Monster

A Cassidy Edwards Novel

by

Carmen Caine

Published by

Bento Box Books

Edited by

Louisa Stephens

Cover Art by

Lind

Copyright © 2014 Carmen Caine

Ebook Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and didn’t purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to MyBentoBoxBooks.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

To Kian

Keep flying no matter how much I whine about missing you.

Soar to the moon and beyond.

I have loved, currently love, and will love you for all of eternity and beyond.

Head-to-head and nose-to-nose forever.

Now – send me more story ideas if you don’t want to be disowned.

Monster

A Cassidy Edwards Novel: Book One

Table of Contents

Revenge

Who Am I?

Game … Begin

The Meeting

One of the Damned

A Contract with a Handsome Devil

A New Job?

Leaving Philly

The Rehab Imp

A Personal Vendetta

A Highly Untrained Spell-finder

The Dangers of Turmeric

Too Late to the Party

The Truth About Night Terrors

The Devil’s Lips

I Just Might Keep Ricky, After All

The Terzi Hex Net

What Am I?

The Client

The Silver Swing and the Dog-Eared Book

Imps 101

A Kilted Vampire

Spilling the Beans … and Then Some

An Act of War

An Unexpected Visitor

A Soap Opera of the Worst Kind

The Nether Reaches

Helped by a … Portrait

It Matters

The Marionette

Lucian or Lucifer?

Home

Revenge

Revenge.

It’s all I’d lived for.

Revenge against those who’d turned my mother into a vampire, causing her to give birth to me—the first of my kind. All I wanted was justice. I wanted to change the rules. I wanted to change their destiny. I wanted to make them suffer the same pain, hunger, and isolation they had forced upon me.

I didn’t know, then, that I was the one who would change.

And certainly, no one knew the threat I would become.

Who Am I?

My name is Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards.

I’m angry, and I want revenge. It’s all I live for now.

The cards were stacked against me from the start, but I’m going to change the deck.

I’m going to get even.

* * *

My birth was a bloody event. Vampires are made, not born … except in my case. I wasn’t supposed to live. When a pregnant woman is converted into one of the Chosen—as they call themselves—the fetus dies.

Becoming a Vampire isn’t pretty business. The human body remains empty for a few days when—if the conversion is successful—the new Vampire is born. It’s a painful and dangerous process. Most Vampires fail at the retaking of the body. Only a few succeed. But when they do, they become one of the Chosen. And for most, the enhanced abilities make it worth the risk.

My mother—Abbey as she was called in the human world—was already pregnant with me when she began a torrid affair with an Italian businessman by the name of Emilio. It turns out he wasn’t really a businessman, though his name really was Emilio. Emilio was a Chosen One—a Vampire—and an ancient and dark-minded one at that. When my mother attempted to end the fling, he became angry. He was a Marchesi, a founding member of one of the most powerful Vampire clans to roam the Earth—apparently, there were a handful of those, and as such, he wasn’t used to rejection.

Emilio wasn’t the kind to forget, lick his wounds, and move on. He had my mother converted, exactly how and by whom I’ve yet to discover—hence my thirst for revenge. Because not only did Emilio succeed in having my mother converted … I was converted as well.

My mother—now named Blair—almost didn’t make it. It took her four days to re-inhabit her human body, and when she did, I was miraculously born.

I became the first known Vampire infant … but with a twist.

Game … Begin

I know what the majority of men saw. They saw an attractive young woman with auburn hair, green eyes, and a small, full-lipped mouth—pouting lips, I’ve been told. They were focused more on my curve-hugging catsuit than what I was doing.

Which is exactly what I counted on.

The causal trip of the feet, the fleeting touch of my palm over their heart … these were not the seductive gestures they took them for.

Most men are absurdly simple. I would say all at this point, but I have to statistically allow for the fact that there could be a few outliers out there who think with their brains first.

But I haven’t stumbled across them yet.

When dressed in tight black leather, I can count on the gawking, the overfriendly smiles, and the I’m-pretending-you-don’t-exist-because-my-wife’s-here-but-man-you’re-really-hot-and-I’d-love-to-oogle-you types. They’re all the same. At that moment, thoughts of me occupy an extraordinary amount of their brain cells. And they don’t pay attention to what I’m really after.

Which is—of course—their life-energy, their mana.

I wasn’t given a choice of how to survive. There are no niche markets that cater to human-vampire hybrids. In fact, I’m the only one that I know of who relies solely upon distilled mana to sustain my existence.

What is mana, you ask? Vampire’s suck blood for it. But, they have the fangs to puncture their victims and take what they need—the blood mixed with the life force that keeps the human heart beating. They can’t consume pure mana. It’s toxic to them. It would be kind of like a human trying to live off pure oxygen—only much worse.

My retractable fangs are only for show. They don’t actually work. They’re kind of like the human appendix, just leftovers of a past evolution. But no one knows that about me—except my mother.

Blair isn’t exactly what you call the motherly type. She’s tall and striking, seduction itself, with a head of dark lustrous curls and the full lips that I inherited. She cares more about her complicated love-life than anything else. But she has enough motherly loyalty to keep my secret. She raised me alone. In fact, I didn’t even know until I met him that there were other supernatural beings roaming Earth—the Charmed, they’re called—besides my mother and myself … and of course, Emilio.

Blair didn’t know how to feed me at first. I didn’t thrive on formula. I vomited the blood. I cried inconsolably. It was only when I accidentally brushed my tiny palm over her heart that she felt it: The draining of the mana, the life’s energy that sustains all creatures, magical and human alike.

Mana is life.

I didn’t understand at first why she feared me. I know now it’s because I can drain the life from even those without beating hearts—the vampires themselves, and all with just the touch of a hand. But I didn’t know this until much later—when he told me—that I had this talent, this power.

As I grew, I shared the victims that my mother hypnotized and brought home. I learned to feed a little at a time, enough to not actually kill them. But I made mistakes. I never meant to be a killer. Those I touched for too long didn’t convert to anything. I didn’t understand that my mother had actually expected them to rise as vampires, or at least attempt it. She shared very little information with me, perhaps because she knew so little herself during those years. She was nothing like the vampire she’s become now. I just dimly recall her watching the dead bodies for days, pacing and muttering that there wasn’t even an attempted waking.

She monitored me closer after the first few, pulling me away until I learned to forget eating my fill and to just nibble instead. But nibbling left me with the constant nagging sense of always wanting more. I never had enough.

My existence became a curse.

I grew and our differences became more glaring.

I could walk in the broad light of day, but my mother couldn’t. She was a creature of the night.

She could move faster than sight. She was stronger than any human. And she didn’t bleed.

I did.

And while I moved faster, possessed strength greater than an ordinary human, I hadn’t attained her skill.

Our relationship was always a strained one. Whenever I asked about my father or if I had siblings, she would grow angry, slap me across the face, and disappear into the night.

Except that last night when I’d just turned eighteen. That night, my mother inadvertently told me the truth, or some of it, anyway. I learned about Emilio and the circumstances of my birth. I learned that I did have a father, one who thought I—along with my mother—were dead. And I understood why she’d never told me before. I was old enough to know now that I had to stay dead.

It was only then that I understood my curse.

I was alone. Truly alone.

I wasn’t a Chosen One. And I wasn’t a human.

I was one of the Damned.

When I left my mother’s house the next day, there was only one thing on my mind.

Revenge. Revenge on Emilio for cursing me to always be hungry and to walk alone.

And even though I’d never seen him—this vampire who’d turned my mother out of petty spite, or for whatever reason—I now had his name. That was enough for me. I was going to spend the rest of my existence tracking him down, or die in the trying of it.

The Meeting

I’d just turned twenty-four, and I’d been on my own for almost six years when I met him at Mills Mall.

I was in Philadelphia at the time, and I frequented such crowded places for food. Men were easier victims than women. It’s more socially acceptable to accidentally brush against a man’s chest than a woman’s. And men usually weren’t even aware of what I’d done. They were too busy smiling down at me in that ludicrous manner that I’d grown to detest. It was only after I’d gone that they felt a little drained or dizzy.

But that day, I smelled him first.

Cripes, he was delicious.

I’d just turned away from the ATM with a scowl on my face, annoyed that I’d have to get another job—and soon—when I caught his scent. For humans, I guess it was not unlike walking into a bakery to be greeted by the smell of fresh bread and cookies after you’ve been crash-dieting on cabbage soup for a year straight.

With my mouth watering, I scanned the sea of faces swimming around me in all directions.

And then I saw him.

Towering above the others, he was walking my way, apparently headed for the nearby jewelry store with his arm draped around a woman’s shoulders. I don’t even remember what she looked like. I caught only the fleeting impression of a bright red dress, silver pumps, and a white fur stole, because my eyes were riveted upon him.

Stunning. Clear, spectacularly sharp, and very pale blue eyes. Dark, almost black hair that fell past his shoulders. Lean and muscular. Fashionably dressed. In a word: yummy. And in more ways than one. I could almost taste his life-energy upon my lips.

I didn’t have a choice, really.

He was too overpowering to resist.

The mall was overly crowded. It was some holiday sale. Labor Day, I think. The humans enjoyed the sales for the bargains. I enjoyed the sales for the easy access to prey. My favorite holiday was Black Friday; the pickings were plenty then. I would gorge myself, enjoying the rare sensation of a sated appetite. But those special days were few and far between.

Mr. Delicious was almost abreast when I stepped out to accidentally bump right into him.

“Oh, excuse me,” I said with a practiced laugh. My voice was a bit husky by nature, and I used it to my advantage. It perpetually sounded like I’d just recovered from a sore throat, but I found most human males found it appealing.

I reached out to trail my fingers across his chest and cup my palm over his heart. I was eager to tap into his mana and indulge in the sweetness overwhelming my nostrils.

But I didn’t experience the mouthwatering taste that I longed for. Instead, it felt like I’d just placed my hand directly onto a smoldering, white-hot grill.

With an involuntary gasp, I jerked back, stunned.

One of his brows lifted in surprise and his exquisite eyes zeroed in on mine.

Part of me felt time stop as I gaped up at him. An eternity passed even as the other part of me knew it could only have been a second before I attempted to dive back into the crowd surging around us.

But I didn’t succeed.

With the corner of his lip curling upwards, his strong hand lashed out to clamp down over my wrist.

I’m strong—much stronger than a human. It’s a vampire trait that I had inherited, along with the ability to run like the wind.

I twisted my hand, but I couldn’t break free.

Alarmed, I glanced back up at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring straight ahead with his lips still curved into a half-smile.

“Your name?” he asked in a calm, deep voice, with just the hint of a British accent.

I lifted my own brow. Did he really think I’d just volunteer my name?

With his eyes still locked in front of him, he bent towards me. Close. I could see the veins on his neck pulsing. The smell was enough to send shivers down my spine, along with sizzling spasms of heat. It was almost as if he were teasing me, tantalizing me with what I couldn’t have. He was so close. I could feel my hot breath bouncing off his neck back into my own face, carrying with it his intoxicating aroma. My fingers twitched, wanting to touch his chest once again, just for a little nip.

The woman at his side unexpectedly came to my rescue.

“Luuucian!” she whined. “Are we going to the jewelry store or not?”

Lucian? It was an odd name. It sounded archaic. Shaking my head to clear his scent out of my fogged-up brain, I asked in amusement, “Lucian is your name, then?”

His eyes pierced mine.

I found his scent suddenly overwhelming. Shrugging him off, I broke free of his grasp and disappeared into the swarm of humans.

Lucian.

He’d wanted my name. Now, I had his. There was a satisfying sense of justice to that.

But he and his white-hot mana were particularly hard to forget. He stayed in my mind as I fell into step behind a group of hyper teenagers. They were clearly up to trouble. Dipping into their mana would actually be a community service. Although, after smelling Lucian, it was like giving up Zagat’s top-rated twelve course meal for cheap convenience-store donuts—the kind that come squished in thin plastic wrappers.

It didn’t take long. I guess I must have been a bit distracted and helped myself to more than my usual, because after I’d finished, they all looked green-faced and complained about a sudden onset of food poisoning.

My hunger brought under control, I revisited the ATM to eye my pitiful balance once again. I only had twenty dollars left in my account. I was going to have to get another job or move again before my landlord could complete the eviction process. Even though I didn’t buy food, I still had to pay for a place to lay my head and take a shower.

For the briefest of moments, something on the ground caught the corner of my eye. A lizard? I wasn’t certain. It slipped around the side and disappeared behind the ATM before I could be sure.

Frowning, I quickly made my way to one of the tables in the food court. Maybe I was suffering some kind of ill effects from the teenagers’ mana. Maybe they’d been a bit more contaminated than I’d thought. I’d learned to avoid drunks and druggies a long time ago—it was the equivalent of eating junk food, or worse.

Sliding down, I closed my eyes for a quick internal check. Everything seemed normal, so I expelled a breath to relax and think of other things.

Like Lucian.

What was he? Had it been my imagination?

I knew that was impossible.

But what did that mean?

He wasn’t like Blair. Her mana was like a chameleon, reflecting the energy of her latest victim, but also holding a unique emptiness that I now know was the essence of death. Without a beating heart, vampires were incapable of generating their own mana.

No, Lucian’s mana was his own. And even though I’d touched him for only a millisecond, I’d felt his heartbeat.

And vampires moved about only at night.

I glanced up at the skylights above me, which revealed the clear blue skies of Philadelphia.

So, just what was Lucian? What had I experienced there?

Excitedly, I sat bolt upright.

Was he like me? One of the Damned? Could it be that I wasn’t alone after all?

“Cassidy Edwards,” a deep voice purred in my ear, a voice with the hint of a British accent.

Startled, I glanced up to see Lucian hovering over me. Placing a large shopping bag on the floor between us, he moved to sit down in the chair directly across from mine.

No one ever took me by surprise. I always smelled their mana long before they even got close, even my mother’s—as unalive as she was.

Yet Lucian sat there now, just an arm’s length away, and I smelled nothing.

Nothing.

I frowned.

He looked terribly amused. “May I call you Cass?” he asked with a self-satisfied smile.

“No,” I replied evenly and took a deep breath.

I still smelled nothing.

I knew very well that the striking man before me had the most powerful fragrance that I’d ever encountered. I’d picked him out from the virtual ocean of humanity on aroma alone just an hour before.

“Well then, Cass,” he continued easily, sprawling back to extend his long legs and casually clasp his hands behind his neck. “I’ve come to offer you a position. A job.”

I didn’t really hear him at first. I was extremely distracted. And I had questions of my own. Placing my hands on the table, I leaned forward and asked in a low voice, “Who are you?”

“Lucian,” he answered simply. Smugly. He clearly knew I was rattled and was relishing every moment of it.

Abruptly, I remembered that he’d called me by my name.

“You’re full of surprises,” I said, suspicion growing. “How do you know my name?”

I really didn’t expect him to answer—and of course, he didn’t.

“The job pays well,” he continued pleasantly, but his voice had taken on a different edge, leaving me with the distinct impression that the pay referred to something other than money.

I was intrigued.

“Pay?” I repeated. What exactly was he offering me? Just who was he?

I waited with bated breath.

His lip twitched and then his gaze roved over my face in a lazy, slow manner and lingered on my lips before he lifted his eyes once more to mine. Taking a business card out of his pocket, he slid it across the table and stood up.

“If you’re interested, come to my office tomorrow and we’ll have a chat,” he said, reaching for the shopping bag on the floor.

A flash of red caught the corner of my eye, and I glanced down.

The shopping bag contained a doll—a marionette. A female figure with a ghoulish grin, a bright red dress, silver heels, and a white fur stole.

Staring at it, I recalled the woman who’d accompanied him before.

My eyes widened in bewilderment, and I looked up.

But he merely nodded and was gone.

I leapt to follow him, but he was soon lost in the crowd. Searching in all directions, he was nowhere to be found, and not even the smallest whiff of his scent was left behind.

One of the Damned

With one foot still in the taxi cab, I inspected the modern glass office building rising before me—the epitome of big business—and glanced down at the card I held between my fingers.

Lord Lucian Rowle

Rowle Industries, Ltd.

That’s all it said.

Not even a phone number.

When I’d searched for Rowle Industries online, I’d found a brief description of a privately-owned corporation that apparently had something to do with imports and exports. An official site consisted of a single page with nothing but the graphic of a family crest. Further research traced the coat of arms to a castle far away in Wales. Castle Llewellyn—a sprawling estate proclaimed as a Heritage Site and now under the control of the British Government.

And that was it.

I stood there, surveying the mirrored-glass-and-steel structure perched in the middle of a broad expanse of flawless green lawn. There wasn’t a single cloud in the bright blue sky behind it. The entire place looked surreal, like some photoshopped advertisement. It stood out like a sore thumb from all of the older, rundown office complexes clustered around it.

“Hey lady, are you getting out or not?” the old, crabby cab driver barked at me from inside the cab. “I’ve got a job to do here.”

I ignored him.

As a rule, I identified all escape routes before entering a potentially dangerous place—in case I needed to make a quick exit. And if I really was dealing with another person like me—one of the Damned—I needed an extra dose of caution.

I stood there—taking an inventory of exits—when a man stepped out of the building’s revolving door. He was your typical middle-aged businessman—wholly nondescript in a suit and tie. Gray pants. Jacket over one arm.

But what dangled from his other arm entirely captivated me.

It was a marionette, the one I’d seen in Lucian’s bag. The one in a red dress, silver heels, and a white fur stole.

“How lovely the sun feels, doesn’t it, dear?” the man asked as he began to walk her down the sidewalk.

Extending his hand, he rocked the puppet’s handles in a crude attempt to make it walk, but the feet instantly became entangled. With a grin bigger than the Cheshire Cat’s, he laughed and gave up to drag the marionette behind him. Striding past me without even once looking in my direction, he hopped into the back of a shiny black Mercedes that apparently had been waiting for him, and then they drove off.

“Laaady, hey, lady!” the cab driver barked yet again, slapping his hand on the steering wheel and tapping his horn this time. “In or out? Cause I’m leaving now!”

“Out,” I said, intrigued by the marionette.

I glanced up again at the glass office building. I really didn’t feel in any particular danger. Lucian might be stronger than me—maybe—but I felt that I could hold my own, and my curiosity was overwhelming.

Slamming the cab door shut, I headed up the sidewalk.

It was time to find out just how Lucian had known my name, exactly what kind of job he was offering, and most intriguing of all, just who he was.

As the taxi sped out of the parking lot, I walked up to the building’s entrance and inspected my reflection in the mirrored door. I’d ditched my usual black leather, opting instead for a crepe, cream-colored blouse and a short wool pencil skirt that highlighted my legs encased in long leather boots.

I never went anywhere without my boots. They weren’t a fashion statement; they were a necessity. I hid my knives there. Silver-bladed knives, knives that could halt vampires in their tracks—or so I’d read. In any case, they were my health insurance plan.

“What I won’t do for a job,” I muttered under my breath.

Putting aside my interest in Lucian, I did desperately need a job. Since leaving my mother’s house, I’d had a variety of them. The only thing they’d had in common was their duration. Short. I was always on the move, and when I wasn’t working, I spent every free moment I had researching vampires in the hopes of learning more about Emilio. I’d been let go from a receptionist gig the previous month. But I’d been thinking it was time to leave Philadelphia anyway—only that required money. Money I didn’t have.

I paused a moment, resting my fingers on the handle of the revolving door.

It was one of those fateful moments in life, and I knew it. My gut told me that if I walked into that building, my life would change forever.

It only spurred me on.

It was time to see exactly what Lord Rowle had in mind.

With a ripple of excitement coursing through me, I entered boldly.

A cool, muted environment greeted me. Modern, metallic sculptures. Slate tile. A floor-to-ceiling saltwater fish tank. Potted ferns. Low, curving modern couches.

There was no sign of security, a receptionist, or anyone else.

There was only a door.

Without breaking my stride, I headed for it, and I’d just reached for the handle when the door opened, swinging back silently.

I didn’t see them at first.

Seeing only the elegant simplicity of the room splayed out before me, I took a methodical inventory: a sleek glass desk with an Italian leather chair, a low, modern couch, and an exotic-hardwood conference table surrounded by twelve tall-backed chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered two walls and a humungous slab of Carrara marble spanned the other. It took me a moment to realize that the wall was actually a fountain and the source of the soft, bubbling sounds that whispered throughout the room.

I only saw them then.

I noticed Lucian first, standing in the corner to my left with his arms folded behind his back and with that same superior smirk hovering on his attractive face. He wore dark clothing. He oozed sophistication. Culture. And he’d drawn his long black hair back into a ponytail in a way that accentuated the hard line of his chiseled jaw. His unbuttoned collar drew my eyes to his Adam’s apple. He looked incredibly appetizing.

I forced myself to look away.

I couldn’t let myself care for men like that. I lacked control. I couldn’t even kiss them. It was too tempting. It took only a matter of moments before my interest shifted and I viewed the object of my desire as more of a succulent morsel than a passionate lover.

Corralling my thoughts, I directed my gaze to the man standing behind Lucian.

He could only be described as a surfer dude who appeared to be in his late thirties. Blond hair, white shell necklace, a faded Hawaiian shirt, and ripped blue-jean cutoffs. His jeans weren’t the only things ripped. His shirt was open, displaying his washboard abs for the entire world to see.

He slouched against one of the windows, but he was ignoring me. His attention was focused on the small green lizard wrapped around his finger.

A lizard. So I had seen a lizard the previous day.

But I didn’t think much more about it, because I was distracted by the fact that Lucian had surprised me twice. Every living creature gave off a signature scent, its mana. And as a rule, I smelled every creature’s mana long before I saw what it was attached to.

Except Lucian.

Oh, I’d smelled him that first time. My mouth watered just recalling the deliciously intoxicating scent.

But I could smell him no longer.

And come to think of it, I couldn’t smell the surfer dude and his little green lizard, either.

Humans couldn’t hide their scent. I’d never come across one that could, anyway.

I decided to gamble. What could it hurt?

Diverting my eyes back to Lucian’s cool, assessing blue ones, I said, “You’re a bit unusual. What are you?”

His lip twitched an extra millimeter upwards as he bowed a little in my direction. “Oh, so direct and to the point,” he praised in a voice that just oozed charisma. “What am I? Well, my dear, I would ask of you the same thing. I would have thought you to be a Night Terror, only you’re not.”

A Night Terror? Determined not to betray the fact I had no clue what he was talking about, I calmly meandered to the couch and sat down, crossing my legs and lacing my fingers over my knees. I took up a lot of space, my eyes not leaving his the entire time. It was a power move, and one that kept my fingers conveniently close to the knives tucked in my boots.

I could tell that he wasn’t going to answer, so I switched subjects. “You invited me, Lord Rowle,” I challenged, lifting my chin a little. “A matter of a job?”

“Lucian,” he said. “Call me Lucian.”

He stayed where he was for a moment. I discovered then that I couldn’t read him anymore than I could smell him—another unusual thing. I was remarkably adept in reading human emotions, even the hidden ones. But the man before me could have been a robot for the lack of signals I was receiving.

It made him even more captivating.

“Lucian,” I agreed with a cordial nod.

Turning slightly to the side, he waved a hand of introduction in the direction of the surfer dude still slouched behind him. “This is Heath,” he said.

And that was it. No last name. No brief explanation as to why Heath was standing there with his eyes locked onto a lizard’s beady little ones.

“Nice to meet you, Heath,” I said when he made no attempt to acknowledge my existence. “I’m Cassidy Edwards.”

Heath tilted his head to one side, but that was it.

“Now then, Cass,” Lucian inserted in a silky smooth voice. He stalked over to the conference table and leaned against it with his hands in his pockets. “Let’s continue to be direct, shall we?”

“I’m a direct kind of gal,” I said by way of agreement. “It’s Cassidy, by the way.”

He smiled, obviously bemused, but then his tone shifted. “It’s too late now to accomplish your original mission,” he announced as he peered at me from under his lashes. “And as we both know, Cass, the Terzi are less than forgiving.”

I’d never heard of the Terzi, much less had accepted any kind of a mission from them. No, the only mission I’d ever accepted was the one originated by me—that of revenge. Vengeance against Emilio for converting my mother, robbing me of a normal existence, and condemning me to a life of hunger and isolation.

I was going to spend my every waking breath ensuring the very same thing happened to him. Karma, it was called.

Lucian was watching me. Waiting. He clearly expected some kind of response.

I wasn’t one to play guessing games. I didn’t have the patience for it.

“You might want to check your sources, Lord Rowle,” I said, stressing his title with a deliberate note of skepticism. “I’ve never heard of the Terzi, and the only mission I’m on is my own. So, these Terzi can be as unforgiving as they please. The only thing you’ve gotten right so far is my name, and hardly that. It’s Cassidy, not Cass.”

No one called me Cass. Ever.

I was distracted from Lucian’s reaction by Heath.

“Profound, man,” the surfer dude exclaimed, and then tossed the lizard up into the air.

To my utter astonishment, the reptile swirled into a human-sized tornado of green smoke, and out from it stepped a petite woman of apparent Asian descent, wearing a green sheath dress with black platform sandals. Her skin was porcelain white. Flawless. She’d combed her black hair dramatically to one side, obscuring one eye.

The surfer dude had disappeared.

“She’s not what you think, Lucian,” she said, her voice quite melodic but obviously upset. “It’s merely a coincidence. This is not a case of keeping your enemy close to your heart.”

I just stared at her, astonished that the people in the room really weren’t humans. But they clearly weren’t vampires, either.

What were they?

Excitement rippled through me—excitement that perhaps I wasn’t as alone in the world as I’d thought. But consternation quickly dampened the thrill of finding possible kindred souls. I didn’t know who they were or what their motives were.

“Please, take a seat, Cass,” Lucian’s cool voice intruded upon my thoughts.

I glanced down to realize that I was standing, knife in each hand. As excited as I’d been, my body was trained to defend itself of its own accord.

“Amazing reflexes,” the lizard woman observed, coming up to Lucian to slide her palm up his chest and rest her head against his arm. She was tiny. The top of her head didn’t even make it to his shoulder. “A Chosen One, perhaps?”

“No, she’s not one of them,” a voice growled in my ear. “She’s something else. Something … I’ve never encountered. She’s alive.”

I whirled to see a massive, musclebound brute of a gray wolf crouched behind me. His eyes were glowing. Yellow.

“Cripes!” I swore, gripping the handle of my knives harder.

I’d never seen such a beast.

“Cripes?” the wolf repeated, tilting his head a little just like a dog does when it appears it’s trying to lip-read. “Are you British?”

It was a little unnerving. “No,” I replied shortly. I’d heard the word cripes in a few movies and had just liked the way it sounded.

“Ah, so you just prefer to use pseudo British curses?” the wolf asked in open curiosity.

My “cussing” repertoire consisted of three expressions: “Cripes!”, “Hex it!” and “Crud!” I was picky. But it was hardly the first topic I’d have thought to discuss with a werewolf. “I like to swear but with class," I said, not entirely certain I was really having this conversation.

“I get that. Maybe it’s an old soul thing,” the wolf said, hunkering down on the couch and crossing his paws as if preparing for a long philosophical conversation. “Do you meditate, too? I’ve discovered—”

I figured then that the wolf had to be the surfer dude.

“Enough, Heath,” Lucian smoothly interrupted, confirming my guess.

Heath obligingly wagged the tip of his tail and as I watched, his fur melted into skin and the body lengthened to stand upright, morphing back into the blond-haired surfer dude. Strangely, the first thought occupying my mind was the question of where he’d kept the Hawaiian shirt while in wolf form.

But then a second thought came to me. If werewolves existed … then what else?

I raised a curious brow at the ex-lizard woman still standing there rubbing her hands up and down Lucian’s chest. I don’t think he even noticed, but he did pick up on my unspoken question.

Nodding, he supplied the introduction. “This is Tabitha. Tabitha is a firedrake.”

I’d never heard of firedrakes. I’d have to google them later.

Cocking a brow, I turned my attention to Lucian himself and repeated my query from before, “And you? What are you?”

He gave a half laugh and with a low, sweeping bow, replied in a deep baritone, “Allow me to properly introduce myself, my dear. Lord Lucian Rowle, Warlock and Cursemaster of the Highest Order.”

A warlock.

Evidently, the world was a bit more complex than I’d given it credit for.

They were watching me expectantly. I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t know a name for what I was, so instead, I shoved my knives back into my boots and announced brazenly, “Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards. I’m one of the Damned … a monster.”

A Contract with a Handsome Devil

Lucian’s devilishly handsome brow arced up a fraction of an inch. “A monster?” he probed. “You look quite human; it must be a masterful spell, then.”

Walking up to me, he brushed a finger across my forehead, but my attention was riveted on just how close he was standing—so very close. And no matter how deeply I breathed in, I couldn’t catch even the slightest whiff of his delicious scent.

And then it happened.

For the first time in my life, I lost interest in a potentially tasty morsel to become more interested in the man.

He towered over me and out of pure habit, I cataloged his attributes. Muscles. He had a great set. He was incredibly fit. Apparently, weaving spells was an athletic business. His skin was tan. His Adam’s apple was even more distracting closer up. His jawline fell into the same category. And his lips. I was tempted to kiss him, just to see what it would be like to lock lips with a sexy man without thinking of him as a Thanksgiving Turkey.

“Distracted, are we?” he breathed in my ear.

I squarely met his shrewd gaze. I could see mirth in his pale blue eyes. And for a moment, something else. Something sizzling. Something hot.

But then his expression shuttered, and he moved back, folded his arms, and said, “You’re not spelled. Explain.”

Spelled? Not a term I’d heard before. Enchanted? As in magic?

His lashes narrowed as if reading my confusion. He was a wily one. I’d have to be careful if I didn’t want to end up getting short-changed in this negotiation. I adopted a hard, knowing expression, and just shrugged like his question was beneath me.

I’d learned long ago that bluffing was more than half the battle.

Lucian stalked over to the conference table and sat on the edge to casually swing a foot. “Leave us,” he ordered Heath and Tabitha with an imperial wave of his hand.

Heath didn’t seem to mind, but Tabitha certainly did. She flashed her eyes at me with obvious suspicion, and if looks could roast, I’d have been turned into a charred pile of ashes right there. It took her several long moments, but finally, she disappeared through the door.

“Don’t mind her,” Lucian’s deep voice advised from directly behind me.

Only the years of practice living with my mother kept me from jerking in surprise at his sudden breath upon the back of my neck. Apparently, warlocks moved as quickly as vampires. I wondered what else they could do.

Pretending I wasn’t surprised, I coolly spun on my heel.

He didn’t move back. He stayed in my space. And though half of me found him fascinatingly attractive, the other half became annoyed.

The annoyed-half won out.

I glared at him in a way that never failed to send a man scattering out of my way.

But he didn’t move. Instead, the corner of his lip curved into a smile, and folding his arms as if digging in for the long haul, he continued to speak of Tabitha. “Drakes are possessive of those they accept. They aren’t like humans. I’d avoid being alone with her, at least for a while, or maybe even forever if she decides she doesn’t like you.”

I’d never heard of a drake. Part of me wanted to know more, but as a matter of habit, I avoided asking questions if I could help it—it tended to embolden others to ask questions of their own. And anyway, only part of me was curious. The rest of me was irritated with the handsome warlock hovering over me.

I arched my brow higher, adding more frost to my gaze. I wasn’t going to be the first one to step back. Nope. I was going to win even if I had to stand there all night with him just centimeters away. My annoyed-half deliberately ignored the part of me dancing with glee at the thought.

Lucian met my gaze steadily, and from this close, I could get a really good look at his unusual eyes. Light blue irises threaded with glistening silver streaks that radiated outwards from the pupil. I’d never seen glimmering silver in an eye before. Perhaps it was a warlock thing.

After a moment, I began to notice the scorching tension rising between us. And even though I couldn’t smell it, I could sense a charge swirling around me, something that wasn’t me. It was some kind of invisible, crackling energy. It heightened my senses. I wondered if it would zap him if I reached out and ran my finger along his jawline.

At that point, I became aware that he was still talking.

“A Firedrake,” his deep voice droned in the background. “Descendants of the dragons, and more dragon than human. Treat her like a temperamental cobra having a bad day and you’ll do fine.”

His incredibly long lashes swept down over his eyes for a fraction of a second and I realized I hadn’t been breathing. I sucked in a huge breath. Cold air filled my lungs, blowing the fog out of my brain.

It was enough to allow instinct to inform me just what he’d been doing.

In an instant, a knife was in my hand, but he caught my wrist in a vise-like grip before I could press the blade into the flesh of his neck.

“Impressive,” he stated, looking as cool as a cucumber.

“I can’t say the same,” I said with flashing eyes.

I held still, not wanting to test his strength. If he was stronger than me—and I had the sneaking suspicion that he just might be—I certainly didn’t want him to know it.

After a moment, he let my hand go and moved to his desk.

I nodded in satisfaction that he’d been the first one to move away, but the victory was a hollow one. He didn’t seem to care. And anyway, now I was more concerned with the fact that he’d deliberately used his sex appeal as a diversion tactic while trying to cast some kind of spell over me.

He tapped a finger on the top of his desk. “One of the quickest detections I’ve ever seen in a candidate. Your affinity for mana is finely tuned,” he stated with a clinical detachment. “Incredibly so. Are the Damned adept in sensing traps as well? I could use a good Spell-finder. As it happens, I’ve an immediate need for one.”

I didn’t answer him. Spell-finder? Definitely not in the realm of my job experience.

He didn’t notice my lack of response. He just continued. “And you’re obviously handy with a knife, but what of other skills?” His eyes glittered, turning full force on me again. “Your attack on me in the mall—what technique did you employ? I know it was an ability. I’m a warlock, after all.”

Still peeved, I shoved my knife back into my boot. “You’re mistaken. I did nothing,” I lied. I wasn’t about to tell him that I’d just been going for a snack, and he’d been a bit too tasty to pass up. “The mall was crowded. You’ve obviously confused me with someone else.”

He wasn’t buying it, but it was my turn not to care.

“It’s too late for you now,” he said evenly. “You really have no choice but to accept my protection. I’m your only sanctuary. The Terzi don’t suffer failures.” He opened a desk drawer and began shuffling through it.

I joined him at the desk. This guy clearly had a Terzi hang-up. It was a weak spot I could potentially exploit. I needed to find out more about these Terzi, but something told me it wouldn’t be as easy as an internet search.

Lucian pulled a piece of parchment out of the drawer and waved his hand across it.

As I watched, a beautiful flowing script appeared on the page as if written by an invisible hand. The writing continued line-by-line, and the page was half full before it stopped.

He had to be using mana. But strangely, again, I couldn’t smell it.

Why not?

But I was distracted from a burgeoning panic as Lucian pushed the sheet across the desk with a single finger.

I picked it up almost automatically. The moment my skin made contact, the writing began again. Entranced, I watched as my name appeared in a wobbly script completely at odds with the beautiful writing above it.

I, Cassidy Edwards, agree to a trial period of one mission only with the option of renewal upon completion. All expenses to be paid by Lord Lucian Rowle Industries, Ltd. and remuneration to be delivered to me, Cassidy Edwards, in the form of hitherto unknown information regarding the Chosen One named Emilio Marchesi and also substantial monies to be paid directly into an account accessible only by me, Cassidy Edwards.

Upon seeing Emilio’s name appear, I almost dropped the paper. But I didn’t. Perhaps my life wouldn’t have changed so drastically if I had. But call it destiny, foolishness, or both, I read on:

For said mission, I will act as the Lord Lucian Rowle’s exclusive Spell-finder and shall not engage in any other contracts until said mission has been satisfactorily executed. In return, the Lord Lucian Rowle and/or his successor(s) will offer me his/their complete protection and remuneration as described above.

There were several ink spots at the end, as if the invisible fountain pen had malfunctioned, and my name appearing on the bottom right corner was downright crooked. Next to Lucian’s magnificently swirling unintelligible scrawl, my section of the page looked like some child’s first crude attempt at writing cursive.

With a deepening frown, I quickly scanned the upper portion of the page. It was written in such complex language that it was difficult to understand.

The first paragraph stated something along the lines that Lucian would guarantee my safety from magical and bodily harm, and that he’d pay me a handsome fortune for my services.

The second, much larger paragraph was devoted to all the harm I’d suffer if I should betray the contract. I’d scarcely finished skimming over it—the words “entombed in a bottle for all of eternity with a mischievous imp” had snagged my attention—when Lucian’s nimble fingers entered my field of vision and snatched the paper out of my hand.

He eyed the thin, spidery writing in surprise. “One would think this was your first contract,” he said dryly even as his brows ascended, and his gaze focused on the part of the page where Emilio’s name had appeared. “Information,” was all he said, as if to himself.

“This isn’t binding,” I said, feeling quite wary. I felt like I’d just signed a contract with a devil—albeit a handsome one. “I never agreed to any of it.”

He actually froze for a few seconds before looking down at me through half-drawn lashes. “Nonbinding in the world of humans, yes,” he replied evenly. “But in the Charmed world, we both know better … do we not?”

Charmed world? Is that what they called themselves? Charmed? Why Charmed?

He was observing me closely as if documenting my every reaction, and I sensed I was treading on thin ice. But then, that never stopped me before.

“Well, in my world, I discuss the details before signing anything,” I forged ahead.

“Really? You wrote the details yourself on certified meddle-proof parchment,” his voice softened in a chilling sort of way, and his carved lips crooked into a devastatingly striking smile. “If you think to break this agreement between us, then you’re playing a dangerous game with me, Cassidy Edwards.”

“I don’t play games.” Well, those kinds of games, anyway. Letting anger tinge my voice, I added, “Besides, how can I trust you’ll keep your end of the bargain—especially after you entrapped me to begin with?”

He tilted his head to one side. “Why are you wasting time with this? If you truly felt that way, we both know that you wouldn’t have been able to pen your own demands in the contract,” he answered, waving the paper between us before his expression hardened and his eyes sliced through me like daggers. “As for trust,” his voice was growing deeper and louder with each word. “My name alone guarantees my word, you foolish, ignorant woman. Surely, even you have heard of the Rowles of Llewellyn?”

By the time he’d finished the sentence, he was thundering.

Loud voices and angry men didn’t faze me; I wasn’t the kind to get intimidated that easily. And for all his handsomeness, he was irritating me a lot now. I locked gazes with him and said dryly, “The Rowles of Llewellyn Castle? The castle under the protection of the British Government?”

My intention was to let him know that I wasn’t foolish or ignorant. Even though this Charmed world was entirely new to me, I’d done some research before the interview, or as much as I could do, anyway. I couldn’t really demonstrate more knowledge than that, when the internet was virtually silent on the subject.

His response was nothing like I’d expected.

Shocked—he was completely, utterly shocked. Cold fury suffused his face, the kind of fury that can create lifelong enemies and foster feuds that span generations.

White with anger and with his jawline so taut that I wondered if it would snap, he replied in a low, guttural tone, “It won’t be for long.”

Instinctively, I reached for my knives.

