completed the picture, each separate piece of him perfectly sculpted, ideally suited to his role of keeping the magic of the world in perfect balance.
As usual, he was completely unselfconscious beneath my gaze, and moved over to me with a final exhale, a yogi finishing his practice. Instead of sitting down beside me, however, he knelt, drawing my hands together and resting them on my lap as he searched my face.
“Did I harm you in any way?” he asked, and his voice resonated oddly against my bones, making me sit up sharply.
“Not until right this second, no,” I said. “What are you doing with your voice?”
He blinked a few times, pulling back, and when he spoke again, he used his regular outside voice. “The magic I was consulting was deep and old,” he said, his emphasis on the last word almost one of surprise. “Old as in no longer in common use when I came up through the ranks. I only knew of its existence in second- and third-hand accounts until quite recently.”
“Right.” I didn’t have time to follow the Magician down his arcane paths of esoteric knowledge, as fascinating as they always were. I needed answers. “What have you done, Armaeus?” I murmured. “And when did you do it?”
He squeezed my hands gently, and his gaze returned to meet mine. “Time blends together. I can’t answer that part of your question. But the transition of the leadership of the Arcana Council to Kreios created the distance I needed to dive deep into my mystical practice. I have learned…a great deal. Though not nearly enough. And those whose power I could augment without their express knowledge, I did.”
I ran through the laundry list of Council members, my stomach turning. “Armaeus, some of these people are assholes. I don’t think they need to have their power augmented.”
“It had to be done,” Armaeus countered. “We have to find the Moon and the Star and understand what efforts they are making to shatter the Council, or how far they’re willing to go to incite Connecteds worldwide to what may well be catastrophic action.”
“You’re sure the Moon and the Star are the bad guys here? And that they’re behind the Shadow Court?” The organization of one-percenter Connecteds had made no secret of wanting to dominate the entire rest of the planet’s psychic community—or destroy it. Though we’d unmasked most of the lieutenants and colonels in their unofficial army, we still needed to get the generals and whatever passed as their commander in chief. The Shadow Court definitely needed to be shut down. But was this really the right path to doing that?
Armaeus lifted a brow. “Though there are always variables that may impact the outcome, it does seem the most likely solution. I can go through the calculations of that if you prefer.”
“Spare me,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. I didn’t want to see him go all Lord of the Math Dance again.
He nodded. “Though Simon was able to ascertain that the Moon and Star exist, we’ve lost the trail to them. To find it, I needed complete access to my abilities, and you needed a stronger connection to yours.”
I made a face. “From what Kreios tells me, I’ve now got access to yours too,” I pointed out, and the smile he gave me was deeply satisfied.
“You healed me. I allowed myself to waste down to my emptiest form, and you poured yourself into me unceasingly, without thinking twice, putting me back together again the way you could best remember.”
I shifted a little uneasily on the bed. “Is this the part where you tell me that’s a bad thing?”
The Magician sighed. He sat beside me, took my hand, and lifted it to his lips. The bolt of energy that seared through me at his kiss would have fused me flat against the bed except for his grip on my fingers.
“Not at all,” he murmured, his enigmatic gaze holding mine. “Now more than ever, I could not live a moment without you, on this plane or any other.”
An irrational spurt of fear spread through me. “What do you mean, this plane? You mean like specifically the airplane that we’re on right now? Is that all you’re talking about here? Because—”
“Shut up, Miss Wilde,” Armaeus said, leaning forward to kiss me in earnest.
8
We landed in Las Vegas on a bright and sunny morning, a full day and change after the excitement at Demonica’s Pizza. In fact, including the additional time that we’d spent in Hell, a full three days had passed since the attack in the pizzeria.
Barry had wasted no time taking advantage of his new position of power among the arcane drug lords of New Jersey, though he had committed to returning to the relatively benign practice of utilizing a dough army vs. the husks of Hell. He also refused to let Maria leave his side, convinced that she was his good luck charm. Maria, for her part, had begun feeding Kreios all the intel he needed to know to stay on top of the district. Hey, whatever worked.
