A Cassidy Edwards Novel

Book Two

Edited by Louisa Stephens

Cover Art by Lind

Copyright © 2015 Carmen Caine

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Dedication

To Mr. Josiah Powell:

Someday, when you are an old man rocking on your porch, maybe then you’ll understand the joy, life, and laughter you brought into my life when I needed it the most. I am so glad you are part of my family. I love you, little guy, just like you are one of my own. Now, get out there and soar to the stars. I expect great things from you.

Love,

your Great-Auntie ‘Carmen’

Table of Contents

The Seed of Revenge

The Bother of Table Salt and Garlic

It’s Cassidy … Not Cass

Case Closed

What is Revenge, Really?

Green, Pink, and Blue-Haired Trolls

A Catnip Surprise

Nice Haircut

The Price of Impatience

Answers in the Mists

Game Begin

The Charmed Mafia

Revenge or Folly?

To Betray or Not Betray … that is the Question

The Fringe

The Unexpected

Branded

An Engagement

More Than a Black, Empty Hole

Help from Whom?

The Thing

Bait

An Unexpected Find

Darling

War

The Mindbreaker’s Daughter

The Key

The Hell Stone

A Scottish Highlander of a Vampire

The Orb

The Sweet Taste of Revenge

About the Author and Other Books

The Seed of Revenge

Revenge comes in all shapes and sizes. It hides behind many masks. It waxes and it wanes through its many stages.

For me, I’d soon come to realize that my revenge was more of an idea, really. It was a fantasy, a mere whisper of what revenge should be.

It was a seed.

But it was time for it to sprout.

The Bother of Table Salt and Garlic

Irritation. Supreme. Rank. Irritation. I dashed through the chill November streets ringing New York’s Central Park with one emotion running rampant inside me.

Irritation.

One of my six-inch heels caught in the cracked pavement and twisted off of my black leather, faux-Italian boots.

I scowled.

Make that irritation with a dash of anger.

Swearing under my breath, I hobbled on one foot around the corner of a red-brick bagel shop. With a swift kick to the curb—and a vow to never buy cheap knockoffs again—I whacked the heel from my other boot to match. Problem solved. Or at least that problem, anyway.

I was being followed.

Four humans. I’d caught the briefest glimpse of a woman, but I’d smelled her unique life-force, her mana, along with that of her three companions. They weren’t garden-variety human, and yet, they weren’t magical—or Charmed, as the supernatural preferred to call themselves. Whatever kind emitted the odor pursuing me, it made me want to run. Fast. I was still new to the Charmed world, but my gut told me that letting these guys anywhere close would be an unhealthy mistake.

Breathing in the crisp air, I sifted through the various mana scents floating my way. I’d made progress. My pursuers lagged even farther behind. They probably didn’t suspect I was onto them. One more sprint to the subway and I’d end their chase. If we were going to have this showdown, it would be on my terms.

“Hey lady, need some help?” From across the street, I heard a man’s voice rise above a sudden chorus of catcalls and whistles.

Lifting my head, I saw a familiar sight. Construction workers. Classic. I gave them a quick once-over. A harmless lot. A red-haired burly fellow wearing a battered hard hat surveyed me with a brotherly thread of concern. Amusing. Yes, he was tall, masculine, and beefy with paint-spattered jeans, and I, the opposite: petite, dressed like a glamor girl, and a helpless one at that. But I was easily stronger than a man double his size.

I flashed him a sultry smile. His snippet of concern disintegrated, and he saw me how I wanted him to—as a provocative young woman with highlighted auburn hair cascading down the back of her catsuit and form-fitting leather jacket, every curve accentuated to the max—designed not for viewing pleasure but for maximum distraction.

And just like that, he fell into my trap.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” he called.

“Cassidy,” I replied with a flirtatious bat of an eye. “Cassidy Edwards. But ‘gorgeous’ will do.”

They all laughed. A few whistled again.

Never burn a bridge when it comes to food, I say. Once I’d ditched my tail, I just might swing back. I was hungry and needed mana. If I hadn’t been on the run, I’d have moseyed on over there to their corral, flirted a bit with the dude and indulged in a late afternoon snack. He’d have gone home feeling a little more tired than usual but probably with a healthier self-esteem.

A gust of wind caressed my face, updating me on the progress of my followers. Odd. I’d lost my lead. They were gaining, and quickly. Almost too quick to be humans. It was time to move. I cast a wistful eye at the construction site. I’d found more than one good meal in such places over the years. They were my version of human hometown delis, offering a variety of lean meat and firm buns, and there were several appetizing morsels in that bunch smiling at me now. Strong men. Vibrant. Men who worked outside in the fresh air, exercising their muscles all day long. Prime Man-a.

“Sorry, boys, maybe later.” I let them down gently. “Gotta go.”

The red-haired man winked as I turned away. A few scattered drops of rain stung my face as I discarded my useless heels into a nearby dumpster and took off. Low whistles of appreciation interspersed with more than one astonished “Woo-ee! That girl can run!” followed me as I headed for the Columbus Circle subway station.

If only I could really run. But it was still daylight. I had to hold back and limit myself to human speeds … which made evading my followers a bit cumbersome.

Hence the irritation.

The day was a dreary one. A continual drizzle oozed down from the gray sky. The storm from the night before had saturated the masses of soggy, decomposing leaves that besieged the sidewalks, turning everything into a slippery, squelchy mess. A car sped down the street, its tires aiming a fine spray of mud and grime straight at me. I shot them a venomous look. Maybe it was time to move to California.

Threading my way through a convoy of texting teenagers and past a rail-thin man in a yellow raincoat walking his eerily similar yellow-ponchoed Azawakh sighthound, I’d just entered the crosswalk when a white cargo van materialized out of nowhere.

It was a scene right out of a movie.

They were quick; I had to grant them that. The van’s side door slammed back as half a dozen men dressed in black body armor sprang out like spring-loaded G.I. Joe Jack-in-the-Boxes. I could have escaped them. I should have escaped them—I’d inherited nearly all of my mother’s vampiric speed, after all—but the sudden onslaught of objects propelled my way startled me into a distraction that lasted just one moment too long.

Salt. A variety of the stuff. Sea salt. Table salt. Fine-grained mixed with coarse. Cripes, but it stung.

And garlic. The smell annoyed me even more than the cloves bombarding my skin and clothing like pungent rubber bullets.

“What the—” I began, but before I could finish, they’d manhandled me into their vehicle.

I was shoved facedown onto the matted floor, and no sooner had my abductors piled in after me than the driver jammed his foot on the gas pedal. We took off, the van lurching forward with such force that the side door slammed shut of its own accord with a resounding bang.

A knee jammed into the back of my leg, and that was it. The proverbial last straw.

Losing my temper, I rolled over, sending bodies flying in all directions.

There was a lot of grunting and swearing, but one voice rose above the others. “Get that thing handcuffed, and use the silver-plated ones!”

Thing? Warding off a fresh garlic-and-salt blitzkrieg, I jerked free of the grasping fingers attempting to snap handcuffs around my wrists. Just who were these characters? They weren’t associated with my shadowers—at least, not by scent. A quick scan of the faces surrounding me revealed young men, plain humans. My area of expertise. Perhaps I’d escape this clown van faster if I pretended to cooperate.

Reigning my temper in, I stopped struggling and began in my huskiest of voices, “Hey, there’s some kind of mistake here, fellas—“

Someone stabbed me with a needlelike object. “She bleeds!”

Immediately, my audition for the part of Miss Mistaken Identity was over. “Alright, I’ve had enough of this,” I snapped, head-butting the two nearest men backwards with full force.

They pitched headlong into their companions.

“Stand down, beast from Hades!” someone yelled as several others promptly doused me with cold water.

“Holy water?” I snorted a guess, rankled. Severely hurting misguided nincompoops was never my preference, but I was dangerously close to unsheathing the knives safely tucked in my boots.

“Don’t let it talk!” a raspy voice ordered.

My eyes flashed. “It?” I knocked another two body-armored men to one side.

Out of the sea of flailing arms and legs, the owner of the voice who’d called me “it” emerged. A man in his thirties. Thinning hair. Black eyebrows that looked like caterpillars perched above his eyes. “Get the blessed oil!” he shouted at his henchmen.

My nostrils flared in outrage. “I think not. Do you know how much these clothes cost?” Waving a hand at my designer jacket and catsuit, I bared my lengthening fangs at the men reaching for me.

My fangs tended to grow when I was angry. And I was getting downright ticked off.

“It is a vampire!” someone hissed.

“Can’t be.” The caterpillar-browed man paled. “It’s broad daylight!”

As if suddenly realizing that being sandwiched in a van with an unshackled vampire wasn’t the best place to be, the men fell back, smashing themselves against the driver’s seat. I smiled, lengthening my fangs to the max. They didn’t need to know my pearly incisors were essentially useless.

“It’s a vampire!” they all gasped in agreement.

I simply nodded. They also didn’t need to know that I was actually a one-of-a-kind mutant, part vampire, part human—and maybe something else that I didn’t even understand myself yet. But I decided to confirm their worst fears by saying, “Yes. I’m a monster. One of the Damned.”

The man stuck at the front of the pack gasped and choked. I wondered what he’d done to his buddies that they would sacrifice him as their shield. A rosary slipped from his fingers.

With a smile, I bent over, picked it up, and offered it back. “Nice beads. From Mardi Gras?” I asked, taking care to showcase my elongated teeth even more. “You might want to hang onto them.”

In spite of my initial anger, the situation was proving to be more entertaining than anything else—provided they didn’t douse my clothing with oil before I could escape. They were a jittery bunch, but they seemed pretty petrified, huddled in a pile as far away from me as they could get. Maybe they’d leave me alone now.

Moving to the rear of the van, I reached for the door handles when the vehicle suddenly screeched to a halt, knocking me against the side. The rear doors wrenched open, and the sudden rush of air that blasted my face made the hair on the back of my neck rise.

They’d found me. My followers. Three men. One woman. There was no mistaking that uniquely chilling scent, and from such a close proximity, it smelled far stronger, far more disturbing, and startlingly … evil.

In that instant, I knew with certainty that the balance of power had shifted out of my grasp.

I was in real danger this time.

I didn’t hesitate. I catapulted myself out of the cargo van. Daylight or not, I moved, summoning every iota of speed, strength, and agility that I possessed. But I’d only gotten about ten feet before they threw a net on me, a fine gossamer version of an old-fashioned fisherman’s net but clearly some form of a hex net like the Terzi one I’d encountered in Venice months before.

So much for escape. It was kill or be killed.

Before the net’s fine mesh of energy-infused cording could render me incapacitated, I unsheathed and launched my blades—all three of them. They found their targets with flawless aim. Two men and one woman went down, crashing back into a parking lot surrounded by a cluster of rusted corrugated metal buildings. An abandoned factory of some kind.

But that was all I could take in of my surroundings before the hex net encased me, and I succumbed to its power. As it sliced through my jacket and the catsuit underneath, digging into my flesh like a living thing, I fell to my knees onto the wet, cold asphalt, struggling to breathe.

One pursuer remained. A man. And I was powerless to stop him as he stalked forward to push the barrel of a gun against my forehead.

“Impressive talent,” he observed in a hostile tone before glancing up at the stunned men still crouched in the van. “Tell that reprobate who hired you to stay out of official business,” he warned roughly. “Now, get out of here, or I’ll hunt you down next.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

As the van squealed away, I squinted up into my captor’s face, my eyes flooding with tears of pain. He was dressed in a gray overcoat. Black hat and gloves. A plaid scarf. He was of medium height. In his fifties. His leathery face a virtual canvas of deep lines, pits, and wrinkles. And his eyes were brown, filled with hatred.

“We’ve been tracking you for a few days now,” he said in a clipped southern accent. Throwing a quick, dispassionate glance over his shoulder at his dead companions sprawled on the asphalt nearby, he shrugged and added, “I didn’t believe it at first, but now, I see they’ve succeeded in breeding vampires.”

I spat in response. It was the only thing I had strength left to do.

His dark eyes contracted into angry slits. Reaching down, he squeezed my jaws in a vice-like grip, forcing my lips apart as he bent close to peer into my mouth. His unique scent was overpowering at this close range. It made me want to vomit. He definitely wasn’t like any creature I’d met before—Charmed or human.

Whatever he saw in my face amused him. With a smile I couldn’t interpret, he shoved me back, roughly. I fell, striking my head and biting the inside of my cheek. The salty tang of blood filled my mouth. I wanted to attack. I wanted to summon the strength of whatever had possessed me in Venice, whatever had enabled me to annihilate Dougall, but I didn’t know how. And the hex net had drained nearly all of my mana reserves. I could scarcely move.

I settled for a snarl.

“Fangs, but small, dull ones. Look useless to me,” he said to no one in particular. “However they created you, it didn’t quite work out like they wanted, eh?”

He took a small round disk out of his shirt pocket and held it up. The hex net responded the instant he clamped his thumb down on the small red button embedded in the center. I gasped in agony as the thin filaments burrowed deeper into my flesh, slicing my skin like razors and sucking every last drop of mana it could find.

“It doesn’t matter what you are,” my aggressor grunted. As I curled into a fetal position, he knelt beside me, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking my head back, hard. “I’ll stake you first and then we’ll do a bit of dissecting, eh? In the interest of science. I’ll get my answers. I’m quite handy with knives, myself.”

I could hardly concentrate on what he was saying. The pain was approaching the unbearable.

From somewhere, he produced a red stake with a silver tip. “This should do the trick.”

“I’m afraid it won’t,” a sudden voice cut in, a familiar deep voice, one tinged with a slight British accent. “Not a proper job, anyway. It won’t last.”

One moment, I hugged the cold asphalt in agony. The next, I stood blissfully free of the hex net and safely in the protective circle of Lord Lucian Rowle’s arms.

And I stayed there—for about three seconds.

It’s Cassidy … Not Cass

Lord Lucian Rowle towered over me, as sexy as ever. Penetrating blue eyes. Superb form. Gray jacket. He’d pulled his dark hair into a sleek ponytail that provided a perfect view of his firm jaw which was graced with a five-o’clock shadow. I’ve mentioned before that I have a thing for jawlines. His never failed to distract me, even in such circumstances as these. I indulged in a millisecond of ogling, but I was soon again furious at the man who’d just sliced and diced my jacket, catsuit, and skin with a hex net.

