Read Online Wicked And Wilde: Immortal Vegas, Book 4 by Jenn Stark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenn Stark
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guess.”
“Yep. Anyway, they spend a lot of time in the guts of the city beneath Fremont Street, places where you can’t really get a lot of oxygen unless it’s hooked up to a tank. Up on the observation deck of the Stratosphere, they can breathe. And, you know, ride a few coasters.”
I nodded, considering that as I looked up at the soaring casino. “I always did like coasters.”
True to Nikki’s word, the Stratosphere boasted a unique crowd for a Wednesday night, at least for those with eyes to see. There was the usual group of tourists, spilling out into the bar area, screaming their heads off on the rides and generally falling somewhere on the continuum between happily drunk and colossally hungover. But there were also several knots of patrons who boasted a decidedly higher psychic resonance, drinking in groups, playing cards, noshing.
Networking happy hour for sorcerers.
Nikki went to get us drinks, and I leaned against an open spot at a high table, watching the city as the night crept down and the lights came up. The Stratosphere really did have a top-shelf view. Never mind the gleaming neon of the actual Strip—Paris and the Luxor, the Bellagio and the Wynn Casino, Treasure Island and Caesars. To the eye of a Connected, it was what loomed over the Strip that provided the real show.
And these days, the Council’s real estate was getting downright crowded.
First up was the gleaming white tower over Treasure Island, serving as an unofficial gate to the Strip, a silent monolith of power. Then there was the thick, ungainly castle keep above Caesars Palace. Neither one of these two edifices was occupied. I didn’t know if they were model homes or simply there for balance. Farther up the Strip, however, over Paris, sat the Emperor’s domain, a black monolith that gleamed with masculine force, arcs of electricity crackling along its top. Unlike the owners of the white tower or castle keep, the Emperor was definitely home and entertaining callers.
Forcing my mind sharply away from Viktor lest he sense my attention, I focused on the Bellagio, with its glittering Foolscap tower of glass and lights. The Fool of the Arcana Council had recently taken up residence there, but I got the feeling Simon didn’t spend a lot of time in its cockeyed heights. He was happier hunched over his computer than having cocktails in a fortress of glass.
Opposite the Bellagio lay Scandal, one of the few named Council homes. The glass structure that soared above the Flamingo vibrated with sound and the constantly changing video display, currently featuring a surge of flames and laser beams in competing shades of violet and orange. The Devil’s domain never slept. I was beginning to think he didn’t either.
And finally, at the far end of the Strip, lay Prime Luxe, the Magician’s domain. Although the Magician was definitely not in residence, the place was lit up like a Christmas tree, a glittering fortress of glass and steel complete with fairy-tale turrets, gravity-defying parapets, and more square footage than any one Council member could possibly need. Which was why it housed two. Out of everyone I’d met so far on the Council, only the High Priestess didn’t have her own digs, as Eshe preferred to mooch off Armaeus. Three thousand years of entitlement couldn’t be denied.
“Here you go, sweetniks. Try to act like you’re having fun.”
I took the mojito Nikki held out, eyeing her over the glass. “I am having fun.”
“Then remind me not to be around you when you’re depressed. Cheers.” She tossed back her drink and set down her glass, then headed for our targets, a small group of cigar-smoking cronies tucked into a corner of the outdoor bar.
She sashayed across the deck in her gladiator sandals, and I trotted along beside her, trying to mimic her style and failing dramatically. My natural introversion had me slowing down, scrambling for something to say, even as we reached our destination.
As usual, I needn’t
“Yep. Anyway, they spend a lot of time in the guts of the city beneath Fremont Street, places where you can’t really get a lot of oxygen unless it’s hooked up to a tank. Up on the observation deck of the Stratosphere, they can breathe. And, you know, ride a few coasters.”
I nodded, considering that as I looked up at the soaring casino. “I always did like coasters.”
True to Nikki’s word, the Stratosphere boasted a unique crowd for a Wednesday night, at least for those with eyes to see. There was the usual group of tourists, spilling out into the bar area, screaming their heads off on the rides and generally falling somewhere on the continuum between happily drunk and colossally hungover. But there were also several knots of patrons who boasted a decidedly higher psychic resonance, drinking in groups, playing cards, noshing.
Networking happy hour for sorcerers.
Nikki went to get us drinks, and I leaned against an open spot at a high table, watching the city as the night crept down and the lights came up. The Stratosphere really did have a top-shelf view. Never mind the gleaming neon of the actual Strip—Paris and the Luxor, the Bellagio and the Wynn Casino, Treasure Island and Caesars. To the eye of a Connected, it was what loomed over the Strip that provided the real show.
And these days, the Council’s real estate was getting downright crowded.
First up was the gleaming white tower over Treasure Island, serving as an unofficial gate to the Strip, a silent monolith of power. Then there was the thick, ungainly castle keep above Caesars Palace. Neither one of these two edifices was occupied. I didn’t know if they were model homes or simply there for balance. Farther up the Strip, however, over Paris, sat the Emperor’s domain, a black monolith that gleamed with masculine force, arcs of electricity crackling along its top. Unlike the owners of the white tower or castle keep, the Emperor was definitely home and entertaining callers.
Forcing my mind sharply away from Viktor lest he sense my attention, I focused on the Bellagio, with its glittering Foolscap tower of glass and lights. The Fool of the Arcana Council had recently taken up residence there, but I got the feeling Simon didn’t spend a lot of time in its cockeyed heights. He was happier hunched over his computer than having cocktails in a fortress of glass.
Opposite the Bellagio lay Scandal, one of the few named Council homes. The glass structure that soared above the Flamingo vibrated with sound and the constantly changing video display, currently featuring a surge of flames and laser beams in competing shades of violet and orange. The Devil’s domain never slept. I was beginning to think he didn’t either.
And finally, at the far end of the Strip, lay Prime Luxe, the Magician’s domain. Although the Magician was definitely not in residence, the place was lit up like a Christmas tree, a glittering fortress of glass and steel complete with fairy-tale turrets, gravity-defying parapets, and more square footage than any one Council member could possibly need. Which was why it housed two. Out of everyone I’d met so far on the Council, only the High Priestess didn’t have her own digs, as Eshe preferred to mooch off Armaeus. Three thousand years of entitlement couldn’t be denied.
“Here you go, sweetniks. Try to act like you’re having fun.”
I took the mojito Nikki held out, eyeing her over the glass. “I am having fun.”
“Then remind me not to be around you when you’re depressed. Cheers.” She tossed back her drink and set down her glass, then headed for our targets, a small group of cigar-smoking cronies tucked into a corner of the outdoor bar.
She sashayed across the deck in her gladiator sandals, and I trotted along beside her, trying to mimic her style and failing dramatically. My natural introversion had me slowing down, scrambling for something to say, even as we reached our destination.
As usual, I needn’t
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