Aces Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 5 (4 page)

Ignoring me, Nigel reached into his jacket as we entered a commuter plane terminal. “Your jet is waiting at gate fifty-three, up and to the right. I regret I won’t be joining you on your trip to Paris. Your tickets say Belgium, but you will be rerouted in flight. When you are ready to leave France, call the number on the card, and your travel will be arranged.”

He stopped then, looking at me fully for the first time. It was a critical, assessing look, and I didn’t like it.

“You got a problem?” I snapped.

He lifted one perfectly arched brow. “Not at all. You’re exhausted, and your reflexes are off. You’ll need to be sharper in the coming weeks. Who were you sitting with in the bar?”

“You’re the man with all the answers, you tell me.”

“He appeared to melt into your arms, leaving behind only his clothing. I assume that was an illusion, but I don’t know who was projecting it. You’re not wearing electronics, and your Connected abilities aren’t that good.”

I stiffened, violated even though Nigel hadn’t touched me. “You don’t know that.”

He waved his hand at me, drawing attention to the highly technical watch—as if I should have expected anything less from former MI6 with a Bond complex. “Electrical signature reader. Though I’m not Connected, I’m not without skills, Sara. Something for you to consider.”

I smirked. “You sound like you’re asking me out on a date.”

His precisely winged brows lifted the tiniest fraction. “Something else for you to consider,” he said.

Then he turned on his heel and left.

Chapter Three

Summer in the City of Lights was a far cry from spring. First off, it was hot.

Secondly, it was hot.

I disembarked from the private jet Nigel had arranged for me and descended to what looked to be an equally private airstrip. I squinted, trying to focus on the limo sitting on the tarmac, but it was virtually impossible in the heat rising up from the ground. Still, I made my way forward. I needed to get to Father Jerome and find out what was happening in the Connected community. I’d slept off and on for the four-hour flight and was feeling reasonably human, but I had more questions than ever before.

Namely, who exactly had spiked Simon’s and my drinks in the bar—and why? I couldn’t remember pissing off anyone specifically other than Gamon, and I wasn’t sure how she’d found me so quickly. Mainly because nobody had known I was in Israel other than the Council.

If it’d been a normal situation and I’d been in the mood to deal with him, I would’ve simply asked Armaeus who they might have inadvertently tipped off. He was the Magician. Knowing things was sort of a pastime for him.

But every time I considered opening my mind to Armaeus, I recalled Simon’s hints about the Magician’s plans for me well before I’d known I was anything but a highly-paid artifact finder. He was taking the concept of messing with my mind to deadly levels. How much did I know about Armaeus, anyway? Clearly, not enough.

There was also the stupid ring. I clenched my bandaged hands, feeling the bite of the gold device. Armaeus hadn’t trusted me not to disappear. Could there be something more to his concern than strategy? Or was Simon right, and I was merely an asset Armaeus didn’t want to lose until the game played out a little longer?

I grimaced. There probably wasn’t enough French wine in the world to make me feel bttr about any of this. But I would try.

I was about fifteen feet from the car when I registered that the limo driver hadn’t yet exited the vehicle. Despite the heat, normally the driver was out of the car and standing. If he—or she—didn’t want me to know who it was waiting for me…

Slowing my pace, I flexed my hands in their bandages. I wasn’t really in the mood for a fistfight, but at least the pain would be blunted.

“Sara!”

I turned, gaping as a familiar young man fairly flew out of the largest outbuilding, his tuxedo shirt untucked, his hand smashing his chauffeur’s cap to his shaggy dark hair as he raced across the superheated tarmac. “Come on—we’ve got to go!”

“Max?” I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, but the man didn’t slow down. He cursed a blue streak in French and raced for the car, while I picked up my own pace. I reached the limo a few seconds after he did, allowing him to wrench open the back door with one hand and stuff his shirt into the waistband of his pants with the other.

“I can’t believe we’re so late.” He practically shoved me into the sedan. “It’s almost time.”

“Time for what?” I asked as I slid across the back seat. Max jerked his own door open and tumbled inside, somehow managing to gun the vehicle before he was fully seated.

“Father Jerome is having a lunch prepared at the château. You’ll love it—everyone’s excited to meet you!”

