The Night Witch: Wilde Justice, Book 6 Read online

  The Devil smiled, and we were out the door.

  The walk to the Carlton was brief and uneventful, and we blended into the crowd easily enough. In LA, clothes definitely didn’t make the person. In fact, it was a city that prided itself on looking for a lower rent than it actually was.

  That situation changed the moment we stepped into the Carlton boutique hotel. I’d never heard of the place before, and it was clear that at some point, it had served another purpose than that of an expensive hotel. The interior of the first floor looked more like it had once been a bank, down to the teller stations and the brass bars. But there was no doubting the rarefied air surrounding the celebutantes gathered in the lobby. Dozens of beautiful young women and men in sleek summer minidresses and open-collared shirts and slacks drifted around the space and pointedly ignored us as we entered. Even discounting the fact that the Devil had been born in the early 1900s, we were definitely older than most of the crowd. Nobody paid us any attention, and we moved quickly through the front to the back of the lobby.

  Once we reached the security station, things picked up. One of the men looked our way, stiffening as he clearly recognized Kreios. That struck me as surprising until I glanced over and nearly tripped over my own feet. From all appearances, I was walking next to Benedict Cumberbatch in full Doctor Strange winged eyebrows and bespoke British suit.

  “Seriously?” I muttered. “You couldn’t at least have given me Tony Stark? Thor?”

  “Regrettably, I must play to the audience I am given,” the Devil murmured back. “However, I would be more than willing to arrange a private performance for you. That could prove quite…distracting.”

  Even knowing the Devil as well as I did, I couldn’t stop the shiver of awareness that skated through me. He knew it, too, if his smirk was any indication. Asshat.

  “Noted.” He tipped his head.

  When he spoke next, it was with a flawless British accent. “The Kymberlee Aines gala?” he asked with an admittedly adorable air of bemusement.

  “Of course,” the security guard blurted. “Do you have ID, special passes?”

  “Yes, indeed,” the Devil said, producing both with a flourish of his hand. The High Priestess wasn’t the only Council member given to illusion. In fact, I was one of the few Council members who sucked at it, now that I thought about it. Something I’d need to look into.

  The security guard barely gave me a glance, apparently satisfied that I was a suitable plus one for Mr. Cumberbatch, or simply too starstruck to care, and a moment later, we were through the line and to the elevator, the carriage complete with its own operator. We were taken to the fifth floor, not the penthouse, because, as the elevator monitor informed us breathlessly, that was where the pool was.

  Once we were out on the deck, a pleasant breeze cut through the heat of the day, and plenty of eye candy gathered everywhere we looked, albeit of the decidedly airheaded variety. The one exception was Kymberlee Aines herself. She stood at the front of the staging area, wrangling products and cameramen as if she were born to the job. I didn’t recognize her as one of the young women in long white gowns from Stratosfaire, but I didn’t not recognize her either. She had that certain Instagram-ready cast to her face and makeup that made her look like any of the three dozen models doubtless posing for pictures elsewhere in the city at this exact moment. Such was the world we had created.

  As we approached, the young woman looked up and gave a tiny squeal of surprise. “Paolo! You came!”

  She dashed over, and I barely had time to notice the Devil’s new glamour before he opened his arms wide and gathered the young celebutante into a warm embrace. I didn’t recognize him as an actual celebrity, but his almost shockingly good looks made me think he was possibly a model the young woman knew.

  He drew her away, and she went willingly, while I sort of floated in their wake, a discarded party favor off the back of the boat. I didn’t mind. I just needed to know what the woman had to say.

  “I tried to get ahold of you earlier today,” the Devil murmured in a voice I didn’t recognize, solidly Mediterranean. “They said you were sick.”

  “I wasn’t sick, I was wiped out,” Kymberlee said breathily, with a voice like an invitation to sex. “Oh my God, the jack they had at that party was like nothing you’ve ever seen, Paolo. I’ve already got lines out for it. What it made you see, made you feel…”

  “But it wiped you out?” Kreios pressed, soul of concern. “That seems kind of dangerous.”