It was time to teach him a lesson.

As my attacker lunged for his gun, I shoved Lucian aside and, pivoting, struck my heel forcefully against the leather-faced man’s groin. He flew back, landing hard on the asphalt, his weapon skittering out of reach.

I dove after him, but Lucian clamped two hard restraining hands on my shoulders. “Not this one, Cassidy,” he warned in a voice thick with malice.

I rounded on him, surprised, but his malice wasn’t directed towards me. His silvery-blue eyes were locked upon the man splayed out at his feet.

The man didn’t last long under that piercing gaze. After only two seconds, he moved for his gun. I don’t know why he even tried.

In a flash, Lucian was there, crouching over him like a tiger, his booted foot pinning the man’s wrist onto the asphalt. “Mr. Thomas Culpepper,” the warlock hissed the name with deadly contempt. “You have quite the reputation. But alas—for you---your story ends today. Today, justice will be served. Tell me, Culpepper, how does it feel?”

“Justice will only be served when the Rowles are eradicated from the face of this Earth,” Culpepper fearlessly clipped his words out like bullets, his southern accent growing more pronounced with each word. “You can surround yourself with whatever mutants you please, Rowle, but you can never hide.” The man cocked a brow my direction and spat.

A huge gob of spittle landed on my catsuit. I lurched towards him, but Lucian moved with vampiric speed to stop me, confining me with a strong, muscled arm.

He cut my protest short with a dry chuckle. “Come now, I didn’t ruin all of your fun, my dear,” he said almost lightly. “I let you kick him where it hurts. But the rest belongs to Tabitha. I promised her.”

As he spoke her name, a whirlwind of white smoke appeared, and Tabitha stepped out from the center of it. Her arrival shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. With Lucian’s wards still activated against me—obviously, there were lingering trust issues—I still couldn’t detect their mana.

The slender Asian woman brushed past me as if I didn’t exist, heading straight for the man sprawled on the asphalt. With her black hair covered with a white scarf that matched her slinky evening dress and coat, she didn’t appear too threatening. Especially with the bright pink high heels.

But I knew better.

Tabitha was a firedrake, and although I had yet to fully understand their capabilities, I’d seen enough of her lizard shape-shifting and icy character to know I should give her a wide berth. She stood over the wrinkled Culpepper, her eyes sparkling with more than just glittery eye shadow—no, there was anger in them and an unmistakably unhealthy dose.

“You’re mine, Culpepper,” she declared in cold, emotionless tones. “At last.”

Culpepper didn’t respond, not even when Tabitha yanked him up by the back of the collar. It was odd. He didn’t even try to break free as she proceeded to drag him into one of the nearby abandoned buildings. He just dangled from her arms like a limp rag doll. The door closed behind them with a rusted creak, and a few seconds later, light flashed from behind the broken, grime-covered windows followed by what sounded like … a roar?

Puzzled, I silently sought an explanation from Lucian, but he responded only with a devilish lift of his brow. “Retrieve your knives,” he ordered with a bored yawn. “We’re leaving at once.”

By nature, I don’t respond well to orders. I opened my mouth to object—just on principle—when he moved close.

“You’re coming back to my place tonight, my dear,” he purred in his deep baritone, his lips brushing my ear.

Crud. I couldn’t suppress a thrilling shiver. He knew how to play me. I’d spent the last few weeks trying to erase the memory of his kiss, and in less than a millisecond all of my efforts unraveled with one suggestive inflection in his voice. Not to mention the nearness of his lips.

Still, I was a master of seduction in my own right. Turning so that my mouth was only a hairbreadth’s width from his, I breathed, “I’m too hot for you to handle, Lord Rowle. Know your limitations.”

Wickedly sexy, that’s what he was. He peered down at me from the lengths of his aristocratic nose, the gleam of amusement in his eyes accompanied by a superior smirk. For one scorching, sizzling second, the undeniable attraction leapt up between us, but in the next, it died a quick, flaming death.

The three dead bodies nearby were an effective buzzkill.

As Lucian stepped away, I moved to my nearest victim and crouched down to retrieve the blade protruding from his neck. Curious, I subjected the man to a real, first inspection. He had been young, lean, and in shape. He wore lightweight body armor, something that seemed highly advanced, secret. Unluckily for him, the stuff only covered his chest.

“Who are these people?” I wondered aloud.

In slow, measured steps, Lucian sauntered over to join me. Gritting his teeth in a dark smile, he offered, “Templars. Knights Templar. Some are quite dangerous, but these particular ones are no match for a Rowle warlock.”

I suppressed a snort. Clearly, Lucian’s ego was alive and well. Since he’d just rescued me from a bullet in the head, I refrained from pointing out that pretty much everyone had heard of the Knights Templar—medieval dudes surrounded by mystery and the subject of more than one conspiracy theory. Rowle warlocks? Well, their reputation seemed alive only in Lucian’s narcissistic imagination.

Knowing he’d likely not appreciate that point of view, I asked instead, “So, they’re vampire hunters?” Even dead, the man before me seemed pretty fearsome.

I noticed then that the disturbing mana that had compelled me to run was no longer present—at least in the surrounding bodies. Although I could still smell Culpepper’s faint trace in the abandoned warehouse, the unsettling aroma of his companions had dissipated entirely, leaving only the fading scent of pure garden-variety human.

Odd.

I moved to the next body.

Same thing. The distinct scent had vanished. It wasn’t likely Lucian had masked it with his wards. If he had, I’d not be smelling Culpepper. No. The offending essence of evil had truly dispersed.

Very odd.

Lucian’s deep voice droned in the background. Realizing that he was still talking, I tuned in just to hear him say, “And thus the Knights Templar began to hunt more than vampires, expanding their prey to all things supernatural. They prize human purity above all else, and that’s why they wish to eradicate the Charmed.”

Great. I’d zoned out, but I knew I could pry whatever I’d missed out of Heath later. It wouldn’t be hard. The werewolf couldn’t keep a secret if his furry life depended upon it.

“Seems hypocritical,” I muttered. “How can they prize human purity when they dabble in the supernatural themselves?”

“And why do you say that?” Lucian’s baritone took on a puzzled note.

As his shadow fell across the body I was currently examining, I glanced up into the warlock’s impassive, pale blue eyes. I couldn’t interpret the expression in them. It was masked even more than usual. Just how many secrets and layers did Lucian have?

“The hex net, for one,” I said, taking a stab at answering his question as I extended my arm to showcase the shredded material.

Lucian shrugged me off impatiently. “Technology,” he responded in a withering tone. “The Templars have devised all sorts of hi-tech gadgets to capture the Charmed. They’ve been at it for years. Centuries. It’s the Templars who started the technology revolution. Computers. Cellphones. All of it.”

I was about to point out that their disturbing mana scent could hardly be a result of technology, but before I could, a large shadowy form of a werewolf bounded out from behind the buildings, heading for us at a dead run. At the last second, it morphed into Heath’s familiar figure complete with shell necklace, Hawaiian shirt, and spiked bleached-blond hair.

“Nice to see you, Cassidy,” he greeted with an easy grin. Taking in the bodies lying on the asphalt, he gave a low whistle. “Whoa! Templars don’t get themselves dead easily. And you got three. Man, that’s got to be a record.”

“Weird how I popped up on their radar,” I grunted. It was obvious that someone had tipped them off. My money was on Gloria. Most likely she wasn’t sitting in some gondola in Venice waiting for evil fortune to befall me. She’d tried to kill me as a baby—and that was before I’d helped Lucian turn her brother, Dorian Ramsey, into a marionette.

As usual, Lucian followed my thoughts. “Perhaps you have made a few enemies of late, my dear,” he suggested with a touch of dry humor before adding in a somber tone, “And if the Terzi do have a contract out on you, the Templars certainly would’ve picked it up, but more importantly, it means we’ll have more than just Templars at our door.”

My clothes still reeked of garlic. “So, like those clowns in the van?” I asked.

“Pah!” Lucian’s snort of disgust revealed just exactly what he thought of my initial captors. “They aren’t a threat. They were human, governmental agencies trolling the internet, dabbling in things they don’t understand,” he supplied in a voice riddled with disdain. “No, the real danger lies with the Terzi assassins and those controlling the Fringe. There are dangerous folk there, but hardly a menace to a Rowle.” All at once, he sounded removed. Distracted.

Fringe? That was a new term.

Before I could ask, Lucian turned away, indicating he considered the conversation over. With an abrupt chopping motion of his hand, he practically barked, “You’re taking too long. Be quick. I haven’t all day.”

That was Lucian for you. All High-and-Mighty. I guess somewhere in the back of his mind, he still thought of himself as the Lord of Castle Llewellyn. Whatever. I’d ask Heath and get a better explanation anyway, an unbiased one free of Rowle superiority assertions.

Reaching for my knife, I paused. It was the first time I’d ever killed humans—intentionally, anyway. Yes, it had been in self-defense, but part of me felt uneasy. Being a bold, capable badass and still having a soft side weren’t mutually exclusive. Even if their deaths had been deserved, I never wanted to be so hard-hearted that it wouldn’t bother me to take a life.

Except, of course, Emilio’s.

My moment of discomfort over, I twisted my wrist and pried my knife out from my first victim. It slid free with a sickening kind of plop. Blood dripped off the blade. Feeling a wave of repugnance, I wiped it clean on the man’s sleeve.

Heath knelt beside me to lift my victim’s hand, squinting at the palm. “Turcopolier,” he announced, nodding his chin at a small red cross tattooed under the ring finger. “All three were Turcopoliers, Lucian.”

“A higher rank than usual,” the dark-haired warlock commented in soft surprise. His gaze swept over me, a little impressed. “Whoever’s after you is powerful, my dear. Few Charmed can bend three Turcopoliers to their will or would they even try. Interesting.”

Interesting? It wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. Retrieving my remaining knife, I wiped the blade and tucked it into my boot. “Let’s get out of here,” I said, anxious to be gone.

The light coming from the warehouse windows was little more than a flicker now. The odd mana scent was distinctly weaker. Whatever Tabitha was doing in there, I hoped she was nearly finished.

“I’ll wait for her,” Heath volunteered, noting my gaze. “No need for you to stay.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Then I’m not staying.”

I turned on my heel, poised to go as Lucian asked, “Shall we?” He waved towards the far end of the parking lot where there was a hole in the chain-link fence running the perimeter of the place. “We’ve time for a quick jaunt through Times Square before heading to my place,” he offered coolly, breaking into a powerful stride. “We can both grab a quick bite to eat.”

An eager half-smile curled my lips.

Just when I thought Lucian was pretty much all self-centered jerk, he surprised me with a touch of thoughtfulness. He knew I was hungry and that jostling into the crowd at Times Square was my version of a McDonald’s Happy Meal. I opened my mouth, intending to thank him.

But then he opened his and ruined it all. “Hurry up, Cass.”

He’d butchered my name on purpose. I could tell by the gleam of wicked amusement in his sparkling eyes.

I headed after him, snapping, “The name is Cassidy, not Cass.”

Case Closed

Yeah, Lucian was incredibly hot and sexy, but that didn’t mean he was particularly likable. But I guess I had quirks myself. And while neither one of us could qualify for sainthood, we did, however, make a striking couple strolling through New York’s busy streets. Even without his arresting looks, Lucian moved with an aura of confidence that drew women's eyes to him like magnets while more than one man appreciated my curves served à la catsuit. Apparently, its recent subjection to a bit of Hex Net shredding had only made it all the more flattering.

In short time, we arrived at Times Square. The entire place sparkled with thousands of lights. Christmas music blared. We were still days away from lighting the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree, but the holiday crowds had already arrived. I loved the bustling atmosphere, but mostly because it made bumping into my dinner a piece of cake.

However, it wasn’t so simple this time, and not because I was extraordinarily famished. It was the garlic. The acrid scent blasted the nostrils of my potential meals, making them gun-shy before I could indulge in more than the briefest of nips from the heart chakra. They balked, blanched, and scurried away.

Whoever those clowns were in the van, I vowed to get even.

Lucian waited for me at one of the many Starbucks cafés. Settling down by a window, he sipped espresso from a tiny white cup and perused his phone. Several times, I caught him wincing, but whether it was at something he saw on the tiny glowing screen or from dwindling patience, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t bother me either way. It must have been an hour later when I returned to rap on the coffee shop window. He responded immediately. With a deep frown, he joined me at once.

Waving me wordlessly to a nearby cab, we were soon off. The traffic was heavy. At times, I was certain that crawling to our destination would have been faster. Lucian wasn’t inclined to talk the entire trip, but then, neither was I.

At last, we pulled up to his apartment, an Upper West Side luxury affair, complete with doorman, security guards, and a tuxedoed concierge. Weaving our way through an extravagant lobby resplendent with Italian marble and a ten-foot chandelier, we reached the glass elevators.

The moment the elevator door whooshed shut behind us, Lucian heaved a sigh, and leaning against the glass interior, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Head hurt?” I asked as the floor numbers whizzed by on the digital display.

I figured the fact that he didn’t bother to reply meant that it did.

Only one floor short of the top, his apartment turned out to be a modern marvel of decadence and style. We entered near a gourmet kitchen, all granite, steel, with designer recessed lighting. The living room was open, light, and airy. The furniture was all modern. The floors—exotic hardwoods. A circular metallic staircase spiraled up into the loft above, offering a tantalizing glimpse of a king-size bed and a room reveling in yet more luxury. Everywhere I looked, my eyes were inundated with marble, leather, and original works of art. Hand-blown glass sculptures, the kind that look like melted sea anemones. Modern oil paintings. Antique wooden figurines. An elegant black leather couch curved around a twisted-metal coffee table littered with numerous magazines. On the opposite wall, a large bookcase filled with ancient manuscripts covered the entire expanse.

“For being destitute, you sure live like a king,” I commented wryly.

Still ignoring me, Lucian tossed his phone onto the kitchen countertop and, rubbing his temples, stalked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view: a breathtaking panorama of Lincoln Center against a backdrop of sparkling city lights.

As I drifted into the kitchen, Lucian’s black cat, Esmeralda, jumped down from the back of the couch to wrap herself around his ankles, purring. Funny. I hadn’t noticed her there before, but then, she was Lucian’s familiar. I wasn’t sure she was 100% cat. She seemed to possess the ability to materialize when least expected—or wanted.

