0.5 One Wilde Night (6 page)

The fingers froze, retreated.
“There is no pain in this place.”

“Well, there damn well is in
that
place.” I attempted to shift away, but the Magician held me fast, and—

My eyes popped open. “
What?
”

I scrambled off the bed, taking half the sheets with me, shaking my head like a stoner flushed out from beneath the stadium bleachers. I frantically scanned the bed, the floor…then the walls and ceiling for good measure. No one was there. Had I just been spooning with the
Magician
? As in the
Magician
Magician, the Divine Trickster, Trump One of the Tarot? Did such a being truly exist?

I hobbled into the living room, flailing for the light, but the sudden flood of illumination made me sag against the wall. “Make it stop,” I whimpered.

The room went dark. Well, not completely dark. The same lamps flared, but at about a quarter of what I suspected their usual brightness was. “Do you also do windows?”

“You need to trust more.”

“Yeah, and you need to get out of my head.” I made it to the table and took a seat, putting said head in my hands for a long minute. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me here, but this was
not
the time for me to have a psychic meltdown. And more to the point…

I scowled down at my body, swaddled in the hotel sheets. Leaning back, I peeled away the top layer to expose my chest. I’d surveyed this area when I’d hit the shower, but I hadn’t registered more than “ouch.” Now, based on my body’s reaction when the Magician or whoever he was had hit the area with his magic fingers, something was seriously wrong with my…

I frowned. The skin was unmarked. There was the hint of pink, as if an old burn was fading, but unless you peered closely, there was no scar at all, barely a shadowy outline of a frog against my left breast, like I’d ghosted it in with makeup. I touched the skin, tensing up for the shot of agony…and nothing. I pushed a bit more firmly, right on top of the burn mark, and—nothing.

“Well, that’s weird.” I dragged my fingertip over what was left of the frog’s head, and—

Pain ricocheted through me so hard, I burst out of the chair, stumbling back several feet until I connected with the couch. My entire body hissed with electricity, the burst of energy complete and absolute and gone just that fast, leaving me lying in a heap on brightly colored cushions, breathing shallowly. My hands gripped the couch’s edge as if that hold was all that kept me tethered to this plane.

“Um… Any idea what that was?” I asked the air around me.

Silence.

Apparently, the Magician was out for a smoke break.

Nevertheless, I noticed something else as I lay naked and panting on the hotel room couch. Besides the fact that the ceilings were exceptionally clean in this establishment.

I didn’t hurt.

I stretched out my toes to double-check, as it seemed a safe place to start. Nope. I flexed my battered legs. Not a problem. I remained absolutely covered with bruises, scrapes, welts, and swelling, but the pain itself was gone. It was as if my nerves had been fried, no sensation at all passing their receptors.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. I drew my fingers along my arms, hugging them to me. I could feel that. I pinched the skin ever so gently, and could definitely tell the moment my nails dug into my skin. So pain wasn’t off the table, at least not new pain. But all the pain of battles past…

Slowly, gingerly, I sat up, trying to reconcile how I looked with how I felt. My eyes refused to ignore the fact that I was a Neosporin “Before” ad waiting to happen, and the bruises snaking along my skin did not inspire confidence. But as I lifted my arms up and extended them to their full length, nothing made me twinge.

Even when my shoulder made an interesting crunchy noise, and then a wet pop, I could feel the blood drain out of my face, but not the pain that was surely causing that reaction. Bracing myself on the edge of the couch, I launched upright, then took an exploratory step. My swollen feet complied. I drew in a deep breath—my lungs obligingly expanded. I was moving normally. I was breathing normally. This was definite progress.

My gaze swept the room, taking in the TV and its bright digital display. The clock read 4:16. By my reckoning, though I hadn’t realized it, I must’ve slept for more than three hours. That was plenty. And apparently, whether thanks to the Magician or Kermit the Frog, my pain receptors had shorted out, which I didn’t even know was a thing. Still, I wasn’t complaining. Give me a quart of coffee and a doughnut, and I’d be ready to go.

