Chapter 8

We landed in Las Vegas on a bright and sunny morning, a full day and change after the excitement at Demonica's Pizza. In fact, including the additional time that we'd spent in Hell, a full three days had passed since the attack in the pizzeria.

Barry had wasted no time taking advantage of his new position of power among the arcane drug lords of New Jersey, though he had committed to returning to the relatively benign practice of utilizing a dough army vs. the husks of Hell. He also refused to let Maria leave his side, convinced that she was his good luck charm. Maria, for her part, had begun feeding Kreios all the intel he needed to know to stay on top of the district. Hey, whatever worked.

Once we were cleared to leave the plane, we emerged into the sunshine, and I blinked rapidly, though not only because of the mirror-bright sun.

"Dollface," Nikki Dawes shouted through a megaphone as she stood beside one of the Arcana Council's sleek gray limousines. It wasn't the first time Nikki had ever met me at the airport, but I had to admit, the megaphone was an unexpected touch. So was the line of four additional limos, each with their own driver, their outfits as on point as Nikki's if somewhat less fabulous. While Nikki's snap-brimmed chauffeur's hat completed the ensemble of a black minidress tuxedo perfectly cut for her voluptuous curves and mile-long legs, ending in platform patent leather pumps with what looked to be bona fide spike heels, her compatriots were dressed in more subdued dark gray suits—two male chauffeurs and three females.

The Devil broke into a wide grin as we moved down the stairway. "Miss Dawes, you never disappoint," he observed. Bringing up the rear as I was, I peered between Kreios and Sariah, trying to pick up any further weird energy between them.

With a slight jerk, Sariah turned to me, meeting my gaze pointedly before rolling her eyes to remind me that she still maintained some of Kreios's mind-reading skills. She refocused on Nikki. "Please tell me one of those limos is for me."

Nikki tucked the megaphone beneath her arm and grinned, her bright red lipstick a perfect counterpoint to her short blonde bob. She tipped her cap to Sariah, and a few strands of her wig fluttered in the breeze, defying the edict of her hair spray. "Your wish is my command, oh Night Witch. As it turns out, as you are one of the newest and most fabulous of our Las Vegas celebrities, and you've got an appointment with one of the old guard. The limo's going to take you to see Dixie Quinn."

My brows lifted as Sariah and I exchanged a glance. Dixie Quinn, astrologer extraordinaire and owner of the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars, was the unofficial den mother of the Connected in Las Vegas. If it was psychic and happening in the city, she knew all about it. She and Nikki had been besties for years prior to me coming to town too. "She asked to see Sariah?"

Nikki turned to me. "She did. Apparently, there's been some trouble among the Connected community here. It's dark and bloody, and she thought—"

"I'm in," Sariah cut her off, turning to scan the line of cars.

"Car number two's for you," Nikki informed her, and I smirked. There were two drivers for that car, both of them looking fresh off a Chippendales revue. Had they been chosen for Dixie or Sariah, I wondered? Either way, Sariah didn't give any of us another glance as she headed off across the tarmac.

Nikki's mouth curled into a satisfied smile. She shot a glance to me, and I shook my head warningly, making her grin even more. Then she glanced up, pouting with feigned annoyance. "Just once I would like to give Mr. Magic a ride."

The Magician had not exited the Council's jet with us. He had other means of transport to his private casino at the end of the Strip. Considering his current glow-in-the-dark status, it was probably just as well.

Nikki turned and winked at Kreios. "Please tell me you're not gonna let me down?"

"It would be my greatest regret," Kreios agreed as he stopped before Nikki and reached out a hand, lifting her gloved fingers to his lips. As he kissed her knuckles, four other Devils emerged from the airplane to saunter down the staircase, each wearing different clothes. One was dressed as a Mediterranean model, with long hair, worn khakis, and a white linen shirt. Two other Devil incarnations were dressed as uptight businessmen, the severity of their suits in direct contrast to their jocular grins, one with ice-white hair and deep blue eyes, the other with rich black hair cropped close, and eyes the color of caramel. The collective gasps of the chauffeurs behind Nikki were all that was needed to send her smile into the stratosphere.

"I knew I could count on all of you," she said happily.

"Always," Kreios agreed. They kissed with the fervor of two lovers who hadn't seen each other in months, not mere days. Did I sense a sharpened attention from the Chippendales limo? I couldn't tell as Nikki broke away from Kreios, wiping away a nonexistent lipstick smear as she cackled. She drew the megaphone back up to her mouth.

"Let's go, people," she ordered. And pointing to Kreios, she flicked her finger toward one of the other limos. "I got a particular challenge for you over there. New in town and kind of a fan. It's sweet, really. Her name's Wendy, and she's truly looking to fly."

It was everything I could do not to turn my head on a swivel, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw a stunning redhead in thigh-high boots beneath her mini-skirted suit. Once I had attuned to her, I could feel her nerves.

"Ah, yes. Wendy Gray," Kreios said, not looking Wendy's way either. "I do believe she works for me. You can be safely assured that her wish is my fondest command."

He bowed again to Nikki, and she sighed with a little giggle, then shooed him on his way. When she turned to me however, her eyes had a steeliness I didn't miss.

"In the car, dollface. We've got to talk."

There had been a time when Nikki had been my driver when I'd come to deliver arcane artifacts to the Arcana Council. Now she was my best friend. There was absolutely no need for her to drive my car anymore; she just liked to do it.