“Hi, Esmeralda,” I greeted her with as sincere of a smile as I could muster—which wasn’t much. “It’s nice to see you again.”

She didn’t even attempt to reciprocate the gesture. She outright ignored me.

Rolling my eyes, I slouched against the granite countertop to run my hands over its smooth glassy surface.

Time passed. Lucian continued to act as if I didn’t exist.

Normally, I’d have hightailed it out of there. I’m action-oriented and short on patience. But now, well, I was a tad concerned about the contract out on my head, and after the strange events of the day, I felt unusually drained.

Still, I didn’t care to be ignored.

I opened my mouth to break the silence when Lucian chose that moment to shrug out of his jacket. My heart jumped. Crud. Why did I act so hormonal around the guy? For Emilio, he’d puppet-cursed Gloria into turning my mother into a Chosen One, bringing about my mutated existence, yet the instant I saw him in a white shirt—a shirt he’d just unbuttoned at the collar—all I could think was: yum.

He stretched.

Make that double yum.

It took me a moment to realize that he was moving. My way. I watched as his long legs carried him into the kitchen. He didn’t slow down until he was almost upon me and even then, not much. With his blue penetrating gaze never straying from mine, he relaxed his pace just enough to give his lean hips a pronounced sensual swing as he walked right into me.

I let him push me flat against the countertop, enjoying every inch of his delectable, sinewy physique.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached over my head into the cupboard behind and pulled out a glass. “Care for a drink?” he asked in a low rumble.

Chemistry. Pure. Raw. Chemistry.

“Thanks,” I said in my low, husky voice.

He slanted an amused look at me from under half-closed lids, his astonishingly long lashes just begged for a ruffle with a fingertip. “For?” he queried, tilting his sexy chin to one side.

“For tonight,” I added in smoky tones. I left that open for interpretation and sent him a smoldering look of my own.

His magnetic gaze slid over me with an excruciating slowness that was pure delight to enjoy. His body produced a ton of heat, a crackling power. For a fleeting moment, I wished I could smell his mana but sanity quickly reasserted itself. One hint of that delicious scent and I’d probably drain his heart chakra dry. I missed it, that aroma. But without such distractions, I could delve into other pleasures. Like kissing him. Long and slow. Thoroughly. Lustfully. I pursed my lips, toying with the idea.

A slow devilish smile curved his mouth in response. “Of course I’d come for you, my dear,” he whispered in the softest, sexiest of rumbles. “I always will.”

My breath caught. I lowered my lashes expectantly.

His next words were like a bucket of cold water straight in my face. Over my entire body, actually. “We’re under contract, you and I. I need your spellfinding skills,” he followed up quickly, his tone growing harsh. “And it’s high time you held up your end of the bargain. Let’s avoid the Charmed courts, shall we? I assure you, it’s not something you wish to experience. There’s no way you’d ever win a breach of contract case against a Rowle.”

Annoyance surged through me. He just couldn’t help being a jerk. It was probably genetic. “How adorable that you think you can threaten me,” I retorted in a tone peppered with anger.

A devious gleam took life in his eye. He still hadn’t moved away. His body was scorching hot and, in spite of his oh-so-Lucian-attitude, he was still very distracting. He lowered his head to breathe hotly on my skin. “You look a little insulted, my dear. Were you expecting … something else? Are you, perhaps … disappointed?”

Cripes, but even rankled, I couldn’t resist him. He played me like a violin. But then, it was easy enough to turn it into a duet. With a bold, seductive smile of my own, I pressed into him and panted in tiny breathless gusts, “Disappointed? Is that a word you hear women say a lot, Lord Rowle?”

He gave a delighted deep rumble of a laugh, pushing back against me before shifting enough to grab my hand and flatten my palm over his chest. “Sorry, there's no heart in here, sweet thing,” he chuckled. “Just a black, empty hole.”

The next moment he demonstrated exactly the opposite, unleashing his lips to devour mine. It was everything I wanted. Every subconscious cell of me had been screaming for it. A kiss of pure torture. A wild, passionate exchange of desire that sent my nerves into overdrive.

And it was all that. Raw. Powerful.

Maybe, a little too powerful.

Every inch of me came alive. I don’t know how long we kissed. I simply let myself go and fully enjoyed the ride. I guess some would call it a kiss of abandonment. Whatever it was, locking lips with Lucian felt right on all levels. I didn’t think. I just was. Experiencing every blissful second as it arrived.

Somewhere in it all, our passion deepened. My hands slid up his back and out over his muscled shoulders. In turn, his fingers explored my curves. I bit his lip. He responded by nipping mine. That set off another frenzy of passion. After a time, I gave into the impulse of licking his jawline. He drew a sharp breath but returned the pleasure, sucking his way down my neck as a series of small, strangled gasps escaped my lips.

But it was Lucian.

And as usual with him, things veered off course at precisely the worst time and always in the wrong direction.

Things were hot. Molten hot. After what could have been minutes or hours, he lifted me onto the countertop for easier access, his lips traveling down my collarbone in a fiery trail of sensation. I grabbed his head, threading my fingers through his hair. That was a turn on for him because he groaned, a ragged sound.

And it was that uninhibited sound that simultaneously startled us both back to reality.

We jumped apart, panting heavily.

I smelled it then.

The faintest thread of a scent, but the unmistakable aroma that I’d detected from the Templars. Again, I fought the urge to run. All thoughts of passion flew out the window. Was Culpepper nearby?

Leaping off the countertop, I opened my mouth to warn Lucian when I caught the source. Lucian’s cellphone, an arm’s length away. I snatched it up. There was no denying it. The scent came from the lit display. Faint, but distinct, an echo of what I’d encountered in the Templars, but real enough to cause some harm—I just didn’t know how or what kind.

“It’s spelled,” I gasped.

Lucian snatched the phone from my grasp. “Well, that certainly explains all of this,” he muttered harshly.

The implication shocked my temper into life. Whipping my chin up, I dared, “That explains all of what?”

His nostrils flared a little. He was too smart to step further into that one. With words, anyway. He didn’t stop his gaze from flickering to my lips.

“Right,” I spat fiercely. “So, it’s a spell that made you moan like that, huh?”

All at once, he was cold. Distant. Disagreeable. “Determine the caster of the spell so it can be removed, spellfinder. A curse would explain the headaches.” His lips thinned as he added in a biting tone, “Along with the bad judgment.”

That was it. Grabbing his phone, I slammed it face down onto the countertop with such force that the display shattered. Instantly, all trace of the aroma disappeared.

“Voila!” I smiled. “Spell removed.”

A muscle ticked on Lucian’s jaw. “I’ll be taking that out of your salary,” he threatened with icy contempt.

There was only one response to that: I rolled my eyes.

We stared at each other angrily, still breathing hard.

I broke the silence first. Waving at the luxury around me, I hissed, “You’re such a Scrooge.” And then tossing my head, I stalked past him fully intent on leaving, but at the last second, he caught me by the elbow and whirled me into his arms.

Inexplicably, my pulse quickened.

“Did you even catch a clue of the caster before you destroyed the ability to do so?” he asked in a deadly soft voice, half-breathing into my hair.

I suppressed a shiver but forced my thoughts to focus. “Yeah, they are evil and out to get you,” I gritted through my teeth. “The spell’s gone now. You can thank me later, once you’ve regained your ability to be objective.”

I felt his muscles stiffen. Touché. I guess he didn’t appreciate insinuations that he lacked control. I filed that away for future use.

Evidently, he was compiling his own catalog of artillery to use against me. Sliding his hand up my spine, he smiled maliciously when I couldn’t suppress the shiver. Crud. He wasn’t above using his touch to get what he wanted.

“Evil.” The word vibrated through his muscular chest. “Someone evil is out to get me, you say? Well, let’s see … that narrows it a bit. That would be … at the very least …” he paused, as if pretending to count before hardening his voice with sarcasm to say, “About half of the entire Charmed population. That’s only millions of possibilities for you to track. You’d better get busy, little spellfinder.”

A few minutes ago—OK, maybe seconds—I’d wanted to rip off all his clothes. But looking up at his smug expression, the only thing I wanted to do now was slap the smirk right off his obnoxious face. Still, I could win this one. Leaning into him to throw him off guard, I smiled with extra sugary sweetness. “There are black and white witches, right?” I asked coyly, rubbing my hip against him for good measure. “What kind are you?”

The slight curve of his lip betrayed the fact that he enjoyed my response, and he was game enough to answer, albeit in a mocking tone, “Need you ask? I'm of the blackest kind.”

I reached behind him to snag his damaged phone from where I’d smashed it—illicitly enjoying the feel of his hard muscles along the way. Taking a step back, I slapped the broken phone against his chest.

“Then it’s case closed,” I shot back. “Your attacker is evil. You’re both on the same side. You’re probably friends. What’s to track? I’m out of here.”

With a final flip of my head, I pivoted on my heel and headed for the door.

What is Revenge, Really?

Before I’d gone three feet, Lucian blocked my way. Irritation and annoyance rampaged in his blue eyes. Evidently, Lord Lucian Rowle wasn’t used to being crossed.

“You don’t understand what a mess you’re in, sweet thing,” he charged with a grim twist of his sensual lips.

Seizing my hand, he pulled me through the kitchen, past the black leather couch and up to the windows before maneuvering to stand close behind me. I watched his handsome reflection in the glass, staring over my shoulder into the inky darkness dotted with New York City’s twinkling lights.

After a moment, he spoke in an undertone, eyes still focused over my head. “I’ve watched you from the moment we met, Cassidy. I’ve observed your every reaction. Your approach. This business of revenge. You act ruthless, but you aren’t. You have a soft streak. Simply put, you’re wasting your time.”

I had no idea where he was headed with this, but I felt vaguely offended.

He followed up with, “You’ve had no real training. You’re not driven. Not really. You’re good. But not good enough. You’re going to fail. The only path you’re on is one of self-destruction.”

Drop the vague. I was downright insulted. “I don’t have to listen to this,” I retorted sharply, wheeling around to shove him aside.

Well, that settled it once and for all. I’d suspected he was stronger than me. Now I had undeniable proof. He didn’t budge an inch. And he didn’t let me escape. His strong arm snaked out to pull me hard against his chest.

His silver-blue eyes searched my face as he dropped his voice into a soft question of, “What drives you so? What burns your soul?”

What was he searching for? He knew I sought revenge. With a defiant lift of my chin, I indulged him and repeated, “Revenge. I want revenge.”

A slow smile played about his lips, as if inviting me to convince him. “So you keep telling me,” he murmured. “Make me believe it.”

There was something in his voice that made me pause. A thread of genuine concern? Caring?

Catching my chin in his hand, he forced my eyes to look into his silvery pale ones. “Give up this futile attempt at revenge and come work for me instead, Cassidy,” he urged, almost with an outright tenderness. “Your talent as a spellfinder is unmatched. You could make history. Concentrate on that. The rest is only playacting and doomed to fail.”

My temper roared back to life. One compliment in a sea of insults? And playacting? “Playacting?” I spat, outraged. “I’ll have my revenge on Emilio. He ruined my mother’s life. And mine. I’m not the kind to simply forget.”

Lucian’s lip crooked with haughty amusement. “It’s time for a cold dose of reality, sweetheart. He’s a vampire and an ancient one. He’s faster and more experienced than you in every way. Talented or not, you don’t stand a chance.”

If that wasn’t a challenge, I didn’t know what was. I jutted my jaw forward in stubborn determination.

He read the look and drew his lips into a thin line of displeasure before trying a different tactic. “Alright then, for the sake of argument let’s say that by some stroke of good fortune—or an absolute miracle—you succeed in plunging one of your blades deep into his heart. Tell me, what did you accomplish?”

I knew where he was headed. “Justice,” I replied shortly and cut him off with a, “And yes, it’s good enough.”

“Is it?” Cocking a scornful brow, he sauntered around me in a slow, appraising circle. “Is it enough for all of those years of suffering that he inflicted upon you? A quick knife to the heart? I’ve been in this business of revenge for far, far longer than you, my dear. And I can promise you, it won’t be enough. There are many, many, and I say many things worse than death, and if your heart were truly caught in revenge, you’d want him to experience each and every one of them—slowly.”

Granted, he had a point. But I was still happy enough with my plan. “We’re different,” I said, shrugging his argument aside.

A distant look suffused his handsome face. Once again, he fixed his piercing gaze over my head and out the window. Staring into the distance, he whispered as if caught in some dream—or perhaps, nightmare, “True revenge is obliterating everything they’ve ever wanted. It’s inflicting suffering. It’s the business of uncovering secrets. It’s sacrifice. Patience. Every waking minute, you wallow in your suffering. You relive how it came to be. You become consumed by a force that enables you to betray even those closest to your heart. It devours your soul. To accomplish your goal, you’ll work with anyone and do anything that takes you further down the path you want to go.”

By the time he’d finished, his voice had taken on a disturbing harshness that I found chilling to hear, revealing just how dark and dangerous he really was underneath it all. It was alarming. And more than a bit frightening. He spoke from experience—that much was clear. And I had no doubt that when he unleashed the power of his fury, his revenge upon the Terzi … well, they, or anyone who stood in the way, wouldn’t stand a chance.

Seeming to understand just how much he’d unwittingly exposed, he turned away to rub his temples. “You don’t know what revenge is. You’re in over your head, and in the Charmed world, it takes more than raw talent to survive. Now, you have the Terzi, Templars, and who knows what else on your trail. It’s time to quit playing. You’re an amateur, Cass, and it will get you killed.”

Was he trying to make me furious? Peeved, I waved a hand in the general direction of the kitchen and his smashed phone. “They all seem after you, too,” I responded pointedly. “And for all your strength and power, it took this inexperienced and raw-talented newbie …” I paused to slide a hand over my hip, before continuing, “to break whatever spell they put on your phone, didn’t it? You think you might be underestimating me a little?”

He wasn’t buying it. “Let it go, Cassidy,” he gently stressed my name, my full name, as if in some sort of concession. “Let Emilio go. He’s not one you should mess with. You don’t know him or what he’s capable of.”

“Then I’ll learn,” I vowed, but my words sounded strangely flat.

A stilted silence descended between us, one in which each of us became lost in our own thoughts.

Lucian was such a puzzle. Arrogant and condescending. Dismissive. Beautiful. A man of focus. An accomplished warlock who knew the Charmed world like the back of his hand. While I didn’t know his motives for having engaged in this particular conversation, I couldn’t deny that he knew Emilio far better than I.