Warmth fizzed along my nerve endings as I crossed to the table, picking up my discarded sheet along the way and wrapping it around me, more for the sensation of something on my skin than modesty. Plus, the A/C had dropped to subarctic, and my gooseflesh was starting to hatch goslings.

I stopped at the edge of my impromptu card reading, staring down. The six cards still lay on the carpet, topped by the Magician, whose meaning I’d already figured out. The rest of them presaged a raft of crazy heading my way. The Page and Seven of Swords indicated that electronic communication and stealth would be the order of the day. The Chariot generally meant an overland journey, which made sense given that I didn’t think the amulet was lurking somewhere in my hotel.

Unfortunately, after that, the cards took a turn. Lying side by side were the Five of Pents and the Tower. The Five of Pents could mean poverty, but its literal imagery depicted a church. So maybe a holy place of some sort? Either way, the Tower was generally no fun at all. It indicated that yet another surprise lay in store for me… or possibly a bomb. Toss-up.

Settling in at my desk, I swiped the keyboard of my computer and the machine whirred to life. Before I could start thinking about whether or not my suite came equipped with a coffeemaker, a line of text appeared on the screen.

I CANNOT RE-ENTER YOUR MIND WITHOUT PERMISSION.

“Seriously?” The line winked out, and I glanced to the floor. The cards were still there, the Magician at the top of the makeshift spread.

Was it my imagination, or did ol’ Trump One suddenly seem a little peeved?

My computer beeped, and I refocused on the screen. The geo-tracker program had come up, and along with it, my cheerfully glowing tracking pixel. “I love you, little blue dot.” I murmured. It wasn’t moving either, which meant Frogger had been tucked in for the night. Even better.

I expanded the map and leaned close. They hadn’t traveled that far, which made me happy, but they were definitely outside the city, which made me less happy. They appeared to have holed up to the south, a little inland, apparently right in the middle of a national park. Which meant I wouldn’t be able to sneak up on them.

Then again, it also meant they wouldn’t be hard to find. I eyed my cards appreciatively, smiling at the five of pents and Chariot. “Holy place and overland drive, check and check,” I murmured. Tijuca Forest National Park boasted arguably one of the most recognizable tourist attractions in all the lower Americas, if not the world: the one-hundred-and-twenty-five-foot-tall gleaming-white statue of Christ the Redeemer, perched atop Corcovado Mountain.

“Interesting location.” The Catholic Church wasn’t exactly unused to the idea of co-opting pagan places of worship to celebrate its own faith, so it was entirely possible that once upon a time, Fernanda’s deadly fertility ritual had played out in the open sky on that hunchbacked mountain overlooking the sea. Eventually, maybe some pious Portuguese had come along, appreciated the view as much as the next person, and settled in for the long haul.

Either way, I had a feeling my little amulet wasn’t going to be found out in the open, at the feet of the enormous statue. Given the location, I also suspected that the current possessor of the amulet was Fernanda, and not the Russian woman or Nigel…because either one of them would’ve already fled the country.

But the high priestess and her cult had a decided preference for sky-clad soirees. That wouldn’t fly in front of a Christian icon, not even during Carnival. So where would they be?

I eyed the park at the bottom of Corcovado, Parque Lage. A few clicks brought up a photo and description, listing an old estate given over to tourism, a steep trail up to the Christ, several manicured gardens…and a cave.

Bingo.

I rebandaged my side, dressed hurriedly in a new version of my tank, pleather hoodie, and leggings, then pulled together my meager belongings with care. The park would normally be closed at this hour, but it was the last night of Carnival. There was no telling what that could mean. The trail to the statue would probably be blocked off, but perhaps the gardens were accessible.

Either way, since I’d gotten a temporary reprieve from my exhaustion and pain, I needed to hit it. I had a feeling that blue dot would be moving again come dawn.

I shoved my laptop into my bag, my phone into my jacket. Then I turned to my go back of tricks for additional supplies.

Before leaving for Rio, I’d packed for your standard Amazon adventure—jungles, caves, cities, water. I didn’t need most of what I’d brought, though. A gun would’ve been handy, but ricocheting bullets in a cave probably wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I pulled a few knives out of my kit and stashed them on my body. A lighter and some sticks of live dynamite sounded like a poor escape plan, but I brought them with me for good luck anytime I went underground, and tonight was not the night to ignore superstition. I tucked a line of thin rope into my jacket as well, and a spare Tarot deck, just because.