We got in the limo, and I slid into the back seat as Nikki adjusted the rearview mirror so she could easily meet my gaze. She put the car in gear, then glanced up at me.

"Self-driving car, courtesy of Simon, but I still don't trust this shit."

"I'm not sure I would either," I agreed, though I sat back in the leather seat with a heartfelt sigh. That particular flight from Jersey had been a little extra. "What's going on?"

"What isn't?" Nikki countered. "We've got calls for Justice coming in from all over the world, some referencing current issues, of course, but more referencing past complaints than I care for. It's as if someone leaked that you had a cold case archive and they wanted to make sure their issue had its day in the sun."

I groaned and leaned back farther into the seat. The role of Justice of the Arcana Council had gone unfilled since my predecessor vacated the position in the mid-1800s. There had been a shot at a replacement in the 1920s, but that hadn't taken, and ergo entire generations of requests for Justice had fallen on not necessarily deaf ears, but definitely idle hands. Mrs. French, the caretaker of the library of Justice Hall, had diligently filed each and every case, in a library room with stacks that wound around for acres, it seemed. I would never get through all those cases. People had to know that. Even the cold cases that had surfaced as a result of current investigations had taken time to sort out. There were just too many wrongs in the world, and there always would be.

"How's Mrs. French doing?" I asked.

"She's holding her own, but she would be the first to tell you that there's something hinky with this latest flow of demands. I'll let her explain that part of it, but things are weird in other ways too."

"I figured," I said. "The Council?"

To my surprise, Nikki shook her head. "Actually, no. They've been pretty quiet since we got back from our last big adventure. The Sun is outfitting his residence and trying to get the lay of the land. The rest of the crew is doing their best to accommodate him. There hasn't been a Sun on the Arcana Council in a hella long time, and everyone's going at him in their own way. It's like they just introduced chicken nuggets to the school lunch line."

I smiled. The Arcana Council had recently added a djinn to its ranks, and of course, I already suspected the Magician had been tinkering with all our magical limits. But if it wasn't the Council that was bothering Nikki…

She didn't make me wait any longer.

"We've started getting some personal correspondence over the transom for you, some of it more personal than others." She reached out to something on the seat beside her and lifted a small burlap pouch, handing it over the back of the seat.

"This came for you about three days ago, best we can tell, but it was part of a flood of new canisters, so it took us a minute to sort everything. But it's not addressed to the Arcana Council…it's not addressed to Justice…it's addressed to Sara Wilde, and it's apparently from somebody you know. Or knew, anyway, from your artifact-hunting days. I asked Nigel about the name, and he got all squirrelly and announced he was heading straight for us, so I figured it was probably somebody legit."

I frowned. British-born artifact hunter Nigel Friedman and I had met while we'd been doing similar work, hunting down magical treasures for the highest bidder. Occasionally, we'd also steal those artifacts out from underneath each other after a successful hunt, in the time-honored practice of thieves for hire everywhere. But while Nigel and I had remained on relatively good terms throughout our years in the business, he was definitely in the minority. I hadn't made too many attachments when I was hunting. I assumed, and rightly so, that anyone who was out in the field with me was a competitor. Given the money that each of our artifacts earned us, competition was fierce.

I slid the papers from the burlap sack. The message was rolled in a tight sheath. As soon as I flattened the top one, though, my brows went up. "Roland Franklin?" I asked. "I didn't know he was still hunting."

I leaned in closer, holding the pages up to the sun streaming into the window. The handwriting was spidery, thin, cramped together. The top sheet looked as if it had been torn from a notebook, while the pages beneath were older, crumbling. Giving up on trying to read the older man's handwriting, I flipped through the other pages. "Where is this? Peru? What's he doing down there?"

"I took the liberty of deciphering his scrawl and putting together a more complete dossier. That's waiting for you back at Justice Hall on a screen. I wanted you to handle the delivery yourself, though, see if you picked up anything from the package."

I glanced up at her, half expecting her to be pulling my leg, but when our gazes connected in the rearview mirror, I saw she was deadly serious. "I can't always feel magic that strongly. It's not how I work. You know that."

"Wait for it," she said, then barked out a curse as she snapped her gaze back to the street and barely avoided a car running a red light through an intersection. As we swerved, I could hear something knocking around in the base of the pouch. I poured the rest of its contents into my hand. A ring fell out. A large central opal framed by three small moonstones and a burst of diamonds to either side had been set into a silver band thick enough to make any high school graduate from the 1980s proud. Or maybe someone who'd just won the Super Bowl.

I scowled down at it. "Roland sent this to Justice Hall? Why?"

"An excellent question, but there was no residual magic on the ring I could find," Nikki returned. "I tried it on. It only fit on my pinky, natch, but it made me feel all fluttery inside, not gonna lie. Kinda made me wonder what it would do for you."

I studied the ring more closely. "I'm not in the habit of triggering magic artifacts without any provocation."

"Oh right, and I'm not in the habit of wearing glitter to church. You gotta admit, it's a pretty hunk of tin."

"It is that," I agreed. I held up the ring to the sun, admiring it for another long moment, then I slid it on my finger. The response was harsh, immediate—and about blew right through my eardrums.

"Miss Wilde," the Magician bellowed in my mind. "No!"