Did he have a point?

Yes, I hadn't had an apple-pie life. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I wanted Emilio to pay. And yes, I’d put in a fair share of effort to learn how to throw a knife.

But was that a true lust for revenge? A wave of doubt washed over me.

Hex it all, what if Lucian was right?

As if sensing my indecision, he broke the silence to drive his point home. “Emilio will pay, I promise you,” he swore with a frank sincerity. “You’re too hot-blooded to do this alone, my dear. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Come work for me instead. Permanently. Take your rightful place in the Charmed world, seize your destiny as a spellfinder unmatched in power and talent.”

I held still. He was overwhelmingly persuasive, and I was genuinely tempted to listen. He always dredged up a rollercoaster of emotions inside me. Why was that? Maybe I should work for him, hang around, and find out.

Our gazes locked. The energy around us crackled, threatening to reignite attraction as Lucian’s strong arm snaked about my waist.

His head bent closer. His lips were millimeters away when the apartment door crashed back with a bang.

“Let’s hope we’re not springing another Terzi trap,” Heath barked, charging into the apartment in ferocious werewolf form with Tabitha close upon his heels.

Green, Pink, and Blue-Haired Trolls

Taking one look at me locked in Lucian’s embrace, Heath immediately reversed course and chimed, “Leaving!”

“That’s not necessary,” Lucian cut in, his arrogance returning with a vengeance. “It’s not what it seems.”

I agreed with a whole-hearted, “Ditto.”

Lucian sent me a dark look that smacked of the hypocritical, but I couldn’t point fingers.

Rising to assume human form, Heath faced us with a sobering expression. “Well, we’ve a bit of news, man. I tried texting you a few times, but you were radio silent, dude, and ...” He pointed to Lucian’s phone on the countertop but upon seeing that it’d been smashed, just ended with an, “Oh.”

Tabitha stepped forward then, and one look at her face revealed that something was wrong. Drastically. Usually never one to portray emotion, she was displaying a wealth of it now. Her swollen eyes were rimmed a bright red that matched her nostrils. She’d been crying. A lot. I could only stare as she clicked her way across the floor in her pink heels.

Lucian froze in alarm.

It took her several attempts before she managed to say, “He’s gone. I’ve failed you. I’ve failed the House of Rowle.”

I blinked. It sounded serious. One look at Lucian’s face confirmed it as even worse.

“He?” Lucian repeated with a lethal softness. In the most pleasant—and deadliest—of voices, he prompted, “The Templar? Culpepper? He escaped?”

Tabitha just stood there. Detached. Cold. Silent.

Sympathy just wasn’t part of Lucian’s makeup. “Is someone else gone? A pet? A friend? Relative? Foe? Lover?” he grilled her, shooting the questions off in rapid succession and growing angrier with each one until finally ending with, “Why would I care?”

They locked gazes.

In spite of the onslaught of questions, it was obvious from Lucian’s pale face that he already knew what was so dreadfully wrong.

At last, Tabitha moved, pulling something out of her coat pocket. It was a keychain, one of the cheap, ugly ones with two little hideous plastic troll dolls dangling from it by their neon pink and green hair.

The instant Lucian saw it, he gave a gargling sort of cry and, returning to the window, struck it with such force that I thought it would shatter. He began to swear a crescendo of violence before finally throwing his head back to shout at the ceiling, “How could you let this happen?”

That was enough for Tabitha. Tossing the keychain at him, she poofed into her lizard form, a tiny white one this time, and skittered across the floor to disappear behind the bookcase.

Whirling to catch the keychain before it splatted on the floor, Lucian turned his ire on Heath. “How? Where’s the third? What happened?” he raged, stalking forward to tower menacingly over the werewolf. “How could you let this happen? Why aren’t you after him right now?”

I’ll say one thing for Heath. He was definitely brave. Standing up to Lucian in that intimidating state wasn’t an easy thing to do.

“Needed to check in on the home-front first, man,” Heath answered, unruffled. “Had to make sure you were A-OK, man. I tried calling, texting, but I couldn’t chance it with you going dark like that. Had to come back and make sure they hadn’t already gotten to you two.”

The look Lucian sent me was one of the utmost chilling, accusatory kind. Not something I was about to take. “Hey, not my fault your phone was spelled,” I said in my own defense.

He didn’t like it, but he knew the truth when he heard it. Grinding his jaw, he shifted his dark mood back to Heath and asked just one word, “How?”

“It was Culpepper,” Heath answered at once. “I mean, it was the spiders. Radical, man. I went to check on Tabitha and she was out cold. Solid cold. The Templar was out too, and then spiders started crawling right out of his nose. Went straight for the trolls in her pocket. Before I could get there, they’d already unleashed the blue-haired one.” The expression on his tanned face was an earnest one. “We’ll get him back, Lucian. Just had to make sure you were safe first.”

Spiders? I couldn’t suppress a shiver. Spiders weren’t exactly my favorite thing.

Closing his eyes, Lucian took a very deep, very long breath. He held it, an extraordinarily long time before finally exhaling. At last, he lifted his lashes, revealing iridescent silver eyes glowing with rage, but a cold, unsettling rage far deadlier than the passionate outburst of moments before.

“And Culpepper?” he whispered in the softest of voices.

“Escaped,” Heath squared his shoulders and shook his blond head. “Along with the spiders. I secured the remaining trolls first, man. And Culpepper must’ve come to, and they all took that chance to escape. Culpepper must’ve fallen under some kind of spell. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Looks like the Terzi used him as bait to get the trolls.

Lucian didn’t respond.

That was the end of the bad news. It was already more than enough, anyway. Shifting back into a great gray wolf, Heath padded over to the bookcase and, crouching down on all four paws, smooshed his nose against the crack running between the bottom shelf and the floor. “It’ll be ok, Tabitha,” he promised. “Come out and help. We’ll find it. It’s good. It’s all good.”

That was Heath. Ever the peacemaker.

A tense silence blanketed the apartment as Lucian just stood there in the center of it all, lost in his own world.

And as the silence lengthened, my attention wandered to the troll keychain dangling from his hand, wondering why all the hubbub over such ugly dolls. There was something fascinating about them. Yeah, I knew Lucian cursed people by turning them into marionettes. But it would seem that his body of work featured all manner of dolls. And apparently, these repulsive troll dolls were VIP. Or VICC. Very important Charmed creatures. I squinted at them, swinging from the ring by their braided hair, wondering what they’d done to deserve their fate of having to sport goofy smiles and whacked-out do’s. The dolls were exquisitely crafted. Remarkably lifelike. Lucian had outdone himself with this curse. I leaned even closer.

One of them blinked.

I jumped, startled.

They weren’t inanimate dolls at all—they were conscious.

With a frown, Lucian’s pale eyes zeroed in on me. “Smell anything?” he asked, shaking the keychain in front of my nose.

“Smell?” I repeated, slightly unnerved at the repulsive creatures.

He jingled the ring at me again and even more impatiently. The trolls danced. One of them giggled.

I was about to tell him I couldn’t smell a thing when I caught a faint whiff of something delicious, even delectable. A fragrance I’d missed. But it wasn’t coming from the trolls.

It was Lucian’s mana.

My eyes widened and my senses reeled. I was like a creature possessed. I wanted a nip. The tiniest of nips. But before I could outright drool, the appetizing fragrance melted away.

Lucian hadn’t missed a millisecond of my reaction. Cursing under his breath, he grated, “It’s happening already.” Jiggling the trolls again, he expounded, “These trolls are my vessels, recipients of my household sorcery. These are my wards. Our protection.”

“Wards?” I repeated, surprised. I couldn’t help it.

The keychain trolls were his wards? When I thought of wards, beautifully mysterious runes or colored crystals sprang to mind … not grotesque troll dolls invented in Denmark that people sometimes hang from their rearview mirror. I eyeballed the ugly things, intrigued. What was Lucian’s fascination with dolls?

“It’s no light matter,” Lucian cut into my thoughts. “The Terzi nearly destroyed us tonight. Even now, with my triad of wards broken, our protection will shatter. It’ll only take a few weeks before we’ll be naked to the Charmed World. We’ve got to find my ward and find it now before the Terzi can do more harm. They’re clearly after my collection.”

“How can you be so sure?” I probed, curious.

He sent me a patronizing look. “They’re always after it. But this time, they’re getting too close, which means we must go on the offensive. It’s time to get to work, spellfinder.”

Spellfinder. I recoiled, unexpectedly allergic to the word.

It wasn’t the kind of thing Lucian would miss. “Oh, you’ll help, Spellfinder,” he repeated, stressing the title again. With a frosty undercurrent lacing his baritone, he added, “You had a hand in creating this mess. You’re certainly going to help in the fixing of it.”

My mouth clamped shut. Crud. He was right. I’d smelled Culpepper’s disturbing scent. I was too green. In hindsight, I should’ve recognized the Templar had probably been spelled when the scent disappeared from his companions. At the very least, I should have told Lucian about it at the time. “Maybe, just this once,” I agreed, a tad reluctantly.

I don’t think he even heard me. Stuffing his remaining wards into his pocket, he reached for his jacket when a sudden current of air carried a new wave of his scent directly into my nostrils. I clenched my fingers. Cripes. The mana came off of his lean body in visible waves, like the heat waves on a desert road. He was incredibly powerful. And just too delicious for me to ignore. Irresistible. I latched my greedy eyes onto his heart chakra, my fangs lengthening in the equivalent of a drool.

Catching the movement, he shrank back in alarm.

To my relief, the waves and the scent vanished at once. I turned away. It was already hard enough to work with Lucian. If I had to smell him, it was going to be pure hell.

“We attack at once,” Lucian said, addressing Heath. “Order your pack to execute Code Radillo and then inform the water witches it’s time for a stealth run. Let the Black Pixies know I’m headed their way. Oh, and tell the Perimancers to wake up the Stones. We’re casting this net, wide and deep.”

As he issued a series of crisp orders, all of which sounded like some twisted fairy tale battle plan, I escaped to the kitchen to just get a moment’s breather.

It was then that I smelled it. The feeblest thread of the evil scent.

Startled, I searched for the source, zeroing in on Lucian’s smashed phone and, leaning close, subjected it to a deep inspection. Yes, it was there. Very faint.

Dimly, I heard Heath growling behind me. “He’s coming.”

I didn’t really pay much attention to him. I was focused on the phone’s broken display. Something was moving inside it. Something tiny. Hardly bigger than a flea. Multiple legs, but only two that functioned. My eyes widened in surprise. It was a spider. Barely alive.

“Perfect,” I whispered under my breath. Maybe I could track the sucker and get out of my spellfinding obligations in short order. “Hey, guys!” I began when two things happened.

First, I felt Lucian’s hot breath on the back of my neck.

“You’re exhausted,” his deep voice thrummed sensually. “Sleep.”

I was about to protest quite the opposite when my body grew unexpectedly heavy. My eyelids closed on their own. As I liquefied into a limp noodle and melted into his arms, I smelled a distinctly familiar scent. One that I’d encountered in Venice just months before.

Emilio.

A Catnip Surprise

I was caught in an uneasy dream. Dorian. I’d never dreamt of him before. Not like this. It felt real. Dorian stood on a castle parapet with the highlands of Scotland rolling over the horizon behind him. Tall, virile, devastatingly handsome with his green kilt whipping in the wind, the perfect shade of plaid that matched his emerald eyes laughing down at me.

I sat bolt upright, gasping for breath and looked around in a sort of woozy confusion. I’d been dreaming of a … castle? I frowned. My head felt like it had been hit by a truck. With my dream already fading away, I began an inspection of my surroundings, taking a mental inventory of the room to scavenge for clues of how I’d gotten there.

I sat on a king-size bed covered with a gray suede comforter. The room itself was bare in a classy, designer-sort of way. Minimalist style. A white shag carpet on the floor. A huge, thinner-than-paper TV on the wall. Modern art, muted tones. Small bedside tables with an expensive gray-and-black splotched pottery lamp resting on each. The late afternoon sun streaming through the plate glass windows to my left provided a greenhouse effect, rendering the room uncomfortably warm.

I recognized it then. Lucian’s bedroom. I could see down into the living room below.

Crud. Inventory was done. Yeah, I knew where I was now, but I still couldn’t recall just exactly how I’d ended up on his bed. With a frown, I began swinging my legs over the edge when I heard a distinct hiss.

I froze.

It took me a moment to see Tabitha’s lizard form curled around the base of the lamp perched on the bedside table. She’d camouflaged herself to match the gray-and-black mottled pattern perfectly.

“Lucian’s my possession.” Her tiny pink tongue flickered out in warning.

I raised a brow. “Possession?” My fangs came out of their own accord as I experienced an odd pang of jealousy mixed with anger. Was he a two-timer on top of everything else? “Are you his girlfriend?”

The instant I asked, my gut told me that it didn’t fit. And judging by her blank expression, it certainly appeared as if the question really didn’t compute in her tiny lizard brain either. If anything, it only seemed to tick her off.

“Lucian’s mine. He’s always been mine. My possession,” she repeated with an icy finality, as if that explained it.

“OOOkaaayy.” I snorted in response. “Whatever that means.” Yeah. It was as clear as mud. But I didn’t really care. I’d only kissed the dude. And while that had been extraordinarily fun, I wasn’t planning on making it a long term thing.

She said something else, but I didn’t hear it.

I’d just realized that the sun streaming through the window was of the late afternoon kind.

And that meant I was missing a hefty chunk of time.

“Stay away,” Tabitha’s tiny voice intruded in on my surprise. She’d curled her tail up like a scorpion. “This is not advice. It's a warning.”

“Whatever,” I growled under my breath. She’d never liked me to begin with. It was becoming mutual now. “I’m not looking for a relationship.” Leaning over, I dropped my nose close to hers to sell the point and added, “Not my thing. Really.”

That settled it in my books. Straightening, I prepared to heave myself off the bed when a black shape at the foot startled me.

Esmeralda.

Where had she come from? Thin air? She sat there sporting a garnet-studded collar. Her ears were practically horizontal with immense displeasure and the tip of her tail thrummed against the comforter in a rhythmic warning.

“Good morning … errr afternoon, Esmeralda,” I muttered uneasily. “Can I help you?”

I waved my hand in an open invitation but caught a lungful of my own body odor. The pungent fumes of garlic and sweat made me gag. Crud. I was still wearing my garlic-scented catsuit. Not my perfume of choice.