Burdened of body but no longer of soul, I slung my bag over my shoulder and left the hotel. Even at this hour, a cab was easy to come by, and I directed the driver to a café about six blocks away from the mountain. During the drive, I stared up at the magnificent statue of Christ the Redeemer, which was bathed in bright white lights as it presided over the reveling city. It seemed an oddly serene counterpoint to the chaos in the streets—the dancing and singing, the drinking and laughter. As if it knew secrets that none of the rest of us did.

Since my driver was focusing on the road, I edged open my laptop. Sure enough, the blue dot was holding steady. I snapped the machine shut, satisfied. I’d have to ditch the laptop somewhere close to the mouth of the cave, then pray I got out of the cave with my hands still intact so I could recover it. Losing my hands would be bad. I’d become very attached to them.

We pulled over to a café, which was, as I’d hoped, still going strong. After paying my fare with a tip so sizable the cabbie met my gaze with instant understanding, I exited the vehicle and watched him drive back toward the brighter lights of the main city. Around me, revelers showed no sign of taking a break for Lent, and I shouldered my pack again.

I hadn’t gotten two steps when my phone rang. Which was a problem, because no one had the number. Not even Father Jerome, since my feed was scrambled.

“Wrong number,” I muttered to myself, willing it to be true.

It wasn’t.

Chapter Ten

I fished inside my jacket pocket, then pulled out the device and swiped it on. The caller ID read a word, not a number, so that made it easy.

Even if the word was sort of obnoxious.

I tapped my earpiece to connect, then re-stowed my phone. “How did you get my phone to recognize you as ‘The Magician’? Is that a new feature I need to shut off?”

“As I mentioned, I can no longer enter your mind as easily. You must invite me—at least inside the front door.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You really should.” The Magician’s voice sounded like chocolate dipped in butter toffee. Suddenly, I realized: man, I was hungry.

I eyed the restaurants on either side of me. Chances were, the dining options at four a.m. weren’t going to be stellar, so maybe I should hold off until after my little amphibian rescue campaign. The last thing I needed was to be harfing up bad shrimp when I was running for my life.

I turned onto the R. Jardim Botanico and started hoofing it for the park. High above me, Christ the Redeemer stared out benevolently over his flock. I really hoped I didn’t have to climb all the way up there. My boots were sturdy, but the trail looked like it’d been designed by mountain goats.

“I can help you, Miss Wilde.” The toffee-chocolate voice was in my ear again, and my ear was happier for it. “If you’re trying to determine how far you’ll need to climb up the mountain, you’ll be pleased with this answer. The amulet you seek is three levels below the entrance to the cave you found on your laptop.”

“Uh-huh. And how do you know that?”

“If it’s a matter of Connected interest, then I’m interested as well. One thing I am curious about, however: Why did your client choose this amulet, in particular? He appears to be playing his hand quite close to the vest.”

“Not going to happen, Magic Man. I don’t kiss and tell.” Instantly, I was assaulted with the image of the Magician’s mouth on me, burning into my hipbone. My voice was a little strained when I spoke again. “You got anything else I can use?”

Silence floated across the airwaves.

“What, now you’re playing hard to get?”

Still nothing. I crossed another street, the path beginning to angle up slightly. I was approaching the gardens. As I cut right into the main road, however, the stitch in my side woke up with the effort. And started to burn.

That’s not all that was burning. I adjusted my tank to get some air to my chest, wincing as the material brushed against my skin. Only I would get zapped in the shape of a
frog
. Seriously, it couldn’t have been a wolf? Or maybe Hello Kitty?

I saw the building, which seemed promising enough until I realized it was locked down tight, with security fencing along the entire front of it.
Crap.
“Okay, you wanna be helpful? Be helpful. How do I get in here?”

More silence. Rolling my eyes, I clicked off my earpiece. “Fine, Magic Man. Crawl into my brain. But only—”

“It’s more than enough. For now.”