  “Only because I took way more than I should’ve for my first time. But you know how I am about first times.” She giggled, and the Devil nodded sagely. He stepped closer to her, tucking his hand under her chin.

  “So tell me, what did you see?” he asked. “What truth would you like to share?”

  At least here, it seemed, he was willing to get to the point.

  Kymberlee blinked back at him, her eyes wide. “Only the most amazing witch in the world, and they told us she wasn’t even a witch, but a priestess. A priestess!” She legitimately squealed. “There’s real magic, Paolo, and we can buy in. I’m not talking sponsorships, either. I’m talking buying in at the very top. Having the kind of power to influence not with social media, but with a glance or a smile.”

  The Devil wearing Paolo chuckled. “Seems to me you’ve already got that power.”

  Kymberlee beamed at him. “Over you, maybe, over my fans, sure, but I want more, and I can get it because I’m the right kind of person with the right kind of ability. I can be trained to make it all happen with the snap of my fingers. They said so, and she did too—and she’s a priestess.”

  Kreios gave her a concerned frown. “Hey, are you sure this isn’t some sort of scam?”

  I was seriously enjoying Kreios’s younger, looser approach to conversation, and to her credit, Kymberlee didn’t take offense. “I know it sounds like that, but that’s not it, I promise. I saw things at that party. And I’m not the only one. I’m the first and only wave—well, that’s what they said, but I don’t believe them. I can give you a list of a hundred people right now who would want to be where I was, want to see what I saw. I’m going to have to act fast.”

  Listening to her, I grimaced. The Shadow Court certainly was upping their game if they were going after the gullible super-rich and promising them Connected ability. How far had they gotten, though? Did they have enough whales lined up to start gambling at the VIP tables?

  I glanced back to see that Kymberlee and Kreios had moved on from chattering to engaging in a passionate embrace. I didn’t care—I’d gotten what I’d come for. I waited with barely restrained impatience for them to finish, and even less restraint as Kreios and I then threaded our way back through the hotel, this time bypassing the security checkpoint altogether and exiting out the back of the building through a doorway I was pretty sure was never supposed to be opened.

  “Okay, so what is she going to do when she figures out it wasn’t actually Paolo who showed up?” I asked Kreios as we stepped back into the sunshine.

  “I happened to know that Paolo is currently enjoying the favors of a woman who looks remarkably like Kymberlee on the other side of town. When she expresses her delight at his appearance today at her gala pre-party, it will be up to him to determine how to play it. I have every faith in the young man. Bottom line, however, Ms. Aines’s presence at Stratosfaire was designed for her to receive an ironclad assurance that she could buy her way into Connected ability.”

  “So, technoceuticals?” I asked, referring to the arcane black market’s product of choice, a mixture of pharmaceutical ingredients and pure magic, the latter often gained in the most brutal way possible.

  “Technoceuticals and potentially true magic. There’s no real telling what the Shadow Court is up to, especially since we don’t have a full understanding of who is behind the curtain.”

  The cramp in my stomach was back. “All right,” I sighed. “Then let’s get home.”

  The Devil chuckled. “Oh
, I think not. At least not before we shop.”

  I stared at him. “Kreios, we do not have time for that.”

  “And I assure you, we have nothing but.”

  He gestured, and a limo purred up beside us. “Trust me, this will only hurt a little,” he promised.

  5

  “Welcome to magical Las Vegas!”

  I wasn’t so much surprised to see the thigh-high-slit gown that greeted the open door of Kreios’s limo, his conveyance of choice from the Las Vegas airport given the trunk full of purchases we’d brought back on the Council jet from LA. What did surprise me was that I didn’t recognize the muscular leg of the goddess who greeted us—or the voice.

  “Oh!” the stunning redhead exclaimed as she reached into the car and grasped my hand in a powerful grip. “Nikki is going to be beyond thrilled that you made it. The show starts in twenty minutes, so you’ve only just got time to get to the bar. And honey, you’re gonna want to get to the bar before things get started.”

  She said all this in a breathy rush as she pulled me to the pavement, barely giving me time to register her gorgeous red wig, million-dollar makeup, and a dress that plunged halfway down her torso in a sea of emerald green.