A look of utter disdain flickered in Esmeralda’s green eyes. But I couldn’t tell if it was my offensive stench or the fact that she considered anything coming out of my mouth as even worse. Irritated on either account, I showed her a fang of my own and for the third time, moved to slide off the bed.

In a flash, she was at my side, resting a paw on my knee to ever so slightly extend one claw. Just one. I didn’t know cats commanded such fine motor control.

“So, I gather you’ve got orders to keep me here,” I growled. I was on the fence about adding “Well, just try!” Judging by the needle-sharpness of that one claw, I didn’t relish the idea of being on the receiving end of the rest, not to mention an unknown number of sharp, pointy teeth.

“I see you’re awake,” Lucian’s deep voice startled me. “At last.”

I jerked. He stood at the top of the spiral staircase, wearing jeans and no shirt as he towel-dried his dark wet hair. He’d evidently just stepped out of the shower.

My breath caught. I’d thought him yummy in a white shirt. He was even yummier without one.

He was watching me closely. Intensely. But there was no sensual attraction in his gaze this time. He was looking at me in that leery way, as if half-expecting me to explode. After a moment, he casually added, “Ah. I see you don’t recall.”

That was puzzling. “Recall?” I repeated, arching a brow. But then the realization struck me that I was in his bed, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Lucian followed my thoughts. “Hardly,” he said, nipping my blossoming concern in the bud. He crooked his lip in dry amusement. “I don’t find the scent of garlic a turn on. Not my thing. Really.”

I recognized my own words. And the garlic comment … well, trust Lucian to insult a girl’s pride. But before I could respond, I was struck by the feeling that I’d forgotten something. Something important … but what?

“You’re sensitive to spells,” Lucian continued, rubbing his head vigorously with the towel.

The way his muscles interplayed on his abs threatened to kick-start my breathing. Why didn’t the man put on a shirt? How did he expect me to listen?

I tried glaring at him.

He didn’t notice.

“Extraordinarily sensitive,” he was saying in his slightly British-accented baritone. Tossing his towel over his broad shoulder with a slap, he stalked my way. “I should’ve known. You’ve an unusual flow of mana running through your system since you live off the stuff. It’s your Achilles Heel. I’d wager that even a first-year witchling could render you incapacitated. And with my wards as weak as they are, you should exercise extreme caution. When they go down, you’re basically exposed. Helpless. Worse than an infant. Anyone thinking of even practicing a curse just might spell you for life.”

Images flashed across my mind. Something about a blue-haired troll. I remembered smashing his phone. Oh, the Templars. Tabitha looking pretty upset. Was there something else?

“Your memory will return shortly,” Lucian said, reading my confusion. He glanced down at his watch. “That spell I set on you should’ve only lasted five minutes, not the sixteen hours that it has. You’ve slept the night and most of the day away, but we made fair progress without you. The Terzi are already on the run. We’ll have them cornered soon. But it’s your turn now. The Black Pixies have found something we need to investigate, after we run a few errands.”

I wasn’t really listening. I was caught on the word spell. “You spelled me?” I sputtered, outraged.

He just shrugged as if it were no big deal. Bending down, he picked up a shopping bag from the floor and dropped it onto the bed. “I had Heath pick you up some clothes. Shower and change.”

I eyed the shopping bag. Heath? I didn’t think so. I wasn’t about to don a Hawaiian muumuu, but more importantly, I wanted to know what Lucian had done to me. “How can I trust you if you can spell me any ol’ time you please?” I scowled.

“I did it to protect you, my dear. Now, get ready. You have ten minutes. You’re on the clock.”

Protect me? From what? I was about to protest more when a flash of memory surfaced. Culpepper, the Knight Templar. He’d escaped. I should’ve told Lucian that the Templar had likely been spelled, given that awful mana scent about him. Spiders had broken Lucian’s protection had captured one of his wards, and we’d all suffer grave danger if we didn’t find it soon. We had to defend ourselves.

So, I was beginning to remember.

Lucian moved to the bedside table and opened a drawer. Picking up a small silver jewelry box, he tossed it into my lap. It bounced off my thigh and landed on the bed, the lid popping open.

“Take care of your problem imp,” he ordered caustically. “I’ve had enough of him.”

Ricky.

I hadn’t seen him since he’d let Lucian into my apartment a few weeks ago. I grabbed the box and slammed the lid shut as fast as I could, but it didn’t matter. The thing was already empty. There was no sign of the little miscreant. Not even the faintest wisp of black smoke.

Lucian swore under his breath.

In spite of the serious situation, I couldn’t help but crack my lips in amusement.

“Esmeralda.” The warlock rounded on his familiar primly perched on the pillows, bathing her paw.

The sleek black cat’s ears flicked back, but she continued washing.

“Esmeralda, I haven’t the time for this.” Lucian’s voice took on the glimmer of a threat.

I enjoyed it. I truly did. It was fun watching that cat fail. She tried for the role of Innocent, enlarging her eyes in that Puss-in-Boots way. It was masterfully executed, and I couldn’t help but think she’d win.

But Lucian merely arched a cold brow in a way that all but confirmed he really did have a black, empty hole for a heart.

Swallowing her immense pride, the slinky black cat slunk off the bed, returning shortly with one of those knitted catnip balls. Taking a swipe, she batted it across the bed and then resumed her paw-bathing as though she’d planned the entire sequence of events all along.

As the catnip ball rolled to a stop, Ricky’s large black ears popped out, and I experienced the strange combination of delight mixed with a healthy dose of irritation.

“It’s about time you sprang me from this hoosegow, love. It’s been grim,” the catnip ball complained as it sprouted a pair of wispy smoke legs and tiptoed over to me. “Not my cuppa! Not my cuppa tea one jot!”

“You’re most fortunate you haven’t been returned and reaffirmed defective, imp,” Lucian inserted coolly. “You are, without a doubt, the most malfunctioning creature of your kind that I’ve ever encountered. Bertha should have paid me to take you off her hands.”

For some odd reason, that settled it, right then and there. I hadn’t truly accepted Ricky as mine before. Not all the way. And part of me had resented Lucian for saddling me with the bargain-bin, cheapest reject of imps—and one addicted to turmeric to boot. But now. Now? Well, now I wanted to keep the little sucker. Maybe it was because he’d kind of grown on me. Or maybe I just wanted to annoy the snooty warlock hunkering over me.

Did it matter?

“Keep him, then,” Lucian murmured, shrugging into his shirt and tucking it in.

Hex it. I hated it when he read my mind.

“Hurry up and shower, my dear,” he tossed the words over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs with Esmeralda prissily trailing behind. “You’re wasting time. We’ve got an advantage I’m not going to lose. If all goes according to plan, we’ll have this all finished up tonight—and come out ahead.” He chuckled under his breath. “Quite ahead.”

I watched his broad shoulders descend the steps. His mood had obviously lightened. I guess the magical war with all those water witches and perimancers—whatever they were—was going well.

I blinked. Nice. I’d just remembered a bit more.

But first things first. Shower. At once. Tossing the catnip-ball version of Ricky into my boot for safekeeping, I headed for Lucian’s bathroom, almost drooling in anticipation of a rejuvenating shower.

The bathroom was an extravagance of marble, minimalist style and a few well-placed works of art, but I didn’t pay much attention to them. The hot water was the main attraction for me. It was a relief to be free of the disgusting combination of rancid garlic and sweat. Finally, I turned the hot water off and swathed myself in luxurious, oversized aloe vera-infused towels—just what was destitute in Lucian’s eyes? With one last regretful look at my shredded, garlic-infused catsuit, I padded into the bedroom to face Heath’s one-size-fits-all Hawaiian muumuu and shell necklace.

Wincing, I dumped the clothing out onto the bed and eyed the material splayed out before me.

Wow. Who knew Heath had a flare for fashion? It made his eternal choice of Hawaiian attire a bit bewildering. A nice pair of black slim-fit jeans. A gray-and-white striped shirt, distinctively cut, and a tailored white blazer. Stylish. Perfect fit. As eye-catching as my catsuit had been. Topped off with a block-chain silver choker and a matching pair of earrings, I twirled around a few times for the pure fun of it. Yes. I was going to have to add this particular combo to my wardrobe. Maybe after we’d caught that blasted blue troll, I’d take Heath shopping and see what other fashion tricks he had hidden between his fuzzy gray ears.

“You’ve got five minutes, Cass,” Lucian shouted irascibly from below.

Rolling my eyes, I sat down on the bed and dumped Ricky out of my boot.

“Eh? Eh, what?” he asked, startled awake.

“Hit any turmeric lately?” I asked in a slightly acidic tone.

But before he could respond, a tiny voice rasped from near the lamp, “Don’t forget. Lucian’s mine.”

Tabitha. She sounded like an MP3 on auto-repeat, how could I forget? She huddled under the lamp, her little lizard eyes wet with anger. There was no doubt. I had an enemy. I just wish I knew exactly why.

“Alrighty then,” I said dismissively as I yanked my boots on.

She didn’t like that response. Skittering to the edge of the bedside table, she rose tall on her two hind legs and threatened, “I’ve taken down stronger females than you. Water witches. Nymphs. Enchantresses. Nix. Lichans. Perimancers. Sprig—”

“I gather it’s an extraordinarily long list,” I inserted tartly. Yeah, I could see Lucian as a playboy. But I wasn’t about to sit there and listen to a lizard rattle off a list of ex-girlfriends. Rising to my own feet, I bent down and breathed into her scaly face. “I really don’t care what you’ve done and to whom. Just know this, wannabe-girlfriend or no, if I want him, I’m going to take him.”

I blinked. Where had that come from?

She went rigid.

On the bed, Ricky gasped in shock.

But honestly, I didn’t care, I’d had enough of her posturing. “Not much you can do to me, Tabitha, but there’s a lot I can do to you,” I bluffed a warning of my own. “Now, get off my back. You’re just stuck with me. Deal with it.”

She opened her mouth, revealing rows of microscopic teeth. “I will curse you,” she whispered in a monotone. “Curse you—”

“No! That’s not necessary, O Wise One!” Ricky interrupted, dashing over to prostrate himself before her. “This one speaks in ignorance.” Kicking at me with one tiny smoke foot, he planted himself face down on the bedside table in abject deference.

Drama. Pure and simple. “You two have a lot in common,” I said. “Both full of hot air.”

“She’s witless. Ignorant. A fool,” Ricky was blathering, still groveling before Tabitha as if she were a tribal god.

The entire situation was absurd. And … witless? Really? How much nerve did that puff of smoke have? Wasn’t I his boss?

“You are unworthy to be in Lucian’s presence,” Tabitha hissed at me in frozen tones. “The offspring of a vampire, the spawn of—”

“Don’t go there,” I warned, cutting her short. Firedrake or not, my parentage—especially my mother—was off-limits. The whole thing was giving me a headache, and I was notoriously short on patience even without one.

Ricky’s empty box caught my eye. It was Tabitha-sized. Maybe a timeout would cool her off, stop all this yapping. After all, she’d never really been friendly to me from the start. And in Venice, hadn’t she wanted to send me off to face the Terzi clan all by myself? That was just downright rude. I reached over to pick her up by the tail, but she moved just as I pinched. There was a slight tug. Something gave.

It was surprising, actually. Her tail came right off.

Ricky’s eyes rolled in horror.

Tabitha just froze like a statue.

I looked down at the tiny tail between my fingers. It was almost worth the price I knew I was going to pay. Almost. From the fury in her eyes, it looked like I’d just shortened my lifespan … by about sixty years.

Nice Haircut

Sometimes, the wisest course of action is to just walk away. And that’s what I did. But from the moment I left Lucian’s bedroom, Ricky tried to get my attention. He waved his hands. He hopped up and down. He wiggled. He gyrated.

I suddenly remembered why I found him annoying.

The imp’s tomfoolery lasted until he spied Lucian standing in the kitchen.

The warlock was absolutely stunning. Dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and a gray trench coat, he exuded such charisma and animal magnetism that I figured he could illicit admiring glances from even a turnip.

Ricky wasn’t too impressed, though. With a sour “Tallyho, duck, he’s no fun to be around!” my smoky trouble-causer zipped out of sight into my blazer pocket.

I grinned, glad for the break. I guess Lucian had his uses, after all.

The dark-haired warlock watched me suspiciously from under his brows as I waltzed into the kitchen, but before we could engage in conversation, Heath’s head poked up from behind the open refrigerator door.

After donning my chic outfit, I’d half expected the werewolf to show up in similar threads, but he wore his usual faded jeans and an outlandish fuchsia-colored hibiscus shirt. Had he really picked out my clothes? He removed all doubt by saying, “Primo, Cassidy. Primo! Glad I went with the stripes.”

“Where did you get the shirt—” I began.

“Let’s move, shall we?” Lucian interrupted, all business. “Heath, fetch Tabitha. Cassidy, come with me, and bring your imp.”

“Got him,” I said, patting my blazer pocket. “Where—”

“Just smell,” Lucian cut me short again. “That’s all you have to do. Find the spells before I trigger them. Preferably without smashing my phone this time.” He took a new smartphone out of his pocket and dangled it in front of my face.

One could never stay in a good mood around Lucian for very long. As my brows gathered in frustration, an image flashed across my mind. “A spider,” I blurted out suddenly, recalling the tiny spider crawling out of the glass the night before. “There was a spider in your phone last night. Where is your old phone? What did you do with it?”

That set off a search, digging through the trash and the like, but all signs—and scents—of the tiny spider were gone. And in the end, we only accomplished a delay—an outcome that only served to darken Lucian’s already foul mood.

“Enough,” he grated, practically seething with exasperation. “We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s go.”

Grumpy myself now, I followed them both out of the apartment to the elevators, through the lobby, and out the snazzy building’s front door. A rush of cold air blasted my face. I scowled. I hated being cold. Leaving Lucian to hail a cab, I took shelter from the wind behind the gabled entrance. It would be dark soon. There wasn’t much sunlight left. I’d slept most of the day away.

As I huddled against the cold bricks, Ricky seized that moment to slither out of my pocket, creep up my jacket lining, and hide under my collar. “Blimey! But you’ve lost the plot,” he hissed in my ear.

