Aces Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 5 (6 page)

What had happened to that certainty?

A child entered the room then, her eyes bright and her manner shy, asking us to come to dinner. Another hour passed as the day drifted into night, Jerome making us laugh with stories of the children and their abilities, their improvements, and their hope for a better tomorrow.
You’ve done good work here,
his every anecdote seemed to say. And there was more good work to be done.

I couldn’t deny that truth, especially when it was clustered around me three rows deep.

But there were other truths I couldn’t deny either. When Father Jerome urged me to stay another few days in Paris, the tug to escape the city, to return to my own world, was visceral. His gaze was soft as he folded his arms around me.

“Think on it is all I ask, dear Sara. God has given you great gifts and the power to choose how to use them. It’s not a decision to be made quickly.” His smile was endlessly kind. “Even if you find yourself at the tip of a sword.”

An hour after he left for one of the other houses, I let myself out the front door of the château…

And found Max waiting on the steps, his chauffeur’s outfit looking freshly pressed.

“Was I that obvious?”

He shrugged. “Father Jerome said you wouldn’t stay. He said you never did stay in someone else’s house if you could avoid it. So he told me to get ready to take you somewhere else.” He tapped the bill of his hat and grinned. “I’m at your service wherever you wish to travel in the greater European area.”

I nodded, but inside something twisted. Jerome was right: I never stayed in someone else’s house. But he of all people should know why. “Paris is fine. A hotel—someplace with a balcony. I want to see the stars.” I smiled at his skeptical expression. “Or at least the lights of the city, if the smog is too great for stars.”

“Smog, I can definitely find for you. And Father Jerome has many friends. There is a home I know for certain is unoccupied right now, a bit away from downtown but on the Seine. You will like it, I think.”

I waited until Max got into the car to study him in profile. His manner was wound up—too wound up for the lateness of the hour. He knew what I was going to ask, but he let me work around to it. We talked of more nothing for a few minutes, then I leaned forward in my seat.

“So?” I asked, not missing the way he tensed. “What did you learn from me? I assume that’s what you were doing when you held my hand as I talked to that girl.”

“What, you don’t like having your hand held?” he teased, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Not by someone who practically sears it off with the brush of his magic, no.” I gave him another moment, then continued. “You learned something. And you haven’t come anywhere near me since you touched me. Was it really that bad?”

“Ah—no,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “Tell you the truth, I didn’t know what to think. You have abilities beyond what I expected. Beyond any of the kids we have processed through here, even some of the ones who manifest as travelers and clairvoyants. And you can’t do any of that. You don’t wield actual magic.” His gaze flicked to me. “Right?”

“Nope.” I edged back in my seat, eyeing him. “That’s why I use the cards.”

“Spirit speaks to you, definitely,” he said, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Through your intuition. That’s certain. But the rest—your ability to travel, to jump dimensions, to command angels—to—”

“Whoa, what?” I sat up straight. “You can cross ‘commanding angels’ off your list. I’m pretty sure I’d know it if I had that skill.”

“It’s there.” He shrugged. “The truth comes to me in words and images, sometimes both. That one was words. And there were swords—swords all around you. I know what that’s about too.”

“Jerome said the children were talking about the swords before I got here.”

“They’ve been talking for days. All about the Houses in general, but Swords is the only one they’ll name. Swords and you as its head. They don’t seem to know the leaders of the other Houses—and we’ve asked. We figured you’d want to know.”

“I would.” I shrugged. “I will, eventually.” I pinned him with a hard stare. “Father Jerome doesn’t want me to lead the House of Swords.”

“Father Jerome doesn’t want you to be killed.” Max gentled his words with a smile. “He is a big softie, for all his toughness. I get why he’s nervous. But this…” Max shook his head. “I don’t see you getting out of this one, Sara. Those swords were all around you. Not like the Eight of Swords either—they were out, flying past you. Like you had a battalion of actual swords at your disposal, and you knew how to guide them.”

“Which would be impressive, if I could do something more than cut steak.”

