Born To Be Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 3 (15 page)

“We good, Mercault?” I finally managed.

“Your account has been wired the cash.” He dabbed a cold cloth against my brow. “The men you described are the highest-ranking operatives of SANCTUS, barring two. We will begin the search for those individuals presently. They are either dead, or defected, or disillusioned. In any case, they are good people for us to locate. If they can be turned away from SANCTUS’s cause, we might be able to regain our advantage.”

“Yeah?” I struggled to a sitting position. My lightheadedness was already easing, and I pulled the poultice away, unsurprised to see that I had no marks on my skin. It still hurt like a bitch, though. And Soo’s sword hadn’t disappeared. Which meant that, technically, I could courier items home via astral travel. At least if they were stuck through me. “And what good will that do you, exactly? You really think you can stop SANCTUS’s holy war?”

“Stop it? Not at all. I want to encourage it.” He grinned. “All our efforts for decades with the technoceuticals were designed with one thing in mind: to enhance the power of Unconnecteds, allowing them to taste the fruit that only the blessed had. And the market was good. Very good. But there was also the fringe element, those Connecteds seeking to
enhance
their abilities, albeit temporarily. That market was narrower, but much more lucrative. They could afford to pay for the best, and only wanted the best.”

“Right.” I slumped back in my chair, rubbing my shoulder. “And children paid.”

“Sometimes.” He brushed off my outrage with the fervency of a sideshow huckster. “But now we have seen so much more. With my own eyes, I have seen you do things I have never heard of before.”

“Astral travel isn’t new, Mercault.” But I already suspected he’d reached the same conclusions I had.

I was right.

“You didn’t travel solely with your mind, though. When I saw you, you held a weapon from my household. This time, you
carried
a weapon. There and back again.” He pointed at Soo’s snow-white blade. “And came back impaled by a weapon as well. That is new. That is important. How possible is it that you could astral-travel to a location and pick up an artifact? That would change the game significantly, no?”

“I have a bad feeling that the artifact would need to be impaling me. That’d be less of a good time.”

“Perhaps. But something to study.”

His complete lack of concern for my physical well-being was charming. And familiar. “You know, you really should meet a friend of mine. You and Eshe would really hit it off.”

“It is good work today.” Mercault looked up as a phone buzzed in the pocket of one of his minions. I turned to see a look of frustration settle onto his face. “Very well. My cadre of doctors is here to poke and prod me, running endless tests. I submit because I wish to understand what happened to me. My newfound strength.”

I grimaced. “I think that might be a temporary high, Mercault.”

“Oh—I’m counting on it,” he said, his eyes practically twinkling. “But if it’s a high I can replicate, well.” He spread his hands. “A man must innovate to continue making money, no?”

We both stood, and I shouldered on my hoodie again. It wasn’t torn where Soo’s blade had pierced through me, nor was it stained. My brain cramped at the reality of feeling so awful when there was no physical manifestation of my pain, and I scowled at Mercault. While I was here, I could use the man for something else, though, besides his money. He knew things I didn’t. Things I needed to understand.

“What have you heard about Viktor Dal?”

Of course Mercault knew who I was talking about.

“Him.” Mercault curled his lip. “Dilettante. He tried to come in on my business a decade ago, and I stopped that flat. He had no sense of the artistic nature of my work. Only wished to secure a blunt-force effect. That is no way to run a business, no way to run an operation.” He leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “He has been quiet for years, though. He makes money, I am sure, but he stays to himself. Why? Is he reentering the game? If so, let him come.”

“Stop your chest thumping. He’s bigger than you and Soo and all the other families as well.”

That shut him up. His expression turned mutinous. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about
scale
, Mercault. Worry about Soo all you want, but there’s a bigger picture you need to be paying attention to. A picture that includes SANCTUS and Viktor and even stronger magic—magic that Viktor Dal is already tapping into, unless I miss my guess.” I pointed at his computer. “Find out everything you can about Viktor, and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he doesn’t have fingers in every supply chain in Eastern Europe. Tell me he’s not about to topple your power when you’re already reeling.”

It was a long shot, and a bluff, but Mercault bit. His eyes glittered dangerously. “I will find this information. And when I do, you will help me ensure that Dal does not succeed in this coup.”

