Wicked And Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 4 (7 page)

“
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 entirely 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.”

I nodded, considering that as I looked up at the soaring casino. “I always did like coasters.”

True to Nikki’s word, the Stratosphere boasted a unique crowd for a Wednesday night, at least for those with eyes to see. There was the usual group of tourists, spilling out into the bar area, screaming their heads off on the rides and generally falling somewhere on the continuum between happily drunk and colossally hungover. But there were also several knots of patrons who boasted a decidedly higher psychic resonance, drinking in groups, playing cards, noshing.

Networking happy hour for sorcerers.

Nikki went to get us drinks, and I leaned against an open spot at a high table, watching the city as the night crept down and the lights came up. The Stratosphere really did have a top-shelf view. Never mind the gleaming neon of the actual Strip—Paris and the Luxor, the Bellagio and the Wynn Casino, Treasure Island and Caesars. To the eye of a Connected, it was what loomed
over
the Strip that provided the real show.

And these days, the Council’s real estate was getting downright crowded.

First up was the gleaming white tower over Treasure Island, serving as an unofficial gate to the Strip, a silent monolith of power. Then there was the thick, ungainly castle keep above Caesars Palace. Neither one of these two edifices was occupied. I didn’t know if they were model homes or simply there for balance. Farther up the Strip, however, over Paris, sat the Emperor’s domain, a black monolith that gleamed with masculine force, arcs of electricity crackling along its top. Unlike the owners of the white tower or castle keep, the Emperor was definitely home and entertaining callers.

Forcing my mind sharply away from Viktor lest he sense my attention, I focused on the Bellagio, with its glittering Foolscap tower of glass and lights. The Fool of the Arcana Council had recently taken up residence there, but I got the feeling Simon didn’t spend a lot of time in its cockeyed heights. He was happier hunched over his computer than having cocktails in a fortress of glass.

Opposite the Bellagio lay Scandal, one of the few named Council homes. The glass structure that soared above the Flamingo vibrated with sound and the constantly changing video display, currently featuring a surge of flames and laser beams in competing shades of violet and orange. The Devil’s domain never slept. I was beginning to think he didn’t either.

And finally, at the far end of the Strip, lay Prime Luxe, the Magician’s domain. Although the Magician was definitely not in residence, the place was lit up like a Christmas tree, a glittering fortress of glass and steel complete with fairy-tale turrets, gravity-defying parapets, and more square footage than any one Council member could possibly need. Which was why it housed two. Out of everyone I’d met so far on the Council, only the High Priestess didn’t have her own digs, as Eshe preferred to mooch off Armaeus. Three thousand years of entitlement couldn’t be denied.

“Here you go, sweetniks. Try to act like you’re having fun.”

I took the mojito Nikki held out, eyeing her over the glass. “I am having fun.”

“Then remind me not to be around you when you’re depressed. Cheers.” She tossed back her drink and set down her glass, then headed for our targets, a small group of cigar-smoking cronies tucked into a corner of the outdoor bar.

She sashayed across the deck in her gladiator sandals, and I trotted along beside her, trying to mimic her style and failing dramatically. My natural introversion had me slowing down, scrambling for something to say, even as we reached our destination.

As usual, I needn’t have worried.

“You’re Spinners,” Nikki said, dropping into a chair and leaning in with her characteristic subtlety. “Any of you know about entering Hell? ’Cuz we’re about to go and would appreciate the—”

“Don’t say it,” I muttered.

“Down low.” Nikki grinned as one of the men edged forward, puffing on his cigar. None of the group wore robes, which was totally undermining my opinion of dark mages. Next they wouldn’t have souped-up lightsabers either. What was the point of being a dark mage?

“Which of you is going?” he asked. “Both is foolish.” His gaze slid to me. “You, I think. I know you.”

“Her face was on a lot of milk cartons. Ancient history.” Nikki rested her elbows on her knees. “What should we expect from the other side?”

The men and lone woman stared back at us for a long minute. I focused on the woman, but she was watching Nikki, not me. As we all eyeballed each other, I could sense the battering of their psychic tendrils against my brain. They were probing, pushing, testing, all while looking like they might meet up later for a canasta tournament. These were no comparison to the kind of attacks I’d endured from the Council, but my brain wasn’t the only one in this conversation.

As I frowned at Nikki, one of the men shrugged. “Information is money,” he said mildly.

“Money or services rendered, yes, it is. But first give us something worth paying for, then we’ll negotiate. What do we need to know the first thirty seconds we step foot in that dimension?”

“The first thirty seconds are your last thirty seconds.” The woman’s voice was as hard as her appearance, and it cut across the group with a strange mix of suppression and goading. “It’s all the same in Hell.”

“So a temporal displacement?” I frowned. This was exactly the kind of information I needed.

“More like a vortex,” she said. “Time bending back on itself. You step in and a century could pass, or a moment. You lose track, but it doesn’t matter. As long as your tether remains waiting for you,” she flicked her glance to Nikki, “she holds the hourglass.”

“It’s a building filled with endless rooms, as many have said but none have proven.” Another man sighed. “Each more fantastic than the last. Everything you ever wanted, everything you imagined might come true but didn’t… It’s there. All the wrong decisions and missed opportunities too.”

Dread made up a nice futon in my stomach, preparing for a long stay, but Nikki waved the guy off. “You don’t need to scare us, friend. We’re already full up on that.” She peered around the group. “What’ll it take for legit intel?”

“Some in return.” The hard-faced woman took out a metal case and a tool and snipped the end off her cigar into the ashtray. She then neatly slid the cigar out of sight. “Why are you attempting to breach the doors of Hell?”

Nikki slid me a glance, and I nodded. I didn’t mind Nikki airing my laundry. Soo had already hung me out to dry.

Nikki apparently agreed. “Annika Soo hired my friend to find a bauble she believes was stuck in Hell a generation ago. Soo pays well but knows little.”

That got a snort of appreciation around the table.

The woman didn’t laugh. “What does she want with this bauble? The woman is richer than God as it is.”

“Power.” Another man was leaning in now, his eyes on me, the touch of his mind against mine annoyingly persistent. “She’s arming herself. Which means despite what you say, she knows something we don’t.”

I held up my hands, keeping a tight clamp on my brain, feeling like a fat little guppy surrounded by sharks with bad dentures. “I don’t know what she plans to do with it. She doesn’t pay me to ask that kind of question.”

“She’s not your only client either.” The woman leaned back, her arms crossed. “The Arcana Council is allowing this. They must need you in Hell as well.”

“Nope,” I said with words that rang with absolute authenticity. Kreios wasn’t paying me. Which meant his assignment wasn’t a job. “I’m in and out on Soo’s dime, as fast as possible.

“Perhaps we’ll hire you as well, then.”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen that one coming. Add-ons weren’t unheard of in the world of arcane bounty hunting. But the rules were clear.

“You want something and I can get it, I will. For a fee,” I said. “My loyalty is to Soo, though. That’s the way this works.”