He didn’t miss it. Planting his palms flat on the desktop, he informed me in a voice so cold it sent a shiver down my spine, “You’re fortunate we both signed that contract before you dared to utter those words in my presence. Now, get out of my sight.”

A New Job?

So, what was so special about that castle?

Angry myself, I shoved the revolving door of Rowle Industries so forcefully that is was almost enough to shatter the glass.

I wasn’t going back; I didn’t care for the working conditions. A werewolf and a dragon for co-workers. A dangerously unhinged warlock for a boss. Did hostile work environment ring a bell?

And I didn’t care what kind of contract he’d thought I’d signed. I wasn’t going to honor it.

I stomped my way down the sidewalk. I’d splurged on a taxi earlier because I’d foolishly assumed I’d be employed the next day.

Crud. It had been a bad move.

Directing a few choice curse words Lucian’s way, I bent my back to the heat and headed for the bus stop.

I’d just sat down on a graffiti-covered bench when a white lizard zipped out from underneath it. A moment later, Tabitha sat beside me. She wore a simple white dress, and in a fluid motion, placed a well-manicured hand upon my arm in a pleading gesture.

“What did you say to him?” she asked me with an unblinking stare. “I haven’t seen him this angry in years.”

I wasn’t about to engage in friendly chitchat.

And anyway, my bus was approaching.

“I’m not interested in discussing it,” I told her bluntly.

She didn’t stop me—nor did she blink—as I boarded the bus. And by the time I’d found my seat to glance through the fingerprint-smeared window, she’d already gone.

As the bus pulled out onto the street, I inhaled deeply, relishing the various mana scents coalescing around me.

So, it was only Lucian and his crew that I couldn’t smell.

Relieved, I expelled my breath in a long, drawn-out sigh.

I supposed the afternoon hadn’t been a complete waste of time. I’d learned a Charmed world had been hiding right under my nose, a world where I could potentially find allies to aid me on my quest. Chances were that Emilio had made enemies other than myself.

I just had to find them.

Thinking of my revenge was a familiar and safe subject, and I settled into my seat, resolving to think of Lord Lucian Rowle and Rowle Industries, Ltd. no more.

My resolution lasted for about an hour—however long it took me to reach and unlock my front door.

My apartment was one of those small, dingy, one-room affairs. It needed paint and constant ventilation to keep it from smelling of pickles. The sagging blue couch doubled as a bed and served as a table for my duct-taped laptop. Two cardboard boxes housed my clothing—mostly boots. An unplugged college-dorm-sized fridge stood next to the sink with a wobbly-legged folding table propped up against it. The toilet and shower lurked behind a faded yellow plastic shower curtain.

I’d just tossed my keys on top of the fridge when a movement behind the shower curtain caught the corner of my eye.

I whirled, knife in hand, and this time, I really did let the blade fly.

It whizzed in warning, on course for the doorjamb only to stop midair, several inches from its target, and then fall harmlessly to the floor.

I stared in shock.

Had I misjudged the distance? Was that even a viable possibility?

Lucian stepped out from behind the curtain, pushing it aside with a single finger and a slight look of repulsion on his face. Swathed in a long, black cloak, he stood there, wiping his finger on a handkerchief as if he’d been contaminated by some fatal disease by merely touching my shower curtain.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” I bluffed, struggling to hide my dismay at my failure.

I’d never missed before. Not once. Not even as a child. My knife always found its target, even with my eyes closed.

He arched a pointed look at the blade on the floor between us.

“Please,” he said, rolling his eyes with a slight sniff of disdain. “With my wards activated, you can’t harm me—no matter how hard you try.”

Wards?

Clearly, these Charmed folk had a lot of tricks up their sleeves. They could be a problem. But then, the fact that I had a temperamental warlock standing in my apartment without my permission proved they were already a problem.

I was being pulled into this Charmed world whether I wanted it or not.

“What are you doing here?” I asked bluntly.

The eyes meeting mine were distant as he replied just as bluntly, “Tabitha insists you join us. An emergency mission.”

I was about to inform him that I didn’t work for him when he tossed a manila envelope onto my wobbly-legged table.

“What’s that?” I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

After his tricky contract, I wasn’t so trusting of what appeared as harmless paper.

A gleam of dry humor entered his eye. “No cause for alarm, Spell-finder,” he said, his deep baritone reverberating in amusement. “It’s only your travel expenses. Passport. Amulet. Key.”

Amulet? Not your typical travel expense, but I didn’t point that out. Making my mind up, I announced brusquely, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He had to be a bit delusional if he thought I was just going to hop onto a plane and follow his orders for some unspecified emergency mission after that crazy interview.

There was nothing he could say that would make me change my mind.

The corner of his lip lifted into a mocking smile. “Then I’ll just not send Emilio Marchesi that message,” he began nonchalantly.

Yes, there was nothing that could change my mind—except that.

He knew it. From the smug smile on his face, he knew he had hooked me.

“Where is Emilio?” I asked.

Could it be, after all this time, I’d finally found a lead?

“Really, my dear.” Lucian gave a superior chuckle. “I can deliver on my side. You know who I am. But it is customary that you deliver on your part of the bargain before getting paid, is it not?”

I sent him a dark glare.

Was this aggravatingly sexy warlock playing with me, or did he really know where Emilio was? And did I honestly have a choice other than to trust him? At least for the moment, anyway.

“Very well then,” Lucian said with a crisp nod as he adjusted his cloak. Striding to the door, he paused and, turning back, added, “Now that things are cleared up between us, I expect the contract to be followed to the letter. The plane leaves in four hours. Be there on time. I detest waiting.”

And with that, he was gone.

I hurried after him, poking my head out the door to look both ways up and down the street, but the only moving thing I saw was a small black cat slipping over the chain-linked fence across the street. Was it his?

I swore under my breath.

Yeah. His visit had really cleared things up. I wondered if all warlocks were as vague, devious, and supremely irritating, or if Lucian had cornered that market all on his own.

Returning to my apartment, I eyed the manila envelope with suspicion. It didn’t smell unusual, but then, I didn’t really expect it to. I’d never smelled mana on inanimate objects before.

But a lot had happened in the past twenty-four hours. In my book, all bets were off.

I found it thrilling.

At long last, I’d finally made a legitimate step in finding out more about Emilio. For the last six years, I’d read every book to do with vampires I could find. I’d surfed through every internet forum, reading and discussing vampirism with countless people, even those claiming to be Chosen Ones themselves. And I’d faithfully tracked down each and every one of them.

All of them had turned out to be humans and more than a few of them, mentally ill.

After all of that work, I hadn’t gotten any closer to finding Emilio. I hadn’t even found anyone who’d heard of him.

Until Lucian.

It was too good of a lead to turn down.

“It’s just one job,” I said aloud. “A couple of weeks”

I couldn’t see it lasting longer.

Grabbing the manila envelope, I ripped it open and dumped the contents. A thick wad of cash rolled out onto the table, and I found myself grinning. I’d never seen that much money in one place before, let alone had called it my own.

“Lucian, devil though you may be, you have yourself a deal!” I laughed aloud.

Drawing a knife, I used the blade to poke through the rest of the envelope’s contents: an itinerary for a trip to Venice, departure: four hours. A passport for Cassidy Edwards—it had to be forged, but it looked real enough, a crystal vial on a silver chain, and finally, an aged, brass skeleton key.

How positively gothic.

The key fascinated me. When I touched it, I felt something vibrate. There had to be mana in it, I was certain. So, mana could be infused with an object. There wasn’t enough for me to even bother trying to extract. It would be like trying to sate your hunger with a single grain of spelt.

It didn’t take me long to get ready; I had packed my meager belongings in less than a half an hour.

I certainly wasn’t going to miss that dingy studio.

Tossing some bills to cover my back-rent in full, I left my pickle-scented apartment without a backwards glance.

It was getting late. Darkness had fallen. I squared my shoulders and headed for the bus stop.

It was then that I smelled her.

My mother.

Leaving Philly

I’d seen my mother only twice since I’d left her house in New York four years ago. Both times, I’d been the one to seek her out; she’d never reached out to me. She was always on the move and never interested in my doings.

But there was no doubting her unique scent filling the night air, the curious mixture of what seemed like a sickly young man—must be her latest victim—and the spicy fragrance of death that was uniquely Blair.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and honed in on the direction. It came from the left. She was close by.

Was she waiting for me?

That was a first.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I followed her trail around the corner to a rundown diner with a humming neon sign flashing to the world outside that it was open.

The single bell gave an anemic clang as I pushed the door back and stepped inside.

The place was a dive. Cold, greasy burger leftovers scattered the surfaces of the empty tables plastered with dried ketchup and who knows what else. It didn’t matter. There weren’t any customers that I could see. I supposed the cockroaches skittering by the floor baseboards helped with that.

Blair’s scent was overwhelming.

“Cassidy,” she suddenly whispered from behind me.

The coolness of her breath never failed to send chills down my spine.

I turned to look at her.

She was gorgeous, as usual. Long, dark hair. A model-perfect smile. Big brown eyes, and a slim, svelte figure. She hadn’t changed a bit since I’d seen her last. But then, she was a vampire. She didn’t age.

“You haven’t changed,” she said the same of me. “It’s as I suspected. You won’t grow any older now.”

I raised a brow. I’d never really wondered about my lifespan before. I was too hungry and consumed with revenge to bother worrying about that.

“Blair,” I said with a nod. “What are you doing here?”

Her lips thinned with displeasure at my abrupt greeting. I honestly don’t know what else she expected. Waving her hand to a dark, winding staircase at the back of the room, she motioned for me to precede her.

On the third step, I smelled the mana of the young man that my mother had apparently just bitten. He was still alive. Apparently, she’d taken only a nip, not enough to turn him into a Chosen One. But maybe she wasn’t finished with him yet.

His scent grew stronger with each step. I found him in the first room by the top of the stairs. He turned out to be a sandy-haired man in his early twenties, decked out in black leather, tattoos, and body-piercings. He lay on a stained mattress on the floor in the corner. A broken window shade hung over the open window. I could tell from his scent that he was under the influence of drugs and who knows what else.

The thought of dining on him made my stomach queasy. I looked at my mother in surprise.

She read my unspoken question and replied with the last words I’d expected. “This is Terzi territory,” she clarified with a shrug. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Terzi?” I seized the word, setting my suitcase down on the floor with a thump.

My mother was the last one I would have thought to ask about the Terzi.

She brushed her hair back from her face, as if primping for a party and, beginning to fan herself, explained, “It’s why I’m here. You’ve gotten yourself involved with the wrong crowd, Cassidy. The Terzi aren’t the kind to cross.”

I still couldn’t get over the fact that my mother was standing there, warning me about anything, let alone these mysterious Terzi who apparently controlled the food supply around my apartment.

“And what about you?” I asked, pointing to the stoned musician now snoring on the mattress. “If you’re not their enemy, then why are you forced to eat that?”

Blair had always hated being challenged. Clearly, she still did. Drawing her perfectly plucked brows into a straight line, she snapped, “I’m an Undecided. I still have a few years before I’m even eligible to join a clan. And until I do, I must tread carefully when I enter a clan’s feeding grounds. You should know this by now, after all of the information they’ve told me that you’ve gathered.”

Another surprise.

So, my vampire research had actually gotten the attention of real vampires, and these Terzi no less. It was a bit unfair they took offense, since I hadn’t really learned that much.

Knowing I wouldn’t get any useful information out of my mother by making her angry, I switched tactics and adopted a more neutral tone. “I’m afraid I haven’t learned what they think I have,” I said honestly enough. “I’d never even heard of the Terzi until this afternoon.”

She drew a deep breath in the attempt to calm her own temper before replying, “This morning, I was contacted by a Terzi, and she made it clear those that anger the Terzi don’t last long, Cassidy. And your doings this day have angered them tremendously.”

My doings. My joining Lucian’s mission? I just shook my head. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?” I asked, switching subjects for a moment. “You let me think I was alone in the world. That there aren’t any others like me—”

Quicker than lightning, her hand flashed out to latch onto mine. “You are alone, Cassidy,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder as if she were afraid she could be overheard. “There’s no one else like you. That’s why I’m here.”

“But the warlocks,” I whispered back in protest. “And the firedrakes, the—”

She interrupted me again. “I didn’t know the Charmed existed, either. There are many supernatural creatures living amongst these humans. They’re spelled to appear human. It’s why we never knew of their existence, Cassidy. We didn’t know how to look for them.”

Spelled? Who knew my mother could be such a treasure trove of information.

“How do you know so much now?” I asked bluntly.

She faltered. Averting her eyes, she cleared her throat. “It was … well, after you left, Cassidy. They … the Chosen Ones, sent someone … to explain ...”

Cripes. From her guilty expression, I knew just exactly who that someone had been. Emilio. I could barely suppress a growl. I knew very well that if given a choice between me and Emilio just exactly who she’d pick.

It wouldn’t be me.

But I wouldn’t get any useful information from my mother by cutting into that festering wound. I settled for gnashing my teeth and forcing my lips to remain shut out of sheer willpower.

There was an extended, stilted silence.

Finally, she dug her fingers into my flesh and lowered her voice even more. “But none of them, Cassidy,none of them are like you. You weren’t supposed to survive. No one knows what you truly are, what your true potential is. You have to run from here. You can’t let them discover who you are.”

“Just who am I?” I asked her, aggravated with her cryptic warning. “Do you even know? What are you so worried about?”

She shook her head. Her nostrils flared.

I recognized the end when I saw it. Apparently, that was all I was going to get out of her. Well, if that was all she was going to divulge, then I was wasting my time. Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I picked it up.

“Well then, it was nice seeing you,” I told her in clipped tones. “Thanks for the Terzi-warning, but I’ve got a short-term gig for some necessary cash. And I’m going to develop my own relationships with these Charmed characters. You know, misfits like me. And maybe they’ll give me a bit of useful information for once.”

I saw the fear in her eyes then. She knew I was talking about Emilio.

So, that was why she wanted to stop me, why she’d braved the feeding grounds of the Terzi territory—to dissuade me from joining Lucian.

She was protecting Emilio. She didn’t want me to find him.

Clenching my jaw in disgust, I banged my suitcase down the stairs and slammed the door of the diner so hard behind me that the glass shattered.

I didn’t care, though.

My mother could deal with it, and the place really was in need of some fresh air.

The Rehab Imp

Tabitha met me at the airport bus stop. She didn’t say anything until the bus pulled away and we were alone.

“You really don’t know anything about the Charmed,” were the first words out of her mouth.

I waited. I wasn’t sure where she was going with it. Threat? Superiority complex? Boredom? A mixture of all three?

When she remained silent, I decided to fish for hints and prompted, “And?”

She just glared at me as if placing me on probation. Maybe she was. At least I wasn’t her outright enemy—yet.

Muttering a sarcastic, “Thanks, so helpful,” I glanced around, wondering why Lucian had sent her to pick me up when he’d explicitly warned me to avoid her company.

After a moment, I noticed Heath—still wearing a Hawaiian shirt—standing near the escalators, practicing his golf swing with an imaginary club.

Ignoring Tabitha, I headed his way.

Heath greeted me with an easy-going grin. “Good timing,” he said, tapping the face of his watch. “We can swing by and pick up your stuff before heading out to the plane.”

“I’ve already got my stuff,” I said, wiggling the handle of my suitcase. That and my knives—knives I was going to wait until the very last second to pack before getting onto the plane.

“Wrong stuff,” he said with a smile. Stretching out his hand, he asked, “So, let’s see your key.”

Unzipping my suitcase, I handed him the brass skeleton key from the manila envelope. “This one?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said, twirling it around his finger as he nodded at a black sports car parked illegally by the curb. “Hop in. It’s not far,” he said.

Tabitha squinted at the key. “Bertha’s,” she said to no one in particular.

It turned out Bertha’s was actually the name of a small yarn shop right down the street from the airport terminal. To my surprise, it didn’t close until 2:00am. Wondering what kind of yarn shop kept such odd hours, I followed Heath and Tabitha inside to be greeted by a pleasant, woolly smell. Skeins of various colored yarn were crammed into every nook and cranny, and spinning wheels hung from the ceiling.

Several women browsed through shelves of knitting patterns. One of them waved us to a door in the back.

Descending squeaking stairs down into the basement, we arrived in a small room. It was empty except for a wooden counter placed before a huge steel vault with a narrow reinforced door.

“You’re finally here,” a voice sounded from inside the vault.

A moment later, a freckle-faced, middle-aged woman with a blonde ponytail appeared.

Nodding his head in greeting, Heath gave her a friendly, “Good evening, Bertha!”

“You’re finally here,” she grumbled, extending her hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Heath dropped the key into her palm.

“Oh, an imp,” Bertha muttered, squinting at the key.

I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. “An imp?” I repeated, looking at Heath.

He nodded, pushing his blond hair back from his tanned face. “’finders get imps,” he said. “Tools of the trade. It’s a cool deal. A real cool deal.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the imps or the trade. Or if he was even sure what he meant himself.

“It does matter which imp you receive,” Tabitha suddenly spoke up. “The Grade A and B imps have all gone over to the Terzi.”

There they were again, the Terzi. But I was more interested in imps right now than the opposing side. “So, we’re getting Grade C?” I asked.

Tabitha smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, and she didn’t bother to respond.

I sent her what was becoming a standard look of annoyance and then turned my attention back to the ponytailed Bertha who was still inspecting the key.

She breathed on it a couple of times and rubbed it with the hem of her shirt. “Got a light?” she asked Heath.

As he beamed his cellphone onto her hand, she studied what looked like a serial number engraved on the key’s shaft.

“Ah, it’s that one,” she suddenly said, perking up for the first time to look over at me with interest. “You’re a courageous young gal now, aren’t you?”

Crud. I didn’t like where this was going. “Why?” I asked. “What grade am I getting?”

“Grade?” Bertha snorted. “You’ll see.” Tossing a grin over her shoulder, she disappeared through the vault door.

“What does that mean?” I asked Heath.

I wasn’t really surprised when he just turned his hands palms up and shrugged. Tabitha wasn’t helpful, either, but then, I wasn’t surprised by that, either.

Bertha returned and thumped a tiny red clay bottle with a battered cork onto the counter.

“Here you go,” she said with an unconcealed sigh of relief. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see this one go.”

I picked up the tiny bottle and held it at arm’s length. I couldn’t see any letters on it, nothing to proclaim its grade, although there was some kind of Arabic-looking script running along its base.

I frowned, puzzled.

“It’s a rehab,” the woman informed me before I could ask.

A rehab? “A rehabilitated imp?” I asked, astonished.

Bertha and Tabitha both grinned in a way I didn’t appreciate.

Heath looked more sympathetic.

“What grade is it now, then?” I asked, feeling cheated. “D? F?”

“A rehab is short for rehabilitee, but I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” Heath said, trying to sound optimistic.

So, it hadn’t even been rehabilitated yet. It was an imp with some kind of problem. Great.

“Rehabs are ungraded,” Tabitha took great pleasure in informing me then. “They’re the rejects, the trouble-causers. They’re cheaper than the others because they’re so unstable. Not exactly trustworthy.”

“Figured as much.” I snapped.

In a darkening mood, I stuffed the imp bottle into my suitcase and followed Heath and Tabitha back to the car.

Moments later, we were zipping past the airport terminals and turning onto a gated, private road protected by several security guards. As soon as Heath rolled down the window, they waved us through, and we sped around the hangars and up to a private jet waiting on the edge of the runway.

Pleased I wouldn’t have to pack my knives after all, I followed the others, lugging my suitcase with its bottled imp behind me.

A Personal Vendetta

Once aboard the private luxury jet, I saw that it had two lavish white-leather seats at the front, a bar in the back of the wood-paneled cabin, a conference table, and six blue-leather seats in the center of the craft. They were slightly smaller than the white ones.

Tabitha waved me towards the blue seats, and after storing my luggage in an overhead bin, I settled comfortably into my assigned place and buckled my seatbelt. A complimentary travel bag tucked into the magazine pocket held a pair of fuzzy socks, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and several wet-wipes.

Shaking out a folded blanket and spreading it over my knees, I watched Heath fall across the seats opposite me. He covered his face with a magazine, evidently preparing to take a nap.

Tabitha, of course, sat right by my side. Apparently, she found staring at me with her unblinking eyes highly entertaining. Passive aggressive was an understatement when it came to her.

But I didn’t really care. I’d rather have her sitting there engaging in obvious intimidation techniques than stirring up real trouble behind my back.

No one spoke for a bit.

After a time, Tabitha unclasped a white purse and, taking out a small glass bottle of henna dye, proceeded to paint Nordic runes on her hands.

More time passed, and the plane remained still.

Gradually, my temper began to stew.

Of all things, I disliked hypocrites. Lucian detested waiting, but he certainly didn’t mind making others wait for him.

“Is Lord Rowle always this late?” I finally grated.

I didn’t really expect an answer. Heath was snoring, and as a rule, Tabitha seemed to take pride in withholding information.

But this time, she actually answered, “He’s late only when suffering from a particularly foul mood.” She paused to blow the henna pattern covering her hand. “You have no one to blame but yourself. His mood changed the moment you left the interview.”

“It’s nothing I did,” I said in my defense.

“What did you say to him?” she asked, clearly not believing me.

He’d been fine until the subject of Castle Llewellyn had been brought up. “Castle Llewellyn …” I began, but I let my voice trail away as a look of utter shock crossed her usually emotionless face.

Heath sat bolt upright. Tossing his magazine aside, he looked at me with his jaw dropped wide open. “Hey, you didn’t actually mention that castle in his presence, did you?” he asked, his face filled with concern. “Not cool. Not cool at all.”

I didn’t get it. “Spill it,” I said. “Why shouldn’t I have?”

“You really must be a hermit,” Tabitha inserted in a low voice. “He’ll never forgive you.”

Patience wasn’t my strong suit. Tapping my toes, I asked, “Care to enlighten me why not?”

Heath just sat there, wagging his head in disbelief. “Profound,” was his only contribution.

I wondered if all werewolves were such bad communicators.

It was Tabitha who finally explained. “Castle Llewellyn is the symbol of his family’s power. Once the Rowles were at the apex of society. For centuries, they ruled the Charmed from Llewellyn. Now Llewellyn is the symbol of their failure—how far they’ve fallen.”

“How did they lose it?” I asked, although I was already beginning to form an idea.

Heath's next words confirmed it. “Dorian Ramsey—a Chosen One—had a Terzi Warlock curse them—a curse the Rowles could never break. Cursed the lady of the castle. And once the Lord Rowle of that time lost her, he lost all desire to live as well. Their love was that deep, man. The Rowles were brought to complete ruin and the Terzi rose to power to take their place.”

So, that explained Lucian’s Terzi-bias. Strangely, it made me suddenly like him. I understood personal vendettas.

“This plane is pretty pricey,” I said, glancing around at the custom leather seats and wood-paneling.

“It’s not Lucian’s,” Tabitha was quick to correct. “It belongs to one of his clients. Lucian himself is almost destitute. It’s a tragedy, really.”

I wondered what her definition of destitute was. He’d given me a nice wad of cash, and his office and clothing didn’t look too shabby.

But further conversation was rendered impossible as Lucian chose that particular moment to arrive. It figured. Just as soon as I was getting some useful information.

Ducking his head under the cabin door, he stood there a moment, surveying us with such a critical eye that it took me a moment to realize he was hurt. Minorly, anyway. A scratch marred his cheek. It was bleeding. The top three buttons of his crumpled white shirt were undone, revealing his collarbone and the fact that he was breathing heavy, as if he’d just run to the plane.

Belatedly realizing that he’d done just that, I rose to my feet, knives in hand. I couldn’t smell anyone in pursuit, but I wasn’t sure I should rely on that since I still couldn’t smell Lucian either. A quick look through the plane windows revealed nothing unusual, but it was dark and hard to see.

“They can’t come any closer,” Lucian informed me coolly, drawing my eyes back to meet his.

I had no doubt that ‘they’ meant the Terzi.

I craned my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of them over his shoulder, but the only thing I saw darting up the airstair was a black cat—a carbon-copy of the one that I’d seen by my apartment. As Lucian entered the cabin, the cat followed, weaving itself around his ankles.

Of course. It had to be his familiar. He was a warlock, after all.

I grimaced. As soon as I had internet access again, I was going to dig my phone out and start educating myself about this newly discovered Charmed world. It was now the highest priority. It wasn’t going to be easy. I mean, I’m sure they didn’t have a “We’re The Charmed – Learn All About Us Here” website, revealing all their secrets. But I couldn’t rely on my scant memory of childhood fairytales to get me by, not when I had to know exactly what I was dealing with in order to ensure I got the information I ultimately wanted—information about Emilio.

Moving with the grace of a dancer, Lucian took one of the cushy white leather seats near the front. And as the black cat jumped up to curl around his shoulders like a living mink stole, I made up my mind.

It was time to change my game with Lucian.

I was pretty good at ferreting information out of men. And though he was a warlock, he was still a member of the male species.

As far as men went, he was extraordinarily appealing. I couldn’t deny the attempt just might be a bit of fun. There was something irresistible about him. Maybe it was the simple fact that I couldn’t smell him. Maybe it was something else.

Whatever it was, I shoved my knife back into my boot and joined him.

He didn’t say anything as I stepped over his long, outstretched legs and settled into the seat next to the window. He’d clearly been in some kind of scuffle. I could see a bruise forming on his left temple and the sheen of sweat glistened on his dark brow.

“Are you hurt badly?” I asked with a trace of genuine concern.

After all, he was my protection against the Terzi, since according to my mother, they weren’t too pleased with me. For whatever reason, I hadn’t a clue, but it was not something I cared to deal with on my own at the moment.

Lucian stared straight ahead as if I weren’t there.

His black cat ignored me as well.

It amused me. I knew a cure for the cold-shoulder treatment—my mother’s favorite weapon of choice. One couldn’t ignore others when they simply refused to be ignored.

Snagging the complimentary travel bag, I dug through it and, finding the wet-wipes, unwrapped one to reach over and dab the scratch on his cheek.

The moment I touched him, I felt his jaw clench beneath my fingers. His jaw was distracting. Hard, manly, with a five o’clock shadow. I had a thing for jawlines, and as far as jaws went, his was superb.

He interrupted my train of thought by drawing his lips together in a grim line. So much for admiring the jawline. I had to concentrate on my goal anyway.

I kept patting his cheek.

He drew a deep breath.

His cat opened a single bright-yellow eye and sent me a look of utter disdain for disturbing its repose before moving to drape itself on the back of Lucian’s seat.

Whatever.

I kept dabbing. My thoughts wandered back to his rigid, sexy jaw. No harm in enjoying myself. I was having an unexpectedly fun time and secretly pleased that he was finding it difficult to ignore me. And anyway, after his unstable behavior during my interview, he deserved a little cat-and-mouse.

The plane roared to life and moved forward.

I took the opportunity to say, “You’re lucky you didn’t have to get stitches, Lord Rowle.”

He expelled a loud breath through his nose.

My mouth twisted, and it was a little hard to suppress a chuckle. I was in control, and we both knew it. He was going to crack soon. Just to rankle him even more, I turned my mothering to his bruise, running the wet-wipe up his cheekbone and brushing a lock of his dark hair back over his ear.

“That’s a nasty bruise,” I said in a husky whisper. “How did—”

“Enough,” he said in a low voice. Still keeping his gaze focused straight ahead, he locked his hand over my wrist, forcing it down on the armrest.

But he didn’t let me go.

Dropping his voice even lower, he queried, “Have you come to make yourself useful, Spell-finder?”

Spell-finder. Just what did spell-finders do? Find spells like magic metal-detectors?

When I didn’t answer, he skewered me with his silvery blue eyes and smiled. It was a shrewd smile. “Well?” he asked, gripping my wrist a little tighter. “Do you sense anything now?”

“No,” I said, wondering if spell-finders were more like psychics. “I can’t smell anything either. Not even your cat.”

Lucian held still.

I realized then I should’ve not mentioned smells. Evidently, it wasn’t how spell-finders worked. But he didn’t mention it, so apparently there was no harm done.

“Your imp?” he asked next.

My imp. The rehabilitee. I’d wanted him talking to me but not in that direction. He was still holding my arm down. I couldn’t very well dab his cheek to distract him now.

“We’ll be in Venice in less than nine hours,” he continued calmly. “Surely, you haven’t a moment to waste in training him.”

Letting an imp out of a bottle was the last thing I would do while on a plane. Especially since I’d never seen, handled, or even read about them before. But their name alone meant trouble. It was a bad idea, plain and simple.

“I have my own technique,” I bluffed.

Attempting to regain control of the conversation, I leaned into him.

He went silent again but let go of my arm.

This time, I had a sneaking suspicion that silence from Lucian wasn’t a good thing after all. Maybe I could get him to divulge information. Clearing my throat, I said, “The amulet.”

He waited, staring straight ahead and still silent—exactly what I didn’t want him to do.

The power was definitely shifting from me to him. I had to get it back.

The plane was accelerating, and though I knew I should remain seated for takeoff, there weren’t any flight attendants running around to pester me about it.

I formed a quick plan to catch him off-guard.

He was clearly a woman-magnet. That woman in the mall had been all over him. Woman-magnets had to possess some kind of chivalry—at least the basics.

As the plane’s nose lifted, I unbuckled my seatbelt and said, “I’ll get it.”

My timing was perfect. I fell right into him. It really couldn’t have worked out better.

Or, so I’d foolishly thought.

My gamble on his chivalrous instincts paid off though.

In a flash, he caught me by the waist and pulled me into his lap, preventing me from falling face-first in the aisle. He was tense. I could feel him heave his chest beneath me in exasperation, just as I’d calculated it would.

But I ultimately made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes.

There was anger there. Irritation. But as I stared into them I saw something else hiding in the depths of those twin points of piercing blue-gray steel.

A gleam of interest?

All thoughts of amulets and imps fled as I fell deeper into his intense gaze.

A small voice in the back of my mind warned that he wasn’t someone to play with. He was dangerous. Primal. Untamed.

Enthralling.

He met my gaze steadily, making no move to evict me from his lap.

The power really did shift then—away from both of us.

For the briefest of timeless moments, I saw another side of him. A dark, smoky heat in his expression, one that made me catch my breath. One that promised a world I’d only caught the barest glimpses of, before hunger rose to control me.

His arm was still around me. I could feel his hard biceps against me. One of my legs was still tossed over his, but I didn’t possess the power to move it.

Neither did he.

His face was inches from mine. His bottom lip looked like it had been chiseled out of stone. And this close, I could smell him—not his mana—but his real skin. A spicy, musky scent. Cologne. Sweat.

My hand rested on his chest, cupped over his heart, and there was no heat this time, but there was still nothing for me to draw, to feed from. Not even the tiniest wee bit of a nip.

No, with him, it was something I’d never experienced before.

Pure, unadulterated attraction.

Abruptly, the timeless moment shattered as my inner-voice screamed in warning. Focus, Cassidy. You’ve gone too deep this time. Time to swim to shore.

The spell—if that’s what it was—broke.

I pulled away, but his grip tightened around my waist.

Several tense seconds passed before he shifted me closer with a hard arm. Dipping his head, he brushed his lips over the tip of my ear and warned, “You should know that I never let such petty things like personal feelings prevent me from achieving my goals, Cass.”

So, we were back to “Cass”? It was a bad sign. He evidently felt in control—not the result I’d been going for.

Apparently, Lucian wasn’t as easily distracted as other men.

With a twist of his arm, he maneuvered me back into my seat.

“Now, go bring that amulet and the imp,” he said calmly, setting his gaze straight ahead. “We’ll discuss the mission when we land.”

I rose swiftly to my feet.

I’d played this one wrong, but I never made the same mistake twice. I’d learned a valuable lesson.

Lucian was a conundrum and best avoided … at least until I found his weak spot.

A Highly Untrained Spell-finder

Heath snoozed under his magazine, but Tabitha followed my every move as I rummaged through the overhead bin for my suitcase. Of course, she’d been watching my shenanigans. Caught in the whirlwind of emotions, lust, or whatever you want to call it with Lucian, I’d forgotten her existence.

I still wasn’t used to the fact that I couldn’t smell any of them. I wanted to know why, but who could I ask?

I unzipped my suitcase with frustration. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Lucian anymore, but I didn’t want to be fired in the first hour. I needed the job and just maybe his protection. At least for now.

Grabbing the imp bottle and the amulet, I returned to drop them into his lap.

He plucked them both from the air before they could even land.

Impressive. Reflexes like a vampire.

“Take a seat,” Lucian’s ordered with a gleam in his eye.

I did but with reluctance.

He noticed, because his smile turned into a smirk. Holding out a small crystal vial filled with a glowing yellow substance, he announced, “This is mana in its purest form.”

My interest perked up at once. I practically drooled. I hadn’t eaten all day. But then a mixture of skepticism and fear washed over me. Skepticism that it was mana, but also fear that it was, and that I’d truly lost the ability to smell it.

But then he opened the vial, and a nice, familiar scent wafted my way on a current of air.

Nice.

Not great.

“It’s just good. Not really pure,” I observed. I’d had better. In fact, if I’d had a chance to taste him—now that would have been mana in its purest form.

I looked up to see a dark expression descend over his face.

Touchy.

“Use it sparingly,” he informed me coldly as he dribbled some of the mana into my amulet.

He held it out, dangling the chain on the end of his finger.

Mana. I’d never seen it isolated before. And it was such a tiny amount. How could one use that sparingly? It was like receiving a thimbleful when I needed at least a cup. Even so, it was all I could do to keep from snatching it out of his hand and siphoning it as fast as I could. A thimbleful was better than nothing.

He jiggled his fingers impatiently. “Take it,” he said with a deepening scowl. “Overdosing once is one time too many. I don’t keep users in my employment.”

I wanted to laugh. How could anyone overdose on mana—especially in such microscopic amounts? He was acting as if it were a drug. But he looked completely serious, so ignoring my hunger pains, I nodded and tucked the amulet into my boot, next to my knives.

It was an approved response. Guess I was catching on.

He turned his attention to the imp bottle then, twirling it slowly around to read the inscription carved along the base.

It was hard to concentrate. Smelling the mana had made me realize just how hungry I was. I could still smell it in the amulet. It was a form of mild torture.

“This one will be difficult,” Lucian commented, frowning a little as he returned the imp bottle. “Open it.”

Hmmmm. Open the bottle of a notably difficult imp on a plane? It didn’t sound like such a bright idea.

He leveled an irritated gaze on me. “I have things to do, spell-finder. Open the bottle, bond with the imp, and then introduce me. He needs to know who he works for before we land.” He waited a moment before adding in a blistering tone, “As do you, evidently.”

I would have snapped a response but his words had distracted me a little. Bond with an imp? How was that done? Did I feed it? Pet it? Bribe it? Let it know who was boss? I didn’t care what Lucian said. I wasn’t going to open the bottle right then.

“It’s a rehabilitee,” I began.

But somehow, my finger brushed the cork, and it popped right off.

I tensed, preparing myself, but nothing happened. No poof of genie smoke. No fairy sparkles. Nothing crawled out.

Good. That was a relief.

I’d say it was empty, pop the cork back on and get myself to the back of the plane for the rest of the trip. It was becoming critical now. I absolutely had to figure out what these Charmed people were all about and just exactly what a spell-finder was expected to do before I was caught in my impersonation, tossed out, and stripped of my first real chance at getting my revenge against Emilio.

Tipping the bottle to the side and giving it a shake, I said, “Looks empty. Oh well.”

Did I catch a gleam of genuine amusement in Lucian’s irritatingly gorgeous eyes?

I sent him a dazzling smile just to throw him off-guard—he raised a curious brow—and then I said, “Well, maybe it escaped into my suitcase. I’ll go take a look.”

I made one last show of peering into the bottle—and almost dropped it as two glowing eyes blinked back up at me. Alarmed, I drew back. Suddenly not caring what anyone thought—even Lucian—I hurried to cork the bottle.

But it was too late.

Two little black hands pushed the cork back out each time I tried.

After about the fifth time of the cork-popping game, Lucian commented coolly, “Interesting imp-bonding technique.”

He was laughing at me. I could see the smug superiority silently oozing out of him.

“It’s reserved for rehabilitees,” I rejoined sourly.

Finally, the cork shot out a final time, bouncing off the cabin ceiling to roll under the seats. And then the imp crawled out.

He was one of those ugly-but-cute kind of creatures. You couldn’t really make up your mind. There was hardly any substance to him—I guess that’s why I could only detect the barest hint of a trace of mana coming from him. He looked like he was made of dark smoke, standing about eight inches tall, big ears, scrawny neck, body, and feet. His mouth was his biggest feature.

“Well, hello there, doll,” he addressed me in a Cockney accent. He stretched and, folding his hands behind his back, began to pace around the lip of the bottle. “What’s with slamming the cork on my head, eh?”

Doll? “Doll” was worse than “Cass”. I scowled. “Cassidy,” I said. “My name is Cassidy.”

“Whatever you say, love,” he said, giving me a cheesy, utterly insincere grin that showed two large rows of teeth. “My name’s Richard Thaddeus Mavromoustafakis, but just call me Ricky, love. Ricky’ll do fine.” He gave a laugh—a highly irksome, nasal, grating kind of laugh.

We were interrupted by a growl, followed by a spitting hiss. Lucian’s cat had leapt to its feet, its ears pinned down flat against its skull as its eyes zeroed in on Ricky sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bottle.

“Oh my, pleasure to see you again, Esmeralda.” Ricky gave a fake grin that only showcased his teeth.

At that, Lucian arched a discerning brow at his cat. “You’ve met?” he asked in his deep baritone.

Esmeralda rubbed her chin along the top of his head. Apparently, only Lucian could hear what the cat said in reply. Whatever it was, Lucian sent Ricky a look of outright displeasure.

The imp’s demeanor changed at once. Jumping to the armrest, he prostrated himself before Lucian like a Japanese Samurai before the Emperor and whispered, “Please, allow me to thank you for the honor of serving under your lordship. I am forever, most faithfully your servant and your servant alone. My loyalties lie with no other than yourself, the Great Lord Lucian Rowle.”

So, I had a kiss-up for an imp.

I couldn’t read Lucian’s expression as he eyed Ricky. I was just glad that he waved us both away in an almost weary tone. “Enough. Be gone.”

Grabbing Ricky and his bottle, I escaped to my seat. The moment I arrived, Tabitha left to join Lucian. I watched the back of their heads pressed close together and felt a ripple of annoyance.

It had to be annoyance; it couldn’t be anything else.

“Jealous, eh?” Ricky snickered as I propped my feet onto the seat opposite me.

“Enough out of you,” I said. “Remember who’s boss here and you won’t get hurt.”

He was supposed to be my imp, after all.

But from the looks of him grinning at me, sitting on the top of his bottle and dangling his legs over the edge, he looked like a mini-demon, or the proverbial genie out of a bottle, who made sure all of your wishes came back to bite you.

He didn’t respond. He just sat there chuckling in his distinctly aggravating way.

