Getting Wilde (5 page)

Armaeus didn’t respond. Rounding the last turn, the road opened onto a palatial estate that was lit from bedrock to rooftop. Beside me, the Magician eyed the house with a curious mix of emotions flitting across his face. Sadness. Regret. Pride. Affection.
 

Not for the first time, I wished I could crawl around inside
his
head. So much easier than the painful uncertainty of conversation. People could lie. Armaeus was about to, I knew before asking the question. “Um, who are these people, exactly?”
 

He drew his fingers together, steepling them in front of his nose. It was a movement that for anyone else would denote prayer, a petition to the heavens. But Armaeus
was
the heavens—and the earth. He prayed to no god that I knew of.
 

A second later, he drew his hands away, and I blinked. His face was completely devoid of any expression except pleasant affability. Gone were the deep lines of tension that had bracketed his mouth. Gone was the stern cast to his brow, the hard set of his jaw. In its place was the
unlined, carefree face of a handsome man in his thirties who’d apparently just returned from a six-month vacation in Fiji.  
 

“Whoa. That is so much better than Botox.”
 

“Try to mind your manners while we’re here. If it helps, imagine that you have taken on the identity of someone who is polite. Even charming.”
 

“That’ll cost extra.”
 

“I have no doubt.”
 

The car slowed, but before it came to a full stop, the front doors of the immense mansion swung open. A full-test liveried butler stepped out along with an equally outfitted housekeeper, much more chatelaine than French maid, both of them completely ruining the Downton Abbey effect by beaming like they were little kids.
 

Bustling out between them was a tiny old woman wrapped in a shawl, her white hair glistening in the stream of lights. Beside her strode a
devastatingly
gorgeous man. He was tall, well-built, with piercing eyes that stared out from a burnished bronze face, and lustrous black hair that edged past his collar. He was stunning. And, more to the point, he could have been Armaeus’s little brother.
 

I straightened. “Um…”
 

“Your manners.”
 

With that, Armaeus’s door was opened, and he stepped easily out of the car, then turned immediately to hand me out. For the first time tonight, I was excruciatingly aware of my beat-up leather jacket, my three-day-straight leggings, my battered boots. Armaeus’s hand twitched with annoyance, so I took it a little harder than necessary, practically ripping the thing off as I hauled myself out of the car.
 

“
Mon seigneur
.” A man I hadn’t noticed was flanking the car now, but before he could fully get the words out, the old woman exclaimed with sheer delight, dashing down the steps like she was eight, not eighty.
 

Armaeus turned as she flew into his arms, and he lifted her up and swirled her around. “
Grand-père!
” she squealed, laughing like a child.
 

I tried manfully not to faint.
Grand-père?
 

“You are Miss Wilde?” I turned to see the gorgeous man from the top of the stairs looming over me. On close inspection, he wasn’t exactly Armaeus’s doppelgänger, but I made sure my perusal was very thorough, just to be certain.
 

Nope, he was shorter. And more slender.
 

More human too, with his watchful dark eyes appraising me, containing none of the otherworldly glitter that made Armaeus’s eyes so unsettling. He nodded at whatever he saw on my face, which I seriously hoped wasn’t naked lust, but it was probably a close thing. “I am Dante Bertrand, and it is my distinct pleasure to welcome you to Le Sri. Please forgive the bright lights. We do not often have the chance to entertain guests.”
 

“Of course.” I suppose the whole point of naming your house gave you permission not to invite people over.  He placed a hand on my arm, which apparently set off an electrical pulse in Armaeus. He glanced over from the elderly woman, his gaze leaping from Dante to me.
 

“
Mais, Grand-père! Elle est—
” The old woman blinked rapidly, then beamed more brightly. “Of course, you are American, yes? How terrible of me to speak so in front of you. My name is Claire Bertrand.” Though she was technically speaking English, her tongue turned every word into a trill, and I found myself trying to translate. She reached out both hands to me, and I obligingly put my hands in hers.
 

“I’m Sara. Nice to meet you.”
 

“
Mais, bien sur!
” As she gripped me with her delicate fingers, no thrill of awareness skittered along my palms, and I frowned. There hadn’t been with Dante either. But there could be no doubt of the family connection here, given the last name and the resemblance.
 

The old woman chattered on, and I forced myself to concentrate. “You are hungry? Tired? How long can you stay? Please do not tell me you are leaving yet this night.”
 

I caught the unguarded look of open affection on Armaeus’s face as he regarded his…granddaughter. Surely that couldn’t be right. So far in our relationship, Armaeus’s deep dark past had not fallen into the category of pertinent questions for me. Clearly, I was missing out.
 

Armaeus must have sensed my gaze, because his expression cleared. “Miss Wilde can spare only a few hours with us, regrettably. She’ll be leaving at first light.”
 

“You are
terrible
,” the old woman clucked, saying the word with its proper French inflection. “But come in, come in. We have food and wine, and much to talk about from what I understand, yes?”
 

We climbed up the broad front stair to the château, moving into a wood-paneled foyer and on down a sweeping hallway. I half expected mail-covered knights to be standing at attention on either side of us, but there were only rather boring oil paintings framed in gold. Yawn.
 

After traversing roughly the length of a football field, we gathered in a room that looked like a set from
Game of Thrones
. Tapestries on the walls, a fire blazing in an enormous granite hearth. I was fully prepared to have an animal skin thrown over my shoulders, but instead I was led to a large, leather-stuffed chair. The servants bustled around us, setting up trays of food and drink, as Armaeus and his, um,
granddaughter
talked in hushed tones.
 

