Getting Wilde (25 page)

The slightest trace of irritation laced the Magician’s sigh as the carriage slowed, an amber light glowing on the console marked “P.” I was pretty sure we weren’t heading for the Parking garage. The doors opened, and my suspicion was rewarded with a flood of light from windows on all sides.  “You don’t have to make this so difficult. I’m not going to attack you when your guard is down.”
 

“Oh, give me a break. That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
 

“She’s right, of course.”
 

The Devil’s rich voice floated over us, full of laughter, and the Magician’s entire body went rigid. Given my proximity to said body, it was a good reminder of how strong the guy really was. And how hot.
 

Back it down, sister. You’re operating in a moment of weakness, here.
 

“Now you decide to show up?” Armaeus refused to let go of me until we reached the main sitting area of the opulent space, a collection of overstuffed couches that were built for giants. Nevertheless, I held off on being deposited on one. The moment I sank into that much luxury, I was going to pass out.
 

“I don’t suppose you have a bathroom somewhere closer than a quarter mile away in this place? I’m pretty sure I still have glass shards in my hair.”
 

Armaeus twitched with irritation. “Of course. We need to assess your condition anyway.”
 

Before I could comment on how wrong that idea was, a woman emerged from the side of the room. Built like a discus thrower, she was dressed in the same liveried uniform as the valet, but she had the firm, no-nonsense manner of— “Oh for God’s sake, Armaeus,” I groaned.
 

“You have two choices, Miss Wilde.” He didn’t elaborate on option number two. He didn’t need to.
 

“Gotcha. Nurse Ratched it is.”
 

The woman smiled. “I’ll do my utmost to ensure you’re not lobotomized while in my care. Sir?” She gestured to Armaeus, who was still holding on to me like I was his prized stuffy. He reluctantly handed me into her arms.
 

We hadn’t cleared the lobby before he started laying into the Devil, once more using the strange language I had heard them speak on the phone. Really, I was going to
have
to look into the Google Translate options for ancient Sumerian.
 

“You’ve done quite a number on yourself.” The nurse exited to a long, quiet corridor, the hushed lighting and plush carpet a balm to my senses.  “Your first time in Vegas?”
 

Despite myself, I laughed. I was leaning harder on her than I wanted to, but she seemed unfazed by my weight. “You get banged-up guests a lot in here?”
 

“On occasion. My name is Margaret Sells, by the way—Dr. Margaret Sells, if it makes you feel better.”
 

“Sorry.”
 

“My fault for not wearing the white coat. I didn’t want to alarm you until I could introduce myself.”
 

“Armaeus call you on the Batphone or something while we were en route?”
 

I could hear the smile in her voice, though my eyes had drooped to half slits. “Something like that. I am on retainer with the Luxor. When Mr. Bertrand has a need for me, I’m happy to help. You’re the first bomb victim in a while, though.” We turned into a room that could have served as anything from a massage parlor to an operating suite, and she eased me over to the sink. “Let’s get some of this glass out first, before I examine you.”
 

“You’ve got the com.”
 

The next several minutes were accompanied by the pinging sounds of shrapnel landing against stainless steel as the woman dictated a laundry list of my injuries into what I assumed was a digital recorder. Either that or she just liked the sound of herself nattering on. Either way, I learned that I suffered several minor contusions and lacerations, a probable slight dislocation of the right shoulder, a left ankle sprain I hadn’t even noticed, and probable significant gas poisoning. The green tint to my lips was apparently a key indicator.
 

By the time we’d gotten to that part, I was sitting on the massage table, blowing into a device that looked impressively like a Breathalyzer. The nurse clucked as she watched the readings. “I’ve never seen anything like this, and I’ve been at it awhile,” she said. “The makeup of these toxins…”
 

“Pythene gas,” I managed after she took the mask from my face. “Ever hear of it?”
 

Her gray eyes flicked to mine. “Pythene, as in the oracle of Delphi?”
 