He looked like just a wisp of smoke. Intrigued, I waved my hand through him and discovered that he was just smoke. Well, most of him. The grin and the eyes remained even though the rest of him dissipated in all directions.

But he didn’t stay scattered for long. It only took a moment for the smoke to coalesce back into his scrawny eight-inch shape.

“Hoighty-toighty, love,” he said, shaking his head. “What’s up, eh? Never seen an imp before?”

I made up my mind right then. Ricky was irritating, plain and simple.

I was going to ditch him as soon as I could, and I didn’t really care what Lucian thought. Either Ricky was the only imp Lucian could afford, or I’d been deliberately saddled with him as retribution for insulting the warlock’s illustrious heritage. Or both.

Either way, I had real things to do. I wasn’t in the mood to babysit.

“Back in the bottle,” I ordered, making a grab for him.

He made all kinds of squeaking, grunting noises, and kept slipping between my fingers as I tried to stuff him back in. It was like trying to pour smoke into a vase.

Impossible.

“Umph. Errp. Enough!” The imp sputtered as my hand clamped down over his head. His ears popped up through my fingers, followed by an eyeball.

With a growl of frustration, I gave up.

Ricky flattened his ears and glared at me.

I glared back.

So much for bonding.

After a minute, he relaxed and gave me another fake, cheesy grin. I much preferred the ear-flattening to the insincerity staring up at me.

“So, you’re a spell-finder,” he said, pretending to care. “Nice gig, that.”

I glowered at him. “How do I get you back in your bottle?” I asked.

He laughed—his adenoidal laugh. But at the expression on my face, he faltered and did a double take.

“Blimey,” he said. “You’re really asking.”

I continued to glower.

His eyes widened and then he snorted in disgust. “Has it really come to this? I’ve been paired with a rookie?” His voice ended in a screech of outrage.

I jerked, glancing quickly at the back of Lucian’s head to make sure he hadn’t heard as I clamped my hand over the imp’s mouth.

Or tried to. He was just a puff of smoke, after all.

“You’re nothing special yourself, imp,” I retorted.

He watched me with narrowed, cunning eyes. “I see,” he began to mutter. “I see. I seee.”

I’d really had enough. Not caring what anyone thought, I grabbed the amulet from my boot, and prying it open, placed my hand palm down and consumed it. It was hardly anything. For a human, it would be like eating a single Goldfish cracker after competing in a triathlon.

“I seeee,” Ricky snickered as he hopped off his bottle and onto my knee. “You’ve got yourself into quite a pickle, doll.”

I slapped my hand over my knee, but he escaped through my fingers and reemerged above my hand.

“We can make this work, love,” he eagerly whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “Help each other out. That sort of thing.”

So, he was an eight-inch version of the devil. “Not likely,” I snapped.

“You’re unusual,” he continued with his maddening giggle. “And highly untrained. They’re clueless, aren’t they?” He tossed his head in Lucian’s direction.

I could see where this was going. Was I even going to have a choice?

“I’ll help you out, that kind of thing,” he said, sidling forward. “You’ll do the same for me, then, eh?”

“Can I even get rid of you?” I muttered.

He laughed and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Shall I sweeten the deal?” he asked, hopping onto my shoulder.

I was about to swat him away when he surprised me.

Pushing my hair back from my ear with his little hands, he whispered so only I could hear. “You’re a natural, there’s no need to have the collywobbles, love. As a spell-finder, they’re just expecting you to keep them from falling into traps. All you have to do is point out the enchanted objects for them to avoid. Should be easy-peasy for one with your mana abilities, eh?”

I hesitated. How much did this little puff of obnoxiousness know about me?

And how?

“And I’d keep my mana-guzzling habits to myself, if I were you,” he advised. “That’s dangerous business. If Lucian only knew … well, just so you know, he’s activated his wards against you so you can’t smell him and his anymore.”

A shiver went down my back.

Apparently, he knew too much.

And then it registered just what he’d said. “Wait, what?” I asked, startled.

Lucian had activated his wards against me? Him and his?

I looked at Ricky in wonder. Could it be that I had my own talking Charmed Wikipedia? Maybe I could just ask him anything I wanted to know.

“Splendid, at your service,” Ricky replied, giving me his trademark grin.

He knew that he’d won.

“What do you want in exchange?” I asked in a leery tone.

With his eyes shining, he queried, “Know any good Indian takeaways where we’re headed?”

The Dangers of Turmeric

I woke to Lucian leaning close over me, his strong hands gripping both of my armrests. As I blinked the sleep from my eyes, he slowly dropped his head until our lips were scarcely inches apart.

“We’ve landed,” he said with a sensual lift of his brow.

I studied him intently.

His lean body was overpowering. Seductive. He was almost fatally attractive, if you will.

It wasn’t a bad way to wake up.

But I knew what game he was playing. I’d played it so many times myself: The art of sensual distraction, the use of romantic magnetism to throw your opponent off-guard.

I never realized how much fun it was to be the other player.

For several moments, he stayed still, keeping his lips close to mine, and then he challenged dryly, “Where’s your imp?”

I jerked, startled.

Touché. There was no hiding my guilt.

Part of me was annoyed he hadn’t played longer.

Straightening, Lucian expelled a breath and slanted a look at me from under half-closed lids. “A proper spell-finder controls their imp,” he criticized acidly.

I sent him a dark frown. “What makes you think he’s not under control?” I challenged. “I know how to handle him.”

It was a bald-faced lie. I didn’t even know where to begin. How did someone tame possessed smoke?

“Then bring him at once,” Lucian retorted, calling my bluff. “That is, if you expect to be paid.”

Without a further word, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the cabin.

Muttering a curse, I rose to my feet.

I didn’t have a clue where the little beast had run off to. He was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t smell him anywhere either, though he hardly emitted enough mana to really track.

The plane was empty; the others had already left. I was a heavy sleeper, so it was no surprise that I’d snored through it all, even the landing.

“Ricky, get your butt over here,” I groused, stretching a kink in my neck. Already, I wholeheartedly regretted popping that cork.

There was no response.

I shook his bottle, but it was empty.

I shrugged. I’d tried. It wasn’t my fault that Lucian had gotten me the bargain-bin reject of imps. Yanking my suitcase out of the overhead bin, I rolled it down the aisle and exited the plane.

It was hot and muggy outside. Early afternoon. Bright. I had to squint. Shading my eyes, I spied a private limo waiting a stone’s throw away.

Whoever Lucian’s client was, he was obviously extremely wealthy.

Dragging my suitcase down the gangway, I arrived at the limo just as the chauffeur opened a passenger door and bowed for me to enter.

Lucian, Heath, and Tabitha were already sitting inside and sipping on champagne.

Tabitha had changed, swathing herself from head-to-toe in a voluminous red-hooded cloak. The moment I sat down on the limo’s soft seats, she covered her face entirely with the hood and bowed her head.

I wondered what she was up to, but at least she wasn’t watching me—that I could tell, anyway.

No one spoke as the driver tossed my luggage in the trunk and we set off.

The ride was quite short, taking us only to a nearby dock, where a private speedboat replete with beige leather seating awaited us. I found a place to sit near the stern as the limo driver assisted the taxi driver in transferring our luggage.

I smelled him then. Ricky. Squinting at the suitcases, I saw his head pop out of a dark blue one. For a moment, we made eye contact and I shook my head no. He just grinned and dove back in. Scowling, I wondered what he could be looking for and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that he was most likely in the process of causing me more trouble.

Minutes later, we were speeding across the Venetian Lagoon to Fondamenta Nuove, meeting all sorts of water buses, taxis, and gondola ferries along the way. After a bit, we turned into a narrow side canal, passing several fish markets to cruise for a while until we reached the famous Rialto Bridge. The speed boat slowed, weaving its way through tourists in gondolas until we finally pulled into yet another narrow canal and up to a large, marble-faced Venetian villa, its entire bottom floor half submerged in water.

It was a beautiful place. Luscious vines crept over the walls and hung above the windows, draping the windows with bunches of lavender flowers. Trudging tiredly up the marble steps leading from the canal, I followed the others to the front door.

Lucian entered first, and the rest of us fell into step behind him.

An old woman with spidery-veined hands and a permanent scowl etched into her massively wrinkled face greeted us. She didn’t speak; she merely waved us down a corridor behind a sweeping staircase.

Lucian apparently knew where he was going.

With long strides, he led us down the hallway, skipping several rooms before coming upon the one he wanted. Opulently decorated, the old room we entered was loaded with antiques. A table with intricately carved legs and laden with food stood in the corner. Large ancient paintings with gilt frames hung on the walls. Plush Persian carpets covered the cool, tiled floor. And French doors opened out into an inner courtyard filled with big clay-potted trees.

“Hungry?” Heath asked with a cheerful smile.

His voice sounded unnaturally loud, making me realize that no one had spoken since getting off the plane. Not waiting for a response from me, the werewolf made a beeline for the table of food.

I was ravenous. But not for human food. Food tasted like sawdust to me, but over the years, I’d learned to eat for social situations. As I expect any werewolf would, Heath began wolfing down all the parmesan cheese and prosciutto. Joining him at the table, I picked up a slice of bread, doused it with olive oil, and went through the motions of eating. Yep, termite food.

Tabitha waited until we were properly seated before hovering over the selection of snacks herself. I wondered what firedrakes liked to eat.

Lucian, on the other hand, displayed no interest in food. Stalking to the open French doors, he lounged against the doorjamb and accepted only a goblet that the old woman delivered to him. As she hobbled away, he raised his glass, and locking his gaze with mine, drank deeply.

There was no denying that he was wickedly hot.

I enjoyed him for a moment before turning away. I didn’t have enough solid information to play his game back—yet.

A blur caught the corner of my eye then. It was Ricky, sneaking out from under the table to dash down the corridor on his tiptoes—like that made any difference. Who would hear him anyway? He was made of smoke.

I suppressed a snort. Excusing myself from the table, I half stood up with the intention of catching the little beast when the old woman returned and handed Lucian an envelope.

Heath and Tabitha straightened, and judging by the light in Lucian’s eyes, I figured that the envelope had been what we’d all been waiting for.

He confirmed it with a curt, “Our mission.”

Thanking the old woman with a gracious dip of his chin, he accepted the missive and tore it open. He read it where he stood, his shrewd eyes scanning the contents quickly, and then he went still. Very still. When he was done, he averted his gaze out the window, and his eyes took on a faraway look as he apparently digested the information.

Silence descended on the room. It became so quiet that I was certain that this time we’d hear even Ricky’s footsteps.

With a sudden violent expletive, Lucian crushed the paper in his fist. He faced us, his jaw set and his eyes glittering with cold calculation.

“It’s a Chosen One,” he announced tightly. “With great haste, we must contain him before he’s unbricked. It’s imperative that this Chosen One does not awaken.”

A Chosen One? I perked up instantly. The more vampires I met, the better.

Tabitha suddenly drew her hood back. “Which one?” she asked sharply.

Lucian crooked his lip in a lordly twist. “Unknown,” he answered her. “But he’s one of the Old Ones. Humans found him yesterday while unearthing the mass graves of plague victims. Still freshly fascinated with their discovery, they haven’t disturbed him yet. But they’ve taken photos and informed the media. As of this morning, the mouth was still bricked.”

Heath drew in a long breath. “Heavy,” he remarked.

Tabitha looked suitably shocked.

I grated my teeth. Where was my imp when I needed him? I needed information, and quickly. Leaning back in my chair, I took a quick peek down the hallway, but there was no sign of my little fiend.

There was a knocking sound on the window and I glanced back to see Lucian rapping his knuckles for my attention, his pale eyes glaring.

“Cass, you’ll work with me,” he said curtly. “Bring your imp. Immediately. We mustn’t waste one moment of daylight.”

Tabitha rescued me. Unintentionally, most likely.

“Perhaps you’re not the best choice for this mission,” she addressed Lucian rigidly.

Lucian’s eyes flashed, and he whirled upon her at once. “Don’t be foolish,” he rebuked, and then stretched his lips into a semblance of a smile. “I am the only choice, and doubly so if it is him.”

I paused in interest. Him? Him who?

Tabitha stood there, tapping her toe. “Already, you are blind. Beware,” she cautioned. “You can only see that which you seek. You assume, and assumption is the first step taken by a fool.”

Folding his hands behind his back, he advanced on her, step-by-step and speaking in a soft but deadly voice said, “Bricked mouth, staked heart. Both knees pinned with wood. Who else would have required such restraint in the Middle Ages?” Pointing to the crumpled instructions now on the table, he continued. “And if that were not enough … that says he’s wearing a kilt.”

Obviously, I drew a blank. A man in a kilt wasn’t exactly the first thing to come to mind when imagining a dangerous vampire.

Tabitha apparently knew whom he spoke of. “Ramsey is strong. Legendary.”

“Stronger than I?” Lucian’s teeth gritted into a dark smile, but anger thrummed beneath his words.

Tabitha’s frown intensified. I had to admit, she was pretty plucky. In her short, accusing way, she continued sharply, “You’re not a Chosen One.”

“No,” Lucian agreed, his expression hard and unyielding. “I’m a warlock.”

Finally, she fell silent. For her, I guess it was the mark of concession.

Lucian nodded just once. “We leave, now, before he is unbricked, and the others are found. The humans mustn’t be allowed to unleash these Chosen Ones—not if it is truly his clan. You both know what to do.”

Rising to his feet, Heath folded his hands and gave a solemn bow of respect—not unlike the customary bow in Japan. He kind of ruined it by adding, “Right on, man. We got your back!”

Making a mental note to get to know Heath better, I looked at Tabitha. Her face was frozen in disapproval, but she lifted her arm anyway and vanished into a whirlwind of red smoke. A moment later, a red lizard slithered where she’d been.

Whistling cheerfully under his breath, Heath crouched on the floor and held out his hand. Securing the red lizard around his finger, he doffed an imaginary hat and strode out the door.

Lucian turned on me then, his pale eyes glittering with fierce determination. “Let’s go.”

Crud. I’d been a bit too fascinated and hadn’t skipped out to find Ricky before I got caught. All right then. It was time to bluff some more.

“My imp’s taking a nap, long flight and all. I’ll just go wake him,” I said with a firm nod.

Without giving Lucian a chance to object, I charged out of the room and down the corridor in the same direction that I’d seen Ricky run.

Reaching the staircase, I stood still for a moment to inhale deeply. Various mana scents drifted into my nostrils. I analyzed them with intense concentration.

The old woman.

Three cats—one of which was Esmeralda.

A couple of juicy tourists on the streets.

My stomach growled and I licked my lips. If I only had a minute ... I sighed, and with difficulty, forced myself to concentrate.

There he was, the little fiend. His delicately distinct scent wafted from somewhere in the back of the villa.

Whirling on my heel, I collided directly into Lucian.

I choked back an expletive.

He’d followed me.

I hit his sculpted chest hard, and he grunted, unprepared for the impact. Instinctively, his hands lifted to grip my shoulders.

There it was again—the crackle of energy leaping up between us in a fraction of a second. The rush of heat. Pressed against him, I dimly noted his sudden, rapid breath even as I wondered what he did to get such rock-hard abs.

The intense moment hung between us before we both stepped back at the same time.

Lucian muttered an oath of his own and, peering down at me, his silvery pale eyes blazed. “What are you doing? Did you lose him?” he asked, getting directly to the point.

He was obviously a volcano on the verge of exploding. Tell him that Ricky was sneaking around with his own agenda? Not going there.

Instead, I rolled my eyes.

“Please!” I protested in mock annoyance, shrugging out of his grasp. I pointed towards the back of the villa. “He’s over there.”

Shoving him aside—and enjoying it just a little too much—I shook my head to clear it and refocus on Ricky’s scent. Suddenly, I was downright eager to have a few choice words with my assigned puff-of-smoke as soon as I caught him.

I quickly followed Ricky’s trail with Lucian hot on my heels, and of all places, I ended up in the kitchen. As I burst through the door, I mentally crossed my fingers that he wouldn’t be too hard to find.

Apparently, simply imagining to cross your fingers works, because the elusive imp was the first thing I saw. Splayed out with his feet comfortably propped up on a banana, the pesky puff was snoring on the kitchen island, right in the very center of the room.

“He’s drunk.” Lucian’s baritone breathed down my neck. He sounded angry. “Is this the technique you use to control an imp?”

Sweeping past me, he strode up to the island and picked up an empty spice bottle near Ricky’s head.

“Turmeric, of course,” Lucian cursed, slamming the bottle down with a thud. It was lucky that it didn’t break.

Apparently, turmeric and imps spelled trouble.

I eyed a bit of plastic curled up next to the banana. It looked like the remnants of a seal. Evidently, the turmeric bottle had been unopened before Ricky had gotten his little smoke-fingers on it. Well, it was empty now and clean as a whistle. I didn’t know how potent turmeric was for an imp, but judging by his rolling eyes and the yellow drool dribbling out of his mouth, he’d consumed a staggering amount for a creature of his size.

“He’ll be drunk for days,” Lucian rounded on me, furious.

So, my imp was a turmeric addict. How was I supposed to know that?

“Hey, it’s his lack of control, not mine,” I said in my defense.

Lucian clenched his jaw. “As a spell-finder, it’s your responsibility to control your imp. And now, when we have the greatest need of him, he is useless, and it’s your fault.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he continued, “I don’t know if it’s ineptitude or your willful intent, but I do know that you’ve practically breached our contract already!”

It was unfair and I wasn’t one to take it. Facing the irate warlock, I retorted, “If we want to talk about fault, then look at yourself, buddy. You’re the one who saddled me with this pest of an imp to begin with. Not my fault you’re operating on a shoestring budget.”

Lucian’s eyes flashed. He moved closer, planting his face practically in mine. For a moment, I wasn’t really sure if he was going to yell at me or kiss me.

Maybe he wasn’t sure himself.

After a moment, he expelled an exasperated breath out of his nose, and drawing back sharply, spoke in a somewhat calmer tone. “Bottle him up and bring him along. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

As he retreated to the kitchen door and braced himself against the doorjamb to watch me, I turned to survey my problema del minuto.

Just how was I to pick up a drunk wisp of smoke and put it in a bottle? It was a daunting prospect, especially with a glowering warlock criticizing my every move.

Gingerly, I picked Ricky up by the foot.

It was a tricky business. I had to use the most delicate of touches or I’d pinch right through him and he’d slide right back onto the island. After a few tries, I managed to lift him up, still in one piece.

He swung back and forth, burping. “Tad trolleyed, I am. Wishpers, love,” he crooned with crossed eyes. “It wishpers … sweet nothings … love. Top qual … quality, that.”

A second later, he burst into song, singing the chorus of the Korean pop song that had taken the world by a storm a few years back: Oppa Gangnam Style. Where had the imp learned that?

Lucian snorted in disgust.

I did myself as I tossed Ricky into the empty turmeric bottle and screwed the lid back on. He mumbled something about needing careful handling—I think---but he was plastered out of his mind and couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

Satisfied, I turned to Lucian. “Ready, shall we go?”

Looking almost feverish with impatience, he whirled on his heel and headed down the hall.

I followed.

Obviously, thoughts of this bricked, kilted vampire threatened to consume the man. I wondered who this Ramsey was, but the imp singing in the turmeric bottle obviously wasn’t going to answer any of my questions for a while.

I was going to have to answer them the hard way.

Too Late to the Party

I trudged after Lucian as he threaded his way through the back alleys of historic Venice. I was growing hungrier by the moment. Just a few streets away, I could smell hordes of tourists ripe for the plucking—or siphoning as it were, but I knew I couldn’t afford to skip away for a wee nip. I was going to have to skip another meal, and that meant I was going to be a royal pain to all around me.

I scowled at the back of Lucian’s head.

Well, he’d asked for it.

Huffing in annoyance, I followed as he swept down an alleyway so narrow that only one person could walk along it at a time. He moved swiftly, his boots ringing loudly on the cracked cobblestones. It was hot; the odors wafting up from the canals smacked my nostrils.

The turmeric bottle in my pocket shifted. No doubt, Ricky was trying to escape. He was probably uncomfortable, crammed into that tiny spice bottle. But then the little louse deserved it. It would probably do him some good.

Distracted by Ricky, I hadn’t noticed that Lucian had abruptly stopped, and I nearly ran into him. Only my lightning reflexes saved me.

He’d noticed, though, and made a point of turning around to grace me with a distinct frown of disapproval.

“Chill,” I growled at him. “I didn’t touch a hair on Your Highness’ head.”

He leveled me another dark look before glancing back to survey the sprawling house blocking the end of the alley and the afternoon sun as well. A stone-and-timber house. Old. Maybe medieval. Most likely abandoned. A weatherworn sign hung under the large balcony with rusty, wrought-iron railings. To one side, the branches of a wizened tree drooped over a small padlocked gate buried in a crumbling stone wall.

Lucian just stood there.

I waited for about two seconds. Waiting was never my strong suit—especially when starving.

“Dead end,” I said, stating the obvious. “It’s locked. We’re not getting in this way.”

The words were scarcely out of my mouth before Lucian waved a finger over the lock, and it sprang open as if inviting us in of its own accord.

Of course.

He stood aside and waved me to precede him, his dark brow lifting in bemusement.

Fine. I guess padlocks didn’t stop warlocks. Whatever. I paused next to him and, leaning close, sent him a disarming smile accompanied by a lofty look of my own just to confuse him.

Irritation flashed across his eyes.

Good. At least I’d elicited a reaction; I didn’t stop to analyze why that pleased me so much.

Stepping into a garden that hadn’t seen a human hand in at least half a century, I glanced around quickly, all senses on high alert.

The place was old. Intriguing. I wanted to peek inside the stone house. Instinct told me that there was something in there. I felt it like a beckoning finger. Animal? Human? I wasn’t sure. But then sounds of hammering on the other side of the garden wall distracted my attention.

I hurried to join Lucian as he disappeared around the side of the house. Rounding the corner, I pushed my way through overgrown thickets to where the warlock stood by the back wall. And as I approached, I saw that he was peering through a hole in the wall, half-covered with vines.

“Hand me that crowbar,” a man’s gruff voice drifted through from the other side. “And give me a hand.”

“Did you find another?” a woman asked excitedly, in a thick Italian accent.

“Maybe,” the man grunted in reply.

Again, a sixth sense informed me that something was in the house, listening. Curious, I actually took a step back, but this time, I was interrupted by a dark blur of fur bursting out of the thicket.

Heath.

Shifting quickly into his human form, he shrugged at Lucian. “Gone,” he murmured, hunching his shoulders. “He’s not in there.”

Lucian tensed, every inch of him taut. “And?” he prompted.

Heath squirmed a little. “They might have moved him somewhere else…”

A whirlwind of smoke suddenly appeared and Tabitha stepped out of it, still wearing her red cloak. “We must assume he is free, Lucian,” she announced in dire warning.

Lucian’s jaw tightened so much so that I thought it would snap. He looked at Heath through half-closed eyes. “And the scent? Whoever freed him must have left a trail. Where did they take him?”

Heath shook his head, and the shell necklace around his neck rattled bit. “No trace. Dead, man. Can’t pick anything up.”

Lucian closed the distance between them, and Heath ducked.

I wondered if the warlock was going to hit him, but he only asked another question, his voice barely above a whisper. “Have the humans unleashed others?”

“If he’s indeed loose, we should assume that he’s set traps around the place,” interrupted Tabitha.

I looked at Lucian and waited for his response, but then all three of them suddenly shifted their gaze to stare at me.

Great, what was I supposed to do? Find the traps? Find the vampire? Both?

“I’ve got to get closer,” I said, stalling for time. “Can’t tell from here.”

It worked. And it was true, anyway. I couldn’t smell a thing.

Lucian turned on Tabitha and ordered curtly, “Help her inside, please.”

As Tabitha changed back into a red lizard, I took a moment to step aside and yank the spice bottle out of my pocket. Giving it a frantic shake, I gritted through my teeth, “Wake up, Ricky!”

Of course, he didn’t. He just slid up and down inside the bottle like a jellyfish—a burping jellyfish. I was half-tempted to toss him into the nearest canal. Jamming him back into my pocket, I strode to where Lucian and Heath crouched near the hole.

Cautiously, I squinted over their shoulders to see a small, terraced dirt plot. It was a bona-fide archeological dig. Brushes. Pickaxes. Small orange flags fluttered at various locations. Piles of broken red clay bricks littered the entire place. A couple of white tents protecting a few cardboard boxes perched on each side of the plot.

Two men and a woman dug in the dirt a short distance away. They were grimy. T-shirts and khakis covered in mud. They looked hot. Tired. Excited. A gust of wind swept over the dig, ruffling the female archeologist’s hair. She seemed younger than the others. A student, most likely.

Suddenly, Tabitha’s whirlwind spun into existence in the very center of the plot. For some bewitching reason, no one noticed the slim Asian in a bright red cloak standing in their midst with hands stretched towards the sky and eyes rolled back in her head—so far back that I could only see the whites of her eyes. In the dig, it was just business as usual.

Evidently, firedrakes possessed some talent in invisibility.

“Nah, it’s a dead end,” one of the male archeologists said with a yawn and sat back on his heels. “Nothing’s here.”

Tabitha was—she stood just three feet away from him.

“Maybe there are no more,” the woman said, standing up to stretch before gathering a handful of brushes and moving to a different spot of the dig.

She would have walked right into Tabitha, but somehow, even with her eyes rolled back, Tabitha knew she was about to collide and moved. Just enough. The archaeologist missed her by inches.

I subjected Tabitha to a closer inspection. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but then I spied what looked like heat waves emanating from her. It had to be mana. A ton. It was a good thing I couldn’t smell it. In my ravenous state, I’d have jumped the wall and pounced on her no holds barred. I was tempted to anyway.

I bit my lip at the thought, but of course, Lucian chose that moment to clamp his strong hand down on my shoulder.

“Be quick, spell-finder,” he whispered tersely in my ear. “She can’t maintain it for long. She’ll keep you cloaked for only a minute, so don’t waste it.”

I frowned at him, but I could tell he was on the edge. Whatever was happening here meant the world to him. Not really the best moment for a rejoinder—or to admit I didn’t know what the heck he wanted me to do.

It was time to wing it.

Sending an extra little curse Ricky’s way for abandoning me at the most critical second, I climbed over the wall and stepped out into the dig to take a deep whiff.

It was overwhelming.

The woman digging next to Tabitha was young, healthy, and vibrant.

Crud. I couldn’t concentrate with her mana swirling around the place. I couldn’t stop myself. Before I knew it, I’d used my semi-vampire speed to rush over and crouch beside her as she brushed a skeleton with a large paintbrush. In a flash, my hand found her heart chakra. Milliseconds. It was just a tad. I didn’t have a choice, really. I didn’t care what Lucian or the others thought I was doing—if they could even see me. I had to eat. Besides, I was quick.

An appetizer only—well a large appetizer.

Tasty.

The woman shifted and stood up a little unsteadily. Her face looked a little green.

I felt the usual guilt and sent her a mental apology.

“Non è possible!” she called out to the men. “I think I’m getting sick.”

They looked up, concerned.

I stepped back as one of them joined her. He passed right by me. Middle-aged. Educated. Cultured. As he reached over to offer her a steady arm, I took advantage of Tabitha’s invisibility cloak—who wouldn’t if they were starving?—and brushed my hand against his chest, carefully positioning myself in a way that Lucian and Heath couldn’t see me.

The cultured archeologist tasted like a fine wine—or what I imagined a fine wine to taste like—rich and thriving with bold flavor. It was all I could do to keep from tapping more.

The man heaved a sudden sigh. “You know, I’m feeling a bit drained myself,” he admitted with a dry laugh. “Maybe we should call it a day. Must be the heat.”

Fanning themselves, they headed to one of the white tents as the third archeologist gamely tossed his tools into a crate and followed. They didn’t take much convincing. In moments, they’d all decided to go. We watched as they left the dig, exchanging friendly banter over where to eat.

They’d scarcely left before I was keenly aware of Lucian’s breath on my neck. I suppressed a shiver.

“How did you make them leave?” he whispered in my ear.

His lips were close. So close. Had they brushed my skin? Was he playing cat-and-mouse again? As hungry as I still was, I almost purred at the thought. I turned, but just at a right enough angle to brush my shoulder against his chest in a little flirtation of my own.

His dark-lashed eyes narrowed. He hadn’t missed the move. But most significantly, he hadn’t stepped back.

I lifted a brow, a challenging one but with a suggestive tilt, and our eyes locked.

Sizzle. Again, it was like invisible energy erupting between us. What was it? It could be addictive.

“Cassidy,” Tabitha broke in.

Lucian averted his eyes then, and the sizzle vanished.

Shelving game-playing for later, I glanced over to where Tabitha had dropped her arms and unrolled her eyes. Clearly, she possessed some special kind of radar that enabled her to detect the most inopportune times to interrupt.

“What?” I asked, trying not to let the annoyance and hunger taint my voice. Yeah, I’d gotten a few bites in, but it wasn’t enough to put much of a dent in my foul mood.

“How did you make them leave?” she asked warily.

“I didn’t,” I boldly lied. “It was mere coincidence.”

Lucian wasn’t buying it. He folded his arms and peered down at me, the line of his lean jaw, tight. He was still a shade too close to me.

But before my hormones could start dancing, I pulled up short.

A touch.

Someone had just reached out and touched my mind. It was as real as if someone had just tapped me on the shoulder. Instinctively, I glanced over the wall back up at the old stone-and-timber house. It came from there; there was no doubt. Something or someone was there, reaching out to me.

Ignoring everyone, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, analyzing the scents swirling in the air.

I could still smell the three archeologists walking away, down the narrow alley.

A cat on the nearby roof.

A few rats, birds, and various other small animals in the surrounding trees.

Ricky in his bottle.

Of course, still no hint of an aroma from Lucian, Tabitha, or Heath.

And then, there it was.

For the briefest of moments, a strong, unique scent. Old—like the perfume of an antique leather book. Aged—but with a thread of death woven through it.

A Chosen One.

I gave an involuntary jerk. I’d never smelled another Chosen One besides my mother.

My eyes flew open, riveting on the house, and my every instinct was on alert.

“What is it?” Lucian’s deep voice murmured in my ear again.

I brushed him curtly aside, intent on focusing on the Chosen One. I started to approach the house, but I got no further than three steps before my attention was seized by what lay under my feet.

I was standing on them!

Even buried, I could smell them. I’d probably missed them before because they emitted no mana. They couldn’t. They hadn’t eaten in centuries. But now, directly under my feet, I could pick up their scent, the sick, cloying perfume of death. Also the scent of the Chosen One apparently hiding in the house. It was strong. So strong that it was unnerving.

I shivered, feeling as if the cold, clawing fingers of Death had suddenly crept up from the soil to reach out and wrap around my ankle, solely with the intention of sucking me down to join the others.

“What is it?” I vaguely heard Lucian ask again.

At least a dozen. No. More. They were alive—well, as alive as Chosen Ones can be.

I glanced over at Heath. He didn’t appear to smell a thing.

So much for the werewolf olfactory system.

Lucian’s quick fingers corralled my jaw and forced my eyes to meet his. In them, I could see yet another unspoken version of the same question he’d been asking.

Wordlessly, I dropped my eyes to the ground.

He understood at once. His pale eyes flashed. “How many?” he asked, his voice growing lethally soft. “One? Two? More?”

The Chosen Ones beneath my feet had begun to stir, apparently sensing me in return. I felt as if I could almost hear their voices asking for my name.

Abruptly, images flashed in my mind: Men and women, dressed in medieval garb, screaming, as mobs descended on them to brick, stake, and bury them—deep, very deep.

Startled, I took a step back. I had no doubt where the images came from. Even bricked, staked, and buried, they were still alive. They were calling out to me as if I were one of their own. It was disturbing. My mother had never communicated with me in that manner. I hadn’t even known it was possible.

Lucian caught my shoulder, giving me a bit of a shake. “How many?” he demanded impatiently.

Unnerved, I moved away from the bodies beneath me. I’d detected at least eighteen different scents. I added a couple to be safe. “Twenty,” I reported hoarsely. “And they’re awake.”

Lucian arched a skeptical brow. Ok. Skeptical was an understatement. He flat out didn’t believe me. Contempt crossed his handsome face. “There is no record of that many. It was five, at the most,” he replied in a cutting tone.

“Record is mistaken, then,” I said, irritation flaring up in an instant.

Good. I was glad Lucian was behaving like an arrogant jerk. It made me mad, and at the moment, I’d rather be mad than unnerved.

Again, I felt the touch from the house, but this time, an image accompanied it.

A man in a kilt. Tall. Ruddy. Strong. A chest made of stone. Biceps of steel. Long, brown hair fell down his massive shoulders. Lips … tantalizing. His green eyes—a green so deep in hue that it looked fake—it perfectly matched the green color in his kilt. They were compelling, those eyes, and in them, I saw the distinct spark of laughter.

I shook my head and stepped back, breaking the connection—if that’s what it was.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I announced, suddenly wanting to be gone. Clearly, I wasn’t prepared to deal with a couple dozen vampire-empaths.

Lucian grabbed my hand. “What did you see?” he asked.

I jerked my hand free. “Nothing,” I snapped.

He was just one warlock. Even I knew he wasn’t much of a match for the ancient force awakening beneath us.

Heath had morphed into his werewolf form and had begun to dig the ground with his enormous paws.

“You’re not going to reach them that way,” I muttered at him. “They’re too deep.”

Heath kept digging.

Lucian shot me a cynical look that just made me want to slap his handsome face.

“She speaks the truth,” Tabitha spoke for the first time, once again coming unexpectedly to my aid. “There were always rumors about the number of his clan. It is foolish to doubt her. We haven’t a moment to waste. Dark approaches, and he’ll be back to protect his own.”

A shiver coursed through me. He. He who? He in the house? A kilted vampire?

Heath paused his digging as the fur along the ridge of his spine rose. “I smell them now,” he said then. “She’s right. There are many.”

Lucian didn’t find it necessary to apologize for doubting me. Instead, he just sent me another cynical look.

As critical of me as his expression was, I couldn’t help but notice his suave features and how they juxtaposed with that of the primitive, ruddy man in the green kilt, his image still burned into my brain. Lucian was sensual yet, at the same time, scorching hot. Captivating. Devious. Clever. As handsome as Sin. Primitive, like the vampire, but in an entirely different way.

I watched as Lucian’s carved lips curled a little and came closer to me. “What is it?” he asked, his eyes impaling mine.

I shook my head. I had to leave this place. It was dangerous. I was being pulled in too many strange directions.

I didn’t answer.

I merely walked away.

The Truth About Night Terrors

Heath caught up with me before I reached the tourists milling about in the piazza just one street away. Stepping out of his wolf form, he slouched against the rough stone exterior of a small Venetian mask shop, a large closed sign in its window.

“Hey. It’s ok,” he said, offering me a friendly smile. “You don’t have to run. It’s cool.”

“Not running!” I swiftly rebutted. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to a hippie werewolf at that moment.

I was about to stalk way, but then I checked myself. With Ricky still drunk in my pocket and out-of-service, I might, instead, be able to mine Heath for a bit of useful information. It was worth a shot.

As it turned out, he was an easy lemon to squeeze; it wasn’t long before the information flowed, and I made a mental note never to share anything on the QT with him.

“It’s a mass plague-victim grave dated from the Middle Ages,” he babbled in answer to my opening question. “Back then, they thought vampires spread the sickness by chewing on the deceased’s shrouds, you know, when they rose from the dead. The gravediggers would put bricks in their mouths to stop them.” He chuckled a little and added, “Can’t chew with a mouthful of bricks, eh?”

Judging by the number of bricks that I’d seen scattered around the dig sight, the medieval folk had apparently exercised an overabundance of caution.

“And Ramsey?” I prompted, asking what I really wanted to know. “Just who is he?”

“Oh, it has to be Dorian,” Heath spilled at once. “Dorian Ramsey. The Scottish bloke that ruined the Rowles. Lucian’s been looking for him a long time. Thinks he’s finally found him.”

Dorian Ramsey. It was a fitting name for the image of the man in my mind. So, the Chosen One lurking in the house was the green-eyed, kilt-wearing vampire who was responsible for the curse set upon the Rowles. I wasn’t really surprised. I guess on some level I’d already guessed that.

I suddenly could relate to Lucian’s mania. His archenemy had been uncovered—the man who’d brought his family to ruin. It also explained Tabitha’s dire warnings. It wasn’t going to be pretty if all eighteen or twenty of Dorian’s clan members were unleashed all at once upon Venice.

Heath was still babbling away, but I wasn’t listening.

I kept seeing Dorian’s captivating image in my head. He’d reached out to me. But why? Did he think I was a Chosen One?

After a few moments, I tuned into Heath’s rambling to discover that he’d somehow digressed the conversation into the realm of meditation and how it affected performance in running marathons.

My stomach growled, and I made my mind up at once. I didn’t know what lie ahead, but I knew one thing. I would have to be healthy and on top of my game.

It was time to eat.

After making my perfunctory excuses to Heath, I exited the side alley and plunged into the crowded streets of historic Venice. The sheer number of tourists was staggering. People jostled, pushed, and shoved everywhere.

I smiled in open relief. At last, something was going my way. No one noticed me as I worked my way through the crowd, briefly touching here and there. I fed longer than usual, but I was hungry. This time, it took a lot to sate my appetite.

Several times, I saw Tabitha and Heath waving at me from the fringe of the crowd. I pretended not to see them. Once or twice, I saw Lucian. I figured he’d be furious when he finally caught up with me.

I was wrong.

He was beyond livid.

I’d just helped myself to a scrumptious treasure-of-a-man with a black baseball cap and a Yankees jersey when I saw a newsstand.

The photo on the front page captivated me. I’d always thought vampire bodies never aged, staked or un-staked, but I’d guessed wrong. The body in the picture was severely decayed; the skeleton, more than half exposed. Part of it was swathed in a rotten, dirt-colored shirt and the other, a faded kilt with the slightest tint of green. The bottom jaw and most of the teeth were in a shambles, likely broken by the brick that was shoved into the vampire’s mouth. Oddly, the wooden stakes in the chest and knees appeared to be almost in perfect condition.

It had to be Dorian Ramsey—and he was certainly a far cry from the image he’d shared with my mind.

I scanned the newspaper headline, but the words were Italian. I only recognized one word, vampiro.

“What game are you playing now, spell-finder?” Lucian’s cool voice whispered across the back of my neck. His temper must have mellowed as he’d crossed the piazza.

I shivered. The man had a thing for necks. Maybe, not unlike a vampire, he knew my neck was my weak spot.

Spinning on my heel, I looked up at his grim, hard mouth and fiery eyes.

“I did my part,” I challenged. “I found them before they could set traps for you.”

“No, you’re not done,” he disagreed. “Follow me. We have only a few hours before sunset.”

Whirling on his heel without waiting for my reply, he strode away, confident that I’d just trail behind him like some kind of yappy poodle.

I almost didn’t. But now that I’d eaten well, curiosity won out.

