Wilde Card: Immortal Vegas, Book 2 (8 page)

Focus.
Brody was a cop, and that was all that mattered. Cops weren’t something I needed in my line of work. Yet another reason to get the hell out of the city after I wrapped this job. My work with Eshe had an expiration date of the oracle twins leaving Vegas. That was going to happen any day, which meant I was almost home free.

The storefront of Grimm’s Antiques had the veneer of elegance even as it stood almost invisible between a used bookstore and a bondsman. The windows were framed in actual polished wood, and the front door boasted a small gold placard that stated no solicitors were allowed. On the shelves within the windows, several items of jewelry were nestled lovingly in black velvet—rings, cuffs, a torque that looked impressively old. Some of the items seemed expensive, but most didn’t. The perfect lure for the amateur collector.

I pushed inside the door.

Unlike Nikki’s wig shop, there was no happy peal of bells. There was no one inside the shop, period; though I suspected somewhere there was a camera recording my entrance. It smelled of dust and old books, and I glanced to the walls. Sure enough, Grimm’s Antiques also featured leather-bound tomes that gleamed with age. I suspected most of those books hadn’t been moved since the turn of the century. I drifted toward them, then got waylaid by low cases filled with shimmering gold coins. They appeared Roman, but something about them niggled at me, poking at a memory deep in my brain. like they weren’t exactly right. Copies? Fakes? Or simply a variation on the usual selection. It’d been a while since I’d studied coinage. Typically, the artifacts I was charged to find weren’t used in normal commerce.

I leaned forward for a closer look when a shuffling noise drew my attention. “May I help you find something specific?”

The man who spoke was small and hunched, thin as a whisper and just as bold. His skin was pale but curiously smooth. His eyes were nearly black. He wore a threadbare suit that hung on his slender frame, but I got the sense that it wasn’t due to poverty or illness that he dressed so shabbily. His sheet-metal-gray hair gleamed with a light oil that caught in the soft yellow lights, and his manner was watchful.

I knew better than to ask his name. Nothing made you sound creepier than asking someone to identify themselves. Instead, I went for near honesty. Easier that way.

I beamed at the man. “Hi. I’m in town for the collectibles convention later this week, and I know next to nothing about this stuff.” I gave an embarrassed hand flutter. “I would love to walk in with at least a passing understanding of what’ll be there.”

“Ah, the Rarity.” It was impossible to tell if Mr. Thin was judging me or the event, but I caught the faint whiff of a sneer in his tone. “Not the best show for a novice.”

“Probably true,” I sighed, willing myself not to punch the man in the throat. Really, we’d just met. I needed to learn restraint. “But I got this freelance job for a travel blog, and it sounds really cool. I think it’ll make a great story.” I glanced around brightly. “Is this your store? Like, are you the manager here?”

“I own Grimm’s, yes.” The man straightened a little, puffing out his chest. “It’s been in our family since we came to Las Vegas.”

“Oh my God, really?” I widened my eyes appreciatively. “How long ago was that, then?”

“How long has the store been here? Ah.” He seemed surprised by the question. “Since nineteen forty-five. A good year.”

“And you’ve made a living selling antiques? All this time?”

The disbelief in my voice was leavened by enough wonder that Mr. Thin hopefully didn’t take offense. “For the discerning seller, there is always a market.” He nodded. “And there are always new discoveries to be made, and new entrants to the field.” His gracious smile intimated that I might be one of those new entrants, and I had to hand it to the dude, he was sucking me in. I wanted to be a part of this discerning group of discerners, all of whom were discerningly rich enough to buy gold.

“So will you be at the Rarity too? Or is that not really your thing?”

His smile didn’t waver. “It’s not, but the show is rarely in Las Vegas. That it is this year is somewhat of a surprise.”

“Yeah? I’d think Vegas would be perfect for that kind of convention.”

“Las Vegas is a bastion of new money, not old. Shops like mine”—he waved to include the gleaming cases and the empty spaces in between—“are the true rarity. For a show to bring old gold to Vegas is a very special event.”

“What prompted it, do you know?” I stopped shy of clasping my hands together under my chin in unabashed wonder, but it was a near thing.