“Deal. Now, you show me to a bathroom before I get sick all over your hotel room carpet.”

By the time I got back outside, I continued to feel the aftereffects of astral travel. Worse, I was feeling the before-effects of Atlantis travel.

Even thinking that phrase made me doubt my sanity.

Focus.
Armaeus wouldn’t send me unless I had to go, I was sure of it. And he was worried about Viktor, without question. He might be the head of the Council, but the Emperor was coming, and that meant trouble. Then again, Armaeus wasn’t doing anything to keep the guy from hitting the Council either.

What was the Magician’s plan here? Was he trying to box me in, somehow?

A dark thought occurred to me, sliding through my stomach. Had
Armaeus
hung those missing persons posters to draw me into a conflict with Viktor Dal? Was he pitting the two of us against each other?

Just how badly did Armaeus
need
me to get to Atlantis?

As I stood staring into the street, thinking about that, a sleek limo pulled up in front of me to idle at the light. In Vegas, limos weren’t any big deal, especially on the Strip, and more especially in front of the Bellagio. The window whirred down, despite the oppressive heat of the evening.

But it was only when I saw the creature standing on the other side of the limo, smack in the middle of the street, that my brain came back online. Slowly, though. Way too slowly.

Over the roof of the limo, a woman stared at me with ice-cold eyes, her blonde hair lifting in the wind, her enormous wings tucked tightly to her back. The Valkyrie’s voice lifted over the rush of traffic.

“Are you so ready to die, Sara Wilde?”

Only then did I see the muzzle of the gun in the open window of the limo.

I lurched backward, landing butt-first in the Bellagio fountains as the stone statue on the opposite side of the pool exploded in a million pieces.

Beneath the water, I could almost see the trajectory of bullets and identify by the widening spray of ammo when the limo picked up speed, racing away. It was peaceful down here. You could barely hear the screaming.

Sadly, there was no way that could last. Not given the whole oxygen thing.

A moment later, the issue was resolved. Strong arms pulled me out of the water, and I shook my head hard as a familiar voice snapped at me.

“Sara? Sara! Are you hit?” Detective Brody Rooks hauled me out of the water and onto the concrete.

“Where did you come from?” I sputtered.

“You’ve been acting batshit since yesterday.” His face looked bleak, worn beyond his usual low-grade exhaustion. “You never truly reacted to the news about your mother, never once. I’ve dealt with a lot of trauma victims, Sara. You qualify.”

I pushed the hair from my eyes, trying hard not to think about what kind of chemicals were floating in the Bellagio fountain. “Seriously, Brody? You’ve been
following
me?”

“Well, I knew you got a tattoo from that shop next to Dixie’s. I also knew you were talking with Mercault. I had plainclothes on you at that point. When you came out and settled in at the fountain, they radioed me. Said you looked despondent.” He scowled back at the street. “Your reflexes remain good, at least.”

He reached for my left arm, and I winced, shifting away from him.

“You
are
hurt,” he said. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No, you’re not.” I got to my feet. “I’m fine. This was another message, a nudge from Viktor, if I don’t miss my guess. He knows I’m looking for him.”

Brody didn’t seem convinced. “He
shot
at you.”

“And missed. If someone had wanted me dead, they would have succeeded.” I pointed up to the looming casinos on the Strip. Not the Council’s digs, but the actual casinos—the Flamingo, Paris. The Bellagio behind me. “Lots of places for a sniper.”

“Sara…” Brody’s voice was tight. “Look, we need to talk.”

I jerked my gaze to him, hearing the new tone in his voice. “What now, Brody? Is it Nikki? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s as worried as I am, with a hell of a lot more reason.” Without asking, he took my left arm and moved me down the sidewalk. I managed not to bleat in pain. “I know about the Council, Sara. I know about the work you’re doing. I can fucking see their buildings up and down the Strip, and I can’t believe they’ve been here this whole damned time.”

I went for cool. Failed. “Oh?”

“Yeah, oh.” Brody squeezed my arm, and I tried manfully not to pass out. “You want to do this in public or private?”

