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

your article?”
    “Well, it would be cool—if they had such a thing. But straight-up gold is cool too.”
    “Straight-up gold is the province of the Rarity. Any mythology attributed to their pieces is, I assure you, strictly a fool’s tale to get you to buy something for more money.”
    “Good to know. So, again, will you be going?”
    Mr. Thin blinked at my sudden change of tack. “I will make an appearance. I have many colleagues who will be in attendance, from all points in the world.”
    “That’s so great. I’ll be going to the opening-night-gala thing. Who’ll be there who’s awesome? Like, who’s the biggest wig of all?”
    “I suspect you will determine that easily enough on your own.”
    “Oh, c’mon.” I decided to play on my hunch. I leaned forward toward the man, never mind that he was at least forty years my senior, and gave him a slow-eyed stare. “I haven’t found anyone in the city able to give me the information I need. It’s all I really want, and I want it from you.”
    To his credit, Mr. Thin didn’t flinch. Instead, his smile widened, and I could feel him lean closer to me, too, a con warming to his kill. “And what would you be interested in trading for this information?”
    “I suspect you have something in mind.” I lifted a hand and turned it, my fingers skimming down the side of his—
    The image flickered just enough.
    “Got you,” I smiled.

Chapter Seven
    Mr. Grimm’s hand closed around mine, pinning my hand to his cheek. The shock of the electric pulse lifted me off my toes for a half second as I watched his face shift to one of such heartbreaking beauty, if I hadn’t already seen it, I would probably have fainted dead away.
    “When did you know?” Aleksander Kreios asked me.
    The Devil’s outfit was largely unchanged from Mr. Grimm’s attire, but in much better repair. His suit jacket hung open, the white silk of his shirt gleaming and his bronze skin peeking through his open collar. His hair was blond, but instead of the casually windblown style it’d rocked the last time we worked together, the Devil had slicked his hair into submission with the aplomb of a New York model. The refined overlay of an expensive timepiece was the perfect addition.
    He squeezed my hand, recalling me to his question. “Your smile was the first thing,” I said. “It slipped and became pure avarice. Which fit the old man but seemed too young, too hungry.” I pulled my hand away to avoid electrocuting myself. “But the real tip-off was your fingers.”
    Kreios displayed his hands for me, long slender fingers tipped with nails I would swear had been manicured. The mere thought of that hand being polished, pummeled, kneaded—
    “My hands?” he prompted.
    I blinked at him. “Not hands.” I shook my head. “Fingertips. No prints.”
    “Ah, yes.” He turned his hands over and regarded the perfectly smooth finger pads. “Fingerprints are generally not a necessary affectation, and they take a surprising amount of focus. Most would not notice. Most who did would assume Mr. Grimm had spent some of his untrammeled youth in lines of work for which fingerprints were an unnecessary hazard.”
    “I thought about that.” I shrugged. “Then again, your card magically appeared in my pocket earlier today. I’d assumed it was Armaeus, but that little trick is a thing with everyone on the Council, I guess.”
    “It passes the time.”
    “Dollface, you’ll not believe it… Hel lo !” Nikki burst into the door with a whirl of brightly colored bags, then stopped fully as her gaze took in Kreios in all his glory. “Sweet Baby Jesus on a tricycle, you should post a warning sign. Give a girl a heart attack, why don’t you?”
    “Nikki Dawes. It is always my pleasure to see you.” Kreios leaned back on the glass counter, and I shifted away too, glad to put more distance between me and the Devil. “How may I help you?”
    “In every possible way.” Nikki winked, then took in the room.