A little peeved and picturing myself as a curly-haired puppy on a leash, I followed him through the crowded piazzas, over the bridges arching the canals, down a side street, back into the abandoned alleys, and into an old church graveyard. Under the canopy of ancient trees, we wove through the crumbling tombstones to pause in front of a long-forsaken crypt. Lucian brushed his hand over the unintelligible script carved deep into the crypt’s stone-facing.

The ground beneath me moved.

Startled, I took a step back as the stone-facing split, exposing a circular staircase going deep into the ground.

Lucian didn’t hesitate. As his dark head disappeared down into the yawning maw below, I galvanized myself into action and followed him.

There was a decided lack of spider webs. Not enough oxygen, perhaps. Wherever we were going, it was clearly a well-travelled passageway. Darkness fell the farther we descended, and as the last glimmer of light fled, my foot caught on a stone and I pitched forward.

In a flash, Lucian was there, catching me by the belt of my pants. For a moment, I held still against him. I could feel his solid muscles under me and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Why was the man so distracting? Enthralling, even. His sheer physical presence held an intensity that I’d never encountered before. Was it some kind of magic, a spell?

As suspicion warred with attraction, I was the first one to move, stepping aside with the greatest of reluctance.

“A light,” he murmured softly.

A moment later, a candle sputtered into life in a sconce along the wall, and we silently continued our descent. After a few more loops, we arrived in a long room with a vaulted ceiling illuminated by candles. Hundreds of them. Pools of melted wax dripped down onto the flagstones. Arched entryways lined the walls, tons of them, reminding me of the Coliseum.

I smelled them coming then. Dozens of them. They arrived to hover in the archways, their tall forms shrouded by long, dark cloaks. I was relieved I’d eaten, or else the mana spilling from these beings would have driven me to the brink of madness. Already, from this distance, I could taste various exotic scents upon my lips.

Gripping Lucian’s arm, I asked, “What kind of creatures are they?” I had to know. I didn’t even care if I were revealing a level of ignorance better kept hidden.

“They are Night Terrors,” he responded without looking down at me.

Night Terrors. I recalled that he’d suspected me of being one. But I’d never heard of them before. Well, the beings, anyway.

Breaking out of my grasp, Lucian strode into the center of the chamber and called out, “I must speak with the Keeper at once!”

Voices floated on the air, hauntingly beautiful voices, calling back and forth in a murmur of haunting music. Then someone clapped their hands and silence fell.

“She has only one foot in the Earthly world. The other is in the spirit,” a rasping voice accused out of the darkness.

I had no doubt that she meant me.

Lucian remained silent.

At the far end of the room, a door hitherto hidden cracked open enough to reveal a faint light glowing from within.

“Enter,” the rasping voice commanded.

Crooking a beckoning finger for me to follow, Lucian headed for the door.

I hesitated, but only for a moment. With my knives still faithfully hidden within my boots, I figured I could defend myself. Whatever these creatures were, judging by the mana they yielded, they were clearly alive. And that meant a blade could deter them, if the need arose.

Close on Lucian’s heels, I entered a room identical but smaller than the last. It was definitely brighter, though. I could actually see the Night Terrors this time, standing in the archways dotting the walls as if they were a honeycomb. The creatures were uncommonly tall, painfully skinny, thin-haired, and with sagging jowls. Their skin glowed from within, white, like alabaster, and their eyes lit with an inner-brilliance unseen on Earth.

A table with a large gray stone stood in the center of the room. The stone was unusual, vying for my attention as if it were alive, calling for me to touch its rough, unpolished surface.

The sound of a creaking door diverted my attention to the arrival of another Night Terror. He was just like the others. Sallow. Thin. Wearing a cowled homespun robe and holding a lantern in his hand. His glowing eyes were gold and extra bright.

“Greetings, Lucian Rowle,” the Night Terror intoned ominously, his sagging cheeks jiggling a little.

“Keeper of the Old Wisdom,” Lucian addressed him with a respectful bow.

The Keeper held his lantern aloft, allowing the light to fall over my face. “And who is this?” he asked in a deep voice.

“My spell-finder,” Lucian replied as he looked at me with his fine brows furrowed. “Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards.”

The Keeper glided to hover before me and extended his hand as if to touch my forehead with his palm, but I wanted none of it. Instinctively, my hand shot up to knock his away.

“No,” I said.

It wasn’t going to happen. Be he a Night Terror or not.

Slowly, the Night Terror smiled. “Join us,” he whispered, his voice holding a promise. “You could become a Night Terror like the world has never seen.”

I blinked at the unexpected invitation.

“Pretty certain I already am one,” I answered dryly, thinking of my few lame attempts at relationships in the past. One of my hands on their chest too long, and they’d run screaming from me as fast as they could. Who could blame them?

The Keeper merely smiled. “There is still time to decide,” he promised. “Much time.”

He turned to Lucian then, and moving to one side of the table, they put their heads together and began to whisper. I could hear scattered fragments of their conversation: Dorian. Chosen Ones. Digging. Only a few hours left.

I glanced up at the archways studding the walls, each with a Night Terror standing in the threshold. With their cowled hoods pulled back, they looked like big glow sticks in the dark.

Bored, I sidled closer to the stone on the table. It was some kind of stone pillar, almost two feet tall and about a foot in circumference. At the head, I could see a series of intricate Celtic circles, but they were faded. The stone seemed very old.

I reached out to touch it, and my hand was only a couple of inches away when I felt the mana. It was incredible. Pure. Somehow, it was bathing the stone. I simply had to touch it. But as my finger brushed the small pillar with the lightest of touches, the stone fell back with a loud crash.

Quickly, I tipped it upright again, surprised to discover it weighed no more than a feather. How had the dang thing made such a racket?

I knit my brows into a frown.

“The stone is heavy for some and light for others,” the Keeper’s voice whispered by my side.

He stood next to me then, his thin face split into an eerie grin. Behind him, Lucian watched me with his feet splayed wide apart and his arms crossed. I couldn’t interpret the expression in his piercing eyes.

The Keeper waved his hand in front of my face to capture my attention. “Put your ear to the stone, Cassidy,” he invited, pointing to the Celtic carvings with his long, skinny finger. “Listen.”

I didn’t hesitate. Curiosity propelled me forward. Bending down, I placed my ear against the stone’s rough surface. But no sooner had my ear touched it then I had to jerk away.

Screams. Weeping, hideous screams.

“Lost souls,” the Night Terror drew his lips into a chilling smile. “Only true Night Terrors can hear the cries encapsulated in the Hell Stone.”

“Hell Stone?” I repeated. Sending the stone a wary look, I hastily stepped away.

“There are places where darkness rules,” the Keeper intoned. And then turning to the Night Terrors still standing in their archways, he added, “And we mustn’t allow additional darkness to ascend. We must assist this warlock. Come down, my brethren. We must leave, immediately.”

I moved to join Lucian as the cloaked figures lit lanterns and floated down from above. It was creepy; they seemed weightless.

Lucian wasn’t as fascinated by the whole scene as I was. Pivoting on his heel, he strode out of the chamber with an obvious purpose as the Night Terrors followed, chanting strange words.

I trailed behind, distracted by the lanterns drifting before me through the chambers toward the exit. In just a few short minutes, there must have been over a hundred of the cloaked figures filing up the steps after Lucian.

I trailed behind them, wondering what they had planned. What would the tourists think upon seeing a hundred dark-cowled Night Terrors carrying lanterns in the streets of Venice? It wasn’t Carnival, and it wasn’t exactly flying under the radar.

I’d lost track of Lucian. I guessed he’d already ascended up the stone stairs, and as I placed my foot upon the first step, the Night Terrors suddenly stopped.

I didn’t wait to see if I was in danger. I just acted. With knife in hand, I dashed past the strange creatures and up the stairs with vampirical speed, slipping past the waiting Night Terrors in such a rush that their robes flurried about their long, skinny legs and their lanterns flickered.

I arrived at the top to see Lucian standing on the top step.

There had been no cause for alarm. The Night Terrors were simply waiting their turn. They shuffled past Lucian, each one pausing in front of the warlock to hand him an amulet from their pocket, from a chain around their neck, or in a ring.

Lucian fixed his attention on each amulet and touched it to his forehead before returning it to its owner.

One moment, a cloaked Night Terror stood there. The next, a stout policeman. A grizzled archeologist. Two dewy-faced schoolgirls. A boisterous tourist with a Louis Vuitton handbag.

Spelled.

I saw it in action.

Somehow, Lucian used the mana trapped in their amulet to cast a spell to hide them. No wonder humans had no awareness of the Charmed amongst them—they were simply cast into obscurity.

Relieved, I slid my knife back into my boot and inserted myself into the line.

“And your amulet?” Lucian asked with an air of professionalism as I arrived.

I gave an inward scoff. Oh yeah—the Goldfish cracker-sized snack of mana. Was he joking with me?

“I don’t really need a disguise,” I asserted with a playful wink. “Been doing just fine without one so far, haven’t I?” I waved a hand over myself suggestively.

He tilted his head to the side and lifted a brow. And then to my surprise, he gripped my arm and pulled me close to him.

“You’re hiding something from me, Cass.” He breathed on my lips. A muscle ticked on his jaw.

I couldn’t stop the shiver raging through me. I knew he felt it, too. Something entered his eyes, a kind of hunger.

Cripes. I was going to have to find his weak spot soon. If I didn’t, I would lose this game to him.

Mustering every ounce of strength I possessed, I pushed myself away from the warlock and lifted my chin. “Everyone is hiding something, Lucian,” I retorted with a nonchalant shrug. “And you, more than most.”

And with that, I headed after the loud tourist with the overpriced handbag.

The Devil’s Lips

It didn’t take the Night Terrors very long. I didn’t know exactly what Night Terrors did for a living, but they were sure handy with pickaxes. They descended on the plague gravesite like a swarm of bees, and in minutes, skeletons were lifted from the ground—bricked and staked skeletons, clad in tattered medieval clothing.

Chosen Ones.

I couldn’t suppress a shudder and cast an anxious eye at the house behind the wall. I knew Dorian was in there. I could sense him standing in the attic, well away from any direct sunlight. I felt his eyes shift to me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

“What’s wrong?” Heath asked from my side as he picked up a freshly excavated shoe and gave it a once-over with his nose. Frowning, he tossed the shoe over his shoulder.

I jerked a little, surprised I hadn’t noticed he was there. I still wasn’t used to the fact that I couldn’t smell his mana.

Reluctance—or maybe something more—prevented me from announcing that Lucian’s nemesis watched our doings from just yards away. Yeah, I didn’t want to reveal the extent of my mana-smelling ability, but it was more than that. It almost felt akin to a betrayal, even though I owed this Dorian nothing.

“Are you sensing something?” Heath pressed, picking up the tattered remains of a wimple this time.

“No. It’s nothing,” I lied, shaking my head.

Apparently, my discovery of the Chosen Ones lurking right under his werewolf nose had given Heath a newfound respect for my abilities. “He’s in the house, isn’t he,” he said, following my perplexed gaze to the grime-covered window. After sniffing the wimple and shaking his head solemnly, he laid it down with care upon the disturbed stones of the crypt.

I didn’t answer. I guess I didn’t need to. Heath instantly shifted into his wolf form and with a low growl, disappeared over the garden wall.

Ah well. It looked like Dorian had been discovered, after all.

I shrugged. Re-staked again soon, no doubt.

A distinctly deep, male laugh flitted across my mind followed by a low voice holding a distinct Scottish burr. “Hardly, lass.”

I drew back sharply.

There was no doubting the source. Dorian. And it was the last straw; I’d had enough for one day. I wasn’t about to stand there and let him taunt me via telepathy or anything else.

Piqued, I pushed through the line of Night Terrors carrying the bones of the Chosen Ones over to where Lucian waited in one of the white tents. They walked with the greatest of care, clearly not wanting to dislodge the stakes or the bricks. I wondered what Lucian planned to do with all the remains, but weariness was winning over my curiosity.

I only had desire now for a bath and then a soft comfortable bed.

Tabitha caught up with me before I managed to exit the dig. Apparently, she’d been assigned to babysit me.

“Yes, let’s go back to the villa,” she encouraged. “They’re almost finished here anyway, and I need to change.” She pointed to her dirt-smudged cloak.

I hesitated, remembering Lucian had warned me not to be alone with her. I wondered if she’d made up her firedrake mind about me yet.

She sensed my unspoken concern, I think, because she smiled. “You did well today,” she said. “Impressive.”

I wondered if that meant acceptance, but decided it was good enough.

With a noncommittal nod, I stepped out with her into the narrow alley. My boots rang on the cobblestones, mixing awkwardly with the clicks of her stiletto heels. When we reached the end of the alley, I asked, “So, what’s Lucian going to do with all of those skeletons?”

I knew she probably wouldn’t tell me, and she didn’t. In fact, her nostrils flared a little and that was it.

We walked in silence the entire way back to the villa, and when we finally entered the front door, I couldn’t resist muttering despite myself, “It was certainly nice chatting with you, Tabitha,” before stalking up the gracefully curving stairway.

I had no idea where I was going, but I didn’t want Tabitha to know that. I swept up the stairs and chose a door at random.

As luck would have it, the room I chose was a bedroom. A nice one. A huge four-poster bed. Modern black bedspread. Silk sheets. Bookcases with leather-bound books. A comfortable armchair. A low, marble-topped table, and a floor-length mirror tucked in the corner. All in all, an inviting atmosphere after a weird and exhausting day.

Deciding the place looked uninhabited—and the bed just a tad too appealing to resist—I stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind me.

I made a beeline for the bed—well, almost a beeline. I did detour to pause in front of the mirror to inspect my bedraggled reflection. I looked exhausted. Dark circles under my eyes. Full mouth tired, turned down. Hair hanging limp.

It was definitely time to rest.

Yawning in anticipation of a good night’s sleep, I plopped down onto the bed, boots and all. I’d barely settled into the comfortable nest of goose-down pillows before I was out like a light.

As I mentioned before, I’m a deep sleeper. Very deep.

I didn’t hear him come in. I certainly didn’t hear him shower.

Sometime later, I woke up to see Lucian stalking across the dimly lit room with his dark hair wet, loose, and wild about his shoulders. He was bare-chested, wearing only black sweatpants, and in the shadowy light, his abs were even more incredibly outlined.

In short, he was a wickedly handsome man.

I watched him with a not-so-guilty pleasure as he paused by the leather chair and picked up a maroon suitcase. Tossing it down onto the marble-topped table, he ran his finger along the brass clasps in an absentminded gesture. After a moment, he popped the suitcase lid open. It sprang back on well-oiled hinges.

Dolls. The suitcase was filled to the brim with them. Marionettes. Small ones. Barbie-sized. All dressed in rich medieval clothing.

I caught my breath, startled.

Lucian’s broad shoulders tensed immediately. Turning his head to one side, he froze, listening. The next moment, he was beside me and lifting me out of my pillow nest with a single, well-muscled arm.

“You’re not allowed upstairs,” he growled deep in his throat. “And especially not in my room.”

I scarcely heard what he said. I was simply too distracted.

I’d spent my entire life steering clear of entanglements. But this man … well, there was no denying his raw animal magnetism. I couldn’t help it. My eyes dipped to rove over his sculpted form, from his washboard abs, lean shoulders, up to his lips, which held a promise to be able to send most any young woman to the wild heights of abandonment.

My distraction hung in the air between us for several long moments before—just like on the plane—control slipped away. From us both. I knew it the moment his eyes raked me with a sensual, smoldering gaze.

“If you seek to play like a cat plays with a mouse, then beware,” he warned in a voice, low and raw.

“Beware?” I repeated in a tone that accentuated the scratchy quality of my voice.

My gaze flicked over his jawline and neck. I’d like to play with him, but not in a way that required caution. Maybe.

From the intensity of his expression, it was clear that he’d followed my thoughts. It wouldn’t take much to coax us both beyond the point of no return. The wild, almost hungry look on his handsome face threatened to unleash a passion that I’d never experienced before. I could feel it in my bones.

But then a sudden realization came over me like a bucketful of ice water, and the spell broke—the attraction between us was too strong to be real. I scarcely knew the man!

Severing his gaze, I wrenched free from his grasp and sprang to my feet. “What are you doing?” I accused harshly, shoving him back. “Are you trying to use some kind of magic on me? A curse or something?”

Lucian’s eyes hardened as his face grew dark. In a flash, he’d twirled me around in front of him so that I then faced the door, his hands firmly on my shoulders. “Oh, there’s nothing to fear, my dear,” he whispered coldly into my ear from behind. “I never cast spells that can be suspected … and certainly never ones that can fail. And I never start what I don’t plan to finish.”

And before I knew it, he was roughly shepherding me out into the hallway and slamming the door so hard that it jarred my teeth.

I stood there, insulted, and most definitely annoyed, before collecting myself enough to storm down the hall.

I didn’t know what game Lord Lucian Rowle was playing any longer.

He’d changed all the rules.

I Just Might Keep Ricky, After All

My irritation didn’t last long. Behaving like a moonstruck fool just wasn’t in my makeup. And I was used to brushing people off. Lucian was certainly no exception.

I descended the stairs and nearly collided into Heath on the bottom step.

“I put your suitcase in your room for you. It’s just down the hallway, first door on the right,” he offered with an amiable grin.

He looked just like a dog expecting a pat on the head. Yeah, I knew he could turn into a massively muscled beast—I’d seen it. But a strain of puppy personality was alive and well. I’d never thought werewolves could be so … Golden Retrieverish.

I watched him trot off towards the kitchen, shaking my head. He was clearly up to something. It was late. Dark outside. I could see the full moon shining through a nearby window—the classic werewolf setting.

Curious, I stood there for a bit, listening and waiting in anticipation, but the only sound that filled the villa was that of the distant ticking of a clock. Finally, I gave up with a shrug. Most likely, Heath had just gone to the kitchen for a late-night snack.

With a yawn, I located my assigned room. It was nice. Pretty much the same as Lord Rowle’s, only the décor was lavender instead of black, and there weren’t any books.

I fell into the goose-down pillows and immediately winced as I landed on something hard.

It was Ricky’s spice bottle.

Rolling to one side, I dug it out of my pocket for a quick inspection only to discover that it was empty. I guess I should’ve known that imps couldn’t be confined in such ordinary containers.

For a moment, I really did consider going out to look for him—but only for a moment.

I mean, really, where would I start? He could’ve slipped out in so many places. I hadn’t checked on him for hours. He could be at the dig, the piazzas of Venice, or—holy crud—in Lucian’s bed.

That thought made me snicker out loud.

Chuckling to myself, I hoped that he was, and kicking my boots off, I settled down for a nice, long snooze.

It took me a bit to fall asleep. I was quite entertained with imagining the various looks of horror on Lucian’s handsome face when he discovered Ricky snoozing on the pillow next to him. Would Ricky call him “doll”, too?

Eventually, I drifted off.

I don’t know how long I slept before I was rudely interrupted by someone screaming my name.

Reflexes took over. I bolted out of bed and had knives in both hands before I recognized Lucian’s furious tones and realized that the screaming came from upstairs. He sounded angry, hysterically peeved.

Grinning, I took my sweet time putting on my boots then, and after a nice, long stretch, casually strolled out into the hallway.

Heath was there—in werewolf-form—crouched on all four paws with his golden eyes glued on Lucian standing on the landing above.

The warlock was sexy. There was no denying that fact. His sweatpants hung low on his lean hips, and he was still shirtless, but I only appreciated that small fact for a millisecond.

I was beyond thrilled to see that my fantasy had, indeed, come true.

Lucian hovered on the landing above me with his hand extended and his fingers pinched tightly together as he dangled Ricky over the railings by the scruff of the neck.

“Where have you been?” Lucian shouted at me, livid. His piercing eyes flashed. “I’ve been calling you!”

I faked a yawn and graced him with a mocking smile. “I’m not allowed upstairs, remember? I expected you to come down, Lord Rowle.”

Lucian’s nostrils flared. Flinging Ricky at me, his voice shifted into a threatening tone. “Clever, leaving him behind. But you should let your Terzi masters know that this little ploy will fail, just like all of the others.”

Ricky splatted by my feet as I frowned in confusion.

Terzi masters? Did the man really think I was some kind of spy for the enemy? A double agent?

Determined not to give him the upper hand, I smiled sweetly in reply. “You’re not making much sense, Lord Rowle,” I said in honeyed tones.

Lucian merely glared, and then tossing his mane of dark hair, he spun on his heel back towards his room. A moment later, I heard his door slam.

Chuckling, I picked Ricky up from the floor and patted him on the head—well, I tried, anyway. I succeeded only in swishing his head away from his body a couple of times. I still hadn’t gotten the hang of handling smoke-creatures yet.

“Good imp,” I said, grinning as his head reassembled. “Maybe I’ll keep you, after all.”

Ricky opened an eye and winced, obviously terribly hungover. “What’s that, doll?”

I didn’t even mind his nasal voice or the doll. “I don’t know what you did to irk him, but do more of it, hmm?” I encouraged.

After bidding Heath goodnight, I carried Ricky back to my room. He muttered something as I kicked the door shut, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy replaying Lucian’s horrified face and snickering even as part of me rankled over the Terzi accusation.

“The dolls,” Ricky raised his voice. He waved his spindly hands to attract my attention.

“Dolls?” I repeated absentmindedly. Now, where had I put Ricky’s bottle? I had to find it. I couldn’t let the little miscreant remain loose to stir up more trouble, not yet, anyway.

“The marionettes.” Ricky burped and giggled.

I paused and blinked. Suddenly interested, I gave him my full attention. “Marionettes?” I repeated, recalling the Barbie-sized ones I’d seen Lucian inspecting in his room. “Those creepy things in the suitcase? What about them?”

The imp scowled at me and placed a warning finger over his mouth. “Shh! Not those.” He pointed a finger straight up at the ceiling. “The ones in the room across the hall. Shelves. Hundreds. Hundreds of them.”

Hundreds?

I couldn’t suppress a shiver. “Maybe he’s a collector,” I said, but even as I said it, I knew how silly it sounded.

I tossed Ricky onto the bed. He somersaulted a few times before sitting upright to tuck his long pointy ears behind his head. “He’s a curse-master, eh?” he whispered suggestively. “Right, love?”

“Voodoo dolls?” I asked, recalling the female marionette dressed in the red dress and white fur stole that I’d seen outside his office just a few short days ago. Had he made a voodoo doll of her?

Ricky’s ears flattened even more. “All curse-masters use surrogate objects,” he hiccupped helpfully. “Some use paintings. Others use vases. I once met a bloke that uses carpets!”

They were voodoo dolls. “So, the Chosen Ones he unearthed today,” I murmured mostly to myself. “He made voodoo dolls of them. I wonder what he did with the actual remains.”

“I wouldn’t know, love,” Ricky replied with his trademark giggle.

All at once, I found him irritating. “Go to sleep now,” I ordered.

I guess he was tired because he obliged me at once. Inspecting one of my boots and apparently finding it adequately homey, he slipped inside. Minutes later, the boot began to vibrate with the sound of his snoring. I wasn’t too thrilled about it, but at least he was out of my sight.

Slowly, I settled back on the bed.

So, if Ricky had been lucid enough to tell me the truth, then I’d just discovered that Lucian was some kind of voodoo-doll-making curse-master. How creepy was that? He’d apparently cursed the Chosen Ones, but in what way? And where had he hidden their bones?

I knew very little about Dorian Ramsey, but I knew enough to be certain that the vampire wanted his clan back. He was probably going to want that suitcase, too.

A clear, deep laugh echoed through my mind.

I sat bolt upright.

In a flash, I stood at the window. Pulling the curtain aside, I peered out into the darkness.

My eyes found him at once. He stood on the other side of the canal, cloaked in shadows: Dorian. The kilt-wearing vampire. Waiting. Patiently.

His laughter echoed louder in my head, accompanied by an image of Lucian’s maroon suitcase.

“No,” I said, scowling and stepping back.

I wasn’t that vampire’s lackey.

A sudden howl outside made me glance out the window again just in time to see Heath’s dark, blurry form launch itself at Dorian. But Heath was too late. The vampire had vanished, leaving the werewolf’s massive paws to only swat air. Heath paused there a moment and then bounded away in the darkness.

I returned to my bed, unsettled.

How did Dorian have access to my mind? This situation was getting hairy. Every instinct told me to run away from it.

But I couldn’t. Could I?

I had my own game. Revenge. Revenge on Emilio.

My thoughts swirled in my head for a bit, but soon I had made up my mind. It was time for me to leave. I’d helped Lucian out at the dig; my contract was finished, really. It was time that I got my pay and hopefully, some useful information about Emilio.

I didn’t really have a choice. If I stayed, I had no doubt that Dorian would try to make me his puppet—and I already knew that I didn’t want to be involved in whatever he was masterminding.

The Terzi Hex Net

I woke up late. It was well after lunch by the time I dragged myself out of bed, quickly showered, dumped Ricky out of my boot, and headed toward the kitchen.

“It’s on the news,” I heard Heath say as I paused at the door. “Gnarly.”

“What is?” Tabitha asked.

I opened the kitchen door enough to peek through the crack.

“Two bodies,” Heath provided in a near whisper. “The police found two bodies, drained of blood.”

Tabitha slapped her hands on the counter. “And you still lost his trail!” she snapped. “What kind of werewolf are you? Why does Lucian only hire misfits? You’re all brawn and no brain!”

Heath’s shoulders drooped. “Hey, man, I did track him,” he defended himself. “He just disappeared. Vanished. Like he could fly or something.”

There was a hint of a hound-dog whine in his voice. It made me smile. I pushed the kitchen door back with a bang.

They both looked up at me, startled.

“Lucian’s meeting the client,” Tabitha informed me coolly. She was dressed in another evening gown—a silver spangled concoction. Her heels were at least eight inches tall. “He’ll be gone for a few days.”

It was my turn to be surprised. “Days?” I repeated, a tad annoyed. So much for ending my contract and getting my information today.

Tabitha didn’t respond.

Heath just stood there by the counter, hovering over a big platter of scrambled eggs. He wore another Hawaiian shirt, a green one with white palm trees this time. Clearly, he didn’t possess any other kind.

An awkward silence fell.

Tabitha merely watched me as Heath bolted down his eggs. Once, he shoved the platter my way in silent invitation, but I politely declined.

When it was apparent that nothing else was going to happen, I dusted my hands and announced, “Well then, guess I’ll go see the sights.” Also, watching Heath eat had made me hungry.

“Have fun,” the werewolf offered with a cheerful smile.

Tabitha didn’t say a word. But then, I hadn’t expected her to.

I detoured to my room to collect Ricky. He was still snoring on the carpet where I’d dumped him. I scooped him back into the spice bottle without him so much as opening an eye.

The day was bright. The few clouds dotting the sky were big, white, and puffy. I leaned against a bridge railing for a bit and just watched them as they piled into different shapes. But then I started to feel my need to feed, so I headed for the crowded piazzas for lunch.

My mood perked up. The sun was up, and that meant that vampires weren’t going to be running around. I could relax and enjoy Venice some.

It didn’t take long to settle into my role of tourist—well, a mana-sucking tourist, anyway. I passed the hours partaking of a variety of mana and appreciating the sights of historical Venice with Ricky snoring in my pocket.

By the time late afternoon arrived, I was full and ready to return to the villa before the sun set and I risked finding myself face-to-face with Dorian. My thoughts wandered as I trudged back through the narrow alleys. The room filled with marionettes suddenly came to mind. Did Lucian really have that many voodoo dolls? Perhaps, I could just sneak up there and see what the imp was talking about. After all, it was Ricky and he was drunk at the time—not the most reliable source of information in either case.

Flirting with the idea of snooping, I hurried back and found—much to my delight—that the villa was deserted. But I’d just placed a foot on the first step of the staircase when I heard voices outside of the front door and both Tabitha and Heath entered.

Neither looked inclined to chitchat—so, I gave them a friendly wave and closeted myself in my room.

I could wait. I’d check out the marionettes later.

With a yawn, I sprawled out on my bed. My stomach was pleasantly full. And deciding that a little extra sleep was just the thing I needed, I closed my eyes.

But this time, the night was a restless one.

Several times, I woke with the distinct feeling I was being watched. Twice, I could have sworn something hovered on the ceiling, but it darted away before I could be sure.

Sometime past midnight, I heard my name.

Cassidy.

The soft burr of a Scottish accent couldn’t be missed.

Dorian.

I buried my head in my pillows, but of course, it made little difference.

Again, I saw the suitcase of voodoo dolls with my mind’s eye. It was pretty obvious what he wanted. But even though I didn’t feel inclined to betray Dorian to the others, I didn’t feel particularly motivated to help him, either.

His whispering lasted for a few hours. Persistent. Continuous. After a bit, I got up and swore out the window at him, but he only chuckled in response.

Finally, dawn broke and he was gone.

Dark circles ringed my eyes the next morning. After such a night, I wanted mana, and I wanted it badly. I didn’t even bother telling Heath and Tabitha goodbye. I just stalked out the front door.

The day passed in much the same manner as the day before.

At first, anyway.

Lunchtime found me wandering around Piazza San Marco—illegally feeding bread to the pigeons behind the backs of the poliziotti—when I noticed the flash of a red cloak. It tuned me into the fact that Tabitha was following me. I mean, really? Tailing in a red cloak? She obviously didn’t care if I discovered her

Now aware that I was being shadowed, it didn’t take long for me to catch Heath at it, too. He was more discreet than Tabitha, but he was still pretty bad at it.

They trailed me the entire day. And when I returned to the villa, they arrived a few minutes later, just like before.

So, they’d probably done it the day before as well.

I wondered why; were they bored? No, most likely they had orders from Lucian to do it because he thought I was a Terzi mole.

Irritated, I retired to my room without even speaking.

As I entered the lavender room, it suddenly dawned on me that I probably had been watched last night.

No doubt, Tabitha had hung there on the ceiling, her little beady lizard eyes glued to me the entire night. Or, perhaps she’d used her invis-ability on me. The thought was disturbing, to say the least.

The following night was even worse than the previous one. I never saw Tabitha hunched on the ceiling—but I did hear Dorian yammering my name in my head all night, along with more vivid and zoomed-in images of the suitcase. I guess he figured I was dense. He kept at it with repeated urgency, but I only ignored him.

As the first rays of sun broke the horizon, I donned a pair of ripped jean shorts and a tank top. Dumping Ricky out of my boot, I stomped into the kitchen, ragged with exhaustion and determined to confront my amateur snoops.

A moment later, Tabitha and Heath entered the kitchen behind me. Cripes, they were really bad at this.

“Where’s Lord Rowle? Is he back yet?” Smiling at their lack of awareness, I feigned blissful ignorance. “It’s really crucial I speak with him about something.”

Tabitha shrugged. “We’re merely supposed to wait,” she replied unhelpfully.

“And do what?” I asked pointedly. “Continue to take in the Venetian sights while you both spy on me all day long? Yes, I’m well aware that I’m your suspicious little pet project.”

They both looked at me in mild astonishment. I didn’t wait for them to explain themselves. I just rolled my eyes and left the villa.

I was done. Finito.

After grabbing breakfast, I’d pack my suitcase and head to the airport. I’d demand my payment from Lucian via email or something, because I was done hanging around in Venice just to be used as a pawn or thought of as a traitor. With every day that passed, it became clearer to me that I had no business getting mixed up in a vendetta centuries old. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be resolved anytime soon.

It was still morning, but it was already getting hot. At times, I found the stench from the canals almost eye-wateringly unbearable.

I was halfway to Rialto Bridge before I remembered I’d left Ricky in my room. Oh well, I was going to leave, anyway. He could take dust baths in turmeric all day long if he wanted.

The tourists were out in force that day.

I stood there for a moment, simply recovering from the horrendous night and inhaling the delectable mana scents floating my way.

A young couple. I headed towards them before I realized they were hungover. My face fell in disappointment. I never partook of subpar mana. It would only make me sick. I chose the next best thing to honeymooners: A backpacker. I consumed a bit and then closed my eyes in momentary bliss as I turned away.

Right into Lucian.

A moment of acute anxiety flooded me. Had he just seen me?

Feigning surprise, I was about to make some snarky comment when he gave a rough laugh and breathed in my ear. “And what are you up to—rendezvousing with your Terzi handlers?”

I scowled and stepped back.

But then all hell broke loose.

Pain coursed through me. I was glued to the spot just like I’d grabbed some high-voltage—and then some—line that cemented my fate to be burnt into a crisp. I couldn’t move. Even my vampire-like strength failed me. Burning pain overwhelmed me. I couldn’t even cry tears of agony.

I was helpless.

A strong arm snagged me by the waist, and I was yanked away so hard that for several long moments, I couldn’t breathe.

Finally, I managed to suck in a huge, wavering gasp of air.

Dark hair brushed my cheek. Lucian. Lucian had rescued me. I hung there like a limp doll in his arms, incapable of moving and utterly confused.

His face registered shocked confusion as well, but for an entirely different reason. “You really aren’t working for them,” he said in a tone of outright astonishment.

I could hardly understand him. My brain felt numb, along with my entire body.

“Hey, need some help?” A few concerned tourists headed our way.

With an easy laugh, Lucian brushed them aside. “She’s had just a bit too much,” he called back with a reassuring smile.

Their concern turned into disgust. One of them muttered it wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but they obligingly moved away.

Lucian took the opportunity to seize me by the waist and toss me over his shoulder, quickly navigating through the crowds and into a relatively deserted alley. Finding a covered porch, he set me down and knelt by my side.

“A moment,” he promised in a soft murmur. “You’ll feel better in a moment.”

Feel? I wanted to shout at him that the fact I couldn’t feel was the problem, but I couldn’t move my lips.

A faint blue light glowed between his cupped hands. It grew into the size of a golf ball before he reached over and dropped it on my forehead.

At once, the numbness disappeared only to be replaced by cramping pain, ringing ears, and blurred vision. I gasped. What had he done? Numbness was far superior to the horrendous pain I felt now.

It took a few moments, but the symptoms passed, leaving me feeling weak and drained. Shaking, I glanced down at myself. My palms were blistered and my knees bloodied. I looked exactly like I felt.

Rattled, I turned on Lucian but pulled up short. He had collapsed against the iron porch railing, agony written upon his handsome face.

“Are you ok?” I asked, grabbing his arm. “What is it? What happened?”

He opened his eyes. After several steadying breaths, he appeared to regain control. “It’s a Terzi hex net,” he informed me in a hiss, pressing a finger against his carved lips for silence. “It’s broken, for now.”

I frowned. A hex net? He looked as drained as I felt. Who knew curses were such painful business. No wonder he had rock-hard abs. I opened my mouth to ask more about the hex net when he rose to his feet.

“We have to get out of here,” he warned in a low voice. “It’s coming again.”

I struggled to my feet, still overwhelmed by fatigue. There was no doubt what he meant by it. And I, for one, wasn’t too keen to experience the Terzi hex net again.

He grabbed my hand and, pulling me after him, set off down the cobbled street at a rapid pace.

Several times, he suddenly reeled back or turned at a sharp angle. I suppose anyone watching us would have thought us both intoxicated, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be caught.

Suddenly, he whirled into an arched door and scooped me against his chest. Weaving his hand rapidly in the air in some kind of spell, he ordered, “Hold still. Don’t move. Not one sound. Your life depends upon it.”

I didn’t even ask. I saw it this time.

I smelled it.

Fingers of light—almost invisible—washing over the ground we’d just covered. It was mana, but it was mixed, infused with a thousand scents. I hadn’t been able to distinguish it from the mix of the crowd around me the first time, but I knew that I’d never be able to forget that particular combination of scents ever again.

The fingers formed a web as they moved, sliding up the walls, slinking our way. I scarcely dared to breathe. It was all I could do to keep from screaming bloody murder as the fingers of light slipped up my leg and inched slowly up my back to entwine in my hair before migrating over to do the same to Lucian.

I stood as still as a statue. I could feel a bead of sweat roll down my forehead.

Seeking and wriggling in all directions, the fingers poked and prodded, but whatever spell Lucian had cast held. Apparently, he’d rendered them blind.

It took a disturbingly long time before they melted away to continue their journey down the narrow alley before ultimately disappearing into the stew of tourists a few blocks away.

Lucian didn’t move.

I didn’t either.

We stood there, silent. Fatigued. I could feel him pressed against me, legs, hips and chest. In any other circumstances, I would have enjoyed it. Now, I was just grateful I’d escaped what seemed like an excruciating fate.

It seemed eons before he finally moved.

I stepped back. Reluctantly. “What was that?” I asked and then gasped.

Painful spasms surged through me once more. I would have collapsed if he hadn’t caught me again.

“It’ll take a bit,” he said. “It comes and goes in waves, but each wave will be shorter. It’s the numbness that’s deadly.”

Figures. In the Charmed world, apparently things were opposite. In the human world such pain usually meant death.

I scowled. “So, what’s this Terzi hex net?” I demanded, wanting to understand the root of my ills.

“You’re really not one of them,” he repeated, shaking his head in wonder. “They’re hunting for you. I can feel them pushing against the wards. Looking for the tiniest hole.”

“You really are something,” I said then, allowing sarcasm to fill my voice. “Did you really hire me, thinking I worked for your enemy?”

Lucian merely shrugged. “Enemies are best kept close,” he said, but he sounded distracted. Extremely distracted.

“Yeah, keep your friends close but your enemies closer,” I muttered.

“Why did you do it, then?” Lucian asked me suddenly. “Why? If you don’t work for the Terzi?”

I blinked, a little startled. “Do what?” I asked, drawing a complete blank.

He obviously thought I was playing dumb. I could see the contempt in his gorgeous eyes, but apparently he wanted to know the answer bad enough to explain, “The assassination attempt at the mall.”

Assassination attempt? He thought my mana-tapping had been an attempt to kill him? I suppose my astonishment was so genuine that even he was forced to believe me.

“Then, it’s all some strange coincidence,” he muttered under his breath as if unaware he’d spoken aloud. He looked completely dumbfounded as he asked, “And you chose to work for me … why?”

“Why else? I have rent to pay,” I answered a bit acidly.

I was confused. What game had this warlock been playing? Apparently, it wasn’t at all what I’d thought.

But the talk of money suddenly reminded me of my contract, and after that Terzi hex net, I was doubly glad that I’d already made up my mind to leave.

“Yeah, and speaking of payment,” I continued. “I’m done. I’ve completed my part. It’s my turn. Give me my information and I’m out of here.”

His dark brows elevated appreciatively before colliding into each other in annoyance. Glaring down at me, he said a single word, “No.”

And with that, he spun on his heel and walked away.

What Am I?

I didn’t follow Lucian. I was angry and far too weak. I had to feed before I chased after him and demanded my pay. Spasms of pain came and went, each wave draining me of the mana that I’d accumulated in the past few days.

Whatever else the Terzi hex net was designed to do, it clearly rendered its victims powerless to fight back. But now that I knew what it smelled like, I was confident I could avoid it, even in the crowded streets of Venice.

I knew why they were searching for me. It had to be Dorian’s handiwork. He wanted that suitcase, and he’d decided that I was the perfect minion to deliver it.