Why couldn’t he speak English—or the kind I understood, anyway? I wanted to pick him up and strangle his rascally neck, but I couldn’t very well be seen attempting to choke possessed smoke in public. Tucking my chin into my blazer as if to ward off the November chill, I gritted my teeth and mumbled, “Lost the plot?”

“Gone crazy,” he translated with a huff. “A nutter. No one in their right mind challenges a drake in her own territory or touches their tail! And you not only touched it—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Ricky,” I muttered, annoyed. “It was an accident.” And territory? Really? Was she like a mountain lion?

“She’s taken down stronger Charmed folk than you, love,” Ricky informed ominously, slithering out from under my collar and weaving himself through my block-chain necklace. He was too close, I couldn’t see him clearly, but I could just make out his two large eyes hanging upside down, blinking up at me through the links. “You’re in danger now. Grave danger.”

“Quit exaggerating.” I blew him off.

One thing about Ricky—he was persistent. Aggravatingly persistent. “You’re a bit thick-headed,” he continued, shaking his head at me in a pitying sort of way. “Dense. Slow on the uptake, I think some say? A barmpot.”

“Yeah, I’m witless,” I said sourly, throwing his words back at him.

The audacious little pest failed to grasp the sarcasm. “Well, that's out there now,” he replied without an ounce of repentance. “You jumped right into the fire with that one, love. She’s not human. And you basically said that you’d lob her right out of her lawful, hereditary station. And her tail? Well, even if you had a prayer, you haven’t one now.”

I hardly heard what he said. The thread of sincerity in his tone as he said the words she’s not human had caught my full attention. A prickle of foreboding shivered up my spine. Just what kind of grave danger?

“Brilliant, I’ve snagged you. The slowest ever. Yes, doll, she comes from caves. The caves.” At my blank expression, he groaned. Two little smoke hands shot out of my necklace to pull his face down into a series of theatrical contortions that expressed complete and utter exasperation.

“Yeah, Lucian’s right,” I said, frustrated myself. “I should return you to Bertha—”

“You’d miss me dearly, love,” he interrupted, adopting the cheesiest, most disingenuous grin I’d ever seen him deliver. “What were we chatting up? Oh, the … eh … caves. The caves. Tabitha is a drake. The Under Reaches. Hatched from an egg. Scales. That sort of thing.”

Under Reaches? Egg? I could only stare at him. Or as best as I could, anyway. It was hard to focus my vision that close.

“Brilliant,” he said in a voice that meant anything but. “It’s a marvel you’ve survived this far, love. A drake—a cousin of the mighty dragon? Dragons are mostly extinct now, but drakes still thrive. Think of them as wingless dragons with bad attitudes. Giant oversized snakes with dragon heads. A picture in that loverly head of yours yet?”

The picture that sprang to my mind wasn’t exactly pretty. Tabitha was a huge snake? I shook my head in disbelief even as part of me felt it was the perfect match.

Ricky kept spouting. “Her line has protected the House of Rowle from the start. Her father was House Drake for over a thousand years … until Lady Elizabeth. Well, you know the end of that tale. As their line fell deeper into the curse, their drakes fell with them. For the last four-hundred years, it’s been only Tabitha. She’s the last drake of the House of Rowle. Lucian is her possession. She’s tasked to protect him by guarding the house trolls, his wards. And she’ll die before she sees one hair on his head be harmed. She takes out any and all threats.”

I was stuck on four-hundred years. But then, it was coming from turmeric-addled Ricky. Not the most reliable source. “Nah,” I muttered in denial. “Stories. She can shape shift into a lizard, granted, but she’s as much a human as I am.” Which wasn’t saying much.

Ricky let my ironic statement slide. “Believe me, doll, she’s all drake. They’re the adaptable sort. Mixed a bit of their gene pool with shifters in order to take on human form as needed. Survival and that sort of thing. But don’t let that confuse you. She doesn’t operate like a human. Emotions—well, hers are different. She’s 99.9% drake. She’s even more overly protective of Lucian now, what with him being the last Rowle and all. According to Esmeralda, she’s chased off every one of his feminine acquaintances and deemed them unworthy—and they had stellar reputations, didn’t come from a questionable background with Terzi connections. You need to apologize and you need to apologize now!”

I took exception to “questionable background”, but then I belatedly comprehended … the last Rowle?

But before I could frame a question, Lucian’s scathing tone shattered my thoughts. “You look quite mad, standing there mumbling into your necklace, Cass.”

My witty comeback was interrupted by Ricky zipping down into my shirt to hide. It tickled. “Stop it!” I jiggled, swatting my stomach as he slid through a button hole and streamed back into my jacket pocket.

Lucian found my shenanigans far from amusing. Gripping my arm firmly, he yanked me past an elderly couple staring at me in outright concern, and to where a taxi waited on the curb. I’d been so preoccupied with Ricky that I hadn’t noticed the couple or the cab’s arrival.

“Is it so hard not to draw attention to yourself?” Lucian criticized in an undertone, wrenching the cab door open.

I replied with a dark scowl. No wonder he was the last Rowle. With his attitude, they’d probably be extinct pretty soon.

I slid into the backseat next to Heath, catching a glimpse of Tabitha’s blue lizard head poking out of his shirt pocket. Her beady eyes contracted into slits. Yeah, I could see her as a big snake with a dragon head. It matched. I arched a chilling brow. Whatever her problem with me, I refused to be intimidated, big snake or no.

We rode in silence all the way, and with the heavy holiday traffic, the sun had set by the time we arrived at our apparent destination. Several times along the way, Lucian’s tantalizing scent had swirled around me, mixing with what I figured was Heath’s, an aroma of a distinctly woodsy kind. Once, the mix of leather, sandalwood, and exotic spice drifted through the air. Most likely, Tabitha. The enticing combinations only served to whet my appetite. I hoped Lucian was right and we’d retrieve the ward tonight, otherwise, it was going to be too hard to work with him and his team. I’d rather deal with their ability to surprise me than subject myself to dishes I couldn’t taste.

The instant we exited the cab, I bumped into a couple of tourists to snatch a quick bite while Lucian paid the taxi driver. It wasn’t until I’d taken my last quick nip that I recalled Ricky tucked away in my pocket. Crud. He’d probably witnessed my secret. He certainly wasn’t above using it to his own advantage. But I didn’t really have time to worry about it as Lucian set off through the busy streets with his gray trench coat billowing behind him.

We threaded our way through throngs of holiday shoppers, past the Broadway theaters with their billions of lights, and then over a few blocks off the main thoroughfare to an older high-rise building. On the left corner, it housed a small, brightly lit diner with a big sign proclaiming it ‘The Diner’. It was quaint. Simple. Red vinyl booths and stools. Old-fashioned Coca-Cola posters. It looked like a place straight out of the fifties. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that crowded. Maybe the food was bad.

As Heath stalked inside, Lucian pulled me aside. Lowering his lips to my ear in what anyone watching us would’ve seen as some kind of nuzzling kiss, he murmured, “The spiders. Be alert. If you smell them or any other spell, inform me at once. Do you understand? If you smell anything out of the ordinary, I need to know at once.”

I nodded. And feeling a tad obnoxious, took a big fanfare of a deep breath as a demonstration. It backfired. Lucian’s wards chose that moment to sputter. I was rewarded with a deep lungful of Lucian, a delectable, masculine musk combined with smoldering good looks that tipped my sanity right over the edge.

Drooling, I stretched my hand out to his chest, my fingers seeking his heart chakra all on their own.

“Not now, Cass!” he growled, dashing out of reach behind me. “Control these urges! You can’t reveal yourself out here.”

He didn’t give me a chance to reply. Gripping me by the shoulders, he practically shoved me through the double glass doors and into the diner. The place smelled delicious after all, in a very unique mana-sort of way. There was only one waitress inside, a tall, redheaded woman counting money at the register. I figured she had to be Charmed in order to produce such an inviting aroma, and the fact that Lucian wasn’t letting me anywhere near her only proved it. As Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire blared through the ceiling speakers, the warlock guided me over to the corner where Heath sat on a stool by the counter, perusing the menu.

With a one last “Don’t forget why you’re here.” Lucian headed towards the table by the window.

I waited until he sat down before perching on the stool next to Heath. “Care to tell me why we are here?” I asked in hushed tones. “And what is this place, anyway? I thought we had a lead to investigate.”

The werewolf looked up from the menu, a little shocked. “You’ve never been here before?” he asked.

Someday, I was going to have to tell him just how new I was to the Charmed world—providing he didn’t figure it out on his own pretty soon. Casting a critical eye over the place, I settled for the truth. “It’s not my kind of hangout,” I replied.

“Far out! I thought everyone came here.” Heath gave an easy laugh, and then leaning closer to me, he continued, “This is one of the most popular meeting places for the Charmed. You know, typical thing. Spelled to repel most humans. Lucian’s waiting for a contact. Time to drop hints. Flush ‘em out. Destroy from within. Get my drift?”

A Charmed greasy spoon. That explained why the waitress smelled delightful. As for dropping hints, I was about to squeeze Heath for a few more crumbs when Tabitha entered the diner.

Lucian inhaled sharply.

My mouth dropped open in shock.

Catching my reaction, Heath swiveled his stool around and froze.

Tabitha stood there in a stunning dark blue evening dress that sparkled as she moved. Her makeup was flawless. Her eyes brilliantly accented by shimmering eye shadow.

But she was bald. And I mean. Bald.

Her ice-cold gaze locked with mine, leaving no doubt as to the cause. Evidently, lizard tails shifted into human hair. Who knew?

“Heh … hey there, Tabitha,” I greeted her through suddenly dry lips.

Well, I knew one thing for sure: Ricky was wrong. There was no way an apology—and that included the prostrate-yourself-on-the-ground-without-sustenance-for-days-begging-forgiveness-as-your-pride-and-everything-else-shrivels-and-dies kind of apology—was ever going to smooth things over with this drake.

“Rockin’ it!” Heath was the first to speak. His voice sounded cautious. “Very few can pull off a style like that and look even more beautiful.”

Lucian wisely kept his silence.

Everyone watched as Tabitha headed straight for me.

My pocket moved. I slapped my hand over it. I wasn’t about to let Ricky crawl into my shirt again—angry big snake or no.

Slowly, deliberately, Tabitha sank down onto the stool right next to mine, her eyes never leaving my eyes in what I guessed to be some kind of snake intimidation technique.

“Make no mistake,” she said, speaking in a voice I hadn’t realized human vocal chords could make. It was multi-layered, all snake, drake, and dragon. Her dark eyes flickered with fire. “You only walk because your skills are needed. When they are not, you shall no longer walk.”

There was no doubt which layer said that one. The snake. For a moment, her outline faded and I smelled her again, sandalwood and spices. I thought I saw gleaming scales. But then the entire mirage vanished and, once again, I was staring at the petite Asian woman perched on the edge of the stool in a sparkling, blue evening gown. Make that a petite, bald, Asian woman.

“You’ve been warned,” she hissed, the hatred coming from her in silent, suffocating waves.

Wow. She clearly had control issues. “Gorgeous cranium,” I began, unable to resist, when the door opened and I was forced to shelve the rest of my snarky response for later.

This time an ordinary-enough-looking human entered the diner. A man. Elderly. White goatee. Rotund. Glasses. In fact, he had a lot in common with Colonel Sanders. His mana smelled a little like chicken, too. He made a beeline for Lucian and sat down at the table as Tabitha joined them. The waitress came around the counter to bring them all cups of coffee.

Determined to do my spellfinder job well, I sat on my stool, sifting through the mana swirling around me. Nothing exciting. No spiders. No Templars. No spells. Nothing. Occasionally, I’d catch a whiff of Lucian, and that was always one whiff too many. He’d better get his wards back online soon or I’d not be able to keep my hands off of him.

Heath ordered a sandwich and soda as Lucian and Colonel Sanders kept chatting. Through the breaks in the country music blaring over the speakers, I could hear the occasional word “traitor” drift from Lucian’s table. Colonel Sanders lifted his hand, and I caught the flash of a red tattoo under his ring finger. Dropping hints and destroying from within made a bit more sense now. Apparently, Lucian was playing his own game with the Templars, suggesting to them they’d been betrayed. Did he think they’d just deliver Culpepper up on a silver platter? Maybe they would, I really didn’t know.

After a while, Lucian, Tabitha, and the Kentuckian lookalike exited the diner and continued their talk on the sidewalk. Things appeared to be winding down.

I swiveled on my stool to face Heath. “Time to go?” I asked, placing my palms down on the bar.

Taking the last bite of his sandwich—his third overall—the werewolf drained his Coca-Cola—his fourth—and sliding off the stool, stood up. “Yeah, let’s head out. We’ve got our own business now.”

Without any warning whatsoever, a familiar scent assaulted my nostrils.

A Chosen One.

And not just any Chosen One. Memories from the night before returned in a flash. Lucian—that despicable, unscrupulous, manipulating warlock—had spelled me to sleep when I’d smelled that mana the night before. He hadn’t wanted me to see him.

Emilio.

The Price of Impatience

I whirled, my fangs extending to their fullest.

Emilio stood behind the counter wearing a dark gray suit with a white shirt and a red silk tie. He had an air about him. Formidable. Dangerous. Deadly. I knew he was ancient, but he appeared to be only in his thirties, scarcely older than Lucian. His jaw was square, along with his chin, and he possessed that classic Italian look complete with Roman nose, dark glossy hair, and an olive complexion. His eyes. A pale green? Blue? Gray? Maybe all three. In any case, those uncommon eyes were locked solely upon me.

“Cassidy,” Emilio whispered my name. Softly. A slight smile played about his lips. “At last, we meet, face-to-face.”

Bile rose in my throat.

His eyebrows flickered in amusement. “I’ve asked Blair to bring you by. You’ve ignored me, bambina. I’ve asked Lucian why. I can forgive … if you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” I practically spat, reaching for my blades.

He was behind me in a flash. I mean, in one millisecond he was behind the counter, and the next, or maybe even the same one, he was breathing down my neck with a harsh, majestic contempt. “You should know that I’m not the kind you can ignore, principessa. When I call, you run to me. Prontamente! Until your heart bursts from fatigue. And even then I shall not excuse you.”

The next moment, he was gone.

I didn’t see him leave, but I knew where he went. I could smell his trail. Vaulting over the counter, I bolted for the door—a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was open, steps winding away out of sight into the darkness above.

“Cassidy! Don’t go!” Heath shouted after me.