“You know your mythology.”
 

“It’s becoming an occupational necessity.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t prescribe an antidote for this kind of poisoning, though. Deep breathing of purified oxygen will help, but otherwise it’s just time.” She frowned as she looked into my eyes, and in my peripheral vision, I saw her pick up a slender penlight. With a murmured warning, she shined it in my eyes.
 

I didn’t flinch.
 

“Your pupils aren’t reacting. Has your vision changed since your exposure to the gas?”
 

I grimaced. “You could say that. But I can see you and the rest of this.” I waved tiredly around the room. “Even though the rest of the world can’t.”
 

“The transdimensional paradox, yes.” Dr. Sells spoke as if I should know what the hell she was talking about. “Our initial perception is that we should be standing in the middle of thin
air, but the transdimension, where this building exists, is quite real, if you know where and how to look. And if you have Connected capabilities.”
 

My blinking had nothing to do with her penlight. I reached out and touched the only exposed skin in easy reach, her arm above her plastic glove. Sure enough, there was the slightest zing. “I didn’t know.”
 

She smiled. “You’ll find minor ability throughout the medical community, I expect. There’s a reason why intuition plays such a powerful role in a doctor’s success.”
 

“And are you part of the
community
community?” I asked. “As in, here in Vegas?”
 

The idea appeared to startle her. “You mean, do I interact with the psychics?” She frowned. “I don’t have much call to do so.”
 

“Yeah, well.” I thought about SANCTUS and the visions I’d seen at Binion’s while sucking on that infernal gas. The visions of a war in the heart of Las Vegas, of blood and spirit and fire. “You’re about to.”
 

“Miss Wilde.”
 

We both startled like girls caught out gossiping, and mentally I kicked myself. For whatever reason, the Magician couldn’t crawl around in my own brain, but that didn’t stop him from riffling through Dr. Sells’s mind like a deck of cards. I scowled up at him, and Armaeus smiled.
 

“I see you’re feeling better,” he observed mildly. He regarded Dr. Sells. “Other than the reaction to the Pythene compound, are there any other concerns you didn’t mention in your report?”
 

The mind of the Magician. Better than a digital recorder any day. Beside me, Dr. Sells shook her head. “She needs rest, and she should avoid eyestrain.” That merited me a startled glance from Armaeus, and I pointedly didn’t strain my eyes looking at him. “Otherwise, she
should be fine in a few days, depending on how her body processes the gas.” She considered him. “Have you collected a sample? What I have from her lungs is pretty degraded.”
 

“We’ll have three separate samples sent to your lab by this evening,” Armaeus said. He flicked his attention between us. “If there’s a way for your team to replicate the compound—”
 

“Team?” That roused me. “You’ve got a team?”
 

Dr. Sells reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “Call me day or night, with whatever you need,” she said. “Your recovery is my primary concern.” She turned to Armaeus. “She needs rest more than anything.”
 

He nodded, his manner perfectly polite. “She’ll get it.”
 

Then his gaze shifted to mine, and his smile turned predatory.
 

“I’ll make sure of it.”
 

The Devil had apparently left the building, since the vast sitting area was empty when we moved back through it. “You guys kiss and make up?” I asked, trying to shore up my strength against what I suspected was going to be in my future. A bed, most likely.
 

A bed and Armaeus, if I wasn’t careful.
 

A bed, Armaeus, and a reaction I was going to regret unless I got a serious handle on things.
 

Fortunately, Armaeus seemed to be distracted by my question. Distracted and vaguely irritated, both of which worked fine for me.  
 

“Kreios, like the rest of the council, is not under my control, Miss Wilde,” he almost snapped. “While I am the titular leader of the council, I am not its ruler.”
 

I casually leaned against the edge of the couch, as if my feet were totally steady beneath me, and I just, you know, wanted to take a load off for a second. “So what does being leader get you, then? From what I’m picking up, you don’t even have a full council sitting here now. What is it—the Priestess and the Fool? And Kreios, of course.”
 