Well, he didn’t know Cassidy Edwards. I was hardly one to be threatened into cooperation.

With a defiant snort, I headed down the alley in the opposite direction Lucian had taken. My muscles protested at times, cramping enough to make me wince, but for the most part, I managed to ignore the pain.

I fed on the first knot of people I encountered. They weren’t the best quality—one had high blood pressure and the other a sore throat—but in the state I was in, I couldn’t be choosey. I’d just have to suffer the inevitable nausea that followed when eating such junk food.

To my dismay, the mana didn’t last very long. Almost at once, a new wave of pain rolled over me and as it left, it took the mana I’d just consumed with it. Cripes. Apparently, the Terzi hex net drained mana. It looked like I was destined for a few hours of frenzied dining.

Fortunately, it was the height of tourist season. No one batted an eyelash as I jostled through the crowd. And now that I’d seen firsthand what ripe hunting grounds major tourist traps really were, I wondered if I should indulge in a world tour.

Several times, I smelled the Terzi hex net headed my way, but I avoided it easily enough. I escaped through the crowd, but I crossed my fingers, hoping that the Terzi didn’t have any other tricks up their sleeves.

I’d just enjoyed a nip of a jolly busking violinist when hard fingers gripped both of my shoulders.

I didn’t even have time to wonder who it was.

“You’re dangerous,” Lucian’s low voice accused. “No one—not even the Night Terrors—can extract mana from the heart chakra. No one.”

I froze.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued, twirling me around. His eyes pinned mine with an almost maniacal gleam. “This changes everything. Everything.”

I didn’t think so. I wasn’t about to just roll over and give up. Attempting to salvage the situation, I tossed my chin and said, “You’re making little sense again, Lord Rowle. Perhaps, you’re suffering an ill side-effect—”

“You need more training,” he cut in, ignoring me. “We need to see just how far you can exercise this control over what you consume.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me after him.

I was getting tired of being yanked around like one of his voodoo dolls. I tried to wrench my hand free, but he really was stronger than me. It made me wonder just how strong he was. Could he even be stronger than a Chosen One?

Half-tripping at times, I found myself coerced into following him across a nearby piazza and into a shop.

A marionette shop.

The place smelled like cedar. Marionettes and puppets of all sizes and kinds filled every nook and cranny. A kaleidoscope of colors. But there were no customers.

The place was empty except for an old man at a worktable near the cash register carving what looked like a future leg. He glanced up as we entered but upon seeing Lucian, just nodded and returned to his task.

I stared at all the stringed dolls—hundreds of them—hanging from the ceiling, as Lucian pulled me into a small room in the back.

“What’s with the dolls?” I asked once we’d entered.

Lucian rounded on me. He looked utterly insane. He was clearly a man driven by demons. It was his eyes. They were bright and beautiful, yet gleaming with the mien of an unhinged man. He hovered over me, tall, lean, and powerful, rubbing his fingers together like some dastardly cartoon antagonist.

Completely ignoring my question, he asked in excitement, “Just how much control do you have over it?”

I gave a nervous laugh. “You’re crazy,” I said, backing away.

Anger descended over him at once. Lowering his voice, he threatened, “Tell me or suffer the consequences. Need I remind you that you’re still under contract? I know what I saw. I followed you for several hours. I couldn’t believe it. You withdraw mana from the heart chakra, just as you attempted with me at our first meeting.”

Yeah. I’d already regretted that. I had the feeling that I was only going to regret it more as time passed.

Lucian was still talking, but his voice had dropped into a whisper. “You withdraw mana and consume it—in unholy amounts. And through the heart chakra. The mythical mana. Mana too pure, too powerful to be used,”he said the words in tones of the utmost reverence. “Even the Night Terrors can’t get near it. Yet somehow, and most incredibly, you feed off of it, and your victims scarcely notice. By what mystery do you harvest this fabled energy?”

I held still. Crud, cripes, and hex it all, he really had found out my secret. There was no denying it. But suddenly, I didn’t care. Not because it was hopeless. Far from it. Surprisingly, it was the opposite. As crazy as he appeared, he apparently knew an awful lot more about me than I knew about myself.

How?

I asked him precisely that. “How do you know this?”

He cocked a brow, but I couldn’t tell why. “How do you control it?” he challenged in turn.

Guessing I wouldn’t be getting any answers unless I answered first, I took the bait, “Control it? You just don’t get it, do you? I eat mana just like you eat food. Do you control the pancakes and coffee you have for breakfast, or do you just eat them?”

A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes. “Oh, it’s so much more than that, Cass,” he said. “You’ve learned how to not kill your victims. Do you know how you do that?”

My patience was wearing thin. And the ‘Cass’ didn’t help. “Yeah.” I shrugged. “I just take a little.”

Lucian gave a deep laugh, ripe with astonishment. “You truly don’t know what you are, do you? It’s impossible to take just a little from the heart chakra. It’s worse than cutting the jugular vein.” He stared at me, incredulously.

“And just how would you know all this if it’s so fabled?” I asked suspiciously.

There was a moment of silence.

I broke it by prompting, “Are you going to explain, or what?”

He gave me a charmingly condescending smile before he suddenly leaned close and murmured, “Why should I?”

This wasn’t panning out like I’d wanted. I’d wanted information from him. I hadn’t planned on gifting him knowledge of my unusual dieting habits.

With a scowl, I retorted, “Because you’re my boss! You’re obligated to help me by contract!” I didn’t remember every word of that ill-fated, self-writing agreement, but I did recall him stating his obligation to protect me—or something along those lines, anyway.

Disappointment flickered across his face. My response wasn’t what he was looking for. Becoming distant all at once, he just said, “We’ll continue this later, in safer surroundings.”

He turned as if to move, but I grabbed his forearm, stopping him. “What am I?” I asked hoarsely.

I guess he heard the genuine desperation in my voice.

“I really don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “But theories abound regarding the heart chakra. Some believe that if the mana is drained from the heart chakra, the soul collapses into utter destruction. Annihilation. Even of Chosen Ones.”

Great. Soul-annihilation capability—a skill that every girl dreams of.

All at once, I recalled those who had withered away under my touch as a child. Had I annihilated their souls? Or had my mother’s vampirism at least saved them from that horrific fate?

I felt nauseated and took a deep, fortifying breath

He still stood there. I felt his taut muscles under my fingertips. Dreading his reply, I asked, “Is … there more?”

I got the distinct impression that there was, but he wasn’t about to share it anytime soon. He just asked, “Isn’t that enough?”

The Client

Tabitha met Lucian at the villa door. Pulling his dark head down, she whispered in his ear.

His shoulders went rigid.

So much for me discovering anything else for now. I didn’t even wait for him to make some flimsy excuse before slipping away. I just shoved past him and made for my room.

Ricky wasn’t there. Dimly, I wondered where he’d gone off to.

I cleaned up and slipped into one of my black catsuits as a kind of depression fell over me.

I felt lost.

As if caught in a dream, I wandered to my window and, opening the curtains, stared out unseeing. On some level, I was aware of the sinking sun, but it wasn’t until darkness arrived in full force that I shook myself from my stupor.

Where had the time gone? It seemed as if only minutes had passed.

Suddenly, I wanted to be gone. No doubt, Dorian would show up soon. I didn’t want to be there when he did. At this point, I’d even rather suffer with Tabitha’s company than hear that voice calling my name. I didn’t stop to analyze why. I knew I wouldn’t acknowledge the answer.

I strode through the villa, looking for company, but the place was deserted. Even the inner courtyards. I waited for a bit, but when nothing moved—save the hands on the ticking clock—I eventually found myself at the bottom of the stairs.

Maybe now was as good a time as any to bop upstairs and check out that room Ricky had mentioned.

In a moment, I made up my mind and in the next, I’d flashed up the stairs to hover in front of the door directly opposite of Lucian’s bedroom.

From the outside, it didn’t look special. Reaching out, I jiggled the handle.

Locked.

“Hex it!” I swore, my temper a bit rawer than usual.

“What’s up, love?” Ricky giggled in my ear.

Startled, I jumped. I hadn’t felt him land on my shoulder. But then, he was smoke. Mildly irritated, I brushed him off like he was some sort of bug.

“Blimey, you’re the touchy sort,” Ricky observed, reconstructing himself on the floor. Bouncing up the wall like some kind of monkey made of smoke, he peered at the doorknob inquisitively.

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Locked,” I sighed, moving to leave.

“Ah, righto then!” he said, rubbing his gangly black fingers together.

Before I could respond, he dove headfirst into the keyhole, sucking himself through it like a strand of angel hair pasta.

A moment later, the door clicked and creaked open with Ricky swinging from the knob like it was some kind of monkey bar at the park. He grinned and chortled, “Wheeeee!”

I smiled back. I couldn’t help it. “You have your uses …” I began, but then my voice trailed away.

Marionettes. Shelves of them. Every wall lined at least five shelves tall.

Ricky had told the truth.

The room was a large one with a single window opposite the door. A luxurious Persian carpet covered the floor. Every corner was crammed with trunks and hatboxes. Strangely, the place smelled like lemons.

Cautiously, I stepped inside, closing the door behind me with a click. I’d never seen such an extensive collection of dolls—of any kind, actually. I don’t know if anyone ever had. All shapes and sizes. All ages. All professions. Doctors. Circus performers. A significant number of businessmen. Quite a few women in evening gowns. A priest. A mechanic in greasy overalls.

Was this Lucian’s strange hobby or something more sinister? Wanting to know, I took a deep, a very deep, breath.

Mana.

Faint traces.

So, the dolls were spelled, or … cursed?

Fascinated, I reached out to touch the nearest one: a plump matronly figure with a huge nose and purple hair.

Voices.

I froze.

Voices ascending the stairs, heading my way.

I glanced around, looking for a place to hide. Fortunately, there were more than a few choices. Darting to the corner, I squeezed myself behind several antique iron-banded trunks and waved for Ricky to join me.

To my relief, he obliged and, skittering after me, hopped up onto my shoulder to perch like the ghost of a parrot.

The voices grew louder, rising as if in anger. I strained to hear, but I couldn’t quite make out the words.

A moment later, light flickered under the door, and the knob moved.

Lucian entered, carrying the suitcase.

He was followed by a distinguished-looking man in his thirties, of medium height and build. A classic Italian face. Large Roman nose. Square chin. Dark hair. A slightly receding hairline. An air of danger swirled around him.

I smelled him at once, a strangely familiar scent, even though I was certain I’d never encountered it before. The thread of death couldn’t be denied. He was a Chosen One.

I stared at him, but the more I stared, the more a nagging thought grew that just maybe I’d heard his voice somewhere else before.

But where?

Lucian interrupted my puzzled thoughts by tossing the suitcase onto the floor. Turning to face the vampire, he folded his arms and adopted a belligerent stance.

“She’s already in danger of becoming essential,” he said in a voice of cool contempt. “That isn’t an option, and it wasn’t the point. Simply put, you never told me of her existence. And she shouldn’t even exist at all. How did she survive? I wouldn’t have risked it if I’d known. I wouldn’t have accepted the job. As dark as I am, I don’t murder children!”

“You forget yourself. Remember, I made you what you are,” the Chosen One replied coldly. “Do you think to question my motives?”

Lucian’s jaw clenched. He was angry. Livid, actually, but firmly in control. In a voice of the softest, most deadly kind, he continued, “You’re foolish if you don’t see the betrayal. And the results. It was too close. I had no defense. I could easily have been destroyed. I was barely able to activate the wards in time. A mere second later, and I would’ve been dead. When a curse returns to its master, there is no stronger or deadlier power—especially when the warlock is defenseless.” He couldn’t have stressed the words more.

The vampire didn’t care. He just yawned and wandered over to poke a few marionettes before pausing in front of the puppet of the priest and running a finger over its head. The vampire smiled—a disingenuous smile. Turning to Lucian, he said, “Then you would’ve simply proven yourself too weak to survive, Lucian. A warlock of your stature must handle the unexpected. How else can you prepare for Terzi attacks? I dare say they’re not in the habit of informing you first, are they?”

He chuckled at his own wit.

The muscle on Lucian’s jaw twitched. “You’re missing the point,” he almost growled. “If you withhold such things, how can I trust you? How do I know you’ve not changed your mind?” He suddenly advanced on the vampire and challenged, “Will you join the Terzi? Have you decided to embrace your Gloria once again?”

The vampire jerked and his chin trembled. “Gloria!” he shouted the name, outraged. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath before adding in a slightly lower voice, “Never speak her name. Not in my presence. Never. Never again.”

Lucian didn’t appear too intimidated. He tapped his fingers on his arms impatiently. “I understand you better than you think, my friend,” he murmured softly. “I’m no fool. I know why you used me to commission her. Why you had her turn your … shall we say, plaything?”

The Chosen One merely shrugged, but he looked a little less smug. “My reasons are hardly secret, you foolish boy.” He gave a laugh, but it sounded a little shaky, even to my ears. “One day, you’ll learn that a lover spurned presents a danger like no other. I couldn’t turn her myself. She would have become a part of my clan—would have linked minds and shared our thoughts. As an immortal, that would have been beyond foolish.”

Linked minds?

That little sentence revealed a wealth of information.

Could it be that only Chosen Ones of the same clan could link minds? But what did that say about the fact that Dorian had willy-nilly access of mine? Could I be a part of his clan? I was so startled at the implication that I nearly missed their next exchange.

“The portrait I’ve promised in payment is here in Venice,” The Chosen One said. “I will tell you its location once I have Dorian in my hands. I am waiting, but I have little patience left, Lucian. Do what I’ve paid you to do, already, and do it with haste!”

I blinked, surprised again.

So, this vampire was Lucian’s client, and his pay was the location of a portrait. No wonder Lucian was poor. But then, Ricky had told me that curse-masters used objects, sometimes portraits. Maybe a possessed portrait was worth a small fortune in the Charmed world. Still, it would be hard to pay the rent with it.

I glanced down at Ricky still perched on my shoulder but discovered he was distracted, his eyes focused on the window.

Alarmed, I followed his gaze to see the silhouette of a cat.

Great.

Esmeralda. Did she know I was there? Just what had she seen?

Suddenly and irreverently shoving the marionette he’d been stroking aside, Lucian’s employer clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the warlock. “Dorian is dangerous—ancient and powerful. And you are young, a child in my eyes, and consumed with revenge. Your power is still an unknown,” he observed dryly. “At times, I wonder if you’re truly up to this challenge.”

Lucian didn’t flinch. “Underestimate me as you please,” he replied with a grim smile. Waving his hand to the door, he bowed. “After you?”

They left then, closing the door behind them, but I didn’t move.

My eyes were locked on Esmeralda’s shadowy figure crouched on the windowsill. That cat could get me into a lot of trouble. Maybe, if I held very still, she wouldn’t detect me and …

Ricky shattered that hope.

I watched in horror as he hopped off my shoulder and skittered across the carpet, screaming at the top of his miniature lungs, “Esmeraldaaaaaaaa!”

I gasped. Why, oh why, hadn’t I crammed that little fiend back into his bottle the first chance I had?

In an instant, Esmeralda transformed from turkey-perched peacenik into a black fury devil of teeth and claws. Spitting fiercely, she lunged off the windowsill and pounced on Ricky, knocking him flat onto the carpet.

He screeched.

Before I knew it, I’d lunged into the fray. “Don’t hurt him!” I hissed in warning.

I needn’t have worried. I clearly hadn’t thought this one through. Ricky was made of smoke. How could he be harmed by teeth and claws?

But I didn’t realize it until Ricky sifted himself through Esmeralda’s paws and mouth, and reassembled on top of her head with crossed arms and legs, and rolling eyes.

“You’re a bit gormless—on the dense-side, eh, love?” he asked with his adenoidal giggle. “I had her distracted. It was your cue to escape.”

I thinned my lips in annoyance. “Nice job on giving me the heads up,” I scolded.

Esmeralda pinned her ears down and growled deep in her throat.

I eyed her with a wary expression. Her back was arched, her fur raised. She looked just like one of those black cats pictured in Halloween candy advertisements, only much more dangerous and decidedly more evil.

We stood there a few moments at an impasse, but then I heard voices once again.

The doorknob jiggled.

I didn’t hesitate.

In a flash, I dove for the window. Yanking it up, I tossed my leg over the sill and dropped down into the inner courtyard below.

The Silver Swing and the Dog-Eared Book

Hugging the villa’s rough stone walls, I headed for a set of French doors just a few yards away. They were open, and in the bright moonlight, their long white curtains billowed softly in the evening breeze.

I managed to slip inside just as Lucian called out from the window above, “Who is it? Who’s there?”

Like I was going to answer that one—voluntarily, anyway. No doubt, that dark-hearted beast of a cat had already informed the warlock of what I’d done. And I had no doubt he’d be furious. The only thing that kept me from leaving the house that very moment was Dorian. Doubtless, the kilt-wearing vampire was already waiting for me outside by the canal—and not to give me a handy ride to the airport.

Bumbling through the dark room, I headed for the thread of light running under the door and soon burst out into the hallway. I squinted, taking in unfamiliar surroundings. Just how big was this villa? Or was this a different one?

Well, I couldn’t chance that Lucian had followed. I charged down the hall, but when I heard a sound behind me, I ducked through the nearest door.

It was a library of some kind. No windows. The books that filled the shelves were leather-bound tomes, but the room itself was ultra-modern. It looked like something you’d see on a spaceship from Planet Bizarro World. A red-velvet chair in the shape of a hand. A fern in a metallic pot. Various red carpets dotted the cork floor. But most interestingly, in the very center of the room, hung a large round silver swing—like a gigantic, hollowed-out coin dangling in the midst.

I heaved a breath, intending to place my ear to the door to determine if I’d been followed, but I suddenly lost interest in everything.

Something was in the room—something beckoning me. Calling me. Pulling me.

I held still and focused.

There it was.

Soft. Delicate, with a thread of death. The trace of a familiar scent. A complex mixture that reminded me of my mother, the buried Terzi in the plague grave, and strangely, Lucian’s employer.

Slowly, carefully, I let my nose guide me and followed the trail.

It led to a book, of all things—a large, blue, dog-eared tome with gold embossing. A tree with winding roots ran over its cover and down the spine. Pulling it off the shelf, I hefted it once or twice before thumbing rapidly through the pages. I didn’t recognize the language; it was some archaic-looking script. However, in the middle of the book, I found an interesting illustration of a round silver swing, identical to the one suspended in the room I was in now. Odd. But most likely, whoever had read the book had loved the idea so much that they’d just copied it.

Hurriedly, I flipped to the last page. A dedication: To Gloria, the love of my life … Eternally Yours, Emilio.

I gasped, nearly dropping the volume.

Emilio?

Was it the Emilio I sought? And Gloria? Hadn’t Lucian just mentioned that name?

I sniffed the pages, but before I could resume reading, hands reached over my shoulder to pluck the book from my grasp.

“You’re not allowed in here,” Lucian’s deep, brusque voice rumbled in my ear.

Crud. Was I ever going to get used to the fact I couldn’t smell him? I wasn’t used to being surprised. And how had he snuck inside? I hadn’t heard the door open.

“This isn’t upstairs,” I responded in my defense. Thinking quickly, I added, “And I needed to find a book.”

His piercing eyes looked down on me, filled with suspicion as he hugged the blue book tightly to his chest. Bending down and practically planting his face in mine, he challenged, “A book? What book?”

Ricky chose that moment to slip under the door. Bless him, the little louse. Time to throw Lucian a curveball.

Pointing to my errant sidekick, I replied in a brassy tone, “I’m looking for something like An Idiot’s Guide to Managing Imps with Addictions. It’s your fault, you know, saddling me with this cheap bargain imp.”

Irritation flickered across his face. Good. Irritation was better than suspicion of the truth.

As he turned to the books, I escaped his immediate vicinity and headed for the huge silver swing suspended from the ceiling by a single chain. It was odd to have an indoor swing in a library, but it was surprisingly fun. I’d just hooked my booted heel on a comfortable angle when a paw slid around the door and Esmeralda pushed herself in.

Flicking her tail, she sent me a wicked feline grin.

Apprehension filled me at once. Had she told on me?

I shot Lucian a quick glance, but he was busily searching through the books. When I glanced back at Esmeralda, I could almost hear her snickering.

She was toying with me and definitely enjoying it.

For a brief moment, I entertained the idea of picking her up and tossing her outside. But I quickly set that thought aside. I only had two hands. She had four claw-filled paws and sharp fangs. Mathematically, I was outnumbered.

Instead, I decided not to play her nasty little game. I sent her my most disarming smile and then turned away. She could engage in whatever cat-terror techniques she wished, but I simply wouldn’t be intimidated. I really didn’t have a choice, anyway, but she didn’t need to know that.

From the corner of my eye, I could see her ears flick down, and as she made a beeline for Lucian, I decided to pounce first.

“So, this is as good a time as any to tell you I’m done, Lord Rowle,” I announced boldly, adopting my huskiest, smokiest voice—the one that had never failed to secure what I wanted from a male specimen. I smiled. “The contract is finished, and I must be heading home now. I’m sure you’ll understand if I ask for my remuneration now. It’s the best for everyone.”

“No,” came his curt reply.

So much for the husky-voiced attempt at nicety. Apparently, he was the one straight male immune to it. Figured.

Irritated, I retorted, “But it’s time you deliver on your end. I found your Terzi vampires. I’ve done what you’ve asked of me—that spell-finder detection stuff or whatever you call it. What about my information? What of Emilio?”

Selecting a slim, tan-leather book, he faced me with his lip curled up on one side. “Why this obsession with Emilio?” he asked softly.

I hesitated, but then answered honestly enough, “Revenge.” Revenge was something he could understand.

The look he gave me was a long, calculating one. He advanced on me, slowly. Each step as measured as the look in his pale, piercing eyes. Upon reaching me, he tossed the book into my lap and, gripping the swing on either side of its round frame, effectively caged me in.

Attraction, pure and simple. It oozed from every cell of his handsome, lean body. There was only one thought racing through my mind. What would kissing him feel like?

My eyes lingered on his carved lips before dipping over his tantalizing jawline and up to his eyelashes, exceptionally long ones.

Slowly, I met his gaze.

Again, the sensual gleam in his eye. There was no doubting it.

Just what was it between us?

He hovered there, inches from me. It was all I could do to keep from running my hands over his torso.

And then, just as abruptly as before, the spell shattered.

With a twisting jerk of his body, he unexpectedly turned away from me.

“Out!” he thundered, pointing at the door and not even bothering to look over his shoulder at me.

Unhinged—that’s what he was. An unstable, unhinged, and most likely mad warlock.

Snagging the book, I clipped the words, “Good night, Lord Lucian Rowle.”

I only left because I wanted to.

Imps 101

Once in the relative safety of my bedroom, I decided that Lucian was better dealt with in the morning. I still had a lot of unanswered questions. In addition to the subject of my contract and pay, I would like to know if he knew more about my-controlling-mana thing.

And what about what I’d overheard in the marionette room? The Chosen Ones ability to link minds, and how Dorian could link with mine. Not that I could ask Lucian about it without revealing I’d been there—that’s if Esmeralda hadn’t already spilled the beans.

But I didn’t want to press the matter. Not right now. Not with the way things tended to spiral into the sensual so quickly. It was odd. Unnatural, maybe. Was it some kind of spell?

With a scowl, I clenched my teeth and gave a growl of frustration.

The mysteries of the Charmed world only grew more each day.

Plopping down onto my bed with the tan-covered book, I read the title: Imps 101 – A Beginner’s Guide to Handling Imps.

I drew a quick breath. So, Lucian knew I didn’t have a clue.

Curious, I skimmed the pages. The book was a treasure trove of imp trivia. They detested dogs, pined for human companionship, played with human emotions, held an insatiable taste for gossip, loved to play in fire, and considered peanuts a rare treat.

The part about fire really didn’t surprise me. Ricky was basically a miniature demon. He was only missing the pitchfork.

The section on addiction was by far the longest chapter in the book. Imps had a long list of weaknesses, everything from mental indulgences to the culinary. Turmeric was one of the worst addictions to break. Few imps were ever motivated to truly quit. Figured. Some of the mental addictions were surprising: Crossword Puzzles, Sudoku, and Poker. I made a mental note never to take Ricky on a plane bound for Las Vegas.

There was only one page devoted to imp skillsets. Actually, it was just a paragraph:

Imps possess a variety of skills that spell-finders find useful. They are accomplished escape artists and reconnaissance gatherers. (Quick Tip: Imps suffering addictions may be enticed to join opposing sides during relapses. Turmeric-addicted imps should never be trusted for this reason. See addiction section.)

I rolled my eyes. Of course, I was partnered with an imp I never should trust. Just what had Lucian been thinking? Expelling my breath, I read the remainder of the paragraph:

In addition, some more advanced imps can detect spells (providing the spell-finder knows how to coax this skill out of his or her imp), and there are rumors that some of the fabled imp Elite Class may be able to protect their masters from a foreseeable curse. But, there are no documented cases of this ever recorded in all the entire history of the Charmed world. There is only a single mention of a single imp doing this for his or her spell-finder, and that imp may, or may not have been, an Elite.

A pair of steady green eyes peered over the top of my book. I jerked, dryly hoping it was just a nightmare, but it wasn’t. Of course, it was Ricky.

“What are you searching for in that?” Ricky asked, adopting an innocent-eyed expression.

“I’m at the part that says you only look out for your own interests,” I lied. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. While the book hadn’t explicitly said it, it sure had implied it plenty of times.

He tried to look at the page.

I slammed the book shut, accidently catching his fingers.

“Ouch!” he started out yelling but ended in a whisper. He pinned his ears down. He looked lost. Forlorn.

I almost fell for it. “Oh, is this the playing with human emotions ploy?” I called him out.

He gave a long, loud sigh. “It seems like it was only yesterday that you trusted me…”

“It was,” I interrupted. “Guilt trips don’t work on me. Especially fake ones.”

He glared at me with burning, reproachful eyes.

Ignoring him, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, intending to search for flights home, but I was greeted by a message pointing out that I was almost all out of space and should clean up my Camera Roll.

I frowned, puzzled.

I wasn’t much of a photographer. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever having snapped a picture. Distracted, I touched the photos icon.

Pictures. Thousands of them. Ricky-selfies. Apparently, he’d spent his free time fascinated with his own reflection. The guide would have to be updated in the next version: Imps—may be addicted to taking selfies like a teenager.

“And I thought you were just sleeping all the time,” I said, shaking my head in annoyance.

He responded with a shrill, nervous giggle.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” I charged, swatting at him with a frown.

“But I’ve been useful!” he was quick to say. “And Esmeralda. I’ve handled her. She won’t tell Lucian about, well, you know.” He pointed a smoke-finger up at the ceiling, indicating the marionette room.

That made me perk up. I raised a questioning brow. “Is she an imp, like you?”

He let out a loud ‘Pah’ and rolled his eyes. “Really, love!”

So we were back to love? So much for sadness and remorse.

“Esmeralda is a true demon,” he hissed in a conspiratorial tone.

I blinked and sat up on my elbow. “Really?” I gasped. Was Esmeralda the true key to Lucian’s power?

“Aye,” Ricky nodded up and down, clearly enjoying my rapt attention. “She’s a … cat.”

I really did swat him then. I kept swatting him until he dispersed into a formless cloud of smoke with just two blinking green eyes and no mouth.

When I finally allowed him to gather himself back together, he looked suitably contrite. “Cats are evil,” he said in his own defense.

I had to grant him that—I wasn’t a cat-lover either—but I wasn’t about to let him know it.

Instead, I opened my mouth to order him to bed—and to never touch my phone again—when there was a sudden sharp rap on my window.

A Kilted Vampire

A prickle of foreboding raced up my spine as the rapping on the window continued.

Ricky dashed under the pillow. I pulled him out by his foot.

“Go check it out,” I directed as the rapping grew louder.

He was my imp, right? Shouldn’t he take a few orders here and there?

I wasn’t about to open the curtains. What if it was Dorian? I didn’t want to risk getting that close to him. He was too much of an unknown for me.

The rapping turned insistent.

“Hurry up!” I flicked Ricky’s butt—or where I thought it was, anyway—with my fingers in the effort to spur him on.

He folded his arms stubbornly. “That’s your job,” he countered. “You’re the leader.”

“Yes, I am,” I grumbled. “And I’m telling you to make a move!”

But Ricky wasn’t one to cooperate so easily. “Lor’ love a duck, if it’s your job to lead, then why are you telling me to do it?” he protested, digging his heels into the bedspread.

“Because it’s your job to follow orders, Ricky.” And I brushed him off the bed and halfway across the room.

He tromped the rest of the way to the curtains like a surly three-year-old. Gripping the bottom of the curtain, he heaved it back—but not much. About an inch.

I only caught a glimpse, but a glimpse was enough.

My lips parted in surprise.

My mother, Blair, twice in a month. Unusual, to say the least. Had she actually followed me to Venice? Why?

Or most likely, who was using her and why?

I could only think of two possibilities.

Emilio or Dorian.

Still, I was at the window in an instant, pointing to my phone. “What do you want?” I mouthed. “What is it? Why didn’t you just call me?”

She shook her head and pointed to the dim streetlight next to the canal. The next moment, she stood there, beckoning me with a crooked finger.

I frowned. Had she lost her phone?

I didn’t think she was really working for the Terzi. After all, she’d warned me of them to save her precious Emilio. And he wasn’t a Terzi. Putting me completely out of the picture, I didn’t think she was going to do anything that risked her relationship with him.

Maybe Lucian had spelled the place and she couldn’t knock on the door like a normal person.

I stood there, weighing my options, but in the end, she was my mother. I owed her a conversation, at least.

“I’ll be back,” I growled at Ricky.

He was mad at me; it was obvious. He sat in the middle of the bed with his long ears flat and his eyes narrowed into slits. He’d get over it. I’d find him some peanuts.

The cobblestones appeared blue in the moonlight as I cautiously eased out of the villa’s front door. My mother waited a little ways off, huddling under the streetlight.

“What is it?” I rasped at her in a hoarse whisper.

She shook her head and waved for me to join her. She couldn’t have been more than fifty feet away. I knew very well that she could hear me.

Exercising caution, I took a deep breath, searching for the slightest hint of mana.

Only Blair’s unique combination filled my nostrils.

It gave me enough confidence to skip down to the bottom porch step. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to come closer to me,” I whisper-shouted.

She cupped an ear to her hand.

I rolled my eyes. So much for playing hardball with my mom. Stomping off the porch, I crossed to where she stood at the canal’s edge.

She looked gorgeous, as usual, in a fashionable cream-colored suit. Plunging neckline. White leather ankle-boots.

“Just what is it?” I demanded in hushed tones. “It’s very dangerous here.”

“I know,” she said quietly, her bronzer and sheer lip gloss reflected the moonlight with every subtle move of her face.

Her voice trembled a little and I peered closer. Despite all her makeup, I could tell her face was paler than usual. Strained. Unhappy. But it was the shadow of sadness in her eyes that caught my attention.

A fatal mistake.

Before I even saw her hands move, she’d lashed out and pushed me into the canal.

I landed in the foul-smelling water with a loud splash. I could swim, but it wasn’t my favorite ‘to-do’ thing. And going swimming at night in a Venetian canal was most definitely not on my bucket list.

Outraged, I sputtered and bobbed to the surface of the reeking canal.

Almost at once, hands reached into the water, pulling me up and out in a single, swift motion.

Strong hands. Many strong hands.

I could smell them all now. Chosen Ones. At least a dozen different scents.

I knew now why Blair hadn’t just called me on the phone. She’d never really wanted to talk. She’d just wanted to entice me out to be caught like some kind of fish.

It was a new low for her, and it hurt.

The instant my feet hit dry ground, someone tossed a dark hood over my head and whisked me away.

It had all happened so quickly that there was no way even Lucian could have saved me.

In seconds, I’d been kidnapped—taken by the Terzi.

The hood covering my head was spelled. I could smell the mana infused into the weave of the cloth. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even open my mouth. Apparently, the hood was designed to keep its victims from crying out for help.

I don’t know how far they carried me. By the force of the wind blowing against my hood, I could tell they moved with incredible speed. Less than a minute later, I was lowered onto my feet and the hood yanked off my head.

A half dozen cloaked figures surrounded me. Chosen Ones. But before I could speak a word, they melted into the surrounding shadows to leave me alone with my mother.

Blair stepped forward to catch my face between her hands.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see that I now stood in a small courtyard ringed with dark trees and a crumbling stone wall. Dark branches obscured the view of the sky, but here and there, I caught patches of stars. It was strangely silent. No sounds of tourists. Not even a cricket.

My mother pressed my cheeks together, squeezing my lips into a fish kiss. It was her way of focusing my attention. I hated it.

“You must do as he commands,” she said, sounding as if she wanted to swallow her words.

“Who?” I spat viciously, furious at her betrayal. “Dorian Ramsey?”

I figured if Dorian could get into my head, he’d probably have no problem getting into my mother’s.

She shivered at the sound of the vampire’s name. She opened her mouth to retort but swiftly clamped it shut again as her eyes locked over my shoulder. An expression of terror crossed her face.

I had no doubt who had just arrived.

A moment later, I smelled him. Strong. Unique. Powerful. I could sense his green eyes boring through the back of my head.

Well, I might was well face him. There was no avoiding it now.

Slowly, I turned on my heel as a figure emerged from the night shadows. I recognized him at once.

Dorian Ramsey.

The tall, ruddy, medieval Scot with impossibly broad shoulders and the brightest green eyes dusted with gold, a green that matched the kilt slung low on his narrow hips.

Overwhelming. Up close, he could only be described as overwhelming.

Crud.

What was it with men from the Charmed world? First, I’d met a warlock as handsome as sin itself. And now, I stood in the presence of a vampire who just might make swooning fashionable again.

I’d refused to acknowledge it before, I could deny it no longer. I’d heard it in his voice the moment it whispered through my mind. I’d known instinctively that he’d be like this: attractive, hypnotic, and more than a bit fascinating.

Could I hold my own? Or would I succumb to his influence and become just another one of his minions?

“At last, we meet properly, lass.” His voice was deep, holding a distinct Scottish brogue.

As he approached me, I wondered how one is to officially greet a vampire.

Handshake? A curtsy? Kissing cheeks—no, surely, that would be a bit too dangerous, placing your neck voluntarily under their nostrils.

I settled for a curt nod of the head.

“I see it wasn't that hard to find you,” I bluffed. I wasn’t about to let this Scottish hunk-of-a-vampire think he had the upper hand.

His eyes seemed to crinkle in amusement, but I couldn’t be sure. He just replied, “But, I never was hiding, lass.”

He’d stopped, so I took the opportunity to approach. Clasping my hands behind my back, I craned my neck from side to side, evaluating him before quipping, “You must be feeling better! You’re looking decidedly morerestored than your picture!” I wondered if he’d understand my reference to the newspaper photo.

He did.

He was definitely sharp.

His square jaw shifted a little, and a distinct twinkle entered his jade-colored eyes this time. “Aye, and you, lass, you’re a bonny one yourself.” This time, he circled me, mimicking my appraisal with his hands locked behind his back. “Feisty. Brazen.” His eyes swept over my catsuit slowly, as if memorizing each of my curves before he added, “Ach, and a wee bit shameless.”

Only a wee bit? For a man from the sixteenth century, he seemed to be adjusting to modern-day customs rather quickly.

Stopping directly in front of me, he bent down until he was eye-level. “And just what manner of creature are you now, might I ask?” he whispered.

My heart thudded. He was a vampire. A real one—not some initiate like my mother hovering nervously behind me. What could I tell him? Surely, he knew I wasn’t really one of them.

Not knowing what to say, I decided to fake it. I simply bared my lips, just enough to show him my useless fangs.

He shrugged. “I recognize my sister’s handiwork. Do you think me a fool?”

Sister? I scowled. What did he mean?

The howl of a wolf rent the night air.

Heath.

Was I going to be rescued? Relief coursed through me, or maybe two-thirds of me. The other third was fascinated and wanted to stay. I didn’t feel in any particular danger. Yes, Dorian was a dangerous vampire, but I actually felt … well, kind of … safe.

Heath howled again.

“They’re coming for me,” I said, searching Dorian’s face for traces of fear.

He didn’t seem too worried. Actually, he appeared only amused. “Daft fool,” he commented in a dry tone. “He’ll have the wretches searching for him now, aye?”

“Wretches?” I repeated, allowing curiosity to overcome me.

“Scalawags,” he answered with a slight frown. At my deepening confusion, he added in rapid succession, “Commoners. Masses. The herd.”

Apparently, the Charmed had quite a few pet names for ordinary humans. I wondered what Lucian called them.

“I get it,” I said, slightly amused in spite of myself. “Sheeple.”

“Sheeple?” he pondered a moment, stroking his chin, and the twinkle reappeared in his eyes. “Now, that’s a name I fancy. Sheeple.”

Yes, he was a powerful vampire—an ally of the Terzi. Someone I’d assumed was an enemy. But he was strangely interesting to talk to. Perhaps because I’d never met anyone from the sixteenth century before—that I knew of, anyway.

Heath howled again. Much closer.

“Shall we, my lady?” Dorian asked, extending a hand.

I didn’t know what to do, but it was moot to strategize because he didn’t give me a chance. Reaching down, he lifted me up and hefted me over a broad, muscled shoulder. And then with unholy speed and exceptional grace, he set off through the streets of Venice so quickly that the buildings passed by in an indistinguishable blur.

Spilling the Beans … and Then Some

Dorian stopped in an eerie dark alley and set me down in the crisp night air. Buildings and trees blocked the sky and any other sources of light so that I could hardly see. It made my hearing overly sensitive. The complaints of a few tipsy tourists searching for their hotel over in the next block rang unusually loud.

At first, by the way his eyes gleamed as he listened to them, I thought Dorian was going to hunt them down for a quick bite. He looked like a greyhound itching to dash away, but then in the wall next to us, a gate unexpectedly creaked open and someone thrust a torch into our faces.

I winced at the sudden light.

“Ach, ye gorbellied gudgeon!” Dorian swore, knocking the newcomer back. “Have a care! ‘Tis not a way to greet a lady.”

The vampire quickly stepped back. “Sorry, ma’am,” he murmured, bowing a hasty apology. He was young, freckle-faced, and of slight build. He looked no more than fifteen, but his fifteenth birthday could have been several hundred years ago.

With a grand sweeping gesture, Dorian signaled me to enter with the polite murmur of, “After you, my lady.”

I ducked through the gate and stepped into a neglected garden. It seemed a tad familiar. Dark trees shadowed the pathway. Weeds grew in the cracks of a broken sidewalk beneath my feet.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim circle of torchlight, I recognized where I was—the old house next to the archaeological dig.

The vampire lad lifted his torch and led us to a side entrance of the house. There was no sign of electricity. The place smelled of mildew and dust. I couldn’t really see much, but torchlight reflecting here and there revealed an interior in worse shape than the unkempt garden outside. I had no doubt that the entire property should be condemned.

