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

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