I frowned, then jerked back in my seat as Max Bertrand turned the vehicle in a sharp arc, then roared away from the jet. A nephew of Armaeus a dozen generations removed, Max was one of the most interesting branches of the Bertrand family tree, even if he did revere Armaeus like the Magician was some sort of conquering warrior. I’d first met Max in Italy, where he’d been working as an on-call chauffeur for the family, and almost immediately sensed his Connected ability. From there, it was a short hop to get him hooked up with Father Jerome in Paris. The priest needed the help, and Max was meant for more than playing flunky to the Council.

Now, however, he was embracing the frantic-chauffeur role to the hilt. “What’s the rush?” I asked. “I’ve been late before. Father Jerome should expect it by now.”

“Not late like this, you haven’t,” Max said, in his nearly flawless English. “You were supposed to land at Charles de Gaulle, remember? And then that got rerouted. Father Jerome got word of the new flight itinerary, and you should have seen his face. I told him I’d be there to greet you no matter where you landed.” He lifted a hand to encompass the private airstrip we were barreling away from. “This place was the third redirection. Nice, huh? Big money out here.”

I lifted my brows. “Third?” I hadn’t realized the changes taking place. “It’s owned by Annika Soo?”

“Haven’t a clue.” He shrugged, flashing me a grin in the rearview mirror. “But whoever it is, they’re enough of a fan to go to these lengths to keep you safe. I guess you’re getting pretty popular.”

Once again I thought about pinging Armaeus, then discarded the idea. Instead, I focused on Max. It’d been two months since I’d seen him, and there was something…different about him. Different and good.

“How goes the work with Father Jerome?”

“Saved my life, Sara, you truly did,” he said, flooring it around a turn. “Father Jerome, he takes one look at me and tells me I’m wasting my talents. He put me to work right away with the smallest Connecteds—I mean, they’re little kids, right? And they’ve already gone through so much. Who am I to help them get over their fears? But the good Father, he says I must help in this way, so I do.” He shifted his gaze again to meet mine. “You do good work, Sara, getting Father Jerome the money he needs to protect so many children. It matters.”

“Eyes on the road,” I said.

Max laughed but did as I asked, keeping up his stream of chatter. “And of course, being around the most vulnerable of the Connecteds, I could let my own skills show. Some I didn’t know I had, some I’m still not sure what to do with. But I’m open to learning, and I grow stronger every day.”

“Anything I should be aware of?” I teased him, buoyed by his good spirits. “You’re not into mind reading or anything, right?”

“Ha! I wish. I would know what new terror Father Jerome is dreaming up for me.” He shook his head. “What I do—it’s far more subtle than that. I can sense the truth in someone. If someone is lying or being authentic, or what they perceive as authentic. I can also touch a thing and know where it came from, or the circumstances that brought it to me. That’s all.”

My eyes went wide. “Truth telling and psychometry? That’s kind of impressive, Max. You didn’t know you could do these things?”

“A good judge of character and a good guesser. It’s easily explained away when you are not looking for a deeper answer, no?” His bright gaze met mine again. “And what of you? Father Jerome prays for you all the time, you should know. Says he’s used up all his fear. He’s so glad you’ve come.”

Something in Max’s voice caught me.

“Why?” I asked, hearing the sharpness in my own tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Max offered me a Gallic shrug. “He worries. And he has much on his plate.” Max drew in a short breath. “The children. There are more every week, it seems. Too many.”

“I know—” I grimaced, but Max shook his head.

“No, I mean legitimately, too many. They’re getting shipped here from someone who deliberately is trying to overtax us, Father Jerome is certain of it. The children are too traumatized to speak, so we must dig to learn if they were targeted by dark practitioners or if they are simply cannon fodder launched by our enemies to distract us.”

I blinked, taken aback by his harsh words.

“It’s bad enough with the global immigration issues pulling everyone’s resources,” he continued grimly. “This is worse. These children may not be high-level Connecteds, but they are nonetheless terribly damaged. Far more than they should be, honestly. They are not strong enough to warrant the dark practitioner’s attention and yet…they have been harmed and we don’t know why. But of course we take them in because—how can we not?”

I heard the note of caution in his voice. “You think they were deliberately damaged to get accepted by Father Jerome? That they’re some sort of plants?”