  “Where’s Nikki?” I asked, and she gave me a broad wink.

  “Girl. She is up to her ass in paparazzi and loving every minute of it. Don’t you worry, she’s got you guys set up right at the VIP table, and she’ll be joining you as soon as the festivities begin. She’ll be spending most of her time on stage, of course, the show must go on and all that, but we’ve prerecorded the introductory packages for each of our ever-so-stunning contestants, so that gives her just a little bit of breathing room so that she can knock your socks off—oh!”

  The redhead turned to Kreios as he exited the limo, her smile, if possible, going even wider. “And she is going to be completely thrilled to see you looking so fine tonight, if I do say so myself. You ever decide you want to bring more than one friend to the party, honey, let me give you my card.”

  Kreios’s chuckle was a deep rumble of desire as he took the bombshell’s hand in his, lifting her lacquered fingertips to his lips.

  “I can’t remember the last time I got such an appealing invitation,” he said, meeting the green-eyed vixen’s gaze long and meaningfully as her heavily painted lips parted in a completely unfeigned gasp. “But you don’t need to give me your card, Barbarella. I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time.”

  Barbarella’s brows climbed up her forehead, until they almost grazed the deep cherry-hued bangs artfully curled around her face. Her inch-long false eyelashes fluttered, and a rush of color that had nothing to do with her expertly applied blush flooded her face. She drew in a strangled breath, breasts heaving beneath the green sequined gown that would’ve put Princess Ariel to shame, and she took a quick step back on her teetering white platform heels. “Nikki told me what to expect when I met you, but I never—I mean I simply never…”

  Kreios gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Well then, I look forward to being your first,” he assured her.

  We moved on before the poor woman stroked out, and I gave the Devil a sidelong glance. “Was all that really necessary?”

  A surprisingly soft smile curved the edges of his mouth. “I assure you, it was not only necessary, it was long overdue. Barbarella James has only been in Las Vegas for a little under a year. Before that, she lived in a Deep South town that shall forever remain nameless, where she faced an upbringing I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And I certainly have some enemies who would deserve it. Anything I can do to help her express the beauty deep in her soul that has been yearning to shine, right along with her true identity since she was very young, it’s my honor and privilege to do.”

  I pursed my lips as I looked away. It was such a simple expression of solidarity, yet it stole my breath. Say what you would about the Devil, he’d seen the worst and best of what humankind had to offer. He understood.

  “Well, alrighty, then,” I managed, and we stepped inside the Flamingo Casino.

  It was easy to know where to go from there. For the first-ever Las Vegas Princess Drag Queen competition, Kreios had pulled out all the stops. A glittery archway that was the stuff of prom girl dreams snaked away from the main doors of the Flamingo, leading to one of the casino’s performance venues. The archway was covered in millions of twinkling fairy lights, with several alcoves open for contestants and guests to have their photos taken. The casino itself was jam-packed with tourists and regulars alike—gambling, playing slots, and ogling the statuesque beauties circulating through the crowd prior to the competition. This was Vegas, so the concept of drag queens was nothing new, but the combination of glitz and glamour that attended this particular competition put even the most dyed-in-the-wool Midwestern-looking tourists completely at ease. There were several knots of them conversing with the contestants, both sides wide-eyed with excitement. Kreios might not be able to change minds, but he could at least give people new options to consider.

  We bypassed the glittery Habitrail and made directly for the theater, Kreios signaling discreetly to a number of security personnel on the way. The crowd at the Flamingo was practically pulsating with energy, and that could go in a couple of different directions if he wasn’t careful. Fortunately, his crew looked to have everything well in hand, and a few moments later, we were in the main theater.

  The second we reached the doorways, I was nearly tackled by a flying blonde dervish.

  “Dollface!” Nikki crowed, whirling me around and then holding me at arm’s length to get the full experience of my outfit. It was a pretty impressive outfit, especially for me, and I struck my best runway pose.