I didn’t listen. Sliding one of my blades out of its sheath, I ran up the steps as fast as I could, flight after flight, until I burst out onto the rooftop.

Emilio was there, waiting for me.

Pressing my knife close to my thigh, I stepped out into the chill night air. The roof had been converted into a yard of sorts: fake grass, a collection of potted plants—all dry and withered now—and a few strings of flickering light bulbs that offered virtually no illumination. A waist-high railing ringed the perimeter of the roof. We were fairly high up, about twenty floors I’d guess. I could see city lights twinkling below me as well as from the skyscrapers above.

My heart raced with anticipation. Emilio. At last. I’d dreamt of this moment so many times.

Leaning against the railing, Emilio casually crossed one leg over the other. I watched his silhouette as he put a cigar to his teeth, lit it, and turned to eye me in silence.

Always action prone, I wanted to launch my knives at him as fast as I could, but I forced myself to take a deep, steadying breath, not only to calm my nerves but to search for other scents. It was a good thing that I did. Emilio wasn’t alone. There were Chosen Ones lounging in the darkness all around us. I couldn’t see them in the dim light, just blurry, dark shapes in the corners. Forcing myself to concentrate, I sifted through the scents. Three distinct ones. That made a total of four vampires, including Emilio.

Again, I was one knife short. But I didn’t care. The odds were good enough. If I got a chance to impale Emilio on the end of my blade, I was going to take it. I’d been waiting my entire life for this and I wasn’t going to let it slide by. But one thing I knew for sure. I had to get closer if I didn’t want his escorts stopping me.

“Have I told you how I feel about humans, bambina?” Emilio asked me unexpectedly. Taking a long drag on his cigar, he heaved off the railing and took a step in my direction into the weak circle of light emanating from the flickering lights. “I find them dull.” He took another step closer. “Contemptible.” Another step. “Pitiful.” Yet another step. “Wretched.” He paused, his eye taking on a gleam before he added, “They are all so much like your mother.”

My head snapped back.

Emilio chuckled dryly. “Yes, Blair. She’s so weak. So … weak-minded.”

“Then it must have been a meeting of like minds that drew you to her,” I replied with a healthy dose of venom, taking the opportunity to move closer. Close. But not yet close enough.

His brow went up. His eyes glittered. Hard. Cold. Calculating. And something else. Pride? “The kitten has claws,” he said, sending a smile to his escorts lurking in the shadows before turning to address me with a shrug. “I am one of many appetites. Molti appetiti, bambina.”

Whatever. I knew he was playing with my mind. Ignoring the garbage spewing from his mouth, I concentrated on my goal: plunging my blades deep into his heart. Emilio’s companions hadn’t moved. I inched forward.

Taking another long pull on his cigar, Emilio met my gaze with sardonic amusement. “Your mother has told me of your life’s dream,” he said. “Of the many long hours you’ve spent practicing with your three knives in the hopes of impaling me.”

That surprised me. I hadn’t thought Blair would give me up like that. It hurt. Deeply. A bit rattled, I gripped the knife handle harder to steady my suddenly shaking hands.

Flicking the ash from his cigar, Emilio just stood there, immensely enjoying himself. “Blair. Such a fool. Such a weak fool. But as pitiful as she was, she was useful—for a time. A willing pawn. But, alas, I fear her usefulness has expired.”

Alarm rippled through me. “Is that why you’re here? Have you done something to my mother?” I lowered my voice in a threat. “If you hurt her, I’ll—”

Again, all it took was one millisecond, and he was in front of me, or was he behind me? Whispering in my ear? “You’re too green, principessa. Too inexperienced. You can’t play this game. Not yet.”

Furious, I spun, whipping out the rest of my knives.

He was walking away, revealing his back to me. Gauging the distance, I knew it would be the only chance I got.

And I took it.

It happened fast, so very fast. As two of the Chosen Ones rushed forward to block my attack, I let my blades fly. There was a sickening crunch of metal striking bone, and they both fell, knives protruding out of their hearts. But I didn’t pay attention to them. I was focused solely on my task. Summoning every ounce of my skill, I let my third blade fly true, straight at Emilio’s back. I launched it with such force that I was certain it would sail right through him.

It didn’t.

I missed. Somehow. I missed.

Instead of embedding itself into Emilio’s heart, the knife grazed his shoulder, but I was given no time to think on it further as the remaining Chosen One tackled me from behind. Rolling to the ground, I twisted free and, springing up, kicked hard, scoring a direct hit that sent my attacker flying. But not for long. The vampire was too quick for me. No sooner had my heel impacted him, he bounced up to hit me directly in the stomach with lightning quickness.

Certainty filled me. Complete, utter, certainty that I was going to lose. I fought back, desperately trying to summon the monster part of me that had come to life in Venice, the part that had annihilated Dougall, but nothing happened. No rage. No external force rising to possess and turn me into the monster that I’d always claimed to be.

A fist collided with my jaw. I fell. I scrambled to my feet only to be struck again. Again and again, the pattern repeated itself until I crashed against the rusted barrier ringing the rooftop. There was a crack, and to my horror, the railing gave way. I teetered, fighting desperately to regain my footing, but there was too much momentum. Nothing stopped me as I plunged over the edge. At the last second, I managed to flip, just enough to catch the base of the broken rail. I felt a rib crack as I struck the side of the brick building. Hard.

I gulped, taking a deep, wavering breath as I hung there, suspended at least twenty stories above the street.

The dark form of the Chosen One disappeared.

The sound of footsteps approached. Slow. Measured. Lifting my head, I saw Emilio hovering over me.

“Pietosa,” he hissed between closed teeth. “You’re a pitiful imbecile, just like your mother.”

Locking his gaze with mine, he lifted a foot and in a deliberate, leisurely manner, ground his heel into my fingers.

I gasped. It was agony. My pain delighted him. But I was determined not to cry out and give him any satisfaction. He crouched down then, taking great care to crush my fingers to the best of his ability as he reached over and grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling my head sharply up.

“Shall I save you, bambina?” he asked, his voice soft and caring.

“I’d rather die,” I rasped as I hung there, a bead of sweat forming on my brow.

He lifted his lip to reveal the tips of his fangs at me.

I bared mine in response.

Unholy. That’s what he was. With an unholy speed, he plucked me from where I hung. Lifting me easily to my feet, he slapped me hard across the face with such force that my vision blurred. I felt my lip split as I fell backwards onto the rooftop.

Reaching down, he dragged me to my feet once more to close his fingers around my throat in a painfully hard grip. I struggled. I tried to break free. It was impossible. Emilio was a mountain of iron. Tears of pain ran down my cheeks, but sheer hatred gave me the strength to spit in his face.

“Wound a little tight, aren’t you?” I managed to croak hoarsely.

He was anything but. He was cool. Calm. Unruffled. But I felt better for saying it.

Emilio brought his cheek close to mine. It was an odd gesture. Almost parental. In a very fatherly guiding sort of way, he murmured into my hair, “Cassidy, your temper is too hot. Too quick. Troppo caldo.” Drawing back, he shook his head from side-to-side and pulled me towards the rooftop’s edge, making little clucking sounds with his tongue along the way. “Life is full of misfortunes, bambina.”

Bending over, he kissed the tip of my nose and then, with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder, he tossed me off the roof.

He threw me far, well clear of the building. No back flip would save me this time. There was nothing to grasp. Nothing to break my fall.

Ricky flew out of my pocket and tried to catch me, bless him. His tiny hands reached out in the vain attempt to break my fall, but I sailed right through him like he was the smoke that he was.

The first half of my fall took an eon. The lights of New York City filled my vision. All bright and twinkling. The sky was clear now. I could see the moon. The wind caressed my body. Oddly, I couldn’t hear a thing.

And then all I saw was the black pavement of the street rushing up to greet me, and there was a kaleidoscope of sound, primarily screaming. It wasn’t me. It came from the people on the street.

Pain exploded.

I heard my bones snap and break. Wet, cold gravel bit into my cheek.

I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. My body wasn’t mine to command anymore. And then, my tenuous hold on consciousness slipped away, and I succumbed to the rising darkness.

Answers in the Mists

I saw Dorian’s face. His eyes were filled with concern. His strong hand stretched out to mine. “Don’t be wandering in the mists, lass,” he cautioned in his deep Scottish burr. “’Tis perilous. Nay, you’ll be best served by returning at once. The Nether Reaches shouldna be taken lightly.”

My eyes flew open. Mists. Soft blue, green, and pink clouds surrounded me. I felt light. Airy. Weightless. But most importantly, blissfully free of pain. I’d been dreaming of Dorian. He’d warned me about returning as soon as I could. Return? I cast a puzzled look around. There was nothing but mist as far as I could see. Was I caught in a dream? Or a dream within a dream?

Silence surrounded me. Complete, utter silence. I found it extraordinarily … comforting. A large cloud of mist drifted over me, caressing my face with a fine, cool spray. I closed my eyes, savoring its soft, refreshing touch.

It was relaxing.

Especially after being tossed off a rooftop.

Jolted back to reality by the sudden memory, I was about to leap to my feet when I abruptly recognized where I was: The Nether Reaches. I’d been here before—for a few seconds, anyway—on the day that Dorian had pinned me to the wall like a beetle on a card.

Cautiously, I tried to sit up. I failed miserably. I couldn’t move. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything beyond my face. Startled, I glanced down at my body.

And screamed—or, I tried to, anyway.

In my first, briefest of visits to the Nether Reaches, I’d caught only a glimpse of a white, ghostly hand. Now, I saw much more. My hands—if I could call them that—were skeletal filaments of light. No body that I could see. Just glowing strands of light vibrating around in the general vicinity of arms, torso, and legs.

I freaked out. And I mean, really freaked out. But it didn’t do any good. I didn’t have any control … or any vocal chords. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. The only thing I could do was sit there and stare in horror while the mists swirled around me. After what seemed like eons, I realized that my body was growing thicker, layer upon layer, gradually reassembling itself to solidify in the mists. Exerting every ounce of willpower I possessed, I forced my thoughts to calm and attempted to reason.

Emilio. The vampire had thrown me off a building. My body had suffered great trauma. Was I dead? From my last experience of taking a spear right in the chest, I’d assumed that I couldn’t die. That might have been the wrong assumption. Could a devastating fall do me in? Or did such a grievous injury make my transition to the Nether Reaches a rough one? And just what were these Nether Reaches, anyway?

Nervously, I checked my body again, and to my relief, discovered that my feet had begun to appear. Along with my fingers. I managed to wiggle a couple of them. As I did, the outline of my arms and legs took shape. I heaved a sigh of relief, immense relief. My body was retaking shape.

After a time, I gradually became aware of sounds, muted ones, as though I listened from under twenty feet of water. A few more minutes passed, and I found my hearing reinstated—and I immediately wished it hadn’t been.

Moans. Screams. Hissing. It was the stuff of nightmares.

A close, shrill cry made me jerk, bringing with it the revelation that I could now move. My body was no longer a semi-transparent work in progress. For the most part, it was functional. My clothing was beginning to form now, the last bit to make the transitional journey with me, but I wasn’t going to hang around for it. One more scream like that, and I was going to start a dead run, clothing or no.

The mists were so thick that I couldn’t see farther than three feet in any direction. And after several wobbly attempts, I managed to stand on unsteady feet, my muscles feeling like they were made of jelly.

The scream shrieked again. Closer.

I was about to hightail or wobble it right out of there—wherever there was—when a crack of thunder rent the air, and the screams abruptly ended in a sharp squeal.

Grateful for the temporary reprieve, I took a deep breath. I couldn’t smell anything, but whether it was because nothing smelled or that my nose had yet to be restored, I didn’t know.

The haunting melody of a flute began to play. It sent chills down my spine. It drifted in the fog around me, imparting a great sense of unease, and the relief I experienced when it stopped was immense. No sooner had the last note died on the wind than I became aware of a sucking, bubbling sound—like boiling mud. A quick check revealed that my boots—and clothing—had fully materialized, and that I stood in a gurgling, glowing puddle of goop, a few inches deep and about three feet in diameter.

The goop was fascinating. It was beautiful, like liquid mother-of-pearl, and it was oddly familiar. As if compelled, I bent down and dipped a finger in it. It was light, foamy, and cool to the touch.

Abruptly, my sense of smell returned with a vengeance.

Holy Crud.

The goop was mana. A thick, bubbling form of mana.

“Casssssssssidy,” a voice floated in the mists surrounding me.

Instinctively, I dove for my knives, but of course, they were still on the rooftop of a New York City building.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

There was no reply.

In the distance, I heard another scream, followed by a sharp crack of thunder.

The mists eddying around me parted, affording me a startling view of my surroundings. Countless pools of glowing mana goop in a myriad of colors spread across the horizon as far as I could see. It reminded me of a horizontal honeycomb. Some of the pools were quite large, and a few very, very small, but the majority were the same size as mine. The mixture of scents colliding around me was quite intoxicating.

I stood there, disoriented and unnerved as the mists fused around me, leaving me isolated once again.

“Where the blazes am I?” I gasped through parched lips.

To my surprise, a voice answered in my ear, “Home.”

I whirled. My reflexes much slower than usual, and the movement made me fairly dizzy, but I was fast enough to catch the shape of a dark shadow receding into the mists.

Odd. I didn’t feel like I was in any particular danger. Why?

And … home?

“Who are you?” I challenged. “Where am I?”

The voice answered at once. “The Nether Reaches, little one. Home of the specter kindred.”

This time, alarm rippled through me. “Specter kindred?” I caught my breath and swallowed. “Am I … dead?”

Laughter encircled me. Something—make that many somethings—moved at the edges of the mist surrounding me.

I saw their eyes then. Silver eyes, blinking like Christmas lights.

The helpful voice returned, closer, speaking from behind me. I felt its breath on my neck. “The Reaches are not a place for the dead,” it reassured kindly. “Only those wielding the strongest mana gain entry here.”

I spun again. This time, I caught a form hovering on the edge of the mist just a stone’s throw away. A dark shadow. Humanoid shape—with head and shoulders, anyway. The rest of the body faded into the mist, but the eyes stood out, silver eyes that chilled me to the bone. Glowing eyes. Unholy eyes that stared straight into the soul.

“There are many Reaches woven within the Earth,” the shadow spoke without blinking. “The Outer Reaches. The Under Reaches. The Far Reaches. The Deeper Reaches. The Greater and Lesser Reaches. And many more. Havens of the Charmed, all of them. This one …” Here the shadow tilted its head to one side. “This one is the Nether Reaches. The humans call this place the Mists of Avalon.”

