6 Forever Wilde Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Books by Jenn Stark

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A Note From Jenn

  Acknowledgments

  About Jenn Stark

  Forever Wilde

  Immortal Vegas, Book 6

  Jenn Stark

  Copyright © 2016 by Jenn Stark

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943768-19-6

  Cover design and Photography Gene Mollica

  Formatting by Bemis Promotions

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase/Download only authorized editions.

  Other Books by Jenn Stark

  Getting Wilde

  Wilde Card

  Born To Be Wilde

  Wicked And Wilde

  Aces Wilde

  One Wilde Night (prequel novella)

  For Tom

  Ride on, my brother.

  Chapter One

  I could have been on my first date in two years tonight.

  Or hanging out in the Palazzo spa back in Vegas, wrapped in warm strips of seaweed with cucumber slices on my eyes. Or, hey, maybe even attending my first-ever board meeting of the criminal syndicate I now headed. I could’ve had a social engagement. An important social engagement. The Arcana Council didn’t know every little thing about my life, didn’t know without asking that I’d be free to do another job. They didn’t—

  “They did,” Death shouted over her shoulder, banking the motorcycle hard as we bounced over a boulder the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. When the most enigmatic member of the Council had texted she’d be picking me up for a job this afternoon, I’d agreed without asking any questions. I’d been too surprised that Death wanted company.

  “Hang on,” she barked as distinct whooping yells echoed up ahead. I locked my arms tight and hunkered down against Death’s back—as close as I could get with my enormous helmet anyway.

  A second later, my stomach tanked.

  We soared through the night sky, the bike finally crunching down on what seemed to be the aftereffects of an avalanche. A few fishtailing turns later, we bounced and shimmied into a small clearing, behind the wild-eyed trio of riders we’d met an hour earlier. A small contingent of the “Montana Maniacs” trail riding motorcycle club had been waiting for us when we’d landed in Phillipsburg, Montana, on an airstrip that looked like someone had spilled some asphalt in the middle of a field by mistake, then run away before anyone could make them clean it up.

  Two more riders crowded in behind us.

  Death pulled off her helmet; I kept mine on. The cards I’d read on the plane had been an absolute mess. You couldn’t be too careful when that happened.

  “This it?” Death asked skeptically, squinting up at the slope.

  “This is it.” A man I knew only as Tom strode out from the dust-coated motorcyclists, all of them grinning like loons, as if riding into uncharted mountains at dusk was something they did every Thursday. Death had told me the guy was a land surveyor and mine aficionado, but where she’d found him, I had no idea. He’d been the one who’d given me a helmet when he’d ushered us over to Death’s borrowed bike at the airstrip, and he pointed up the mountain now. “Granite Mine. The upper one, not the main pit. Didn’t even know it was here, but we were trail riding the other day, and Chuck saw it.” He gestured to a wiry-looking man a few feet away. “He’s good at finding that kind of thing.”

  Death regarded Tom coolly. “You go in?”

  “That would be negative.” His lips quirked into an easy smile. “Old mine shafts like this one are mostly good at falling in on your head. And look at all these tailings.” He pointed to the gritty yellow mound we were standing on. “That’s everything they pulled out of the hole that wasn’t silver, back when the mine was active. Which it hasn’t been since the late 1800s, best we can tell.”

  I squinted around us. The sandy mound was easily twenty feet high, and sported no weeds, bugs, or animal burrows. Nothing that would hint at any sign of life—a beach that had lost its way to the ocean.

  “Problem is,” Tom continued, “this mound wasn’t here the last time we hit this trail. Place was all rock, dirt, and trees, typical for this elevation. Which means these tailings came out of the mine with the recent landslide. Which means someone backfilled ’em into the mine at some point, rather than let ’em sit on the side of the mountain. On purpose.”

  “Definitely not the forest service,” another voice called out, and good-natured ribbing followed, along with a few other wry suggestions. Apparently, no one in their right mind shoveled sand back into a mountain.

  “So who did it?” I asked, kicking up a spray of the fine scree. The confusion here fit the odd assortment of cards I’d pulled back on the Council’s jet: Tower, Three of Pentacles, and Knight of Swords. Tower might be the rockslide, but the other two? No idea.

  “Who is a good question. So is why and how,” Tom said. “That’s a lot of work for no reason. You see tailings at pretty much every mine ever blasted out. Why refill this one? And how’d they get the equipment up here? When prospectors came back to reopen Granite Mine in the fifties, they tapped the vein farther down, not this one. The road up here hasn’t been maintained in over a century.”

  I turned and peered back toward the half-fallen mountain we’d just navigated. “That’s a road?”

  Tom kept going. “The second excavation didn’t last long anyway. Fire wiped out the entire operation.”