I took the opportunity to study the woman. She was tiny, with fine bones and large, clear eyes. She also had a fierce spirit about her that was currently being channeled into adoration, but I had no doubt that all her emotions were felt with equal intensity.
 

“You have questions.” Dante had settled into a chair opposite me, his tone conversational but still managing to convey intimacy.
 

I felt another frisson of attention from Armaeus, but he had his own Frenchwoman to fry. I focused on Dante. “I assume you’re family. Kind of a messed-up family at that.”
 

He lifted a brow. “Armaeus is never one to share information that is not required, but I suspect you will get all the answers you require soon. He brought you here, which demonstrates his trust in you, no?”
 

“Right. You going to tell me the story, or do I have to guess?”
 

“My family history is not the reason why I brought you here.” From across the room, Armaeus’s words drew everyone to attention. The château’s waitstaff turned and filed out of the room, Dante and Claire sat, and I stared around curiously, because that’s what I do. The moment the large door was shut, Armaeus moved to the wall and pressed a panel. The tapestry lifted, revealing a large flat-screen monitor, and I grinned despite myself.
 

I loved rich people. They always had the nicest toys.
 

Beside me, Dante had turned as well, and Claire straightened in her chair expectantly, her face no longer wreathed in smiles, but watchful and intent. “What happened in the city?” she asked. “Dante would tell me nothing.”
 

Armaeus’s fingers flew over a small tablet apparently connected to the monitor. A line of code appeared on the screen, then winked out. “The information trail in Paris has validated our suspicions,” he said. “We’ve successfully drawn out SANCTUS to show their hand. They are active in the city and have infiltrated the families. Their intelligence network tipped them off about the interest in the seals, and they were confident enough to attempt to take it in public.”
 

“Wait, what?” I looked at him. “You’re telling me the holy ninjas were tracking the
Mercaults
, not me?” I felt vaguely insulted.   
 

“The Mercaults!” Claire drew her lips back in derision, a gargoyle with amazing hair. “They are filth.”
 

I didn’t dispute this. The Mercaults were filth that paid, however, and they didn’t traffic in stolen kids. That made them okay by me. Still, something didn’t add up. “I was at that Metro station alone, though. No one from the family there. Unless the Swiss Guard thought I was part of the family, in which case they’re stupid.” I shook my head. “And the papal office has hung around for an awfully long time to be that stupid.”
 

Beside me, Dante snorted, but Armaeus held up a hand. “Despite your continued assertions, the men you saw this evening are
not
working for the Holy See. Not directly.”
 

I opened my mouth to speak, but Armaeus turned to the screen. He hit a button on a little remote, and a map of Europe flared to life, glowing stark green against a black background. The major cities of each country glowed as green dots as well.
 

Overlaying many of those green dots were amber triangles—the largest of which was positioned directly over Rome. “They are agents of a quasi-military entity known as SANCTUS, a shadow cabal within the Vatican. Their director is rumored to be Cardinal Rene Ventre, one of the pope’s closest confidants and a compatriot of the inspector general of Vatican security.”
 

“Friends in high places,” I murmured.
 

“Nevertheless, SANCTUS is not an official division of the Swiss Guard or of the Vatican corps. The pope can plausibly maintain complete deniability of their existence, as the office has maintained deniability of shadow security forces throughout its history. We first began tracking their efforts in 1935, but their initial attention remained rather exclusively fixated on following the activities of Hitler and his compatriots, as they collected religious artifacts to add to the power of the Third Reich. SANCTUS’s activity waned in the following decades but increased again at the turn of the century as interest in new age mysticism and ancient faiths experienced a
renaissance. In the past decade, under the auspices of Cardinal Ventre, they have expanded operations dramatically. We have been monitoring talk for some time of their growing infiltration of the Connected community, especially as a new core mission has crystallized in recent months. For the moment, they appear to be dedicated to the cause of reclaiming false icons.”
 

“False icons?” I frowned at him. “False to whom?”
 

“That appears to be a question adjudicated by Cardinal Ventre. To accomplish their mission, the agents of SANCTUS have been quietly gathering religious artifacts they believe to be critical to their cause. Some of the items they have acquired recently are…quite rare. And quite specific.”
 

“And they’re doing what with all these toys? Adding them to the papal collection?” The Catholic Church’s treasure trove of artifacts was probably the largest collection of religious icons in the world, by several times over. “Seems a little grabby.”
 

Armaeus shook his head. “No. While the Vatican continues its interest in preserving and cataloging
all
icons of ancient and pagan religions as symbols of man’s imperfect faith, SANCTUS prescribes a far harsher approach. They seek to eradicate anything that is not of their god. They fear the power of such icons to sway a populace far too easily convinced by mystical prophecy or magical portents.” He turned to me. “It appears the seal of Ceres would be included in that description.”
 

“Uh-huh. And why would that be, do you suppose?”
 

Claire turned, her curiosity plain. “Did the Mercaults tell you nothing of the significance of the artifact?”
 

Dante also watched me as I considered the question. I was a big fan of a girl never spilling secrets, but the Mercaults hadn’t warned me that Vatican ninjas were on my tail. Not very nice. “They said that they wanted it as leverage. Apparently they thought this particular seal
was some sort of key. They didn’t know to what, but they thought maybe that would become obvious once they had a chance to examine it.”