“I do.” He smiled, and every one of my nerve endings pricked up. There was something almost…familiar about that smile. Then he went on, completely not answering my question. “What sort of artifacts are you interested in?”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know.” I gave my best aw-shucks shrug and pointed at the case beside me. “I’ve done some studying up on coins, but I think I’ll have to do more. These look sort of Roman, but I’ve never seen them before.”

He stepped forward, the huckster in him unwilling to stay hidden. “They are…quite unique. That case is fortified with special glass because I simply could not keep such a treasure hidden from public view. Everyone who enters my shop is drawn to them.” He was drawn to them too, clearly. He walked all the way up to the case, then dropped a light hand on its edge. He leaned forward, and I did too. The mirrored bottom of the case reflected upward around the coins, and I frowned, distracted as I noticed something else odd in the case.

Grimm’s voice drew me back. “What I was told when I acquired these coins were that they were from Atlantis.”

I blinked at him, this time completely without artifice. “No way.”

“Indeed.” He drew his odd hands along the surface of the case. “I found that ridiculous of course, but I could not find an exact match to the coins. After a while, I stopped looking. It became too romantic to believe that they might have been part of a lost civilization.”

“How much do those kind of coins go for?” Armaeus wouldn’t be stealing these, not from a dealer so open with his display. But he could outright buy them if he wanted them. And given his penchant for Atlantean trinkets, most of which I was sure were fake, he’d definitely be wanting these.

“Oh, they’re not for sale. They’re part of my personal collection.” Mr. Thin smiled and took his hand away from the case.

“But if you would sell them, what would they go for? Like, say they were your typical Roman coin of that era.”

He shrugged. “Depending on the condition of the coin, anywhere from a thousand dollars to perhaps twenty thousand. It’s a very accessible market.”

Accessible to trust funders maybe. Still, trust funders were my kind of people. Maybe I should broaden my area of expertise. “Well, these are really cool. Think I might find some more this weekend?”

“You’ll not find anything like them at the Rarity, I’m afraid. Or if so, I have not been made aware of them. And I assure you, my information is quite good.”

“Fair enough.” Another winning smile. “What will be there, then?” I pointed at the case. “Atlantis is a myth, yet here are these coins. Will I find that kind of thing—pieces based on mythology or legends?”

He regarded me with the first thread of suspicion. “Is that what you will put in your article?”

“Well, it would be cool—if they had such a thing. But straight-up gold is cool too.”

“Straight-up gold is the province of the Rarity. Any mythology attributed to their pieces is, I assure you, strictly a fool’s tale to get you to buy something for more money.”

“Good to know. So, again, will you be going?”

Mr. Thin blinked at my sudden change of tack. “I will make an appearance. I have many colleagues who will be in attendance, from all points in the world.”

“That’s so great. I’ll be going to the opening-night-gala thing. Who’ll be there who’s awesome? Like, who’s the biggest wig of all?”

“I suspect you will determine that easily enough on your own.”

“Oh, c’mon.” I decided to play on my hunch. I leaned forward toward the man, never mind that he was at least forty years my senior, and gave him a slow-eyed stare. “I haven’t found anyone in the city able to give me the information I need. It’s all I really want, and I want it from you.”

To his credit, Mr. Thin didn’t flinch. Instead, his smile widened, and I could feel him lean closer to me, too, a con warming to his kill. “And what would you be interested in trading for this information?”

“I suspect you have something in mind.” I lifted a hand and turned it, my fingers skimming down the side of his—

The image flickered just enough.

“Got you,” I smiled.

Chapter Seven

Mr. Grimm’s hand closed around mine, pinning my hand to his cheek. The shock of the electric pulse lifted me off my toes for a half second as I watched his face shift to one of such heartbreaking beauty, if I hadn’t already seen it, I would probably have fainted dead away.

“When did you know?” Aleksander Kreios asked me.

The Devil’s outfit was largely unchanged from Mr. Grimm’s attire, but in much better repair. His suit jacket hung open, the white silk of his shirt gleaming and his bronze skin peeking through his open collar. His hair was blond, but instead of the casually windblown style it’d rocked the last time we worked together, the Devil had slicked his hair into submission with the aplomb of a New York model. The refined overlay of an expensive timepiece was the perfect addition.