  Okay, that I couldn’t let pass. The Tower card showed fire, so it might be important. Everyone else had their helmets off, so I reluctantly removed mine too. A Montana Maniacs sticker on its visor was barely visible under a coating of dust. “What started the fire?” I asked.

  “Nobody knew. Swept through the whole camp, out of the blue.” Tom shrugged, settling back on the heels of his heavy motorcycle boots. “Either way, the prospectors didn’t stick around to figure it out. They split, never came back.”

  “Haunted,” another voice offered up in the group.

  “Could be.” Tom nodded, as if this was totally reasonable. “You don’t have to look real hard to find ghost mines in Montana. State’s filled with ’em.” He scuffed the ground, sending another mini torrent of fine
yellow gravel skittering down the slope. “Still, ghosts don’t backfill their own mines.” He squinted at Death. “You’re with Bertrand Holdings?”

  Wait, what?

  Bertrand was the surname of Armaeus Bertrand, Magician of the Arcana Council, a group of zillionaire immortals with a significant demigod complex who were charged with maintaining the balance of magic on earth. Armaeus was my sometimes client for the acquisition of magical artifacts, occasional mentor, and always problematic thorn in my side. Not to mention he was apparently the guy who’d instigated this particular off-road adventure.

  Death nodded. “We want to ensure the safety of the mine, get it closed up again. We’ll go in, take a look around, then be back out in about twenty minutes. If you don’t mind waiting.”

  “Better make it quicker than that.” Tom’s face telegraphed his opinion of the idea. “It’s an unstable mine.”

  “He’s not kidding,” Chuck interrupted. He was slender but broad-shouldered, and his weathered face and buzz-cut hair made it impossible to guess his age. “I know my way around this type of mine. That hole goes pretty deep, and it looks steady enough, but if you get more than a foot or two down and there’s another rockslide, you ain’t coming back out.”

  Death flashed them both a cold smile, the perfect complement to her shock of platinum-blonde hair and icy-white skin. One side of Death’s head was shaved, revealing the dozen or so silver hoops and bars she’d laced through her ear, and the very top of an intricate tattoo was visible above the collar of her black leather jacket. Her pants were leather too, and heavy leather boots completed the ensemble. She looked way more thug than corporate errand runner, but the Maniacs seemed perfectly comfortable with her. Probably another indication they were not entirely sane.

  “Stay on your bikes, then,” she said. “We’ll probably be leaving in a hurry. Also, if we get separated, Bertrand Holdings wanted you to have this. Consider it a finder’s fee.”

  She withdrew five small bags from her jacket and tossed the first to Tom before ambling over to the other riders. I edged closer to him to get a better look. Tom pulled a thick glass vial out of the bag and held it up to the fading sunlight. Something bright and metallic glinted inside the vial.

  “Silver?” he asked.

  “High grade,” Death said, turning back. “Very high. About a thousand dollars’ worth if you take it to the dealer on the label. Or you can keep it. Its value is only going to go up. We appreciate you letting us know about the reopened mine before anyone got hurt.” She glanced over to Tom and Chuck. “Maybe the two of you could position yourselves a little closer to the entrance? Keep your lights off till you hear us heading back out, though. Everybody else, point your headlights down the mountain and get ready to roll.”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed, but he and Chuck gamely pushed their bikes up the mountain alongside us, until we were out of earshot of the other riders. By the time we reached the small hole, the two of them wore their curiosity like a second skin.

  Death pointed back toward the rocks we’d ridden through. “Is there more than one way off the mountain?”

  “There are all sorts of ways off the mountain.” Chuck grinned. “None of them particularly great, though, other than the way we came up. Which is the reason we chose it. Why?”

  “You hear anything weird, you get out,” she said. “All of you. Don’t wait for us. Anything comes out of here that isn’t us, you move and move fast. You’ll be fine if you get off the mountain. But you’re going to have to ride like hell.”

  Tom looked at her skeptically. “I think we’ll be okay.”

  Chuck’s gaze sharpened as he peered at the dark hole. “What’s going to come out?”

  “Ghosts,” Death said, and both men blinked at her. “Can’t hurt you, but if they latch on, it’ll feel like you’re dying, not gonna lie. If it comes to that, don’t stop, and whatever you do, don’t look back. Not till you reach the bottom of the mountain. You’ll be safe then.”

  To my surprise, Chuck’s face relaxed immediately. “Ghosts! That’s seriously cool.”

  “You’re kidding!” Tom’s face split into a grin.

  I stared at them both as Death turned to me, her eyes bright. She might be one of the Arcana Council’s oldest members, but she apparently had a soft spot for mortals, especially the nuttier ones. “Ready?”

  “Sure.” I gestured, unable to quell a surge of anxiety. “After you.”