  “Sweet baby Jesus on a tricycle, will you take a look at you,” she exclaimed. “Silver lamé?” She shot an awed look at the Devil. “You got her to wear silver lamé? And platform heels? I think I may faint.” She swooped in for another hug, and I threw up my hands in alarm.

  “You’re going to mess up your makeup,” I warned, but Nikki cackled as she tossed her head, piles of gorgeous blonde curls bouncing in echoed delight.

  “Honey, there ain’t nothing going to move this makeup short of a nuclear explosion. The Devil gave me the best of the best, and I surely do owe you for it, sugar face.”

  She said this last to Kreios, and he didn’t hesitate. Unlike me, he had no concerns for Nikki’s appearance and swept her into a knee-knocking embrace, tilting her all the way back as he planted a deep and searching kiss on her lips. All around us, photographers’ cameras flashed, adding a brilliant starburst feel to the moment, but one that was entirely unnecessary. No matter where they were, Nikki and the Devil always stole the show.

  A moment later, he righted her, twirling her out so that I could see more of her stunning ensemble. The white sequined gown flared wide, its shimmering silhouette hugging Nikki’s ample curves and its twin thigh-high slits ensuring that she would have no problem gliding across the stage as she introduced the collection of hopefuls for the beauty pageant.

  “We should do this every week,” she said breathlessly, and I laughed as the Devil grinned. She couldn’t stay with us long, of course, but she squeezed my hand.

  “You’ve been to the office, right?” she asked. I looked at her, surprised.

  “No, why?”

  “Oh!” She flapped her hands at me, white fingernail polish gleaming bright. “No worries, no worries, Mrs. French is holding down the fort, so it’s all good. Gotta fly!”

  She hurried off, her long stride eating up the carpeted runway, and two tuxedoed ushers greeted her partway, then whisked her toward the main stage. The Devil and I followed right behind, until we found ourselves, as promised, ensconced at a table near the front.

  I turned to him, immediately suspicious. “What’s happened? I was only gone a couple of days, and I didn’t have time to hit the office today. What was Nikki talking about? Have there been more calls for Justice?”

  He shrugged. “There w
ill always be new calls for your assistance. Mrs. French and Nikki have been working quite closely of late, so if she says it’s handled, it’s handled.”

  “Um…they’ve been what?” It wasn’t that Nikki and Mrs. French had a bad relationship, but they weren’t natural friends. Nikki was wild, flamboyant, and outspoken and Mrs. French looked exactly like what you’d expect from a Victorian-era librarian. Granted, they did work well together, so…

  I felt a shiver of unease about what might be waiting for me back at Justice Hall, coupled with the all too familiar surge of dread that had been hanging around since Pompeii. I didn’t have much time to think about it, however, as the party got underway in earnest. Just as Nikki took the stage, two other figures arrived beside us. I looked up, then jolted with recognition.

  “Sariah?”

  “Sara?” If anything, my alter ego, worse half…whatever you wanted to call her…stared back at me with equal surprise, scanning my gown with something approaching shock. Once upon a time, Sariah and I had occupied the same body, as the same person, until a teenage trauma had created a schism in my psyche so profound, it had generated two separate, thinking, wholly irrational beings. The ultimate in unblended families. I liked to think I’d gotten the better end of the deal, but there was something about Sariah…

  Now she grinned, looking over at the Devil. “You dressed her, didn’t you?” she accused. “There’s no way she would’ve picked silver sequins out on her own.”

  “Hey,” I protested as my look-alike twisted sister slid into the chair next to me, her date on the other side. Her date who was smirking. I scowled at him. “You know, just because you decided to run a brush through your hair, you don’t actually deserve a medal.”

  “I do what I can.” Detective Brody Rooks of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department leaned back in his chair, accepting the beer handed to him by a server who seemed to materialize out of nowhere. While Brody was wearing a suit, it was only a notch or two above his usual beat-up big-box-store model, this one in an indeterminate shade of gray. Granted, it was far nicer than his usual outfits of indeterminate brown, so I glanced with more than a little interest between him and Sariah. The two of them had dated for a short while not all that long ago, but then their relationship had cooled. Had something happened to rekindle it?