Max lapsed into silence, and I let him be. I suddenly wasn’t sure I wanted to know what kind of skills he thought I had. Not if I wasn’t going to use them. Not if I wasn’t going to enter the war as the head of the House of Swords…whatever that meant.

I shifted in my seat, scowling as I watched the lights of Paris ease by. Eventually we turned closer to the river, but high enough past the city that we wound our way along large estates and manicured lawns, everything reeking of money and class.

“Father Jerome has friends here?”

“It’s an amazing estate.” Max turned into a drive, the gate opening almost before he glanced up to the camera. “We’re expected.”

“I guess so…” Still, it wasn’t until we’d slid all the way around the perfectly curved drive that I realized my mistake in trusting Max Bertrand to take me anywhere.

The sight of the man waiting for us struck me like a visceral punch to the gut.

He owed a debt of thanks to his Egyptian mother and French father, the best of both their features commingling in his raven-black hair that now curled to his shoulders, his black-gold eyes, and the sharp, aristocratic cut of his jaw. His sensual lips were now tightened into a sneer, but the expression didn’t detract from the raw perfection of his face. He wore his impeccably cut suit open, unbuttoned, and the fine material sat comfortably on his tall, rangy frame. He wasn’t thick or heavy, but that grace was deceptive. I’d seen the muscles corded over his arms and torso, his legs, his—

Focus.

“You’re killing me, Max,” I muttered.

“Sorry,” Max said sheepishly, not meeting my glare. “But the ties that bind, you know.”

“Great.” Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off the figure standing at the bottom of the stairs to the elegant estate house, perfect and devastating in his burnished-bronze glory.

Armaeus Bertrand, the Magician.

Chapter Five

Armaeus didn’t speak as Max parked the car. Out of a perverse sense of obstinacy I stayed in the limo until the younger Max came around to open my door. The younger Bertrand stood in awe of Armand on so many levels, he deserved to be a part of this handoff, to be addressed by his uncle, no matter how many great-greats there were between their generations.

I stepped out and immediately felt the intensity of the Magician’s gaze on me, ice and fire. Ignoring Armaeus, I turned to Max. “You’ll take care of Father Jerome? He looks tired.”

“He’s not so tired as that,” Max said, his lips quirking up in a grin even as he seemed acutely aware of Armaeus shifting his gaze to him. “He puts on a show for you, to get you to do what he wants.”

That made me feel somewhat better, but then Max stiffened, his eyes going wide as he raised up slightly on his toes.

I swung my gaze to Armaeus. “What are you doing?” I asked sharply.

The Magician had lifted his hand slightly—enough to make it clear he was the one holding up Max as if by the scruff of his neck. But the look he turned on his far-removed nephew wasn’t angry, exactly. It was cold, calculating, his dark golden eyes now nearly black with intensity as he scowled at Max.

“Your abilities are not new. You’ve hidden this your whole life,” he said, and his words contained a vocal projection that shivered through my bones. I grimaced. Max didn’t have a lot of experience with Armaeus’s auditory tricks. I did.

Max, for his part, looked frozen in shock. His words, when they came, were a babble of French.

Armaeus flicked his fingers, and Max stumbled back, regaining control of his body before he fell down. “Does Claire know?” the Magician asked, referring to Max’s great-aunt, the matriarch of the Bertrand family who lived deep in the heart of France, knocking around an enormous mansion that had more bedrooms than a Hyatt. “She should.”

“She doesn’t,” Max said, and to the boy’s credit, he straightened under Armaeus’s gaze, his shoulders going back. “She won’t, not by me. I don’t have time for anything but the children right now. And they keep coming, Armaeus. They keep coming, and if what I’m learning is true, that’s not going to end anytime soon. They deserve someone to fight for them.”

It was perhaps the most serious speech I’d ever heard Max make, and I kept utterly still as I watched them, afraid to interrupt the moment. Max had already done so much—committed so much—and pride swelled within me at how much more he could do. This was the reason to fight, I thought. People like Max, who dedicated themselves to those who needed a champion. This was the reason to lead.

Even if I couldn’t handle a sword.

The two Bertrands stared at each other a long moment, then Armaeus turned back toward the house.