We ascended an ancient staircase with creaking steps to take a sharp left before entering a small, windowless room. A fire crackled on the hearth, its smoke hanging in the air to give the place a woodsy, outdoors smell. Comforting. Adventurous. A large wax candle graced the mantle. Old furniture covered in cobwebs crowded the room, but someone had dusted off a large wing-backed chair near the fire.

In short, the place looked positively gothic. And with Dorian in his kilt standing by my side, I wondered briefly if I’d been transported back in time.

After lighting the candle on the mantle, the vampire lad withdrew.

I was alone with Dorian.

One would think that I would be afraid. But strangely, I wasn’t.

Yes, I was suspicious—that brief, brisk walk in the midnight air had cleared my head enough for me to recall a most important thing: vampires seduced their prey. Everyone knew that. And Dorian. Well, Dorian was seduction itself, and he also held the unfair advantage of accessing my mind as he pleased—even though he hadn’t tried it yet so far. But all-in-all, I truly felt in no particular danger.

Reason informed me that was likely incorrect, and so, deciding to err on the side of logic, I decided to go on the offensive.

Rounding on the kilted vampire standing before the fire with his arms crossed and his feet planted wide apart, it suddenly dawned on me he looked every inch like he’d just stepped off the cover of a deliciously yummy highland romance novel. But I began my move anyway.

“Why am I here?” I asked abruptly, slouching a little. Not because I was tired or copping an attitude. It was for easier access to my silver-bladed knives.

Dorian’s razor gaze shifted to me immediately. In a rough-edged voice, he asked a question of his own. “Tell me, what spell has yonder warlock cast? Or did you? No longer can I reach your mind, lass.”

That took me by surprise. I can’t say that I wasn’t pleased—if it were true.

“Good,” was all I said.

He just lifted a brow. An amused one.

Cripes, but he was attractive. I really hoped that he couldn’t run amok in my mind—not with the physical response leaping through me right now.

Distracted from my unformed plan involving knives and such, I allowed my gaze to drop of its own accord over his brawny arms and spectacularly muscled calves. I hadn’t known that kilts could look so stunning on a man, so overwhelmingly … I couldn’t think of the word. Maybe there wasn’t just one. Sexual. Seductive. Attractive. Raw. Potent. Why weren’t kilts in fashion anymore? The women of the world were losing out.

He gave a deep chuckle.

I met his gaze.

There was an obvious expression of smug superiority on his face. He clearly enjoyed the effect he had on me. Immensely. In slow and measured moves, he unfastened his collar and the top two buttons of his shirt, keeping his green eyes locked on mine the entire time.

Had the seduction begun? There was no doubt about it. Should I continue with my offensive? Undoubtedly.

Right after a few more seconds of ogling.

“And you have a thought as to why?” he prompted in his soft Scottish burr.

Why? Why what? It took me an inordinately long time to recall what he’d been saying before I’d gone off on the admiring-his-physicality tangent. A spell of some kind? What had he asked? Something about not being able to reach my mind?

Had Lucian done something?

I didn’t have a clue what the warlock might have done—if anything—but if he had, I sure hoped it would last. I couldn’t have a force like Dorian sharing my private thoughts. Not when they were so … well, out of control.

Reining in my raging hormones, I resolutely lifted my chin with the full intention of drawing a blade, pressing it to his heart, and taking back control of the conversation.

But he chose that moment to stand directly behind me, moving with the most impressive vampire speed. One moment, he stood before the fire. The next, I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck.

He was huge. Intense. Incredibly hot.

So much for controlling the hormones.

“Such a bonny lass you are,” he breathed on my earlobe. “Draw men to you like flies to a pot of honey, no doubt.”

Well, I did draw men to me—intentionally, but only to siphon their mana.

I inched away. “I bet you say that to all the ladies,” I teased half-heartedly.

What was he up to? And … what was my plan again?

He chuckled again and inched after me. “Nay, ‘tis not so.”

I watched, spellbound, as his large hand gently brushed the length of my arm to capture my fingers and slowly—ever so slowly—lift them up and to his lips.

The kiss sent shivers down my spine.

Whatever else Dorian Ramsey could do, he was most definitely a master of seduction. Most likely, I should run screaming out of the room as if the devil himself was after me. Maybe, but after a few more minutes, and just one more kiss.

“Allow me to beg forgiveness, my lady,” he purred in his deep, Scottish brogue. “Bringing you here with such rude abruptness. Aye, ‘twas a harrowing experience, no doubt.”

In one last attempt, I shook my head, ordering myself to get out—or to at least try. “I’m not the weak, wilting-type you seem to be used to,” I retorted, or attempted to, anyway. It came out as a whisper.

Odd.

He cradled my hand against his lips, and then lacing his fingers with mine, dropped our entwined hands slowly, sliding from my neck to my waist before suddenly pulling me back closer, hard against him.

I gasped—in pure delight.

“I could show you pleasure, pleasure such as you’ve only dreamt of, lass,” he promised.

There was no doubt in my mind that he could. Already, I was speechless and eager for more.

He nuzzled my ear. “But tell me, my lady, how is it that you can stand in the light of day?”

His voice was deep, enthralling. I could just listen to him talk all night. Especially if he continued to press himself against me and nibble my ear like he was doing now.

He drew back a little.

I frowned, arching my neck back towards his unbelievably delightful lips.

“Hmm?” he prodded gently.

“I’m not like you,” I said, wriggling back to get closer. “I’m not really a Chosen One.”

Somewhere in my haze of lust, a warning bell sounded. But I brushed it off. It was annoying. And it just got in the way of all the yummy sensations he was evoking.

He slid his arms around my waist, drawing me tighter against his hard chest. “Ach, but you are. You’re one of the clan. I can smell it on your skin. And you could hear me in your mind. Only true members of the clan can do such things,” he murmured in my hair. And then bending down, he drew my earlobe between his lips. His mouth was hot—so hot.

I really did shiver.

And then his mouth was gone, replaced by the words, “Pray explain, lass. How are you a Chosen One but can take the sun?”

I discovered then that I no longer had control of my mouth.

I told him everything.

Everything.

From my birth, to my thirst for revenge. My mana-eating habits. My discovery of Lucian. My job. My contract. My imp. My relationship with my mother.

Oh, and I even told him about my secret stash of silver-bladed vampire knives tucked away safely in my boots.

It was a hazy, lust-filled session.

I didn’t even mind when his hands slipped into my boots and withdrew the blades. It was a long, drawn-out affair, and a sexy one. His hands were hot against my calves. My only regret was that I’d only brought three. Why hadn’t I brought all five?

He kept kissing me, drawing out information with consummate skill. But I didn’t care. I just wanted his mouth pressed against my skin.

“And why did you hand our kin over to that young warlock?” Dorian whispered as he planted hot and heavy kisses along my collarbone.

“Our kin?” I asked, panting heavily.

“Our clan members,” he explained readily enough. “Where did he hie them off to?”

The suitcase. Ah, he wanted to know about the suitcase. But I didn’t want to talk about that. I wanted more of his delicious lips on every inch of my body. He was taking too long.

I slid around in his arms and stared up into his green, fathomless eyes.

“Kiss me,” I demanded.

The candlelight accentuated the deep shadow of the crease on his cheek. He smiled down at me. “Ach, a lass as bold and direct as a man.”

“Kiss me,” I demanded again, breathlessly. “I mean, really, really kiss me.”

The expression on his face altered. And he looked like he really, really wanted to. With a guttural groan, he thrust his tongue between my open lips in a savage, masterful, and most claiming of kisses.

I think I lost track of time then. I really don’t know how long it was before I felt the pressure of his fangs against my throat.

Dimly, I wondered if I could be made into a real vampire. I didn’t think so. I already was one. Kind of, anyway. Wasn’t I? I had the retractable—though nonfunctional—fangs. But it wasn’t like I really cared either way. It only mattered what he wanted. And at that moment, I would have denied him nothing.

Two things happened at once.

Dorian’s fangs pierced my flesh, and the door burst open.

And then Dorian screamed—a blood-curdling, soul-wrenching scream.

As if by reflex, he shoved me away. I flew back. I’d never been on the receiving end of such brutal strength. Had I been a human, my bones would have cracked at the force at which I hit the floor. As it was, I was stunned, my breath knocked completely out of me.

Reeling away, Dorian collapsed against the wall, apparently writhing in pain.

Winded, I crouched, fully expecting to see Lucian on the threshold unleashing an explosive display of warlock magic. Who else could have blasted Dorian away from me?

But there was no entry of an angry warlock. There were only two very astonished, gaping Chosen Ones, hovering hesitantly in the doorway and then rushing to Dorian’s side to offer assistance.

He wasn’t in the mood for their help. Struggling to his feet, he slammed them back and thundered, “Leave us at once!”

They left. At once.

A far different Dorian faced me now—a Dorian with hatred blazing in his bright eyes. “Ach, I recognize the mark of a Rowle!” he spat.

Mark?

I’d caught my breath by then. And rising to my feet, I suddenly began feeling like I’d just awakened from a long, foggy dream—a dream dissipating with astonishing speed.

It didn’t take long for my mind to clear and for anger to catch hold.

I’d been played.

And I’d responded like a fool.

And he had my knives. All three of them!

Furious, I confronted Dorian, “Well, at least Lord Rowle is protecting me. Too bad you didn’t break a few bones!”

Dorian waved his hand at me in a strangely weak gesture. “That’s no spell,” he responded heatedly. “It’s much, much more.”

“Huh?” I responded and then winced a little. It was hardly the most eloquent of responses, but I didn’t have a clue what he meant. And thanks to his mesmerizing seduction attempt, I was a little rattled—an unusual experience for me.

Dorian approached me then, but this time, he kept at a safe distance. Narrowing his eyes to little more than slits, he demanded, “Just what are you?”

So, it was back to that again.

I felt a wave of loss. So much for a delicious romance. But right on the heels of disappointment came the realization of what he’d just inferred.

He thought that I’d caused him to bolt back in horrific pain the moment his little vampire fangs had penetrated my neck.

Had I? I mean, really. Had I?

I stood there a good solid minute or more before finally answering, “I’m One of the Damned.”

It was the truth.

But this time, I didn’t feel quite so bitter about it.

An Act of War

I guess it was true.

When a vampire turned the seduction on it was impossible for mere mortals to resist. At least the first time, anyway. I knew I wouldn’t fall prey to Dorian’s designs ever again.

My ego was bruised—battered, tromped and tattered to pieces, actually. But most importantly, I was angry.

And knifeless.

Crud. I had only myself and my foolish hormones to blame for that one.

Suffice it to say, I would now die before helping Dorian attain that suitcase or whatever else he wanted. What had I overheard Lucian’s employer say? That a lover spurned was an enemy like no other? I could relate to that.

Dorian wasn’t a fool. He saw the extent of my fury, but then, could anyone have really missed it? Dropping all amorous behaviors at once, he raised his own chin and let his anger flash in response to mine.

“I am Dorian Ramsey,” he announced with more than a hint of pride in his tone. “And I am a Night Hunter, a Defender of my Kind. I will find my kin with or without your aid. I’d beg you to think twice, lass. Consider well which side to join in this war—a war in which ‘twill ultimately be the Terzi who ride to victory. The Rowles are wretched cowards, destined only to lick the soiled boots—”

“Oh, give it a rest,” I interrupted his pompous tirade. “You’re a bit dated. Times have changed.”

Shock crossed his face. Utter shock. Apparently, few people dared to speak to the vampire in such a manner. In retrospect, I could have avoided a lot of trouble if I’d refrained from trotting down that road myself. Maybe I would never have awoken the beast that lay slumbering within me … but I get ahead of myself.

At that moment, I was angry. And I wanted to get even.

“Make no mistake, my lady,” he warned with more than a glint of malice in his eyes. “I’m hardly a creature ruled by habit and discipline such as yon warlock Lord Lucian Rowle. Nay, I’m a warrior—one who always wins,and one who makes his foe suffer defeat—truly suffer.”

I shot him a black look and rolled my eyes. I can’t say why I still felt comfortable enough with him to actually do that. Maybe it was the vampire-clan-connection thing.

A timid knock sounded on the door.

Dorian glowered.

Unfortunately, the knocker couldn’t see that and merely knocked with more urgency.

Finally, Dorian exploded, “Enter and have done!”

Slowly, the door swung open, revealing the same two cloaked vampires—cowering a bit more this time. They didn’t enter. One of them just leaned forward, extending his hand to offer Dorian an envelope.

“’Tis from the warlock,” he murmured. “He’s sent a message.”

Relief flooded me.

Lucian. So he was trying to rescue me. Thank heavens! My brief flirtation with the Chosen Ones was soon to come to a full, resounding end. I was definitely ready to leave.

The instant Dorian snatched the envelope, the vampires dashed away.

I couldn’t blame them.

Dorian and Lucian had one thing in common—well, two things actually, they were both thoroughly captivating, and they also shared a temperamental nature. Well, maybe the fact that they’d both allowed revenge to consume them, rendered them unstable. They were both selfish, and how about irritatingly aggravating and arrogant?

Come to think of it, they were quite alike—practically twins.

Suddenly, Dorian swore, jarring me back to the present.

He was livid. He began to swear at the top of his voice then, but I found his choice of swearwords vastly amusing. I didn’t even try to hide my grin—of course, that infuriated him all the more. I can’t say that I didn’t intend for that to happen.

“Pox and pestilence but I’ll see that useless addlepated fool of a churlish warlock strung up by his toes!” Dorian vowed, pounding his fist into his hand. “By Our Lady, the clay-brained clotpole will fall upon my sword and right speedily! The beslubbering sot of mulish Rowle will—”

At that point, I really did burst out laughing.

It only made him more furious. Clenching his jaw—another habit he shared with Lucian—he tossed the message into the fire. And without even looking in my direction, he left the room, slamming the door hard behind him.

Of course, the first thing I did was dart to the fire and yank the letter back out. After stomping on it a few times, I managed to stop its fiery destruction and, squatting down next to it on the floor, read the following words:

… return to me what’s rightfully mine—including all property, land, and titles. If you do not comply immediately, the entirety of your clan shall be entombed in the bowels of the Earth forever, and those Terzi left that fail to prove their fealty to me shall be imprisoned by my Night Terrors in eternal exile. The Terzi’s futile and utterly laughable attempt at domination is at its end. I’m well aware that you’ve been … living under a rock, until recently that is, but that much should even be obvious to you.

Sincerely,

Lord Lucian Rowle

P.S. Regarding the spell-finder/Terzi spy Cassidy Edwards—do what you please with her. She is not my concern.

My mouth dropped open. That was rescuing me? Do what you please with her. She is not my concern.

What about our contract—what about protecting me? Didn’t that self-writing paper mean anything? Was I the only one following the rules?

I was beyond furious and ready to steal a few of Dorian’s choice swearwords. What was it? A pox-sucking warlock? I couldn’t recall if Dorian had actually said that, but I liked it anyway.

I tried to escape the room then.

It was impossible.

But I kept trying.

Finally, I realized there was nothing I could do but wait for Dorian to return.

And he made me wait.

Hours.

All night and all of the next day.

An Unexpected Visitor

I went through modes of trying to escape and snoozing in the chair in the attempt to pass the time away.

During my escape attempts, I would thoroughly investigate the room, but there were no holes. No rotting boards to pry away. No avenues of escape of any kind, even in the ceiling. And there was nothing I could use to force, dig, or pry my way out with.

Jiggling the ancient door handle did nothing; it just squeaked hideously.

There was nothing in the room but a few old rugs, stacks of moth-eaten blankets and pillows, and several dusty paintings—oil portraits of long-forgotten faces. The closest thing to a weapon was an old silver chalice, blackened with neglect.

For a while, I screamed.

No one even came to shut me up.

Food and water? They didn’t offer a drop, but then, Dorian knew better now. I winced, trying not to recall just how much I’d told him. If only I had my knives … but that just made me wince again. I didn’t want to remember just how I’d lost them.

Disheartened, I returned to the wing-backed chair in front of the dying fire and tossed my booted leg over the arms for another nap to pass the time.

I was a deep sleeper. It always took me a bit to open my eyes. I stirred drowsily. Apparently, I’d fallen asleep again. I could hear the crackling of rekindled flames and smelled the pleasant aroma of smoke.

And Dorian.

Startled, I rose halfway out of the chair, eyes flying open. I’d reached for my knives, but again, my hands came up empty.

Dorian stood right next to my chair, still wearing his hot, steamy kilt but no shirt this time. Why? Did he think I’d find his impressive array of muscles a distraction? A deeper, second look at his face revealed that he wasn’t there for another seduction. He was pensive. Subdued. His hands were folded behind his back as he stared at me, but in a distant manner. His mind was clearly somewhere else.

“You can sleep,” he said, as if finally noticing that I was awake. His voice held more than a single note of bitterness. “Ach, I can’t remember how it feels to do so, lass.”

Slowly, I rose the rest of the way out of the wing-backed chair to ask uneasily, “Weren’t you just asleep for a long time? For what, over four hundred years or so, in that plague grave. I’d think you’d be sick of it.”

“Buried,” he corrected. Rotating on his heel, he moved to the fireplace. Leaning against the mantle, he peered down into the flames. The firelight played across his shoulder blades, accentuating his strength.

Irritated at the turn of my thoughts, I scowled and forced myself to concentrate on his words.

“’Tis far different than a peaceful night’s rest,” he was saying. “Nay, ‘tis naught like sleep. ‘Tis simply lying there in the dirt, listening, waiting. Hungry. Never slumbering. No sweet release of death.”

I drew back, startled. I hadn’t realized they’d been awake the whole time. It sounded like the worst kind of torture—enough to drive someone totally mad.

Heaving a sigh, he added in a heavy voice, “To wake and find the world changed beyond what you knew. And then to be caught, staked, and have to wait through another four hundred years more. Aye, ‘tis a mad existence. A curse I’d wish on none.”

Apparently, it wasn’t the first time he’d played Rip Van Winkle. I wondered how old he really was and almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“For centuries, I’ve seen only the shadows of night,” his deep Scottish brogue dropped into a whisper. “Tell me, lass, how it feels to have the sun kiss your skin. I’ve forgotten. Aye, ‘tis been too long.”

I didn’t know what to say. What can you say to something like that?

Silence fell. A very long one.

Finally, Dorian drew a long breath. “They’re my kin, lass, you must understand,” he murmured, still staring into the flames. “My clan. Those cursed to walk through the centuries with me, finding little solace. Tell me, where are my kin? I must free them from their torment. Just tell me, so that I can help them.”

Maybe he was playing me again. Suspicion rose in an instant, but it was mingled with sympathy. He sounded so sincere. I guess because he was. Being one of the Chosen sounded like a hellish existence. I had to admit, so far as pity parties go, his was quite the grand affair.

But in the end, it didn’t really matter. In this particular case, it wasn’t hard to answer his question—to tell the truth. The literal truth. Yeah, I didn’t know where their bones were. I just knew about Lucian’s voodoo doll suitcase.

“I honestly don’t know,” I finally said. “The Night Terrors took them out and gave them to Lucian. I left. You saw that, didn’t you? I know you were watching me. I never saw the bones after that.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. Rubbing the back of his neck and flexing his massive shoulders, he heaved another sigh. A long, even louder one. And then with a shade of amusement coloring his voice, he said, “’Tis a place to start then. The Night Terrors sell their services to the highest bidder, unless matters have changed since 1576.”

I found myself appreciating his humor. “Things may have changed … just a little,” I replied with my own shade of sarcasm.

He chuckled but then grew serious all at once. “Why do ye fight me so, lass?” His soft voice pressed. “And why for the love of Mary, do you trust this Lucian Rowle? I’d wager the man has more than one hand dirty with betrayal.”

He really knew how to manipulate me. Push me right to the brink of anger and then draw me back with humor, just to push me all over again. Hex it. I was going to have to get away from him if I didn’t want to find myself falling right back into whatever net he chose to cast.

His next ploy really sweetened the trap.

“And if you’re truly after this Emilio Marchesi,” he murmured, turning to face me as he dangled the name. “Then we are allies forthright! Allow me to aid your quest. There’s no love lost atween us, I assure you right well.”

Hope coursed through me. Yes, I’d been a bit distracted with this newly discovered Charmed world, but my thirst for revenge ran deep. It was unquenchable. Emilio Marchesi was my goal—finding him, making him pay, and also making him confess who else he’d involved in the mad plot that had ruined my life.

“Cassidy?” Dorian’s soft voice broke into my inner tirade.

I blinked and took a deep, steadying breath. “You know … Emilio?”

He knew he had me hooked then. I saw the gleam in his eye. It made me even more suspicious, but I was desperate for any new crumb of information. It was all I could do to keep from running over to him and shaking what I wanted to know out of him.

“Aye,” he finally said in his soft rumble. “Emilio is an enemy that we share, but I’ve been at war with him longer, I’d wager. Centuries. ‘Tis a matter of honor for me, amongst other things.”

Centuries? A wave of apprehension rippled over me. If Dorian hadn’t been able to vanquish Emilio given centuries, how could I hope to accomplish it? I almost hoped he wasn’t telling me the truth.

But Dorian was still talking. “It all began the day he ruined my own wee sister, Gloria.”

“Gloria?” I repeated.

Gloria. The name in the book. The book with the silver swing. So, that book really had been inscribed by the Emilio—the Emilio I’d been searching for this entire time.

My jaw dropped open.

“Aye, ’tis because of Emilio that I stand afore you now as a Chosen One, doomed to the torment of slaking my thirst only with blood,” Dorian confessed, his green eyes riveted to mine. “We should be fighting on the same side, lass. He’s an enemy we share.”

To have someone fight with me, to take Emilio down … it was tempting, beyond tempting. But could I believe him? Was this some new snare? I couldn’t put anything past Dorian. He was brilliant. Sharp. Wily. And I’d never had anyone try to help me with anything before.

Reading the suspicion creeping across my face, he let out a growl of frustration. “Ach, can you have no trust in me? No?” he shouted, striking the mantle. “We’re of the same clan, lass. Look into my mind!”

Look into his mind? I couldn’t admit that I didn’t know how to do that—if it was even possible. I really wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t as swift, my fangs didn’t function, and apparently, I only received information via the clan link. I was pretty sure I couldn’t send it.

But I wasn’t about to list my weakness for him again. Instead, I scowled and crossed my arms. “Trust takes time,” I snapped.

His shoulders drooped a little, but then he suddenly stiffened. Cocking his head to one side, he paused a moment. And then, without one word of explanation, he swiftly left the room.

Silently, I watched him go.

Deranged. Maybe even more than Lucian.

With a sudden pounding headache, I wandered over to the fire. I was getting hungry—really hungry. Was he planning on starving me into cooperation? Peeved, I kicked at the logs. Sparks showered the floor.

I heard it then. A squeal of delight followed by the tiniest of nasal giggles.

Ricky?

Whirling, I searched for him, but in a fire-lit room filled with shadows, finding a small spindly creature made of black smoke was an impossible task.

“Ricky?” I hissed hopefully.

The door burst open then. I saw only a large blur flash across the room, knocking through the pictures and pillows stacked in the corner.

A moment later, Dorian stood there, holding Ricky at arm’s length.

Great.

So it was Ricky. And the first thing he’d done was get himself caught.

Honestly, could I have expected anything else?

With a gleam in his eye, Dorian approached me. “Aye, ‘twill be a simple matter now to acquire the bones,” he announced in triumph. “I’ll have your imp singing secrets afore the hour has passed.”

That alarmed me. I really don’t know why, since my confusion over which side to ally myself with only grew by the hour. But I felt a wave of concern for Ricky as Dorian raised him up for inspection.

Would he torture him—err, how did one even torture an imp? Would Ricky squeal? That really alarmed me—partly because he probably knew more about Lucian’s voodoo dolls than I did and partly because a spark of loyalty to the dark-haired warlock suddenly coursed through me.

But the moment I caught a glimpse of the imp’s face, I found myself relaxing.

His eyes, glazed over. His lips, open wide. And the drool. He was like a faucet. Apparently, he’d hit another turmeric bottle in my absence.

This would be amusing. And I could do with a bit of humor. Blowing Dorian a kiss, I chuckled, “Good luck getting anything useful out of him, your lordship.”

Ricky would sing all right. But I didn’t think Dorian would really understand Oppa Gangnam Style. When leaping four or so centuries, you could only adjust so far in a few short days, even Chosen Ones.

Puzzled, Dorian followed my gaze.

I guess imps back in the sixteenth century had been just as troublesome. He recognized Ricky’s useless state at once.

With a snort of disgust, he dropped Ricky on the floor.

That woke Ricky up enough to actually start singing. And just as I suspected, he warbled: Ehhhh, Sexxxy Lady, oh, oh, oh, Oppa Gangnam style!

The confusion on Dorian’s face was priceless.

It kind of made the whole experience worth it.

Kind of.

Dumbfounded, he asked me in astonishment, “Why keep such a daft vagabond of a beastie? This one, ‘tis not even trustworthy!”

I just shrugged my shoulders, watching Ricky with amusement-threaded concern.

He must have really overdosed this time. He couldn’t keep his form. Still singing, he melted into a puddle on the floor—and I mean really liquefied. He dissolved into a small black pool of swirling smoke with two blinking eyes and protruding lips that kept crooning the K-pop song.

Dorian didn’t find Ricky as hilarious as I did at that point. Not in the slightest. Clearly, his temper threatened to break loose, and he mastered it with only the greatest difficulty. Glowering, he practically shouted, “Come. ‘Tis time to leave.”

“Leave?” I asked, perking up. “Where are we going?”

His laugh was a sinister one. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the door, but once there he paused to stare down at me with a strange expression. Slowly, he lifted my hand and brushed his lips over my knuckles.

Yes, I enjoyed it, but only for a few seconds. Snatching my hand away, I asked pointedly, “Do you always get what you want that way?” I asked.

With a devilish smile, he whispered, “Aye, I’m an unscrupulous soul, lass.”

“Yes,” I couldn’t resist agreeing. “That’s for sure!”

He just shrugged and, opening the door, invited me to precede him. “’After you, my lady.”

Hesitating, I glanced back at Ricky, but he was snoring in puddle-form. There was nothing I could do but leave him there for the moment. I guess it was for the better. He and Dorian were better off far apart. And besides, he was an imp. When he recovered, he could just slip beneath the door or out the fireplace. It was impossible to trap smoke.

Glad to be leaving, I faced Dorian and asked again, “Where are we going?”

Dorian surprised me with the answer. “Oh, ’tis time you met your creator, lass.”

He smiled a dark smile.

A Soap Opera of the Worst Kind

Creator? Didn’t think he referred to a god, thank goodness; being a vampire, I highly doubted he believed in an “Almighty”. And I knew he didn’t mean my mother, or Emilio for that matter. He had to mean the actual vampire who’d turned my mother. At last, another piece of my family puzzle and a step closer to achieving revenge. Whoever the mystery male was, he’d feel my wrath for condemning my mother to eternal vampirism, and me, essentially to the lonely life of a parasitic recluse.

I strode down the stairs after Dorian, wishing in vain for my knives. Hex it all! Why had I traded it all away for a momentary touch of his lips on my skin? He didn’t kiss that good.

At the bottom step, Dorian took a sharp left and waved me to an open door.

We entered a room as shabby as the one I’d left. A three-legged table swathed in cobwebs. Faded drapes which were closed. And dust so thick it could be sculpted.

A woman stood near the drapes, wearing worn jeans and a gray t-shirt. Her scent told me she was a Chosen One, but strangely, she reminded me of one of those Save-the-Earth-Go-Organic types of people. She was tall and notably slender, with fiery red hair that was tied back in a simple ponytail. Her face was covered entirely with freckles and her blue-eyes were clear.

It took me a moment to recognize that her scent was familiar to me already. I’d been a bit distracted, looking around the room for the vampire who’d turned my mother. I hadn’t expected to encounter Dorian’s sister, Gloria. She smelled just like the trace she’d left on the book in Lucian’s library, the book that Emilio had signed with his eternal love.

Again, her aroma also reminded me of my mother—and Dorian, too, come to think of it.

She wasn’t too happy to see me. I’d have said outright displeased, mixed with a dash of horror—the horror part had me puzzled.

“Meet Gloria,” he began. “My own wee sister. And, Gloria, meet—”

I really don’t know why Dorian bothered to introduce us. There was no one else she could be.

“I know who she is,” Gloria interrupted in a hoarse whisper. Apparently my thought had been shared. With a thin veneer of a smile, she added, “Fate has quite a sick sense of humor.”

I raised a brow.

Gloria came up to me then, and slowly, ever so slowly, she reached out to touch my chin only to jerk her hand back, catching her breath in dismay. Turning away, she covered her face with her hands and moaned.

I glanced at Dorian. Was his sister a wee bit—how would he say it—daft?

Dorian eyed his sister in open concern. “Then ‘tis your handiwork, aye?”

“No!” Gloria gasped. “Yes. Not mine, but yes, I did it.”

I held still.

“Ach, you make little sense, Sister—” he began.

Gloria held her hand up and choked. “You don’t understand. She’s dangerous, Dorian. She should never have lived. Never! There are rules—even for Black Magic.” Her shoulders sagged.

Silence followed—a long one.

At last, I broke it with, “Tell me … what am I?”

She wouldn’t face me. She refused to look into my eyes. “I really didn’t think you’d live,” she confessed in the faintest of whispers. “I unleashed the curse upon your mother and never has a babe survived. They always die.”

“Curse?” both Dorian and I asked at the same time.

Gloria didn’t want to answer; that much was obvious. But when Dorian raised a stern brow, she quickly added, “The warlock swore the curse would obliterate her beyond any hope of rising, even as an Undead. He betrayed me. The curse made me his puppet … it made me turn her, and she became a Chosen One for her Emilio. The babe … the babe … had no choice in the matter.”

I was more surprised by the fact that my mother had been turned by a woman than my lack of a choice, which I already knew about, but Dorian was more horrified over that part.

“How?” he asked his sister, clearly stunned by the revelation. “How could her choice be taken away? Chosen Ones can only become Chosen by choice. They die—they choose to return. No one can force that. Blair chose—”

Gloria raised her chin, her blue eyes burst into life with a passionate flare. “Yes, she chose. She chose to do it for Emilio! She turned in mere minutes, Dorian. Minutes! That’s how long it took her to consider the rest of her eternity—her other children, her spouse. She gave them all up in just minutes for Emilio … in the mere blink of an eye! It wasn’t supposed to be possible.”

“But the babe?” Dorian shook his head. “It makes no sense that she should have survived.”

“It was a puppet curse, a very powerful one.” Gloria paused, swallowing several times before adding, “The babe returned with her mother’s soul, back to Earth, like a puppet on a string.”

“And the warlock who …” Dorian didn’t finish the question, but he raised a brow.

It was obviously going to be a question that Gloria had hoped to avoid. She practically squirmed under his gaze.

“Tell me!” he demanded. “Why did you not tell me of this sooner? It cannot be the work of a Terzi warlock!”

She resisted him for a few minutes before finally screeching her confession. “It was a Marchesi—a Marchesi warlock, and he sorely deceived me. A mere apprentice. So, I’d not thought him capable of such deceit—”

“Then, you are admitting you arranged for a Marchesi warlock to curse your lover’s new plaything?” Dorian asked, outraged.

The story of how I came into existence was starting to sound like a bad soap opera. Ok, a bad horror soap opera, I amended at the sudden mental image of myself trailing after my mother like a marionette.

“A Marchesi?” Dorian repeated, thundering in shock. He peered down at his sister in astonishment. “How could you think to betray the Terzi for a Marchesi? They will forever be our sworn enemies!”

I wondered how many factions the Charmed world had. The Terzi. The Rowles. And now the Marchesi. Each with their own circle of followers, their own warlocks. It was kind of a waste. I mean, at least for the vampires. With lives that spanned centuries, couldn’t they think of other things to do besides perpetuate blood feuds?

As Gloria and Dorian engaged in a shouting match, the door behind me opened.

Catching my mother’s scent, I turned in surprise.

Wearing her cream-colored designer suit, she stood there like a deer caught in the headlights.

Taking one look at Blair, Gloria clamped her mouth shut and turned her head sharply to the side. But not before I saw her nostrils flare.

So, it was a family reunion of sorts. I cast a querying glance at Dorian.

“Aye,” Dorian murmured, his eyes narrowing into slits as he spied my mother. “’Tis time we settled this affair.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “What do you mean?” I asked, coming to my mother’s defense. Granted, she was a horrible mother, but she was the only one I had.

Dorian waved a hand in his sister’s general direction as he said, “We’re on your side, Cassidy, both Gloria and I. We’ve a multitude of scores to settle with Emilio Marchesi for our own reasons. Join us. Surely you can see now that I speak the truth. Together, we’ll undo him.”

My mother couldn’t suppress a gasp.

Gloria flinched.

Great. I was trapped inside Emilio’s love triangle.

I wanted to go up to my mother and just shake some sense into her. After all of this, was she really still rooting for Emilio? Why? He was clearly a player. Professing his undying love to Gloria and then tricking her into hiring some Marchesi warlock to cast a spell which betrayed Gloria into biting his new plaything—my mother. He was really some piece of work.

Why couldn’t my mother see that?

It took me a moment to realize that Dorian had quit rambling. He was eyeing me, expectantly.

They all were.

Crud. I’d mentally checked out right at the crucial moment.

“Say that again?” I prompted with an apologetic smile.

Dorian wasn’t pleased. Not that it really bothered me all that much.

Expelling a long breath through his nose, Dorian moved to my mother’s side, and gripping her forearm, he threatened me. “If you refuse to recognize the wisdom in joining your own clan against your own sworn enemy, then maybe you’ll reconsider in exchange for the continued wellbeing of your mother, aye? ‘Tis treasonous, her pitiful devotion to a Marchesi. I shall not spare mine own sister, should she resume her filthy infatuation.” With that he sent a dark look to the petrified Gloria.

My eyes widened in alarm. How had we gotten from “I’m on your side” to deadly blackmail in the space of a few seconds?

“Tell me,” he thundered. “Tell me where they are, the bones of my kin!”

And back at the same, tired subject.

As I said before, patience wasn’t one of my strong suits. Especially when threatened. In retrospect, I’d have been so much better off simply keeping my mouth shut, or just politely repeating again that I didn’t know. Or just about anything other than what I did—which was to lose my temper.

But in my defense, I was tired, confused, and hungry. A bad combination for me.

“Maybe you should be out there looking for them yourself instead of hounding me about it!” I snapped in response. “You’re a minion of the powerful Terzi clan, right? Surely, you can ask one of their spell-finders to sniff them out for you, eh?”

His brows formed a single line. “Don’t try me, woman!” he warned in rising tones. “Just tell me and have done!”

“Then let’s have done.” Nobody called me ‘woman’; I had to hit him back where it would hurt. With a smile, I unloaded. “I suppose you’re not out there looking for them yourself because you’re scared you might run into Lucian Rowle—intimidated and unmanned by his superior power a bit, aren’t you? I can understand that.”

Mentioning Lucian is what tipped it off. I should have zipped my mouth shut. What was that phrase about gaining weight? Something about a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips? This was: A moment on the lips which brought Apocalypse. Not the greatest of rhymes, but it illustrates my point.

It really was an Apocalypse.

White fury descended over Dorian—blazing, white-hot fury of immeasurable proportions. His entire body went rigid. He was beyond furious.

Tossing his head back, he roared a name which sounded like Dougie or Dougall or something like that.

A moment later, a new Chosen One burst through the door. I don’t remember what he looked like. I just noticed that he was holding some kind of long, wooden spear.

Dorian whirled on me then, shouting a series of threats along the lines of, “Tell me now, or your mother dies!”

My mouth dropped open.

It all happened so fast.

I leapt for my mother. Yes, I was fast, but they were faster. Very much so. I think my mother broke free of Dorian’s grasp. I helped her a little, but she escaped mostly by her own effort.

She was almost through the door when Dorian raised his hand, yelling some Gaelic battle cry that I didn’t even begin to understand.

Gloria screamed for him to not provoke me. Something about a beast that slumbered inside and that she’d seen it before right after I was born. I didn’t understand that, either.

But then Dougie or Dougall, or whatever he was called, let the spear fly.

In slow motion, so slow I felt like I should simply be able to pluck it right out of thin air, I watched the glistening wooden shaft sail straight for my mother and right through her heart.

With a gargling gasp, she fell with it to the floor, writhing in torment.

Somehow, I was there by her side, holding her hand. Her fingers clenched onto mine in a feeble grip. It lasted only a moment before they went limp.

Her eyes turned glassy.

Lifeless.

My throat convulsed. I don’t know what came over me then.

If logic had ruled, I would have calmly waited for the storm to blow over and then creep back to pluck the stake out of my mother’s heart, help her to her feet, take her shopping to buy some new clothes, two plane tickets, and bop back home with her to Philly.

But logic didn’t rule.

Outraged shock, pure astonishment, and unfathomable anger filled me—washed over me. Raged through every cell. A bloodlust of the most complete kind.

No one was allowed to harm my mother. No one. No one could even insult her—except me, of course. I mean, really! Did they think I’d simply stand by and do nothing after they’d driven a stake right into her black little heart?

Someone grabbed my shoulder, but a superhuman strength came over me then.

Whirling, I extended my hands. It was instinct. I knew what to do. I felt like I’d done it a thousand times. One palm went straight for the solar plexus chakra. The other clamped over the forehead seeking the third eye.

I latched on.

It was a final connection—one that drained all life force, all mana, in less than a second. It would destroy. Completely. Utterly. Permanently.

Annihilation? Is that what Lucian had called it?

It could annihilate even a Chosen One, the Immortals of Death.

Primitive instincts controlled me like a puppet. There was no tempering the flow this time. No practicing of moderation. No giving my victim even the slightest chance of survival.

I consumed his mana in one fell swoop. Dougie, Dougall or whatever Dorian had called him, was no more. In under a second, he’d turned gray. Then black. And then he simply crumbled into dust.

I really was a Monster—one of the Damned.

Caught in some deep, dark fury I didn’t comprehend and had even less hope of controlling, I turned on Dorian. But as I stepped forward, Gloria dove to block my path. It was easy. I just tossed her away like a ragdoll.

“Halt!” Dorian cried, lunging for me instead.

I waited until just the right moment and then delivered a lethal kick. I felt the sickening crunch of bone beneath my booted heel.

Dorian swore in pain, clutching his leg.

Had I really just done that to a Chosen One?

He flew back, landing next to my mother still impaled in the doorway, and reaching over, he then wrenched the spear out of her heart.

Somewhere, somewhere very deep, a small part of me noticed her fingers twitching back to life. If they had waited a few more minutes, I like to think that I could have calmed down on my own, soothed the insanity racing through me, returned to the normal Cassidy, but Dorian wasn’t about to take a chance.

Leaping to his feet, he launched the spear.

This time, straight at me.

The Nether Reaches

The heavy wooden spear sailed straight through my heart.