I opted for public, and we ended up at the bar of Paris, with both of us drinking scotch. Seemed a good way to start the conversation.

“Why specifically is Viktor shooting at you, do you know?” Brody asked, ruining the buzz of my first sip. “Is this because of the latest job this Armaeus Bertrand has sent you on?”

Staring at the richly colored liquid in my glass, I considered my options. They weren’t great. I didn’t know how long Brody would keep his amplified intuition, and I didn’t know how much of his information was homegrown or fed to him by Dixie. That seemed a much safer avenue to walk down. I glanced up at him again. “Did you see the Council’s digs on your own, or did your new girlfriend help you? Or, I’m sorry, your old-new girlfriend. Whichever.”

He didn’t back down. “Dixie doesn’t figure into this conversation.”

“Yeah, she kind of does.” I sat back in my bar chair and swiveled toward him. “She showed you the Council’s homes, explained them. After that, they were easy to see. Am I right?”

“It doesn’t—”

“It does. Then she told you I did work for them, and that’s why I’m back in Vegas. How am I doing so far?” I didn’t begrudge Dixie the revelation. Having a secret is a heck of a lot more fun when you could share it with a few select people. And inviting Brody into her little club was a temptation she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. The man liked intel. A lot. Almost as much as he liked perky blondes. “All I’m saying, Brody, is be careful of what she tells you. There’s a lot of truth in there, and a lot of what I’m sure she thinks is truth. But what she thinks is reality and what actually is reality don’t always match up. Look at her recollection of ol’ Viktor.”

“Then maybe you could help me out, because you’re the one getting shot at here, Sara. Not her. You’re working for this Council, finding magical artifacts for them. You’re also working freelance for clients like Mercault. You tipped me off on that Nigel Friedman character, and he’s hit Interpol’s radar too, only come to find out—he’s an artifact hunter too. You’re in kind of a dangerous business.”

“I’m kind of a dangerous girl.”

“Well, you’re bringing your brand of danger to Vegas, and people are going to get hurt. I can’t have that. I can’t have you hurt either.”

“Either, as in here, or either, as in anywhere? Because you’re not going to stop me from going after Viktor, if that’s what you’re thinking. You don’t want that to happen here, I’ll try to work that out, but he’s coming to Vegas, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Correction, he’s already arrived.” Brody took a sharp swallow of his drink, giving me the opportunity to stare at him. “Viktor Dal landed via private jet early this morning. We couldn’t hold him, because, technically, nothing sticks to him. He cleared customs and left with his entourage for the city. We had eyes on him, and then we didn’t. Lost him here, actually.” Brody pointed up. “Big black monolith overtop Paris, lit up like a Christmas tree. That means he’s, what, in residence?”

I looked up as well, as if I could see through the ceiling. “I have no idea.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the only thing I can figure. His baggage was bugged, and it disappeared as well. Guy’s a ghost. A ghost with guns trained on you. Sooner or later, he’s not going to miss.”

“Anyone else with him?”

“Not that we can tell. No special cargo either. We’ve had border checks set up to intercept any unusual transport, and have nothing for our troubles. The kids aren’t here, Sara. He’s stashed them somewhere else.”

I blew out a breath. “Somewhere else” indeed.

“That’s not all,” Brody rumbled. “I asked Dixie why Viktor was shooting at you.”

“Dixie,” I snorted, eyeing him. “You’re serious.”

“Remember, she knows Viktor. Her memory is flawed because she remembers him as a good guy, but she has a network on the Connected community that goes back for years. She has information on everyone who’s anyone, and quite a few as ‘uncategorized.’” He eyed me over his drink. “Including you.”

“I’m honored,” I said dryly. “And this explains why I’m getting shot at?”

“According to Dixie, Roxie Meadows did once let drop that Viktor Dal is, um, something called the Emperor of the Council. If that’s the case, his position entails highly specific duties. Duties that haven’t been carried out in hundreds of years, apparently.”

“Well, he had time to take care of those before this week. Viktor came on board in…” I hesitated. “You get the whole immortal thing, right?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Right, so Viktor came on board in the nineteen thirties. If there was some ancient practice from hundreds of years ago he was supposed to resurrect, he’s kind of late to the punch.”