Once we were cleared to leave the plane, we emerged into the sunshine, and I blinked rapidly, though not only because of the mirror-bright sun.
“Dollface,” Nikki Dawes shouted through a megaphone as she stood beside one of the Arcana Council’s sleek gray limousines. It wasn’t the first time Nikki had ever met me at the airport, but I had to admit, the megaphone was an unexpected touch. So was the line of four additional limos, each with their own driver, their outfits as on point as Nikki’s if somewhat less fabulous. While Nikki’s snap-brimmed chauffeur’s hat completed the ensemble of a black minidress tuxedo perfectly cut for her voluptuous curves and mile-long legs, ending in platform patent leather pumps with what looked to be bona fide spike heels, her compatriots were dressed in more subdued dark gray suits—two male chauffeurs and three females.
The Devil broke into a wide grin as we moved down the stairway. “Miss Dawes, you never disappoint,” he observed. Bringing up the rear as I was, I peered between Kreios and Sariah, trying to pick up any further weird energy between them.
With a slight jerk, Sariah turned to me, meeting my gaze pointedly before rolling her eyes to remind me that she still maintained some of Kreios’s mind-reading skills. She refocused on Nikki. “Please tell me one of those limos is for me.”
Nikki tucked the megaphone beneath her arm and grinned, her bright red lipstick a perfect counterpoint to her short blonde bob. She tipped her cap to Sariah, and a few strands of her wig fluttered in the breeze, defying the edict of her hair spray. “Your wish is my command, oh Night Witch. As it turns out, as you are one of the newest and most fabulous of our Las Vegas celebrities, and you’ve got an appointment with one of the old guard. The limo’s going to take you to see Dixie Quinn.”
My brows lifted as Sariah and I exchanged a glance. Dixie Quinn, astrologer extraordinaire and owner of the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars, was the unofficial den mother of the Connected in Las Vegas. If it was psychic and happening in the city, she knew all about it. She and Nikki had been besties for years prior to me coming to town too. “She asked to see Sariah?”
Nikki turned to me. “She did. Apparently, there’s been some trouble among the Connected community here. It’s dark and bloody, and she thought—”
“I’m in,” Sariah cut her off, turning to scan the line of cars.
“Car number two
’s for you,” Nikki informed her, and I smirked. There were two drivers for that car, both of them looking fresh off a Chippendales revue. Had they been chosen for Dixie or Sariah, I wondered? Either way, Sariah didn’t give any of us another glance as she headed off across the tarmac.
Nikki’s mouth curled into a satisfied smile. She shot a glance to me, and I shook my head warningly, making her grin even more. Then she glanced up, pouting with feigned annoyance. “Just once I would like to give Mr. Magic a ride.”
The Magician had not exited the Council’s jet with us. He had other means of transport to his private casino at the end of the Strip. Considering his current glow-in-the-dark status, it was probably just as well.
Nikki turned and winked at Kreios. “Please tell me you’re not gonna let me down?”
“It would be my greatest regret,” Kreios agreed as he stopped before Nikki and reached out a hand, lifting her gloved fingers to his lips. As he kissed her knuckles, four other Devils emerged from the airplane to saunter down the staircase, each wearing different clothes. One was dressed as a Mediterranean model, with long hair, worn khakis, and a white linen shirt. Two other Devil incarnations were dressed as uptight businessmen, the severity of their suits in direct contrast to their jocular grins, one with ice-white hair and deep blue eyes, the other with rich black hair cropped close, and eyes the color of caramel. The collective gasps of the chauffeurs behind Nikki were all that was needed to send her smile into the stratosphere.
“I knew I could count on all of you,” she said happily.
“Always,” Kreios agreed. They kissed with the fervor of two lovers who hadn’t seen each other in months, not mere days. Did I sense a sharpened attention from the Chippendales limo? I couldn’t tell as Nikki broke away from Kreios, wiping away a nonexistent lipstick smear as she cackled. She drew the megaphone back up to her mouth.