“As you will,” he said, and strode up the stairs. “Miss Wilde.”

Max looked poleaxed. I resisted the pull of Armaeus’s command for a moment more as I gave Max the thumbs-up.

“You rock,” I said. “Now leave before I beat the crap out of you for dragging me into his holiness’s domain.”

“Miss
Wilde
.” Armaeus’s pull was more insistent now, and as Max’s faltering smile began to firm on his lips, I let myself be dragged up a step. Armaeus had not done this before, I realized with some surprise. Before, he’d certainly encouraged me to move where he wanted me to move, but never by using overt magical force. This was new.

I wasn’t a fan of new.

Still, I climbed the stairs more quickly as Max started the car and eased the sedan forward, his night’s delivery complete. Ahead of me, Armaeus paused to watch the vehicle move into the darkness.

“He’s a good guy, you know,” I said, speaking to the Magician’s profile. “You should cut him a break.”

“The likelihood of him dying a violent death has now increased exponentially with your interference in his life and your encouragement of his gifts,” Armaeus said without inflection. “When he dies, and of course he will die, there is now an eighty-seven percent chance that his death will be directly attributable to the conversations you’ve had with him and the trajectory you’ve sent him on. I should think if anyone should cut the young man a break, it would be you.”

He stalked through the open door.

I thought momentarily about turning around and trotting back down the stairs. Max wouldn’t be far, or I could catch a cab—

Miss Wilde.
As I waffled, Armaeus’s words flowed through me, sensual and insistent.
Would you truly give up this opportunity? There’s so much you want to know.

My brows went up. So that was how he was going to play this?

Spinning the Magician’s stupid ring on my finger, I climbed the last few steps and entered a palatial marbled foyer. I could see all the way down the long hallway to the veranda and Armaeus’s imposing figure beyond. He was ready for a chat? I could chat.

By the time I reached the end of the corridor, I’d built up a full head of steam.

Armaeus stood at the edge of the stone veranda overlooking the tumble of forest down to the wide river. I stopped well short of him. I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t much like him right now. And due to a series of recent events, in which so many of my memories with him had been proven to be lies, I didn’t exactly know how to base an opinion of him going forward.

“Okay, I’m here now. Let’s chat,” I said, and Armaeus turned. Once again, I steeled myself against his impossible beauty, as shocking in this moment as it was every time I looked at him.

For his part, the Magician’s eyes glittered as our gazes connected, and I sensed the desire curl between us, more intense even than our shared fury.

“What is it you want of me, Miss Wilde?” he murmured, and his voice hinted at mysteries better left unexplored, treasures I’d do well to leave buried. It was magical hoodoo, a diversionary trick—but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was my favorite one. Armaeus might be a master of promises unkept, but they were always really,
really
good promises.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the patience for any of that tonight.

“I want the truth,” I said, my annoyance ratcheting up again at his smirk.

“I find that’s rarely the case of anyone, least of all mortals.”

“You know, you’ve been immortal again for about thirty-seven seconds. And if you’ll remember, I was the one who got you there.”

His eyes turned a decidedly darker shade. “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting that anytime soon.”

“Yeah, well, you know what I won’t be forgetting? Simon, drunk off the poison
I
should have ingested in the Tel Aviv airport, telling me all about how you guys had the time of your lives trying to figure out what exact kind of freak I was.”

His expression didn’t change. “You’re upset that we discussed you?”

“I’m
upset
that this whole time when I thought you were legitimately hiring me and paying me to find artifacts for you, you knew I was a walking time bomb of crazy. And rather than warn me so that, oh, I don’t know, I could maybe watch out for myself, you simply observed me. Watched me like a bug. You put me in dangerous situations just to see what I would do.”

He lifted a sardonic brow. “And paid you handsomely as well.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—what’s payment to you when you can literally
create
money?” I spread my hands. “Don’t get me wrong. I set a fair price, and by God, you paid it, but I didn’t realize I was your science fair experiment. Every job you let me stumble around and fall and fail—and for what? So you could collect some new data about those wild, wacky mortals? Are you guys truly that bored?”