Agony. Pure misery.

He’d thrown the spear with such force that it caught me in its grasp and carried me to the far wall, pinning me like a beetle on a card.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I could scarcely think.

At that point, I guess I was dead. Technically. Maybe. Kind of. I really don’t know. A detached part of me felt pain, eye-watering, crushingly devastating pain. My entire chest cavity burned where the long stake had immobilized me.

Even though my eyes weren’t blinking, my vision still functioned. I saw the room. Dorian struggling to his feet and my mother slowly sitting up, her face expressionless with shock. Gloria was covering her mouth with both hands. But they were all in shadows. I could barely see them. It was like night had suddenly fallen, and I’d just managed to catch them in the last glimpse of twilight.

But even as the world around me grew dark, another one came to the foreground. Murky. Gray. Like fog. I didn’t see any shapes. Just swirling mist.

As if from a very great distance, I heard Gloria speak. “She can’t die. She’s not dead any more than she was alive. She has a foot in both worlds, Dorian. I couldn’t even kill her as a babe. I tried, believe me, I tried so many times.”

That startled me. Was I some kind of zombie?

And really, the freckle-faced Gloria looked so … well, innocent. She didn’t seem the type to experiment with different ways of murdering illicit vampire offspring.

A cold wind blew against my face. I looked around, surprised that my vision seemed to have expanded. It was getting chilly.

Where was I? Was this death after all?

Dimly, I could still hear Gloria’s hysterical babbling. “—and she can access the Nether Reaches, Dorian. You know what that means! She has a foot in both worlds.”

A foot in both worlds. I’d heard that before. The Night Terrors had said that.

But, I’d never heard of the Nether Reaches before. What was that? A real place?

The fog eddying around me grew thicker. Whiter. I could smell dampness, like the comforting, earthy smell of wet leaves.

Someone shifted my Earthly body, removing it from the wall. Dorian. With a loud crack, he broke the spear but left the stake embedded in my heart. The movement jostled me about, sending fresh bouts of pain coursing through every limb. And then he tossed me over his shoulder, and with a marked limp, carried me out of the room and back up the steps.

It hurt.

Unbearably.

I wanted to scream for him to stop, to just hold still, but I had no control over my mouth.

Lights were beginning to swirl in the mist reaching for me. It was getting harder to focus on Dorian. Maybe Gloria didn’t know what she was talking about and I was dying, after all.

Shouldering the door open, Dorian carried me back into the room and laid me down right next to Ricky, who was still snoozing as a little black puddle with two eyes.

The fog and churning mist had grown significantly thicker again, almost obliterating everything else. For the briefest of moments, I felt strangely free. And in that moment, I glanced down and saw a hand—white, ghostly fingers wriggling … it was my own.

My own?

And then someone pulled the wooden shaft out of my heart.

The fog and mist vanished at once.

Agony arrived, full force.

The unholy amount of mana that I’d consumed from Dougall was gone, as if I’d never taken it. In fact, now I felt faint with hunger. Instinctively, I curled into a fetal position. It was several interminable moments before I managed a long creaking pull of air that sounded like the last gasping breath of a dying human. And then the agony washed away, and all at once, I was back in the bright, earthly world again.

But I felt drained—stiff, sore, and aching beyond belief.

Remorseful? I couldn’t even begin to think of what I’d done to Dougall. Yes, he was a Chosen One, most likely he’d taken many lives. But still, I’d … turned him into dust. I pushed the memory away, down deep, and hoped it would stay buried.

Instead, I turned my thoughts to anger. Yes, this whole thing had only happened because I’d been threatened. Growing only angrier by the second, I sat up and shoved Dorian back.

“You threw a stake at my heart! You killed me!” I gasped in outrage. “And my mother! Where’s my mother?”

“I’m here, Cassidy,” my mother called from the door.

I glanced back to see her standing there, her face far whiter than her cream-colored suit. She watched me in complete horror, like she didn’t know what I was.

I guess that was justified, but it hurt to see. Salt on the wounds.

Rounding on Dorian, I accused fiercely, “You killed my mother, and you killed me!”

His green eyes flashed. “Ach, you’re both fine. Can you not hear yourself blather, lass?” He tossed his chin a bit angrily himself. “Your mother will never know death. Aye, and neither will you. ‘Tis nothing to get riled up about now.”

It was logical, in a very twisted way, and I knew he had a point, but I wasn’t in a mood to grant him that at the moment.

Holding onto my fury, I spat indignantly, “You didn’t know for sure I was going to live!”

I knew that much had to be true. I was one of a kind and I’d never died before.

He rolled his eyes and nearly shouted his response. “Ach, but you gave me no choice. You had to be stopped or else none of us would have lived, now. You’d have done to all of us what you did to Dougall.” His voice dropped and he added in a hushed tone, “Aye, Dougall. Because of you, he’ll no longer walk on this Earth, and I don’t even know if he’s walking in the Nether Reaches now. Do you?”

I froze, recalling the Chosen One turning into dust under my hand. Feeling sick, I turned my face away. So much for burying the memory.

Surely, it had to be some ghastly dream, but I knew that it wasn’t. No, I’d really destroyed someone—maybe even completely. Granted, I’d been caught up by some Incredible Hulk-like experience outside of my control, but there was no denial of the fact that it had still been me.

I wanted to vomit.

“Aye, it happens,” Dorian said, shrugging matter-of-factly. “You did it. ‘Tis done.”

Yes, it was. But I didn’t feel like I should carry the entire blame. “You gave me no choice!” I defended myself in a low tone.

Dorian just watched me for a time, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.

Finally, I broke the silence with, “I want to leave. I’m done will all of you.”

I’d said the words even before I’d thought them through, but now that I had, I meant it. I was finished. I was weary. Utterly done. Completely through.

At least for now

I needed a break from this insanely complex Charmed world.

And as far as Emilio went, well, if I’d learned anything the past day or so, it was that I needed a better plan in going after him than three knives tucked in my boot.

I needed to regroup, and I needed to rest.

Reaching over with a finger, Dorian trailed it up my jawline. “Ach, you’re too valuable to throw away now, lass,” he murmured. “Now, I’ll never let you go.”

And with that, he rose and, still limping, left the room.

Helped by a … Portrait

I don’t know how long I lay there with my cheek pressed against the splintering, rotting floorboards. I was shattered. Broken inside. My thoughts caught in a mire of confusion.

Where had I gone? Had I died? Were the gray swirling mists the Nether Reaches? Had it all been my imagination? Part of the process of dying? Could I die or not?

And what had I done? How had I known to tap mana from the solar plexus chakra and the third eye at the same time?

Where had I learned that?

Everything had spiraled into chaos so quickly. I couldn’t account for what I’d done. I’d morphed into something hideous, and I still didn’t understand how or why.

Depression threatened—not something I’d ever thought to battle.

“It’s safe now,” a tiny voice whispered in my ear.

The third time it repeated itself, I focused my eyes.

Ricky stood in front of my nose, looking bright, chirpy, and anything but under-the-influence.

Almost mechanically, I asked weakly, “Aren’t you drunk?”

With his trademark giggle accompanied by a roll of the eyes, he tittered, “Allow me to introduce myself once again, eh, doll? The name’s Richard Thaddeus Mavromoustafakis. Imp, culinary artist, and thespian extraordinaire! But you, love, you can just call me Ricky.”

So, he’d been acting?

Really?

Or was he lying now? Or acting now?

I winced, my head hurt.

“I’ve something to show you, doll,” Ricky piped up with his wide, tacky grin. “But you’ll have to move. Spit spot, time to rise! You can douse your sorrows in whatever spice you choose once we’re out of here, but it’s time to go.”

“Vice,” I corrected, still woozy.

The smoky imp grabbed my hand and tried to yank me up, but it was a futile exercise. I mean, why did he even try? He was made of smoke. I could disperse him with the flick of my finger.

I did. A couple of times—just to prove my own mental point.

“Stop faffing around, now, will you, love?” Ricky complained once his teeth had returned to his mouth. “Here now, let’s have a butchers hook—come see what I’ve got for you, eh? That’ll get you mobile.”

Butchers hook? I grimaced as he skipped to the corner of the room and disappeared behind a large picture frame propped up against a pile of cushions. There were a few scuffling noises. Someone threw a cup. It landed on the floor with a clang.

I recognized it as the old silver chalice I’d discovered before.

It rolled my way.

But it wasn’t the cup that caught my attention. I frowned. How could a smoke-creature like Ricky pick up an old silver cup when he’d failed to even lift my hand? Something didn’t add up.

Curious in spite of my newly fallen misery, I rose to my feet. And picking the chalice off the floor, absently rubbed it with my sleeve. I paused when something tickled my nostrils, and I peered at it again. It was the same cup as before, but this time, it was mana-infused.

I stared and almost dropped it.

For a fleeting moment, a woman’s face had appeared on its dark surface. I shook my head and looked again, but it was gone.

Along with any hint of mana.

Odd.

Had I hallucinated? I’d just gone through something traumatic. A bit uneasy, I set the cup on the floor and headed towards the sounds of Ricky swearing.

“How did you toss that cup?” I asked, but cut myself short as the large picture frame teetered my way with Ricky balanced on top of it like a monkey.

“Stop it!” I snapped before a bright glint arrested my attention.

Metal. My knives. All three of them.

“Found ‘em,” Ricky said, hopping down from the portrait to casually lean against a cushion and fold his spindly arms.

“How?” I asked, astonished.

The knives hadn’t been there before. Surely, he couldn’t have carried them there. He was made of smoke.

Ricky just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. If he’d been a dog, I’m sure he would have wagged his tail.

“Thanks,” I said, bending to inspect the blades.

I hadn’t been that particularly nice to Ricky. Perhaps I should make an effort to be a little nicer.

He chose that moment to giggle again.

It grated on the nerves and any thoughts of being nicer were instantly washed away. He wasn’t that easy to like. But then, wasn’t that the definition of an “imp”? They were basically like little demons, not cuddly puppies.

I’d just slid the last knife back into my boot when a new tiny voice whispered in the room. “Even the most powerful can be undone by their arrogance,” it said.

I froze.

“What’s up, doll?” Ricky asked, noting my distraction.

“That voice,” I said, searching in all directions.

He was confused. “Vooooice?” he repeated, drawing the word out.

“You didn’t hear—” I began, but shut my mouth when the voice spoke again.

“What’s inflexible breaks in the end,” it said.

“There!” I announced triumphantly to Ricky.

But he couldn’t hear it. I only half believed him. With Ricky, there was always a chance that he was lying for some reason or another.

I scowled.

But the voice wasn’t done. Again, it spoke. “There are times that we must fight for what we want, even if we turn to savagery ourselves.”

This time, I got a better sense of direction. It sounded like it had come from under the picture frame. Drawing a knife, I used the blade to cautiously lift the edge.

It certainly didn’t look like anything was there.

Ricky even crawled underneath and announced an, “All clear.”

With a quick jerking motion, I flipped it upright. It was just an old painting of some somber brown-haired woman standing in a red dress holding a book of some kind. A castle sprawled on the hill behind her.

I peered closer.

There was mana in the canvas weave. It was old, aged like fine wine. And as I stared at the face, I suddenly recognized it as the one I’d just seen in the silver chalice, a minute before.

“Greetings, child,” the woman in the portrait whispered.

I drew back, alarmed. A possessed painting? I turned to Ricky, “She’s talking. You heard that, right?”

He gave me an uncomfortable smile and looked as though I were a patient in a mental hospital. “Eh … you’ve had a trying day, love,” he offered with a forged sympathy.

“Only you can hear me, child,” the woman in the portrait interrupted. “I’m trapped in the Nether Reaches. Only those who have wandered there can hear my voice.”

I turned back to her, uneasy. The Nether Reaches. So, it was a real place.

“This is your chance to escape from this room,” she continued in a conspiratorial tone. “It’s almost dawn. The vampire’s warlock is on his way up to lock you in for the day. If you slip out now and to the attic, you can escape his spell. Go! Go now! Do not hesitate. Give wings to your feet, child!”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d never had a conversation with a portrait before. But it really wasn’t a time for questioning.

I decided to just take her advice.

“Let’s go now, Ricky,” I said, heading for the door.

Surprisingly, the door was indeed unlocked, and I charged out into the hall. The place looked empty. I could see the first morning rays of sunlight flooding through cracked windows, illuminating the interior of the dilapidated old building with vivid shafts of blazing light. I was almost tempted to just dash down the stairs and make a run for it, but just like the painting had forewarned, I heard the Terzi warlock’s voice below.

“Assuredly, she’s weakened into harmlessness, but I warrant it’d be wise to spell her door again just to be certain,” a man’s voice filtered up the stairs. “Can’t be taking any unnecessary gamble that might let the master down, now can we?”

“Crud,” I swore under my breath.

I dove for the steep attic steps, climbing as fast as I could while on tiptoe. With Ricky close on my heels, I slipped through the attic door just as booted feet arrived below.

It had been close. Too close.

I took a deep breath and glanced around.

I stood in a narrow cobweb-ridden attic with two gabled windows. It was mostly empty, except that one wall was lined with stacks of paintings. There must have been over a hundred old paintings. I could smell the mana hanging in the air, an odd collection of fragrances and ages.

Lucian had been working for a portrait. Was it one of these? Were they all possessed?

As Ricky swung from the rafters like a monkey, I headed for the paintings.

The woman’s voice came again. Muffled this time. It took me a minute to find her in a medium-sized portrait that had been tossed up in the rafters. Reaching up, I pulled it down and dusted its aged surface.

The same woman but younger this time. She sat on a stool in a dark room, light from an open window illuminated her opulent fur-trimmed gown and the small leather book in her hands.

“I must say, it’s so refreshing to finally be able to speak with someone,” she told me with a lovely laugh and pointed to her book with a sad smile. “I’m so weary of reading these quotes all day long. There’s little else to do though.”

“Yeah,” I murmured under my breath. Had I suffered brain damage? I mean, I’d had a stake driven right through my heart. Suffering some side-effects should be expected.

“But I haven’t given up hope,” the painted lady continued pleasantly. “In recent weeks, I’ve even been able to reach my treasured comb made of ox horn. The curse is weakening, at long last! The Terzi simply underestimated the strength of my beloved Lucian!”

“Lucian?” I seized the name. “You know Lucian—Lord Rowle?”

“Do I know of my dear Lucian?” She actually laughed at that. “He is my favorite descendant, you sweet child! Although, I’m ashamed to concede I’ve lost count of the generations betwixt us … nevertheless, he is a son of my grandson all the same.”

“Then … you’re the Lady Rowle from Heath’s story—the one who was cursed?” I gasped.

The mirth on her face died and she bowed her head.

Ricky chose that moment to swing down from the rafters above. Hanging upside down, he waved his hands in front of my face. “Heelllloooooo! Off your trolley? Anyone in there? Cassidy—is there a Cassidy Edwards in residence?”

“Hush!,” I scolded him, brushing him away a little too well. “I’m trying to carry on a conversation here.”

“Oh, I can see that,” he agreed amicably enough from where he’d splatted against the wall. Sliding down, he continued to speak. “But the question is why? They’re just old portraits, love. Not even worth filching. They’re worthless. It’s time we got you back to the villa for a bit of help, eh? Talking to a bowl of fruit? No matter how you look at that pear, it’s not a lady.”

Tossing him a look of supreme irritation, I turned back to Lady Rowle.

“Yes, I’m Lady Rowle, Lady Elizabeth Rowle,” she said the name with great sadness. “A Terzi warlock captured my soul in a painting—a curse of the strongest kind. He was a master painter, and it was the end for my family. When my dear husband discovered what had happened … when it couldn’t be broken … he lost the will to live. We were undone.”

“I’ll take you with me,” I said, reaching for the canvas.

“No, your imp is right,” she said, sighing heavily. “It isn’t that simple, child. These paintings are useless. It’s the one in the Terzi stronghold that must be set free.” And then a look of horror crossed her face. “The Terzi warlock! Hide!”

I whirled around, just as Ricky gasped, “Someone’s coming! Hide!”

But there was no place for me to hide. I lunged for my knives, but it was too late.

The attic door crashed back, revealing a short, chubby bald man. I couldn’t smell him, but I didn’t take any chances—after all, I couldn’t smell Lucian, either. Maybe it was a warlock thing.

My blades flew in quick succession and with unerring aim, straight at him … and then through him, burying themselves in three loud thumps on the wall behind.

I blinked.

A moment later, I caught a distinctive whiff and the real short, chubby bald warlock arrived, carrying a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other.

I’d been duped.

“Projection,” he explained with the most irritatingly insincere smile that I’d ever seen. “Can’t tell you how many times that’s saved my life.”

“Clever,” I snapped.

I didn’t like feeling powerless. I wondered if I could summon a bit of whatever had taken me over before, but I didn’t know even how to begin. And I was pretty sure it was an all-or-nothing thing, anyway.

The warlock didn’t approach me. He just stood there, scribbling in his notebook.

“Get out of my way,” I opened my mouth to say. But to my surprise, I didn’t utter the words aloud. My lips hadn’t even opened.

It took a moment for me to realize that I couldn’t move, not even an inch.

“Ah,” the warlock chuckled. It made his double chin jiggle a bit. “It’s too late for that, you know. You’ve left a lot of personal items all over this place. Unwise.”

Holding out his hand, I saw several strands of auburn-colored hair—my own. He flipped his notebook then, revealing a sketch. A portrait. Of me.

“It’s just a quick spell,” he explained, tucking the hair into the notebook and then the entire bundle under his arm. Lacing his fingers together, he cracked his knuckles and said, “It’s enough to keep you bound until evening. I daresay Dorian doesn’t want you out and running about quite yet.”

I’d been spelled.

Helplessly, I watched the warlock waddle over to the window and squint outside.

“Will that werewolf ever learn?” he mumbled as if to himself. “He’s never going to find us, the fool.”

As if on cue, I heard a howl.

Heath’s howl.

Were they coming for me?

Hope sprang in my heart—hope that was dashed the next moment when the warlock reopened his notebook to draw again.

It was a far more developed picture than what he’d sketched of me. A detailed, well-shaded rendering of a massive werewolf. Heath. I wanted to shout, to warn Heath that he was being spelled. No wonder he’d seemed kind of useless. I guess it hadn’t been his fault.

“What do you say, my dear?” The warlock turned on me suddenly. “Shall I break his leg? His neck? Blind him?”

I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t move.

But then, I heard a voice I hadn’t realized just how much I’d really missed. A deep voice. A mocking, sarcastic one.

“I’d say you should draw attention to his mouth,” Lucian’s distinctive tones carried through the air. “And give particular focus to the fangs.”

The Terzi warlock paled.

And then, to my utter relief and delight, Lord Lucian Rowle stepped into the attic.

It Matters

Suave and aristocratic, that’s what Lucian was, and handsome as sin. Thick black lashes framed his astonishingly clear blue eyes. He was fit. Extremely fit. Dressed in a gray shirt and with his dark hair loose around his shoulders, he stalked into the room, casually placing one foot in front of the other in a leisurely gait.

Lucian and Dorian were as different as night and day, after all.

Dorian, a man of raw power—the epitome of strength and passion.

Lucian, a man of confidence and polish, displaying an altogether different kind of strength, but one just as powerful. He was the kind who was always ten steps ahead of everyone else.

As far as passion went … well, I’d bet he wasn’t any less accomplished than Dorian. And at this very moment, the way he just stood there unruffled, poised, facing down the Terzi warlock with the corner of his lip curled into a smile, I thought he just might hold an edge over the Scottish vampire.

With an amused purr of a laugh, Lucian impaled the bald-headed man with a glance as he continued his casual approach. Spreading his arms with an easy grace, he asked with a thread of mockery in his tone, “And what do we have here? An art student hiding in the attic?”

The bald-headed Terzi quailed before Lucian’s advance, clearly knowing he was at a disadvantage. He did briefly fumble with his notebook, but his hands shook so hard that he dropped his pen.

“It’s not what it seems—you’d do well to—to—really, I should be going—mercy, I beg you. Mercy! Show Mercy!” The man tripped over his own tongue.

Lifting a slow finger to his lips, Lucian shushed him to silence and came to a stop in the center of the attic.

“You’ll not be harmed,” he said in a commanding tone before softening it with menace to add, “Yet, anyway.”

The bald warlock turned white.

“I’ve a message for your master’s ears,” Lucian continued in deadly tones. “Tell him that I protect what was, what is, and what will be mine. Now, be gone before I’m tempted to show you the meaning of real power!”

The chubby warlock bolted for the door, but Lucian blocked him with a single arm. Still staring straight ahead, he informed the man calmly, “I’ll take that.”

The Terzi warlock knew what he meant. He didn’t even try to object. Groping for the sketchbook tucked under his arm, he threw it at Lucian and fled.

Lucian caught the book with ease and with a yawn, flipped it open.

Clearly, he had a reputation. I couldn’t help but admire him. More than a bit.

Still frozen, I waited as he casually thumbed through the notebook.

Minutes passed.

It was torture. I wanted to shout for him to hurry, but he just took his time, standing there to inspect each sketch in a thoughtful manner, at times tapping his finger on the page.

It was aggravating. Did he fancy himself some kind of art critic?

“Ah yes,” he finally murmured under his breath.

Rip. Pieces of paper fell to the floor.

Apparently, he’d just found the sketch of me. I gasped as I was freed and pitched forward, momentarily losing my balance. My arms tingled, as if they’d fallen asleep.

Another rip. More paper fell to the floor.

A fragment drifted down to land at my feet. The rendition of a wolf’s head. Heath. Whatever curse the Terzi had been weaving over the werewolf was apparently now broken. Perhaps it had been the cause of his dull sense of smell.

Rubbing my arms, I swallowed. “You came.”

Lucian didn’t look at me. He merely kept flicking through the sketchbook. After a moment, he arched a cool brow. “And you find that surprising?”

I did, actually. Especially after the letter he’d written to Dorian.

“The letter,” I began.

He looked at me then, silencing me with a cool, appraising look. “Words are tools to be used, sometimes as diversionary devices.”

I blinked. I wanted to ask how anyone could ever trust his words then, but I felt drained. Instead, I just admitted, “I thought you broke our contract.”

“All the better and more convincing then,” he said in an infuriatingly terse tone.

I studied him, wondering just where the real Lucian resided. How many layers had he built around him? If someone were to peel through them all, what would they find underneath? Anything?

Ricky chose that moment to creep out from under the paintings.

“You took your sweet time, imp.” Lucian shot him a withering glance.

My imp flattened his ears, but replied, “Nothing of value, guvna.” He pointed a spindly finger at the pile of paintings he’d just exited. “Not what you’re looking for.”

I glanced over at the painting of Lady Rowle sitting in her chair, but to my surprise, it was gone. In its place was a cheap print of a bowl filled with plastic-looking fruit. I frowned, taken aback.

“Shall we be going?” Lucian asked.

He didn’t wait for a response. Spinning on his heel, he left the attic and swept down the stairs—both flights. I followed him out of the house and into the bright morning sunlight. After spending the past couple of days cooped up in a rundown moldy old house, the fresh crisp air was particularly invigorating.

As I followed Lucian through the neglected garden, I jumped back as a startled flock of birds burst from the nearby thicket to escape over our heads. I stood there, listening to the beating of their wings.

Heath chose that moment to bound up, still in wolf form. He was alert, tense with a stifled energy that broadcasted only excitement. His great mouth hung open, his bright eyes were wide and alert. He seemed more alive, more ‘werewolfy’ than I’d ever seen him before.

“They’re not resting here,” he growled in greeting. “I picked up their trail, leading to the docks.”

They. I knew one of “they” had to be Dorian.

“Continue to track them,” Lucian ordered calmly. He’d scarcely finished the sentence before Heath was gone again.

The dark-haired warlock watched him go and then nodded, ever so slightly. That was it. No, I just broke a curse on you or anything like that. I guess he wasn’t into sharing much.

Not that I was, either, truth be told. I didn’t feel particularly inclined to inform him of much of anything as we hit the maze of alleys leading back to the villa. Yeah, if interrogated, I’d probably mention that Dorian had—somehow—talked me into revealing a bit more than I should.

But I wasn’t about to divulge the whole having-a-stake-in-my-heart incident.

Or the gray, swirling mist of the Nether Reaches.

Or the fact that I’d heard Lady Rowle’s voice when Ricky couldn’t. But then, did that really mean anything? It was Ricky, after all. He could be lying. Or he could just be plain defective—he was a rehab imp, after all.

Hex it all, it was all so bewildering.

I blew my hair out of my face in frustration. I hadn’t showered in two days. I smelled rank. And I was hungry. Very hungry.

A chorus of voices greeted my ears and for the first time, I paid attention to my surroundings. We weren’t taking the normal route back to the villa—if that was even where we were headed. We stood in front of the church at the edge of Piazza San Marco. The public square teemed with pigeons and tourists, countless numbers of both, all ages, sizes, and shapes.

So many tourists ...

I glanced involuntarily at Lucian.

He was watching me with those magnificent blue eyes. He nodded his chin towards the people milling about in the square. “Be quick,” was all he said, his voice ever so soft.

I didn’t need a second invitation.

I fed quickly, watching Lucian from the corner of my eye almost the entire time as he sat down at an outdoor café to sip on an espresso and wait for me. I couldn’t read the man. It bothered me. Still couldn’t smell him, either. It was as if he wasn’t really there, but I knew he was.

What a mystery, was Lord Lucian Rowle. And why was it a mystery I suddenly wanted to solve?

The sun was much higher by the time I’d finished.

Finally sated, I slid into the chair opposite Lucian where he still lounged at the outdoor café, legs casually stretched out and crossed at the ankle.

He finished reading a message on his phone before glancing up to meet my gaze. “Ready now?” he asked in a Zen-like manner.

“In a minute,” I said. I’d thought a lot about what I’d say to him as I’d siphoned mana. I wanted to get it over with. “About Dorian,” I began.

There it was—the ever-so-subtle tightening of the jaw. I almost missed it.

“What of him?” he probed when I didn’t immediately continue.

Unexpectedly, I felt a sudden surge of guilt. Guilt over my Dorian-kissing session. But why? I didn’t owe Lucian anything. He was simply my employer. Nothing else, right? Still, I felt a trace of color tinge my cheeks. It wasn’t much. I wasn’t one predisposed to blushing, but I’m sure there was the tiniest tinge of color.

Lucian didn’t miss it. His piercing eyes raked over my face.

“I see,” he said, growing strangely distant all at once.

“No,” I disagreed, shaking my head. “It’s not like that! No, not at all.” A tiny voice in my head warned that I was protesting just a little too much. I bit my lip and switched subjects. “It’s something else.”

“Do tell then,” he suggested in a decidedly sardonic tone.

“I don’t trust Dorian,” I began.

Lucian arched a skeptical brow.

I frowned at him. “He’s using my mother.”

“And?” he asked, tilting his head to the side as he pocketed his phone.

“I want to get her back home, out of his clutches,” I answered. That was the truth. I didn’t want my mother to be a pawn in this game. She wanted to play on Emilio’s side, but I couldn’t think about that right now. I had to get her safely back home, and then I could continue my business of revenge—once I’d recovered and regrouped.

Lucian searched my face for a long time. At last, his carved lips parted. “Would you lure Dorian to the churchyard at the Witching Hour for her sake?” he asked.

Betray Dorian? At once, I felt conflicted. But why? What loyalty did I owe to someone who’d willingly staked me? I shook my head. No. I wouldn’t overthink this.

“Not sure he’d come if I asked him to,” I said, truthfully enough. He’d smell the trap. “But I’ll try, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Lucian leaned close then, placing his handsome face inches from mine. “Oh, he’ll come. You’re the perfect bait.”

His tone was final. Filled with conviction—a conviction that filled me with instant suspicion.

I drew back. “Did you rescue me for me … to help me?” I asked. And then letting the bitterness run riot in my voice, I added, “Or did you rescue me just to use me as bait?”

Lucian’s eyes darkened dangerously, and there was more than a touch of malice in his smile. “Does it matter?” he asked.

Oh, it mattered.

He rose to his feet, signaling the conversation was over, but I refused to take his hint. As he swiftly strode away, I sprinted after him, catching his arm.

“So, I’m just bait?” I growled.

He ignored me.

I really don’t know what I expected him to say. Or why I wanted him to say it. Now that I was near him again, the sparks were starting to fly once more. Sparks quite unlike those I’d shared with Dorian. The vampire had willfully seduced me for information. Lucian … well. There had been sparks, and I know he’d felt them. But he’d never used them to his advantage.

In fact, he’d made a point to walk away.

I suddenly wanted to know why.

Especially since he was practically running from me now.

Breaking into a sprint, I dashed in front of him and planted my palms square on his chest, forcing him to stop.

He peered down at me, angrily. “What foolishness is this?” he asked in heated tones. “We’ve a trap to lay and precious little time to lay it.”

I had to know. What would it be like to kiss Lucian? Would it be like kissing Dorian? Better? Worse?

It happened quicker this time. Just as before, the energy swirling around us shifted.

There was a connection there, something between us—undoubtedly real.

I watched the play of emotions crossing his face. For a moment, he shed his controlled persona, revealing eyes burdened with a pain beyond bearing. The intensity caught my breath. Torment. An agony that lanced through my heart.

He was suffering.

How had I even wondered if there was anything behind Lucian’s many walls? There was so much there. So much that I wanted to share. Something welled up from the bottom of my heart. It was a something that understood him, on a soul level.

And then a stoic expression stole over his face and he drew back, deliberately breaking the bond building between us—again.

“Meet me at the villa,” he ordered coldly.

He left me there, standing in the crowded cobblestone street.

I could scarcely breathe.

He hadn’t kissed me. Our lips hadn’t met. Crud, he hadn’t even touched me. Yet, I’d felt a connection like no other with him. A connection of intimacy that I knew far exceeded anything else.

If only he’d let it.

Did it matter why he’d rescued me?

Yes, it mattered. Especially when he could matter so very much.

The Marionette

We set the trap for the Witching Hour. During the long, heated discussion raging between Lucian and Tabitha, I’d learned that the Witching Hour was really at 3:00am. Apparently, all the other times littered throughout various stories and legends were decoys, planted to confuse those attempting to interfere with real warlock and witch business.

Tabitha had seemed disappointed to see me again. I guess she’d finally made up her mind about me. She didn’t care for my existence. She certainly didn’t trust my willingness to act as bait.

“What are you hiding?” she’d asked without preamble.

No matter what I said, she didn’t believe it.

Lucian finally ordered her to be quiet.

She’d responded by poofing into a little pink lizard, one that perfectly matched the pink gown she’d been wearing. She’d skittered away to hang in the corner of the ceiling to pretend the rest of us didn’t exist.

Heath came back a short time later. It took him several minutes of playing the peacemaker before Tabitha finally agreed to morph back into her human form again so that the trap-planning could continue.

It was a very explosive process.

Tabitha raged about everything. She was convinced the entire thing would be the end of Lucian, from the Witching, to the churchyard, to having me involved. She was dead set against it all. She even cried—a single tear. I hadn’t known she was capable of that much emotion.

But Lucian refused to be dissuaded. Finally, his deep voice rang through the villa. “I will meet Dorian Ramsey at the Witching Hour. Nothing will dissuade me! And I will vanquish him, have no fear.”

“Your arrogance blinds you!” Tabitha nearly spat. “Your curses are useless against his kind. Why would you succeed where every other warlock has failed? Even attempting the curse at that hour won’t help. Even that extra boost of power won’t be enough!”

But Lucian was really done with her dire warnings. With a curt, “thank you for your vote of confidence,” he got up to leave.

“You give me no choice!” Tabitha’s voice rose to stop him. “I’ll be forced to call him here right this very instant. He will stop this madness!”

Lucian tensed. And then turning his head just enough so that I could see the profile of his hard jaw and lips, he replied, “Do so, if it pleases you.”

Turns out, it was just an empty threat. I wasn’t certain who him was, but no one was instantly summoned.

In the end, Tabitha backed down. She even turned back into the pink lizard and skulked off to hang on the ceiling again, but it only lasted a few minutes this time. She came back of her own accord the moment Heath and Lucian began to openly muse if I should go it alone at first, or if I would need supplementary protection.

Seeming to find that a particularly pleasing subject, she reappeared to suggest, “Cassidy should go alone, without escort. He won’t come if it’s an obvious trap.”

“Thanks,” I snapped.

Her eyes zeroed in on mine. “He’s fond of you, isn’t he?” she asked. “Vampires and seduction go hand-in-hand.”

Was this some twisted way of prying, or had she been spying? I abruptly switched subjects. “He simply wants Lord Rowle’s voodoo dolls,” I said.

Everyone froze.

“Voodoo dolls?” Lucian repeated in a genuinely puzzled tone.

I found his response perplexing. “The suitcase,” I said, wondering what game he was playing yet again. “The suitcase of marionettes. And the bones. He wants his clan back.”

Something flashed in Lucian’s eyes. I couldn’t tell what it was. “Ah yes, the suitcase of marionettes,” he agreed hastily. “Fine then. We’ll bring them along as an additional lure.”

That was it. No pushing back of any kind.

Tabitha exchanged several long looks with him afterwards, but the conversation shifted to other details.

I left them then, feeling like I was the only one who didn’t know what was really going on. It was aggravating.

Stomping off to the kitchen, I caught Ricky red-handed, sniffing through the spice drawer. There wasn’t any turmeric that I could see, but I didn’t know if it was the only spice that had alcoholic effects on imps. I chastised him anyway and carried him to my room.

His ears drooped until he caught sight of my phone on the bed. Deciding that an obsession with selfies was, at least, a healthier addiction, I left him there and finally took a long, hot shower.

Time fled.

Night fell.

Soon enough, the appointed hour arrived and I joined the others to wait for Lucian at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t know all the details. I knew my own role. And I knew that I’d be safe. Well, I knew I had an escort. Lucian had tossed out Tabitha’s idea that I should go it alone. They’d decided to use the Night Terrors in Lucian’s employ to secure the villa and the path leading to the churchyard.

But once there, I had to place my trust in Lucian.

We all had to.

For the first time, I wondered exactly what he was going to do, and if he was truly strong enough to do it. I’d been so exhausted, drained, and caught up in anger before, that I hadn’t really objectively considered Tabitha’s point-of-view.

Now, as I waited, I wondered if she was right. Was Lucian strong enough to defeat Dorian?

Footsteps. I heard his footsteps then, coming downstairs, and I glanced up.

He was stunning. He certainly looked the part of a powerful warlock. Tall. Intimidating. Wearing a voluminous black cloak over a dark, tailored tuxedo and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he was an odd mixture of casual elegance. But it wasn’t his physical attributes that gave him such a commanding air. It was his confidence. His poise. One look into his mesmerizing blue eyes and all doubts fled.

He wasn’t going to fail.

He was going to accomplish what no other warlock had ever been able to before, regardless of what Tabitha had said.

And if it was all some kind of spell over me, I didn’t care. It only proved that his mad scheme—whatever it was, was going to work.

He waved a hand, pointing over my shoulder at the door.

I squinted back to see the suitcase. The one filled with the dolls Dorian wanted so badly.

“Right then,” Lucian said, clapping his hands together once. “Game begin.”

All eyes turned to me.

I took a deep breath. My part. This was my part.

Lifting my chin, I picked up the suitcase. I hefted it once or twice. I could hear the dolls rattle inside, and I caught the trace of their delicate scent. Mana-infused voodoo dolls. Right then. I really had what Dorian wanted. Maybe he’d really come.

Ignoring a sudden stab of guilt, I gripped the suitcase and, opening the door, headed out into the chill night air.

The moon was out in a star-studded sky. It was abnormally bright, revealing a deserted street and canal. For a moment, I wondered if Tabitha had gotten her way after all and I was alone. But then a small breeze stirred the air, and I caught their scent. Mana.

The Night Terrors. I recognized them at once.

I wasn’t alone.

With my head held high, I stepped out onto the street and began to walk.

Soon, I’d be done. Tomorrow, I’d be sitting on a plane next to my mother, leaving both Dorian and Lucian to whatever battle they wanted to engage in. My contract would be over. I’d be paid. I could find another apartment. And Emilio. Well, I’d get my information, but I’d already learned that I needed to learn more.

The whole Charmed world was a bit messier than I’d ever imagined it to be.

Soon enough, the proscribed church loomed ahead of me. It was a small place, clay tiles on the roof and surrounded by a reddish limestone wall. The iron gate was open. I stepped inside to find the stone courtyard illuminated by several old-fashioned street lamps, the really old kind that took only candles. I wondered if the Night Terrors had lit them.

I scanned the premises. The place looked more like an old stable than a church. Made of blocked stone. Just a couple of barred windows. Not a plant in sight. And, come to think of it, not one single tombstone.

All in all, a strange place.

The sooner I was out of it, the better. It was time to set our plan in motion. Pulling my phone out, I dialed the number.

My mother answered instantly.

In less than a minute, I saw her shadow slip over the church wall. She’d avoided the gate. I have to admit, it was a bit unnerving to see a vampire slide into a holy churchyard so easily. Even if the vampire was my mother. Part of me thought that vampires should shrivel or at least squirm a little with discomfort when entering a holy place, but she only looked really ticked off.

“Tell Dorian to meet me here,” I told her, taking note of her new designer suit—a blue one this time. Bright blue. Where did she get the money for these? “I have what he wants—the suitcase. I will give it to him personally, in exchange for the information I want.”

“Never,” my mother hissed.

I expelled a long breath through my nose. Were we really going to fight about Emilio right now?

“Just give him the message, Blair,” I said.

“Never!” she vowed. “It’s a mistake.”

“It’s mine to make,” I retorted.

“Never!” she repeated, letting her dark eyes flash.

This was going to degenerate quickly. Using my mother as the go-between was a bad idea. The worst.

But then, I caught a distinctive whiff of a scent.

Dorian.

He was already here, and too early. He must have picked up on the fact that I’d detected him because only a moment later, I saw a movement by the gate. I turned just in time to see him step out of the shadows and into the dim circle of candlelight, resplendent in his bright green plaid clasped over his shoulder by an ancient brooch.

My mother abandoned me at once, leaving me with him in the empty church courtyard. So much for motherly support.

“The Witching Hour is nigh, lass,” he greeted me with a glint of mischief in his eye. “I take it that you’re now in yon warlock’s service?”

Of course. Dorian wouldn’t be fooled so easily. I glanced down at my phone. It was 2:35am. Twenty-five minutes. I had to stall for twenty-five minutes. Could I? My mind raced quickly. “The Witching Hour?” I bluffed. “It’s almost 3:00am. It’s over already, everyone knows that.”

Of course, Dorian knew better than I, and he didn’t fall for my diversionary tactic for a split second. He got right to the heart of the matter. “Stalling are you? Ach, so your wee warlock needs a nip of extra help, does he, no? Surely, you’ll not be angry if I deny the lad that unsportsmanlike advantage, now, will you?”

