Free Wilde Card: Immortal Vegas, Book 2 by Jenn Stark

sight of my reflection in the mirror—lightweight hoodie, black tank, black tights, boots. Okay, so, clothes weren’t really my thing, but Hot Topic? Seriously?
    I frowned, thinking about Dixie with her soft blonde curls and pink cowboy hat, her perfectly curved cupid’s lips smiling at Brody. Was she his type? Did he have a type?
    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