“The Empress and Emperor are here as well, as I am sure Kreios told you,” Armaeus said
coolly. “They are not needed for the daily work of the council.”
 

I frowned at him. “Not needed? Really? Do you seriously not give a crap that SANCTUS is planning to drop by for a visit?”
 

“You don’t know that for a fact.”
 

“Yeah, well, let’s call it a really strong hunch.” I stared out the far window to the sweeping panorama of Las Vegas. “There’s a lot of people down there who aren’t going to fare too well if SANCTUS decides to clean house, Armaeus. And I don’t know who actually is paying attention to the actions of the council, but if you don’t do anything in your own backyard…”
 

Somehow I had made it off the edge of the couch and onto the cushion while I spoke. I didn’t remember doing it. Still, now that I was here, I decided it was an outstanding decision on my part. Couches were much less dangerous than beds. Couches were in living rooms. It was broad daylight. The fact that my words were slurring ever so slightly was completely beside the point.
 

I flattened my hands on my knees, stretching out my fingers. They hurt. Then again, everything hurt. “So what’s the plan?”
 

Armaeus sat in the chair nearest me, amusement in his golden eyes. “The plan?”
 

“The fight. SANCTUS. They’re coming, and they’re probably coming here first. How are you going to stop them?”
 

“We’re not.”
 

“What?” I shook my head. I’d probably misheard him. I was feeling dizzy again, the vertigo returning even though I knew my feet were planted firmly on the ground, my hands gripping my knees, my shoulders tight, my back straight, my chin—
 

“You need rest, Miss Wilde.” Armaeus’s voice was suddenly too close. I blinked, startled,
and realized he was face-level, which meant he was no longer sitting next to me but kneeling now, leaning in. “How can I convince you to do so?”
 

“I—” My words broke off quickly as he leaned just that much closer to me, his lips brushing against my mouth. He tasted of cinnamon and sunlight. “Um, that’s not helping.”
 

He edged back a fraction of an inch. “You don’t have anything to fear from me. I thought we’d established that. There is nothing that I seek to do to you without your tacit permission—other than help you heal.”
 

“Heal.” I blinked at him, forcing myself not to look at his sensuous mouth. “Healing is not something I really need your help on.” I squared my shoulders. “I’ve got this part down pretty well. I’ll go to sleep on my own. I promise.”
 

“It’s not been a good day for promises.”
 

Something in his tone made me look up at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
 

“I don’t recall there being a deviation in my itinerary for you and Kreios, and yet I understand that he exposed himself to more danger—and others as well—after you both left the necropolis. That’s not the way you were supposed to conduct yourselves.”
 

“Look, I did the job you asked me to do.” I didn’t know if Armaeus was deliberately pulling my chain, but I couldn’t help but bristle. And bristling hurt, for the record. “I boosted Kreios from the Vatican and got him here. It’s not my fault he decided to take a detour. If you’d told me what exactly was hiding in that box, maybe I would have handled it a bit more carefully. As it was, I could no more stop him from doing what he wanted than I could stop you.”
 

I lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Even my hair hurt. “Besides, you’ve got bigger problems than Kreios. At least he’s
here
. Whether you lead him or rule him or you’re just the first guy in line to kick the ball, he’s with you. And he’s useful. Which is more than I can say about your little Golden Boy back in France. Unlike, I might add, your limo driver.”
 

Armaeus’s brows lifted. He hadn’t moved from his kneeling position, and I felt his gaze on my face, steady and certain. “You’re speaking of Maximillian?”
 

“Yes, Maximillian. He’s the real deal, Armaeus. Dante isn’t. You have to know that.”  
 

His lips twisted. “I don’t need another Bertrand to be the real deal. As I told you before, just because one member of a household has risen to ranks within the council, doesn’t mean that future generations must share the burden.”