“Jenn Stark’s Getting Wilde kept me riveted from cover to cover. Hilarious, sexy, and thrillingly high action with a kick-ass heroine and a bone-dissolving hero (AKA my new book boyfriend!). GET THIS BOOK!” – NY Bestselling Author Darynda Jones
Using her well-worn Tarot deck, magical-artifacts hunter Sara Wilde can find anything—for a price. And the price had better be right, since she needs to finance her own personal mission to rescue several young psychics recently sold on the paranormal black market.
Enter Sara’s most mysterious client and occasional lover, the wickedly sexy Magician, with a job that could yield the ultimate payday. All she’ll have to do is get behind Vatican walls… and steal the Devil himself.
But play with the Devil and you’re bound to get burned.
Pressure mounts for Sara to join the Magician’s ancient and mysterious Arcana Council, as militant forces unleashed by even darker powers seek to destroy all magic—including the young psychics Sara is desperate to keep safe. The Council may be their only hope. . . but it could also expose Sara’s own dark past.
From the twisting catacombs of Rome to the neon streets of Vegas, Sara confronts ancient enemies, powerful demigods, a roiling magical underworld about to explode… and immortal passions that might require the ultimate sacrifice. But oh, what a way to go.
No matter how the cards play out, things are about to get Wilde.
Read an Excerpt
The Devil was in the details. Again.
I leaned against the sticky countertop at Le Stube and glared down at the faded Tarot cards, the best Henri could scrounge up on short notice. The Devil trump looked particularly foul in this deck: all leering grin, fat belly, and clawed feet. Worse, it was the third time in as many days he’d shown up in my reading.
This time, he’d brought along some friends. I’d turned up the Tower, Death, and the Magician card in quick succession. Heavy hitters of the Tarot who had no business being in my business, at least not tonight.
Tonight’s transaction, while unpleasant, wasn’t supposed to be complicated. It wouldn’t be complicated, I’d decided. I’d had enough of complicated for one evening.
Le Stube’s front door opened. I sensed Henri peering past me with his sorrowful bartender eyes—just as I caught a whiff of the guy coming in. I sat up a little, blinking rapidly. Dude was pungent. Even by Parisian standards.
I tapped the Prince of Pents card lying in the middle of all the Major Arcana cards. It was covered by the Five of Wands. Since pentacles equaled money, I was pretty sure this newcomer was my contact: some low-level knuckle dragger muling cash for his king, the buyer who’d commissioned this deal, here to relieve me of the artifact I had snugged up against my right kidney. Unfortunately, I was also pretty sure said contact was spoiling for a fight. Which might become an issue, since neither prince nor king was going to get his trinket tonight, if the payoff wasn’t right.
Not my problem, though. I wasn’t the one who’d lied.
“Un autre?” Henri sighed. Like most bartenders in the City of Light, Henri was a master of the resigned sigh.
I swept the cards into a stack, pocketing them as I nodded to him. It wasn’t the prettiest deck, but it was trying, at least. I owed it a one-way ticket out of Paris. Henri plucked my glass from the counter, making a big production of concocting something way too involved to be my drink.
He set the mess down in front of me and scowled, gloomy concern evident in every line of his thin, hunched body. Which was more than I could say for the guy shuffling up to the bar, who stank of sour cheese and bad karma, and maybe…peanut butter? Didn’t want to think too much about that.
I barely avoided a wince as he sat down. “You ’ave it?”
“You didn’t tell me about the competition,” I said, picking up my glass. “The price has gone up.”
“You do ’ave it.” My contact leaned toward me, his gun nudging into my side. Henri was applying his bar towel diligently to nonexistent dust at the far end of the bar. As if nothing that happened here would bother him, as long as I kept it tidy.
I could do tidy. The cards and their crazy were not the boss of me.
“If you have the money, we have a deal,” I said, Miss Congeniality all the way. “Just at double our original price. What’s more, I suspect you do have the money, honey, because you knew what I was walking into. Unlike me, for the record. Which, frankly, wasn’t very neighborly of you.”
His face didn’t change expression. “You agreed to the terms.”
I shook my head. With the mule this close, we could talk freely without being overheard. If only I could manage it without breathing. “No. I agreed to lift a minor, plate-sized relic off a clueless museum intern. You missed the bit where said flunky was also being targeted by the Swiss Guard, who, by the way, apparently don’t wear pajamas when they’re not at the Vatican. You also missed the part where the Swiss Guard had become ninjas. All that’s a little out of my pay grade.” I took a sip of my drink, wincing at the tang as I set the glass down again. Horseradish. Nice. If I had to use it on this guy, it was going to sting like a bitch.
“But you ’ave it.” Clearly the guy thought he could get what he wanted simply by boring me to death. I considered my options. He was powerfully built, with a thick jaw and a boxer’s nose—but his curled upper lip shone with sweat, his beady eyes looked just a teensy bit feral, and his cheeks were flushed. Something wasn’t right here. He was too nervous, too intent.
“The transaction was compromised.” I spread my hands in a “what can you do?” gesture. “I wasn’t given full information. With full information, I never would have taken the job. But, I can be reasonable. Which means your new price is merely double. So go talk to your boss, get the extra cash, and then we’ll have something to discuss.”
“No.” Again with the gun. Harder this time. Sharper. “You must give it to me now.” The man practically vibrated with concentration, and my Spidey sense went taut. This definitely was too much reaction for the relic in question. We weren’t talking the Ark of the Covenant here, no matter how much I was going to charge the guy.
I reclaimed my glass of horseradish whiskey and took in Henri. He remained at the far end of the bar, well out of the way of any untoward blood spatter. Very efficient, our Henri.