He squeezed my hand, recalling me to his question. “Your smile was the first thing,” I said. “It slipped and became pure avarice. Which fit the old man but seemed too young, too hungry.” I pulled my hand away to avoid electrocuting myself. “But the real tip-off was your fingers.”

Kreios displayed his hands for me, long slender fingers tipped with nails I would swear had been manicured. The mere thought of that hand being polished, pummeled, kneaded—

“My hands?” he prompted.

I blinked at him. “Not hands.” I shook my head. “Fingertips. No prints.”

“Ah, yes.” He turned his hands over and regarded the perfectly smooth finger pads. “Fingerprints are generally not a necessary affectation, and they take a surprising amount of focus. Most would not notice. Most who did would assume Mr. Grimm had spent some of his untrammeled youth in lines of work for which fingerprints were an unnecessary hazard.”

“I thought about that.” I shrugged. “Then again, your card magically appeared in my pocket earlier today. I’d assumed it was Armaeus, but that little trick is a thing with everyone on the Council, I guess.”

“It passes the time.”

“Dollface, you’ll not believe it… Hel
lo
!” Nikki burst into the door with a whirl of brightly colored bags, then stopped fully as her gaze took in Kreios in all his glory. “Sweet Baby Jesus on a tricycle, you should post a warning sign. Give a girl a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Nikki Dawes. It is always my pleasure to see you.” Kreios leaned back on the glass counter, and I shifted away too, glad to put more distance between me and the Devil. “How may I help you?”

“In every possible way.” Nikki winked, then took in the room. “This place has cleaned up a lot since the last time I was in here. I’m thinking my credit isn’t going to be up to snuff.”

Kreios’s smile teased at his lips. “Most of the items on the display are less than a thousand dollars. If there is something in particular you crave, I’m sure we could work it out.”

As Nikki attempted a strangled response, Kreios shifted his gaze to me. “I’ll have a car sent to the Palazzo tomorrow evening for you.” His gaze flicked over my outfit. “And clothes.”

“Hey—”

“Good.” Nikki had recovered herself. “Clothes for what?”

Apparently, discretion wasn’t in Kreios’s job description. Then again, he was also a big believer in honesty in all things. He favored Nikki with another appreciative glance. “Sara is going to accompany me to the Rarity gala, unless she manages to steal the items we need first.”

“Steal?” Nikki’s brows went up. “From the Rarity? Their security is Techzilla, Inc. Totally top-shelf.”

“Borrow,” I interjected. “Armaeus told me he wants to review at the items and assess their value. If he decides to acquire them after all, I’m sure he’d be willing to pay for them.”

“Willing, yes. Except the Council requires anonymity. An anonymity that Jarvis Fuggeren might not want to grant.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Which brings me to your purpose here. I would like to outfit you in suitable jewelry for the event, but I need to see how your body will react to the various base metals.”

“Be still my heart.” Nikki was back to sounding strangled. “I’ll be over here. Watching.”

“Not at all.” Kreios waved his hand, and a tall, heavily-muscled man appeared in the doorway behind the counter. “There is an extensive collection in the back that you might find interesting, if you will allow Stefan to guide you.”

Nikki’s throat worked as she took in the bald body builder in a sleek black tee shirt and jeans that were slung low on his hips. Even at this distance, I could see her pupils dilate. “That’s for me?” she whimpered.

Kreios waved the man forward, and he stepped up to Nikki, taking her hand like she might break. Nikki dropped her shopping bags to the floor, then blinked at me. “I don’t—”

“Please, take your time,” Kreios said. “Stefan has a habit of tying guests up for a while. We’ll wait.”

Nikki’s eyes might have rolled back ever so slightly into her head, but she went.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” I asked Kreios when they had cleared the doorway. “You’re doing that Dr. Manhattan thing again, like when I’d first met you. Except…” I glanced over to the doorway. “I didn’t realize you could change your appearance multiple times when you manifested a new incarnation. That’s sort of cheating.”

Kreios laughed. “If you prefer to think that, it’s your choice. I consider it more an opportunity to multitask.”

“Yeah, well, how many illusions can you keep going at once?”

“When I am strong? I have maintained five simultaneously.”

“Five.” I shook my head. “That gives a whole new meaning to being a team player.”