  The hole in the side of the mountain was positively welcoming compared to some of the fissures I’d slid into over the years, so that wasn’t my issue. There was even evidence of beams that had formed the structure of the old mine, and some warped strips of metal that I’d swear were cart tracks.

  Still, something wasn’t right here. “So…” I said as we stepped into the darkness and Death pulled a flashlight out of her jacket. “Seriously, ghosts?”

  “You tell me.” She glanced at me. “I saw you pull cards on the plane. What’d you get?”

  “Tower, Three of Pents, Knight of Swords,” I said. “The Tarot doesn’t have a ghost card other than Death, and you’re already accounted for.” The gloom was closing in around us now, thick as a blanket. “Tower’s probably the rockslide.”

  “Agreed.” Death flashed her light across the floor. The path down was a lot clearer than I expected it would be, as if the original miners had managed to tunnel their way to the mountain’s core. “We’re looking for silver, obviously, but specifically three disks set in a triangle pattern, if that sounds familiar.”

  “Three of Pents.” I scanned my own flashlight along the ceiling. “Probably up high.”

  “They were placed here right before the mine closed in 1893.”

  “Armaeus?”

  “So he says. I wasn’t paying attention at the time.” Death flashed her light across the rocks again and stalked forward, heedless of the scree beneath her feet. “The Council needed to seal off this upper mine permanently without drawing attention to it. Coincidentally, an act of Congress that was artificially propping up the price of silver was repealed the same year, making it too expensive to produce. After that, most of the mines in this area were abandoned.”

  Sounded like something the Council would do, with their uniquely intrusive brand of noninterference. “If the mines were shutting down anyway, why’d they take the extra precautions here?”

  “Because there’s silver…and then there’s silver.” Death stepped over a jumble of rocks. “The silver mined from the heart of Granite Mountain has unique conductive properties—like nothing the Council had ever encountered before. They bought up all they could, then created the disks to seal off the mine with that same silver. Those seals have done their job and to spare. Now, we need them back.”

  “Why?”

  But Death had stopped short, and I froze as well, following the beam of her flashlight as it spanned the corridor. The cart tracks ended. Three darker black holes loomed ahead of us, each as faceless as the last. Apparently, my history lesson would have to wait.

  “Which one?” I asked. “You told me to leave my cards on the plane.”

  “You don’t need your cards. Here.”

  Death reached into her jacket and pulled out another vial of silver, handing it to me. I examined it with my flashlight. It looked identical to the ones she’d given the riders outside. “This is straight-up silver?”

  “Straight-up silver, mined from here back in the eighteen eighties,” she said. “Hold it up.”

  I did, and the tug toward the left door was immediate. I frowned at her. “And the reason why I had to do this and not you?” It couldn’t be because Death was immortal and I wasn’t, since right now that distinction was proving a little fuzzy. The next obvious option also made me nervous. “Because I’m not on the Council?”

  She nodded. “Not everyone on the Council was aware of Armaeus’s decision to close the mine, and he was pretty sneaky about it. Only a non-Council member can wield the seals, and they feature some unique pr
operties, courtesy of their designer, who maybe wasn’t exactly aware of what he was building the seals for. Tricky stuff, if you’re not careful with it.”

  I couldn’t ignore the tugging of the silver vial anymore, and I gestured to the third opening. “Well, they’re in there, for what it’s worth.”

  We entered the dark hole, and once again, Death’s flashlight scanned the walls, floor, and ceiling. The opening hadn’t led to a chamber, however, but another long corridor. I’d lost sense of how deep we were going, but Death seemed happy.

  “This is right,” she muttered. “It’d be deep but not twisting. Clear-cut exit out.”

  “Great,” I said. I held the vial out like a compass, but it wasn’t doing much now that we were apparently on the right track. Finally, the corridor widened enough for us to walk side by side, then widened further.

  “Stop,” Death said.

  Now decidedly less cheerful, she flicked her flashlight across the walls, then the ceilings. There were holes everywhere. Some of them man-made, yes. Others appeared natural. The cart trail ran along the floor of the chamber, then disappeared into murky darkness, but when I moved forward, the vial jerked in my hand. I bobbled it, and Death hissed beside me.

  “Don’t drop it,” she snapped.

  “Well, I think we’re here.”

  We both started scanning our flashlight beams. Within a few minutes, we’d found the seals—three of them, each about the size of my palm, exactly in the same upright triangular position they occupied on the Three of Pentacles card.

  “Let me guess.” I muttered.

  Death took the vial from me and handed me a thin pry bar. “They won’t be difficult to dislodge, but you’ll want to move fast.”

  “Right. Because of the ghosts and all.”

  She nodded, totally serious. “Some are legitimately the miners of this place. Others migrated here, still others were…put here.”

  I winced. “The Council filled this place with ghosts. Trapped souls of the living. On purpose.”

  “Don’t look at me. I didn’t find out about it for another fifty years.”