Adopting a stern expression, I extended my hand and rattled the suitcase. “I brought what you wanted. But you’ll have to make me a few promises first,” I blundered ahead, deciding to make it up as I went along. I just had to last for twenty-five—now twenty-four—minutes.

“There’s only one promise I’m going to make you, lass,” he said, his expression altering.

One moment, he’d been walking slowly towards me.

The next, he was right in front of me, flinging the suitcase out of my hands. I heard it crash against the stones. Sliding one arm around my waist, he crushed me against his chest as his other hand skimmed up my arm, my neck, to tilt my chin up.

He kissed me then. Deeply. Passionately. Thoroughly. Stealing my breath entirely away and catching me completely by surprise.

“She’s not yours,” Lucian’s cool voice sliced through the night air.

I felt Dorian’s stomach muscles tense in surprise even as he continued to ravish my lips for several more seconds. And then slowly, he raised his head, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

My thoughts were hardly on the vampire kissing me, my thoughts were centered on Lucian. What was he doing here? It was too early. The Witching Hour was at least twenty or so minutes away.

“So, caster, you’ve a hankering for the lass, then, aye?” Dorian asked, locking his arm even tighter around me.

I frowned and struggled to push him back, but he was stronger than me. Alarmed, I realized there was no breaking his hold. It was like a band of pure steel around my waist.

Lucian arched a brow and nodded at the suitcase with his chin. “A strange way to treat your clan,” he observed in a scathing tone. “Leaving them exposed. Helpless.”

Throwing his head back, Dorian gave a loud laugh, and with a sudden jerk, he flexed his muscles crushing me even harder against his chest. “This, Lord Rowle, this is my clan now. I’ve no need of any other.”

Mana. The aromas of Chosen Ones drifted towards me on the soft night breeze even as the scent of the Night Terrors faded away. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Surely, they weren’t leaving?

But they were.

The Night Terrors were moving away. And swiftly. My heart sank. Had Dorian bought them off?

In moments, we were surrounded only by Chosen Ones. Terzi vampires.

And Lucian didn’t even know.

I swallowed, gaping up at Dorian smiling smugly down at me.

Just whose trap had this been all along? Had I played right into his hands?

Had I delivered Lucian to his enemy?

A dark shadow of a werewolf appeared on the top of the wall, a mass of crouched muscle, ready to spring. Heath. Was he Lucian’s only loyal friend now?

I then caught sight of a tiny pink lizard dashing across the courtyard.

Tabitha.

I knew she couldn’t care less about me, but there was no doubting her loyalty to Lucian.

So, Lucian had two … no, make that three, I amended, catching sight of Ricky surreptitiously tiptoeing after Tabitha, as though that prevented us from seeing him. So Lucian had two loyal supporters and a turmeric-addicted imp on his side.

It was a pitiful band to face the massive force that now surrounded us.

No matter how powerful a warlock he was, it wasn’t going to be enough.

I took a deep breath.

It was time for me to make my choice.

Whose side was I really on?

Part of me responded instinctively to Dorian, I knew that. Part of me was truly clan-linked. But part of me had seen the pain in Lucian’s eyes, and that part of me had experienced something deep—profound.

I made my mind up all at once.

Following my heart, I placed my hands on Dorian’s chest and shoved him back, or at least tried to. He didn’t budge. It was like trying to move a mountain of iron. But I still had my voice, and just maybe that would be enough if I could gain Lucian some time. It had to be only fifteen minutes, more or less, before the Witching Hour struck.

“I’m not your clan, Dorian Ramsey,” I growled low in my throat. “Your sister may have cursed me, but I’ve a mind of my own and I’m not yours.”

He just laughed and, capturing my hand, kissed my knuckles. “A fiery lass warms a man’s heart as well as his bed,” he chuckled.

“I’ll never be warming your bed,” I vowed.

A fog slipped over the courtyard wall to drift into the courtyard. I fervently hoped it was Lucian’s doing and not Dorian’s.

Apparently, it was, because the Scottish vampire turned to Lucian to ask in surprise, “Do you think to ensnare me in a spell? You’re dafter than I thought you to be, lad.”

“By ancient right, I will win,” Lucian simply replied, his eyes glittered fiercely in the torchlight.

Dorian chuckled. “I should warn you, Lucian,” he bantered in a light tone. “I’ve no plans to be bricked and staked this morn. I’ve only just awakened.”

“Oh, you’ll not be staked this time,” Lucian promised in turn. “Have no fear.”

Lucian stood just a few yards away from me. He looked impressive in his dark cloak with his black hair loose upon his shoulders. He looked dangerous, powerful, and beyond mysterious with the fog still pouring into the churchyard, wrapping the place in an eerie haze. Just what was his plan?

But Dorian didn’t appear nearly as impressed with Lucian as I was. Cocking a brow at the small square church, he allowed his voice to soften in remembrance. “A fitting choice, this church. It was here that Lady Rowle fell under the Terzi curse that destroyed your family. A glorious day, that was. A day that I’ll never forget, to be sure!”

But Lucian didn’t appear in the least rattled by this revelation. He just stood there, with his black cloak billowing behind him as our eyes caught and held.

It was one of those looks worth a thousand words. I’d just been kissed by Dorian again, and I stood in the circle of his arms. He was powerful, brawny, and a master of seduction, yet, with a single look, my heart had responded to Lucian.

“She’ll be your weakness,” Dorian cut in sharply.

Lucian’s cool gaze shifted back to the kilted vampire. “I’m not one to be swayed by personal feelings. I’m here to set the past right. Nothing more.”

“You lie,” Dorian accused.

For once, I agreed with him. Lucian was lying. I’d seen behind his mask, if only for a moment. I meant something to him. There was no doubt. But now was hardly the time for such distractions.

There was so much mist crowding into the courtyard that I could no longer see Heath or the others. And then all at once, I realized that I couldn’t smell the Chosen Ones, either. Either they’d gone, somehow, or had the mist masked them? Were we being encased in some kind of protective fog bubble?

I guess Dorian realized he’d lost his connection to his clan at the same moment. Or maybe he’d decided the Witching Hour was just a wee bit too near now. Whatever the reason, he shifted me to one side and freed his other massive arm to draw his sword.

It happened so fast. A blur. A flash of steel. His sword arced up and then launched straight at Lucian.

But the dark-haired warlock was just as quick. With near-vampire speed, he lurched sideways, succeeding in preventing himself from being skewered through, but not quite enough to escape all injury. The sword grazed his shoulder, biting deep before clattering onto the courtyard stones.

Wincing in pain, Lucian clenched his jaw and sent Dorian a smoldering gaze.

“Ach now,” Dorian began with a grin. But the mirth fled from his face the next instant to be replaced by confusion, and then, a startled look of outright alarm. “Sweet Mary! What—” he began, but he never finished the sentence.

Tossing his head back, a primordial cry erupted from Lucian’s throat, a powerful thundering that bounced around in the mist in all directions. I didn’t understand the words. I imagine it was some ancient spell—a curse in a forgotten language.

I just closed my eyes, fervently hoping that it would work. We had to be getting close to the Witching Hour. Surely, Lucian would be strong enough.

There was a scream. Several. Some coming from the fog. The Chosen Ones? I didn’t know. But by far the loudest scream was Dorian’s, screeching as if he were being ripped apart.

And then … he just melted away from me. All at once, he just grew kind of … lighter. The arm wrapped around my waist shortened. Grew harder. Smaller.

Startled, I opened my eyes.

Dorian was still there, dressed in his tartan with the ancient brooch still clasping it to his shoulder.

But he was no longer the towering vampire.

He dangled from my waist … as a marionette.

Lucian or Lucifer?

Subconsciously, on some level, I think I’d known all along that Lord Lucian Rowle had been turning real people into actual puppets. I’d suspected the shelves upon shelves of marionettes had been much more than voodoo dolls. I’d just never really wanted to acknowledge it.

But there was no denying it now.

Lucian swayed on his feet, grim-faced and pale. The gash on his arm bled profusely. With a gasp, he dropped to one knee.

In an instant, Heath was there, morphing from werewolf to man in a single, swift stride. Pulling a yin-yang-embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket—yes, Heath was the kind to carry those around—he applied it as a tourniquet to Lucian’s arm, staunching the flow of blood before the rest of us had even moved.

“But it’s not yet the Witching Hour,” Tabitha’s astonished voice sounded unnaturally thin in the billowing fog-filled courtyard. “How’s this possible, Lucian? How? A curse of this magnitude? Can this curse hold? Dorian will fight it, every minute of every day.”

Lucian didn’t answer. I don’t know if he even heard her. He remained on one knee, pale, tense, staring straight ahead into the fog that still whirled around us.

“Perhaps the Rowle curse is breaking?” Heath suggested with a hopeful smile, giving Lucian’s bandage one final pat.

But Tabitha didn’t buy that. Drawing her brows into a frown, she looked straight at me. “Perhaps, it’s something else.”

I just frowned. I didn’t have a clue what she was thinking about me. I stepped back, intending to put a bit more distance between us when I realized with a start that I still held the marionette. I shuddered at the thought of Dorian in there somewhere, locked inside.

It was as if he’d read my mind. The doll’s lips jerked open. “Dinna worry, lass. I’ve nothing to fear from a weak fool of a Rowle,” it said, its mouth flapping up and down.

With a startled gasp, I flung him in alarm. He landed with a clatter, his legs and arms entangled in a heap.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, shivering in the cold mist. “Let’s just go.”

I still couldn’t smell the Chosen Ones. No doubt, the fog blanketing the entire area had something to do with that. But Lucian was injured. I wanted to leave before the spell broke and the vampires attacked.

Lucian sighed heavily. Allowing Heath to assist him to his feet, he inspected the courtyard, or as much as he could anyway. The fog still rolled over the limestone wall, appearing to grow only thicker with each passing moment.

“Enough, Cassidy,” Lucian murmured then.

I arched a puzzled brow his way. Enough? Enough what?

Locking his eyes with mine, he lifted a single finger.

All at once, the swirling mist vanished. The scent of the Chosen Ones surrounding us filled my nostrils once more.

“Why did you do that?” I gaped at Lucian in alarm.

Ignoring me, he walked a few steps forward and, extending his arms, closed his eyes and raised his face towards the moon. What was he doing? Exposing his throat to all the vampires thirsting for his blood? All the soon-to-be-furious vampires?

“Do what?” Tabitha hissed, grabbing my arm to give it a shake.

I frowned, just because that was becoming my standard response to her. “This mist. The fog. You know,” I replied, and waved my arms at the now-clear courtyard.

But she only looked completely confused. “Mist?” she asked slowly.

Heath hung his head over her shoulder to echo in a bewildered tone, “Fog?”

I blinked.

Ricky shrugged in the background, sending me his I’ll-oblige-you-with-a-smile-because-I-think-you’re-barmy smile.

I whirled on Lucian then, but he wasn’t paying any attention. I guess for a good reason. His piercing gaze had focused on the dark shadows slipping over the wall.

Chosen Ones.

And Gloria was among them.

Lucian dared them with a single look to keep them at bay. They slowed their advance. And then upon spying the kilted marionette lying prone on the courtyard stones, they stopped altogether.

“What have you done to my brother?” Gloria screeched from where she stood, wringing her hands.

No one moved except Lucian. Slowly, he walked over to the marionette. He stood there a moment before picking the doll up by the ankle. And then in the same measured pace, he strode over to the suitcase to touch the clasp lightly with his toe, stepping back as the lid sprang open.

Dolls.

He really had turned Dorian’s entire clan into dolls.

And now, Dorian himself.

I couldn’t suppress a shudder. I’d always found dolls disturbing. Doubly so, now that I knew at least some of them were actually once, real people. I’d never be able to look at marionettes again without wondering.

With a light twist of his wrist, Lucian dropped his newest creation on top of the others and closed the suitcase with a resounding bang.

The Chosen Ones surrounding us made no attempt to attack. They remained where they were, frozen. Horrified. Afraid. Just watching.

“What do you want?” Gloria finally asked in a wavering tone. “What do you want from us? What will it take to break his curse?”

But Lucian wasn’t in the mood to converse. I imagine his injured arm had a lot to do with that. Already, Heath’s handkerchief was stained a deep red.

“Tell me,” Gloria insisted, stepping closer.

Lucian didn’t even look at her. Staring straight ahead, he answered in a low voice, “It’s too late. Be gone.”

The others listened. They fell back and a moment later, fled

But not Gloria. She stood as if rooted to the spot.

The next moment, I found out why.

“It was you,” she suddenly said in a choked whisper. “You. You’re the apprentice who betrayed me. Youmade me your puppet. You’re Emilio’s warlock, the Marchesi warlock who betrayed my eternal love!”

I didn’t react at first. It took a few seconds for it to even begin to sink in. Even longer for my mouth to drop open.

Lucian whirled on her then.

Gloria fell back, raising her fist, still shouting. I couldn’t hear what she said. I wasn’t even sure it was English. But right before she left, she devoted her parting words to me.

“It’s true justice that you’ve been betrayed, Cassidy Edwards,” she hissed. “You betrayed my brother. Now it’s your turn. Suffer with the knowledge that you’ve been working for Emilio this entire time and for the very warlock who cursed you into creation!”

Her words struck me like a wall of icy water.

“No,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t.

I stared at Lucian in stunned betrayal.

And then I ran.

* * *

I wandered for the rest of the night and into the next day. No one bothered me. I guess maybe the Terzi were afraid of Lucian now, afraid of what he might do to Dorian’s marionette should they anger him. I was protected by default.

Gloria’s words played continually in my head.

How could I forget them?

What twist of fate had brought me to Lucian? And how could I feel such a close connection with the very same warlock who’d brought on my hellish existence? What had been a spell? What had been reality?

As the noon sun rose in the sky, I decided to face him. I’d get the answers straight from his own lips.

Heath and Tabitha didn’t even try to stop me as I strode into the villa. They just watched as I stomped straight up the staircase to Lucian’s bedroom. The door was wide open. He stood looking out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. An empty wineglass dangled between his fingers.

He was waiting. Waiting for me. And he’d apparently been waiting the entire time. His arm was freshly bandaged but he still wore the rumpled, blood-stained tuxedo from the night before.

I felt anger. Scorching, violent sparks of anger. And I didn’t wait to spit my words out with venom. “You’re more of a Lucifer than a Lucian. You’re nothing more than a smooth-tongued snake.”

As usual, he didn’t turn to face me. He just spoke in a soft voice, as if reminiscing. “I recognized you the moment you touched me in the mall. How could I fail to identify the signature of the curse? It was my own … coming back to find me. That’s the first moment … that I knew you existed.”

“Is it true then?” I don’t know why I even asked that. I knew it was. “You betrayed Gloria and cursed my mother and me along with her.” It was his fault more than Emilio’s. More than even Gloria’s.

“I was young. Very young,” he said in his own defense, still in his soft voice and with his gaze still focused out of the window. “And desperate. I didn’t know your mother was pregnant. Emilio hadn’t mentioned it. And I was too young to even consider such possibilities. I was scarcely more than a child myself. Thirteen. You were an accident, Cassidy.”

Thirteen? How could I blame a boy not yet a man? And Cassidy. Not Cass. But Cassidy. Why did that wrench my heart?

But the thirst for revenge burned deep in my soul, too deep to just let go. I held onto my anger, desperately. “You’re nothing more than Emilio’s pawn. And you used me. You’re hardly a boy now, Lucian.”

I saw the outline of his jaw clench hard.

“We’re all pawns at some point,” he said, tossing his head a little. “I was paid well. And I’d sworn to Emilio that I’d never let your mother’s mind link with his. She had to be turned by an opposing clan. Yes, I betrayed Gloria. I knew I could manipulate her. I couldn’t fail. There was too much at stake, even then. But even so, had I known you existed, I wouldn’t have done it. My heart wasn’t that black … not then.”

I recognized the story. I’d heard it before. He’d been speaking of it with the Chosen One in the marionette room.

His client.

I closed my eyes, drawing a steadying breath.

Emilio.

I’d already seen him—spied on him, actually, while he’d chatted with Lucian.

And I’d missed the perfect opportunity.

He would have never seen me coming. Revenge. It had been so close. So very close.

A fresh wave of anger churned within me as I again felt that deep sense of betrayal. “You knew I wanted Emilio,” I accused hoarsely. “And you knew the whole time that I was working for him. You knew.”

Of course he knew. I just couldn’t get over how much he’d known the entire time.

The entire time, and from the very first touch.

He turned to face me then, absently twirling the wineglass by its stem. “Vengeance,” he said. “It’s a powerful motive. One of the strongest. I couldn’t let you walk free. I had to see where you were on that journey … and how much you knew. And if Gloria had sent you to kill me.”

So, he’d suspected I was Gloria’s assassin?

He gave a mirthless laugh. “I didn’t know you were just hungry that first day, Cassidy,” he said. “I thought she’d sent you to kill me. I had no protection against you then. I didn’t even know you existed. When you tried to feed off me, I was defenseless. You easily could have taken my life. I didn’t understand why you didn’t, at first.”

I caught my breath. I didn’t want to be reminded of the ultimate power I had yet to tame. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” I shot at him angrily.

His head snapped back. And judging by the line of his jaw, he was maybe even angrier than I was. “The dark underbelly of the Charmed world isn’t a pretty place,” he fired back in response. “Your motives aren’t any purer than mine, Cass.”

So, we were back to “Cass”. I decided to focus on that more than what he was saying, because what he’d just said was just a bit too logical for my taste. And I knew that it was more than true.

“My wards are activated now,” he said with a shrug. “A warlock knows how to protect himself from his own curse. You can’t harm me or mine now, no matter how hard you try.”

So, that was why I couldn’t smell him. Or Tabitha. Or Heath. He’d activated his wards against me. Strangely, I felt a vast sense of relief to know I couldn’t harm them, even by accident.

But I didn’t like that I felt that relief, either.

I was much better off angry. It was familiar. Holding onto it desperately, I continued my accusations. “You’ve been playing a game this entire time. Our contract. It meant nothing.”

He didn’t answer.

I waited. But the more I waited, the more confused I became. It wasn’t a definite black-and-white issue here. Just too many shades of gray. The longer I stayed, the more conflicted I’d likely become. No, it was time to go. Leave. Escape them all before I only fell further down the rabbit hole.

“I’m done, Lucian,” I confessed, letting my shoulders sag. “I’m just tired of this whole thing. I’m leaving. I’m done.”

I turned to go, but he was by my side in three long strides.

“It’s not a coincidence that you found me,” he whispered harshly. “There are many sides to magic. Many shadows. The timing—we’re drawn together, Cassidy. It’s not finished between us. Not by a longshot. You can’t simply be done and go.”

I looked up into his handsome face, so close to mine. “Just watch me,” I replied fiercely. “You cursed me. I never want to see you again.”

He gave a scathing laugh. I could feel his breath on my cheek, almost feel the rumble of his laugh on my skin. “It doesn’t work that way with me, sweetheart,” he promised darkly. “You’re still mine.”

I swallowed.

We stared at each other with narrowed eyes.

After a pronounced pause, he continued, “You’re still under contract. Contracts with me can’t simply just be broken.”

I knew he meant so much more than that. So much more. And the odd thing was, part of me wanted it—wanted him to claim me. Kiss me. Make me truly his. But I squashed that part down as deep as I could.

“Oh, you caught your man, Lucian,” I retorted. “Or, in this case, vampire. I fulfilled my mission to aid you. The contract’s done.”

His dark lashes hooded his eyes. “The mission is far from over, my dear.”

Oh, so he was playing that game, was he? A mission that would last however long he wanted it to. Well, I wasn’t going to play that game with him, and I certainly wasn’t going to stand there and continue this exchange. It was too dangerous. He was standing too close.

No, it really was time for me to go, to think, to clear my mind—to decide what I really wanted.

Lifting my chin, I let my eyes flash in challenge. “Well then, Lord Lucian Rowle. I guess I’ll just have to find out what happens to those who break their contracts with you.”

He didn’t respond. He just stood there, holding the wineglass in his hand.

At the door, I paused a moment. My heart lurched. Why hadn’t he just told me from the beginning? From the moment he’d discovered that I existed? I would’ve understood if he’d just come out and said he’d been a thoughtless teenager dabbling in things too big for him to really understand.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

To my surprise, he lifted his eyes towards mine, dropping all masks. I saw the pain there. The guilt. And something else. Fear?

“Why else do you think?” he asked in turn, his voice thick with emotion.

My head was beginning to pound. Rubbing my temples, I frowned. “I really don’t know.”

His jaw clenched. “I saw your unquenchable thirst for revenge. No one could miss it. It’s too deep. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t even tell you anything about Emilio.” His fingers flexed on the glass. “I knew the moment you found him that you’d learn the truth—that you’d learn that it was me you should’ve been searching for all along.”

The glass he was holding in his hands suddenly shattered.

I stumbled away.

I’d started out on a mission of revenge. I’d ended up opening a Pandora’s box full of pain and misery.

I really had to leave.

Home

I found myself a nice apartment in New York City, not too far from my Times Square feeding grounds. A pretty tidy sum of money had been deposited into my bank account, and I’d used it to rent a tiny studio on the second floor of an old townhouse, accessible only by its own flight of dangerously narrow, steep stairs. I liked the place. I even had a small balcony—big enough for a table and a chair. The place was quiet. Peaceful. Well, for The Big Apple, anyway.

The neighbor had a fat orange tabby cat that I petted at times, but only because I wanted to stay on its good side—just in case it turned out to be a sidekick for a Charmed witch or warlock. It reminded me of Ricky, who I’d left behind in Venice.

I hadn’t even told him goodbye. I’d deleted his hundreds of selfies from my phone, all but one. For some odd reason, I couldn’t get rid of the last one. I don’t know why. It wasn’t even a flattering picture of the little miscreant. He’d smashed his face into the camera lens, shaping his body into a complete circle that ended up making one of his eyes ten times larger than the other. It was more of an eye-selfie than anything else. But the picture made me smile. At least a little.

Weeks passed.

I felt listless. Edgy. Almost as if waiting for closure, I guess. I tried not to think of Lucian, but it was hard. Much harder than I’d imagined it would be. I’d returned to the states, fully expecting my lust for revenge to transfer solely onto his broad shoulders.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, I found my hatred for Emilio only doubling. A secret part of me considered Lucian more victim than perpetrator. But I didn’t let that part out of its box very often.

Fall approached. I spent a lot of time walking through Central Park, kicking the many-colored leaves. On such occasions, I caught myself wondering what they were all doing.

Was Ricky driving everyone crazy? Had he gotten into the spice drawer? And Lady Rowle in the portrait, who was she talking to now? Had Heath’s sense of smell completely recovered? And Tabitha … well, I didn’t really wonder much about her. She’d decided she didn’t like me. I felt much the same way.

I didn't let myself think of Dougall at all.

But as always, my thoughts ended up with Lucian. Had he finally gotten the painting he’d wanted? Was he still fighting the Terzi? Or most importantly … was he suffering?

Once I’d realized where my thoughts had gone—yet again—I’d quickly shake them off and head for Times Square for a snack.

Time passed, and in much the same pattern.

Once or twice, I thought I spotted a colorful lizard perched on a street vendor’s umbrella, but I figured it had to be a trick of the light. Tabitha wouldn’t likely waste her time on me.

Several weeks later, I could have sworn I heard the howl of a wolf, but then … it was New York City. It could be anything.

The weather grew colder. Snow fell. The holidays approached.

And then one day, I sat outside on my balcony, zoning out and admiring the sporadic snowflakes drifting down from above. After some time, I noticed a movement from the corner of my eye.

A puff of black smoke.

I held still.

A trace of mana, so faint, but there was no denying it.

I suppressed a grin as a spindly, stick-figured shape tiptoed across the corner of the balcony.

Ricky.

“You’re not coming inside,” I said with a growl.

He didn’t respond.

So, he wanted to play hard-to-get, did he? Did he think I owed him some kind of apology for abandoning him with Lucian?

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I actually did.

I sat there for a bit longer, catching him quivering against the bricks a couple of times, as if he were freezing, but I knew better. Smoke couldn’t get cold. His pitiful cowering was designed to instill guilt.

It worked very well.

Searching my mind, I recalled an imp’s love for peanuts, and after heading out to the nearest convenience store, I returned home to set out a bowlful near the door just as the sun went down.

Ricky poked his head around the corner immediately, grinning mischievously from ear-to-ear and licking his lips.

“You’re not supposed to give in that easily,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

“So, you’re sorry, love?” he asked in quite the conversational tone accompanied by a very long, very nasal, and very, very annoying giggle.

“No, not sorry at all,” I denied a bit more genuinely this time.

Diving for the peanuts, he perched on the edge of the bowl. “Suppose you couldn’t add a dash of turmeric now, could you?”

“Yeah, well, you’re not staying,” I snapped at him. “There’s a reason I left you behind.”

He flattened his ears at me.

Reaching over, I swished his head away from his body, just for old time’s sake.

“What are you doing here—” I began, but I didn’t finish the sentence.

A distinct scent filled my nostrils.

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see my mother stepping lightly onto my porch, wearing a white stole, a matching hat, and a tight black cocktail dress.

“Did you just fly down from above?” I asked, a bit surprised.

She peered over my shoulder at Ricky, who was blissfully chomping his peanuts, and she arched a perfect brow. “Still keeping that thing?” she asked in disgust.

I ignored her question. “You’re looking well,” I said. “What’s up? Who sent you this time?”

I figured she wouldn’t have looked me up on her own.

And I could tell by the way she quickly averted her gaze that I was right.

“What are you up to?” she just asked awkwardly in response.

“Really, Blair?” I asked, facing her and folding my arms. Judging by the way she was beating around the bush, I figured it had to be a message from Emilio. I decided to be blunt. “What does he want you to say to me?”

“Don’t hate him,” she pleaded at once.

I couldn’t prevent my eyes from rolling. They just did it on their own. “Is that what he said?”

She looked like she wanted to slap me.

I knew he hadn’t said anything of the sort, but I replied anyway, “Well, you can tell him that I’m only growing to hate him more each day.”

“He wants to meet you, Cassidy,” she said then.

Meet him.

“No,” I said at once. “Not unless he’s going to hold still while I target practice with my knives.”

She left after that. We both knew it would only go further downhill from there.

I heaved a sigh.

Of course, my mother would be on the opposing side. But then it was nothing new, we’d been on opposite sides my entire life.

I stomped into my kitchen.

Ricky followed. It wasn’t like I could really keep him out. He could suck himself under doors and through keyholes. Leaving him snuffling through the empty cupboards, I headed off to the shower.

I figured since I didn’t keep any food in the house—i.e., turmeric—he really couldn’t cause me any trouble.

When I returned, I saw that the little imp had opened the back door and had left it propped open wide. He was nowhere to be seen. Had all that moping around been an act?

I should never have trusted the little beast.

Annoyed, I reached for the door, but before I could shut it, a dark figure stepped around the corner.

Tall. Broad-shouldered.

I couldn’t smell him. There had been no warning.

Lucian.

I tried to slam the door shut, but he blocked it with his forearm before it could close. It must have hurt.

And then Lord Lucian Rowle stood in my tiny kitchen, looking down at me with his piercing blue eyes. Dressed in a fine black suit and with his dark hair pulled back in a suave ponytail, he looked like anything but a destitute warlock.

He was hot. Sizzling hot. Beyond sexy.

Crud. I’d forgotten how physically overpowering his presence could be. And it only seemed to have gotten worse.

“I have nothing to say to you,” I snapped. “Go away!”

Crooking the corner of his lip into a smile, Lucian arched a brow and said, “Oh, Cass, when will you stop being so mulish?”

That did it. I mean, that really did it. After all these weeks, to show up and call me “Cass”? Quicker than a blink of an eye, I had a knife unsheathed and pressed against his throat.

Mistake number one: I was much closer to him now.

I could feel the heat of his skin—the crackling energy that only seemed to leap up between us faster each time.

Frowning in the effort to concentrate, I poked the base of his throat with the tip of my knife. “Should I bury the knife here?” I asked.

He just stood there, as cool as all get out. “We both know that you can’t harm me, sweetheart,” he said in a pleasantly low rumble. With eyes soft as velvet, he asked, “But have you hired Terzi assassins to hunt me down yet?”

Mistake number two: I shouldn’t have engaged him in conversation.

“Oh please,” I snorted, “I wouldn’t sink that low, but I am plotting your downfall.”

There was a gleam in his eye. I knew he was going to kiss me.

Mistake number three: I let him.

A kiss of raw, powerful mastery. Traitorously pleasurable. Startling. Memorable. Rivaling Dorian’s—no, exceeding it.

Every cell in my being responded. After all, it was what I’d been wanting to do since I’d met him.

So, for several long, passionately glorious, lust-filled moments, I kissed him, transported with sensations, as his tongue thrust between my lips to tangle with mine in a dance that only made me want more. All of him. There was passion in that kiss. Lust. Gentleness. Desperation. Complete abandon. His palms slid up my spine, scorching my skin.

It was all so right.

So right that it had to be wrong.

The angry, wild beating of my heart tore me away from the heaven of his lips. My hand had whacked him across the face before I’d even realized what I’d done.

He didn’t even really look startled. His lip lifted in a half-smile. “You’re no match for me, Cass. Why waste your energy?”

“The name is Cassidy,” I breathed in confusion. “What kind of spell have you cast over me?” Oh, how I would wish I’d never asked that question.

A smile of the smuggest kind entered his magnificent blue eyes. “That attracted to me, are we?” he practically purred.

For a moment, I thought he would pin me against the wall and kiss me again. And honestly, I was vastly disappointed when he didn’t. I stood there, wanting to hate him for his betrayal. Wanting to hurt him. Wanting to get even … even as I wanted him to kiss me, claim me, make me his.

It was all so … complicated.

Revenge. Love. Were both possible? If not? Which one would I choose?

Revenge?

I’d taken a step back before I’d realized it.

Revenge. The desire for revenge just ran too deep within me.

I wouldn’t let myself forgive him. I couldn’t. What would happen to my revenge then? No. I couldn’t let any of it go. Everyone who’d cursed me to this life would have to pay.

Everyone.

He followed my thoughts. I know he did, because he murmured, “One day soon, you’ll discover that your darkest secret will become your greatest threat.”

Who was he to preach to me? “I’d never get into the same mess as you,” I hissed.

His brow arched in irritation. “And you have no secrets?” he challenged. “What of the mist that night in the churchyard. The fog? The blanket that shrouded the Chosen Ones from finding us? Do you remember?”

I held still. Of course, I remembered that night. The entire thing was burned into my brain from beginning to end. “What of it?” I meant to snap the question, but my voice suddenly lacked the strength.

And then Lucian said the last thing I’d ever expected him to say. “Calling the mists of the Nether Reaches, it’s not something that I can do.”

I shuddered. In an instant, I knew he was speaking the truth. “But you saw it,” I gasped in denial. “It had to be you. You saw it, even though everyone else didn’t!”

Leaning forward ever so slowly, his lips brushed the top of my head. And then he whispered into my hair, “Oh, there may be other reasons for that, my dear. You’re no different than I. We each keep our secrets. And I’d wager yours won’t let itself hide much longer. It will come to find you soon.”

He knew. With a cold, nasty jolt of insight, I realized that he knew. He knew about the beast slumbering in me.

Closing my eyes, I drew a long, shuddering breath.

When I opened them again, he was gone.

* * *

Revenge.

It still drives me.

Revenge against those who betrayed me, who sought to use me for their own purposes. Even after all that had happened, I still wanted revenge. In some ways, even more than before.

But … what of my heart? Did what it want even count—especially if it prevented me from achieving my ultimate goal of revenge?

I honestly didn’t know.

Want more Cassidy Edwards novels?

Leave a review of this book and let the author know!

About the Author and Other Books

Click this link for a list of Carmen's books on Amazon

Like many of us on this planet, Award-winning and Bestselling author Carmen Caine (aka Madison Adler) is from another world. She spends every moment she can scribbling stories on sticky notes that her kids find posted all over the car, house, and barn.

When she is not working as a software engineer, she is busy ferrying her kids to various appointments, writing lyrics for her husband's songs, raising her Doberman Ajax, attempting to tame her three insane cats, befriending her rescue llama named Cusco, scratching her three Nigerian Dwarf Goats behind the horns or coddling her flock of thirty bizarre chickens from around the world.

Although I am terrible at tweeting and posting on Facebook (though I do strive to improve), please find me at the following places:

Carmen and Madison's Facebook Fanpage

Facebook friends with Madison Adler ( aka Carmen )

Facebook friends with Carmen Caine ( aka Madison )

Madison's Twitter - more paranormal content

Carmen's Twitter - more medieval content

Carmen and Madison's website

Carmen Caine Collections and Other Books

The Glass Wall – A Contemporary Paranormal Faerie Romance Series

From Award-Winning Author Carmen Caine, a Contemporary Paranormal Faerie Romance: The Complete Glass Wall Collection - Four Full-length Novels and the Prequel Short Story.

The Glass Wall Series

What if humans were more powerful than they thought? What if an alien race had a reason to keep humanity entrenched in fear? And what if ancient beings that we've met before were still trying to protect us? And just what if the fate of Earth depended upon an average 17-year-old girl with a few secrets of her own?

Would she discover that the power of love was truly the strongest of all?

"The Glass Wall" - Book One of the "Glass Wall"

- A mysterious and dangerously handsome stranger ...

- A slightly jaded 17-year-old girl ...

- A paranormal world hidden within our own ...

17-year-old Sydney's only interest in life is flying under the radar. But destiny has other plans when the tall, handsome, and unusual Rafael Channing moves into the neighborhood. Athletic and with killer looks, he wears black eyeliner like a magician and always seems to be there when she needs him the most.

What starts out as a light-hearted investigation with her gadget-happy foster father takes a serious turn when she discovers that Rafael isn't human. Add Jareth, the country's latest rock sensation, into the mix and Sydney is swept into a mysterious world of Tulpas, the Fae, and the Brotherhood of the Snake.

Sydney doesn't know she's a Blue Thread of Fate. She doesn't know the fate of humanity depends on her choice of whom to trust--Jareth or Rafael. And she certainly doesn't know that she's taken the first step on the unexpected path of love.

"The Brotherhood of the Snake" - Book Two of the "Glass Wall"

- The first kiss ...

- A secret revealed ...

- The arrival of the Mesmers ...

After breaking the Glass Wall, Sydney finds herself on the run with Rafael. And as her feelings for him awaken, danger arrives in the form of Mesmers, agents of evil sent by the Brotherhood of the Snake.

But when Jareth struts back onto the scene, it isn't long before Sydney finds herself immersed in sinister secrets, and the subsequent whirlwind of events leaves her wondering just who is right and who is wrong?

"The Inner Circle" - Book Three of the "Glass Wall"

- A love is born that cannot be denied ...

- The Brotherhood of the Snake just might be winning ...

- A Decision of Fate is made ...

As Sydney navigates through the supernatural dangers surrounding her, she seizes control of her destiny and begins to fight back. And as she spies on the Inner Circle and the Brotherhood of the Snake, she discovers the power of human thought.

And finds out she can no longer deny the love that she feels. But then both Rafael and Jareth's secrets are revealed and a Blue-Threaded decision of fate is made. But is it the right one?

"The Egg" - Book Four of the "Glass Wall"

- A death ...

- A beginning ...

- An egg to change the world ...

Faced with her Blue Thread of Fate, Sydney must make a choice if Rafael and Jareth are to survive. But what if it is an inner demon she's not expecting? Can she truly understand the many shades of love?

Prequel - the short story "Behind the Mirror"

Rafael Channing is a Fate Tracker, protecting his world and Earth from disaster, but what should he do when disaster appears in the form of love?

The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Collection

The Hearts Collection – Four full-length novels

Four full-length novels of Medieval Scotland. This set includes the two Award-Winning novels ("The Bedeviled Heart" and "The Daring Heart") along with the first book Carmen Caine ever wrote: "The Kindling Heart".

The Kindling Heart (Scotland, 1478) - Ruan MacLeod was through with women. They were nothing but trouble.

Leaving the rash life of his youth behind, he returned to Skye, seeking peace. He never meant to split the clan or start a war with the MacDonald of Duntulm. He certainly never foresaw an arranged marriage to the most scandalous woman in Scotland. Even though she was twice his age, the size of a horse and mother to more than one illegitimate child, he agreed to secure his sister's freedom.

However, even that plan goes drastically awry. On his wedding day, he finds himself faced instead with an enticing, green-eyed lass named Bree. A walking disaster, his bride immediately turns his world into chaos and threatens to melt his resolve never to love again.

Award-Winning Novel: The Bedeviled Heart (Romance Silver Medal Winner) (Scotland, 1479) Cameron Malcolm Stewart, Earl of Lennox, had made his peace with destiny. It was not his fate to love as other men.

Each of his politically arranged marriages had ended in disaster. And though he had never touched a one of his wives, he had come to believe that sharing his name would consign a woman to an early grave. So, on the sunny spring day Cameron encounters a delightfully devious, bright-eyed lass selling charmed stones in one of Stirling's alehouses, he tosses her a shilling, thinking only to steal a kiss. But it is a kiss that will change his life forever.

The Daring Heart (Bronze Medal Winner) (Scotland, 1482) - To the scandalous Lord Julian Gray, marriage is a malady and nothing more.

How can a man even court a lass longer than a fortnight when there are so many pouting lips to kiss? Roaming the courts of Europe, Julian appears to spend his time drinking wine, wagering gold, and dandling willing lasses upon his knee. But no one knows the man behind the mask. No one knows that he is Le Marin--Europe's most daring and brazen spy.

But everything changes the night he finds a dagger pressed against his ribs and an alluring hazel-eyed minx in his bed.

The Bold Heart (Scotland, 1488) - Ewan was a battle-weary warrior with haunted dreams. He no longer believed in love.
As Scotland's greatest warrior and heir to the earldom of Mull, few dared to cross swords with Ewan MacLean. But the price he paid for his fearsome reputation was a heavy one. To survive, he buried his emotions and became only the warrior, riding from battle to battle with his men to protect Scotland from threats within and without her borders and letting himself feel nothing else.

But when his right-hand man, Alec Montgomery, is caught dallying with a powerful Lord's daughter, a trap is set. And both Ewan and Alec find themselves in an English prison, their necks headed for the noose.

On the Isle of Skye, the raven-haired Merry MacLeod spends her days caring for the clan elderly and hurtling across the moors on the back of her black stallion. A high-spirited, adventurous lass, she is no longer troubled by childhood memories of the day the braw lad, Ewan MacLean, rescued her from her husband, the cruel MacDonald. But when she hears the very same Ewan is now confined in an English prison, she disguises herself as a lad and sets out to repay her debt.

After a bold, mysterious youth rescues Ewan and his men from the English, the group swiftly makes their way back to Scotland. But no sooner embarked on their journey home, a young Prince James sounds the call to arms, rises against his father, King James III of Scotland, and plunges Scotland into a dangerous civil war.

But as they journey to join the prince, both Ewan and Alec discover their rescuer's secret and both men find themselves falling unexpectedly in love with a raven-haired beauty.