Max blew out a long breath. “I do not know what to think. Father Jerome doesn’t hide his operation from the authorities. They know he’s running a kind of orphanage loosely connected to the church. If the police know it, anyone can.”

I frowned. Since I’d first learned of my friend’s side mission to care for the most vulnerable of the Connected community, I’d funneled most of the money I made as an artifact hunter to his charity. I’d never questioned how Father Jerome ran his safe houses, but now… “If his operation is that open, then what’s to stop the dark practitioners from ambushing one of your homes and taking the kids they want? The ones with the highest abilities?”

“Because—” Max hesitated. “That’s sort of my third talent, I guess you would say. Assessment.”

“Assessment…you mean of talents? You can tell that?”

He lifted one shoulder, dropped it. “I think so. Father Jerome thinks so, which is more important.” Then his grin split his face again. “But we move any of the kids who we think has unusual talent. And we put out to the arcane black market that we’ve got secret bolt-holes for them. As a result, the dark practitioners focus on these unknown locations—places they’ll never find—and not so much on the big houses, where most of the kids are. It’s a win-win. Don’t get me wrong, all the children have talent, but some…” He sighed. “Some of them are truly remarkable.”

I nodded. “How does that work? The talent reading? I know Father Jerome had a battery of questions he’d ask the children.”

Max nodded enthusiastically. “That’s how he came to realize what I could do. He’d ask me to administer the tests, but there were so many kids—I had to sort of do a triage. Make sure we got the at-risk Connecteds out of harm’s way before any slipped through. When Father Jerome realized the results were matching up with my shorthand sorting method, he got curious.”

“Sounds like him.” I glanced out the window. We were far outside of any city limits. Eventually, Max turned down a long private drive bordered on either side with thick forest. “Which house is this?”

“Les Anges,” Max said, and I nodded, taking in the unyielding sweep of trees. It was well named, I decided. The trees reached up and over the lane, as if protecting the property beneath in angels’ arms.

I’d long since lost track of the homes Jerome had purchased with my earnings—homes and staff to care for the Connected children. The kids weren’t all orphans, of course. Parents existed, but they could no more stop the trafficking than the authorities could. As a result, they’d learned of Jerome and had sent their children to him. Or Jerome learned of a child with unique skills, a family gaining notoriety in the community. In those cases, he sought the children out himself. The result was that these gifted Connecteds entered a safe-harboring foster program that would last until the children turned eighteen. Then, at least, they’d have a chance. In the world of the dark practitioners, the focus was on youth, the more unsullied the better.

Which, more often than not, was the only silver lining in the vile underbelly of the arcane black market—that with so few pure children, the dark practitioners couldn’t grow too strong, too fast. Not that it mattered. The idea of sacrificing any children to feed the slavish desires of the men and women who’d stop at nothing to augment their Connected abilities… It seemed impossible to believe. Yet it happened every day around me—was happening in far greater numbers than ever before, to hear Simon talk.

But it was Max talking now, and I blinked at him, forcing myself to focus. “—waiting for you,” Max finished with a smile. “It’s a little overwhelming if you’re not used to it, but he really wanted you to meet them all.”

I nodded as we pulled into another offshoot drive, this one quite clearly the lane to a grand home. The trees opened up to reveal a rich manicured lawn, and out of the valley sprang the quintessential French mini château—turrets and ramparts and even a water mill, churning at the river that ran alongside the property.

Max had barely stopped the car when a familiar figure appeared at the top of the stairs. I had to blink hard to stop the surge of tears behind my eyes.

“Father Jerome.” I was out of the vehicle and up the stairs in a rush, then I buried myself in a long hug from the short, stout priest. “It’s been too long.”

“Two months and more,” Father Jerome said, his perfect French accent a balm to nerves I hadn’t realized were so frayed. “We are blessed you’ve arrived safely. The children have heard so much about you.”

I turned and watched as the doors opened from several points along the house. Kids flooded out into the sunshine. They didn’t look like they were being marched out for an audience, merely released for fresh air, but they converged on the main green in a tumble of humanity—some of them laughing and chattering, some of them quiet, walking in small groups of equally silent compatriots, and some of them moving alone, drifting in their own private world. There were dozens of them, and I goggled as they amassed on the front lawn.