I’d read my fair share of stories about the fabled lands of the Fae in Arthurian legends and elsewhere, but this was not how I imagined it.

“Very few can open the gates of the Nether Reaches from Earth,” the voice purred with pride. “You are powerful, little one. Very powerful.”

Finally, I’d found someone who appeared willing to provide answers and they’d have to be a bodiless spirit. I wasn’t sure whether to run, or stay and chat. Especially, since after hearing what I’d just heard, I suddenly had a lot more questions.

But before I could decide, there was a collective hiss around me, and the shadows disappeared.

“Wait!” I called, stretching my hand out.

I stepped out of the mana pool, but the ground was surprisingly slippery. Like ice. I slid, seeking a foothold, but failed and fell facedown, landing hard and jarring my teeth. Catching my breath, I lifted my head.

The first thing I saw was a boot. Brown leather. White tendrils of mist curled around it like a living thing. The boot was attached to a man standing over me, alert and protective. He wore his long blond hair in braids, and under a dark blue-hooded cloak, his muscular form sported some kind of black chain-link armor. In one of his strong hands, he held a silver, engraved bow.

“Get up,” he hissed without sparing me more than a cursory glance. “Jaggers. At least a dozen of them.”

The glowing silver eyes reappeared, a little farther away this time.

A shriek rent the air.

The blond dude standing over me spun on his heel and, bringing his bow up, fit a small round ball of light to the string.

“Stand back,” he thundered in a voice that cut through the mist like a sword.

He let the ball fly. There was a flash, accompanied by a loud crack of thunder that vibrated through every bone in my body.

The eyes disappeared.

Two seconds later, they returned. More of them. This time, I saw three dim, shadowy shapes. I could see the heads and shoulders, but no feet.

The voice I’d been conversing with returned. “We’re not here for you, keeper,” it said. “We came to speak with our little one, Cassidy.”

“She’s not of the specter kind, jagger,” the blond dude disagreed vehemently. “Take one look and you’ll see she inhabits a body still.”

Those particular words disturbed me. Just minutes ago, I’d been bodiless. Hadn’t I? As if to reassure myself that I was now in solid form, I slapped my hands together.

One of the jagger shadows stepped out in front of the others.

“She’s here, in the Nether Reaches,” it responded disdainfully, obviously not too impressed with the blond dude’s logic. “She’s come home, keeper. Home to her kind.”

The shadow darted in my direction.

It could have been a threat, I couldn’t tell. The blond keeper apparently thought it was. Stepping in front of me, he raised his bow once again. “I’ll agree she came home,” he surprised me by saying. “But it’s nothing to do with you, jagger. She’s the Mindbreaker’s daughter.”

That took a second to register. “Mindbreaker’s what?” I asked in surprise, the words erupting on their own.

Both the jagger and the keeper ignored me.

With a laugh, one of the dark-shadowed jaggers drifted closer than the others had. I couldn’t suppress a shudder. It didn’t have feet. It hung in the air, the specter of a woman with silver eyes, no nose, but a wide mouth. Her white hair was long, falling down past her knees and with the consistency of straw. Tattered rags draped her frame, and her skeletal hands dangled limply at her sides. She was a ghost of some kind. I could see right through her.

The specter’s silver gaze fell upon the keeper still standing in front of me. “I’ll agree that Cassidy carries the blood of her father,” the specter granted with a dip of her chin. “But she is mine. I kissed her myself on the first day of her arrival. I claimed her before your kind found her in the pools. She imprinted as a jagger. You know this to be true. She is specter. Why else can she not die? When her human body is wounded beyond measure, she seeks solace as any child would. She comes home.”

As the jagger spoke, an image flashed across my mind: a mana pool, and in it, a tiny, sleeping infant sucking her thumb, curled in the classic fetal position—umbilical cord still attached. And then a shadow, bending down from the swirling mists, reaching down to kiss the baby on the cheek.

Frankly, it was disturbing. Mostly, because I knew it had happened. With a profound sense of certainty, I knew that I’d been here before, even before I’d been born. I shuddered. There was no denying that the jagger spoke the truth.

The blond dude at my side seemed to think so as well. There was horror written on his face.

Slowly, I rose to my feet.

The jagger drifted forward, stopping directly in front of me. Her two silver eyes, pinpoints of bright light. “You have the right to know your origins, little one,” she whispered. “On the day of your mother’s turning, your father’s blood opened the gates to the Nether Reaches, bringing you here, an unborn child on the brink of death. We all know this to be true.”

I nodded, dumbly.

Even the keeper didn’t object.

Pleased, the jagger smiled. It was gruesome. I guess because I couldn’t get past the fact that she didn’t have a nose. I simply wasn’t used to it.

“I, Justice, kissed your cheek,” the jagger reminisced, tilting her head to one side. Her long, straw-like hair blew about her face, mingling with the mist. “I claimed you for the specter kind, but the warlock’s puppet curse was too strong. Before your tiny soul could flee, his mana merged with that of the pool, sealing you and your new magic back into your body and forever binding you to him. His curse called you back from the Nether Reaches like a puppet on a string. But you are a jagger of the Specter Kindred. You smell mana as we do. You eat mana as we do. You control the mists as we do.” In a slow, jerking motion, she held her hand out in invitation. “Come. You belong in the Valley of Shadows, little one. Come home.”

I stared at her. Blankly. At first blush, it sounded like some wild, fantastical tale, a kind of randomly computer-generated nightmare, but deep inside, I knew it to be true.

And it was a little too much to take.

I didn’t need to reply. Somehow, she sensed my resistance, my denial, and certainly that I had no intention of going with her anywhere.

“Very well,” her voice swirled around us, rife with disappointment as she melted back into the mists. “We will wait. But you will come. We are kindred. When you need our aid, when you wish to wake the specter slumbering inside you, call the mists. The mists will come, and then those who harm you will see what they fear most.”

I stood there, speechless and unmoving.

With a loud, collective sigh, the jaggers withdrew, their silver eyes winking out and disappearing into the dark, curling mists.

As the last pair of eyes vanished, I turned to the blond dude still standing there, bow raised as if ready to launch another one of his thundering energy bolts. He looked down at me. And it was then that I saw the absolute hostility in his blue eyes. It made wonder if I should reconsider the jagger’s offer.

Slinging his bow over his shoulder, he flared his nostrils in disgust. “You’re not welcome here, Cassidy Edwards,” he spat. “Tell the Mindbreaker that we will find him. He can’t hide forever.”

I winced. Whoever this dude was, he was exacerbating my headache—along with this mysterious Mindbreaker. “Sorry, can’t help you out.” I snorted with a spark of temper. “I’m no one’s messenger, and I’ve never even heard of this Mindbreaker. As far as I know, my father was as human as they come.”

One of his fine brows arched in high skepticism. “Only a Keeper of the Nether Reaches can open the gates here,” he supplied disdainfully. “You carry his signature in your mana. Do you think we’d not know our own kind? There is nothing to doubt, foolish girl.”

Wow. His attitude was even worse than Lucian’s. What was it with Charmed men? I’d had enough. That was it, the last straw. After all, my day had pretty much started with waking up spelled with amnesia, only to then be tossed off a rooftop by a sadistic vampire. It had only gone downhill from there.

“You’re wrong, Mr. High-and-Mighty,” I growled, unleashing my anger. “I think I’d know. My mother just cheated on one guy … not two—” But for all of the venom I’d planned to spew, no sooner had those words left my lips than I snapped my mouth shut as a wave of uncertainty engulfed me.

It was Blair I was talking about. She wasn’t the most moral person on the planet. As my hesitation grew and the superior smile widened on Mr. High-and-Mighty’s lips, I struggled to shake off the doubt.

After several awkward attempts, I managed to speak with a renewed conviction. “No, it can’t be true. Both of my parents were originally plain ‘ol humans, nothing special, unless you’re talking about Emilio …” At that, I paused again, taken aback.

But Mr. High-and-Mighty nipped that fear in the bud. With an eye roll of disgust, he interrupted curtly, “Vampires can’t father children. They are dead. The dead cannot give life.”

An immense feeling of relief washed over me. And my irritation returned. “Well, proves my point then, Mr. High-and-Mighty or whoever you are.”

He inhaled a long breath through his nose as if striving to control a rising temper of his own. “Who I am doesn’t matter,” he countered coldly. “All that you need to know is that I’m here to send you back. You’re not welcome in the Nether Reaches. Do not return.”

I surveyed the kaleidoscope of colored mist drifting around me before facing him once again. “Believe me, I’m not interested in coming back here,” I retorted. Tossing him a scowl for extra emphasis, I added, “Chilling screams, creepy flutes, and ghosts aren’t my idea of paradise, and you’re not exactly the most welcoming host I’ve ever encountered.”

“I’m a keeper—” he began curtly.

“Well then, keep away from me,” I interrupted.

He visibly tensed. Evidently, he was a bit sensitive under all that bluff and bluster. “A fair warning, Cassidy,” he said. “Be careful of the path you tread. We’ll not allow you to instill the fear in others. Nor will we let you set the jaggers or anything else free.”

Instill fear in others? Was that what I’d done in Venice? “Thanks for the fair warning,” I said, simply to rub his fur the wrong way. “Now I know what to disregard.”

A mixture of irritation and alarm crossed his face. Deciding the sooner he was rid of me the better, he pointed to the pool I’d exited and barked, “Enter the gate, and I’ll send you back. And be quick. I’ve places to be.”

The pool. I eyed the pool in wonder. So, the mana pools were gates? To get back, I just had to jump in a puddle of mana goo? It sounded a bit too easy. I was sure there was a catch.

I felt his palm on my back, pushing me into the pool. “Easy, buddy,” I groused. I didn’t like being manhandled. “I’ll go myself.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “You can’t open the gates, despite what they said. You’re not a keeper. And your father can no longer open them for you. We’ve sealed the gates against him. If you enter the gate without a keeper’s assistance, then you’ll suffer—”

“Whatever,” I interrupted, stepping right into the mana pool.

Yeah, I was a bit too action-oriented. The moment I entered the goop, I understood the catch. With a plopping sound, my feet were cemented to the bottom, trapped by a force impossible to break, a freezing, frigid energy so strong it could suck the flesh right off my bones.

Mr. High-and-Mighty had the gall to look pleased. “I did warn you that only keepers can open the gates,” he informed me with a perverse delight.

My body exploded in pain. I wanted to shout at him, demand that he open the gate instead of watching me suffer like a pain-wracked icicle.

A wave of longing struck me.

I missed New York.

Yeah, I didn’t know too many people, honestly. And the ones I knew, I wasn’t even sure I could call them friends. But Heath. Yeah, I missed Heath. He was actually nice. And Tabitha, well, at least she had an excuse for her behavior. She was just an overly protective dragon. Honestly, I kind of missed her in a weird twisted way, kind of like the way you miss the challenge of a splinter after you dig it out. And Lucian. Well, after meeting this blond dude, Lucian seemed downright warm and fuzzy.

The mana pool began to glow as a ball of white light exploded around me.

The last thing I saw was a look of utter astonishment on Mr. High-and-Mighty’s face.

The Birth of Revenge

Pain, agonizing pain. Nausea. It was pitch black. Every bone in my body felt crushed, every nerve felt on fire, and every muscle felt like it was made of lead. Long moments passed before my mind assembled enough coherency to panic. And then it was pure terror.

Where was I? Would this nightmare ever end?

Almost immediately, a cool, soft healing washed over me. A soft tingling sensation, as if I’d just been dipped from head-to-toe in Tiger Balm. It made me feel … safe? A little bit, anyway. And as little as it was, it was a strange experience simply because I’d never encountered it before. Not really. No one had ever made me feel wanted. Safe.

The healing waves kept coming. I grew lighter with each one until finally, I was as light as a feather, floating in a soft golden bubble of peace.

Someone’s lips softly brushed my forehead.

Lucian?

And then sleep. Blissful sleep.

* * *

I woke up to the sound of snoring. Well, kind of. It was more like a series of snorts, interspersed with giggles.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, a bit dazed.

Pale yellow sunlight flooded the room, highlighting the soft, gray comforter and modern furniture. Lucian’s bedroom.

The snoring came from Ricky on the pillow next to me, sprawled out in the absolute picture of comfort, with arms and legs spread wide, mouth open and drooling.

“Smashing! That’s a proper good one, that is,” he mumbled in his sleep, smacking his lips. “A bit peckish … sweet nothings, love … sweeeeet…in my ear…” This set off a new series of loud, whistling snores that shook his entire tiny body.

“You’re a noisy little runt,” I mumbled, figuring he dreamt of turmeric. “Knock it down a notch, will you?” Intending to make him rollover with a poke in the stomach, I lifted my hand but stopped abruptly as excruciating pain shot up my arm.

Everything came back in a flash, from Emilio tossing me off the rooftop to my encounters with the keeper and the jaggers in the Nether Reaches. I knew it wasn’t a dream. My body felt like someone had pushed it through a meat grinder. It looked like it, too. My hands and arms were covered with cuts and bruises. My ribs felt on fire, along with my legs and feet. But, strangely, they all could still move. They were functional. Not what you’d expect after being tossed off a twenty-story building.

I expelled a long, loud breath of air.

So, I had answers now. Maybe not all of them, but I knew now what kind of monster I was. Some kind of mutated nightmare. Something unholy. Perhaps damned really was a better word. My powers were disturbing, to say the least. I probably couldn’t die because part of me was already a specter—a specter that could instill terror in my victims and unleash other specters, or jaggers, as the rude blond dude had called us, onto Earth. Yet, I wasn’t really alive either, not like other people, anyway. I could only live the existence of a parasite. A mana-sucking mosquito.

Yes, Emilio had messed up my life so much. Not to mention dooming my mother to an eternity as a jerk-blind vampire. And all for what? He’d never even liked her apparently. He’d been playing with her from the start. He’d called her an imbecile. Pathetic. He’d ruined us both, and if anything, he’d found the whole situation just momentarily amusing.

I had been so naïve.

Lucian had been right. My reason for revenge had been childish. Playacting. And I was ill-equipped to truly demand the justice I deserved. After planting a blade in Emilio’s heart, one of his buddies would just come right along and yank it back out, no doubt. My act would serve as a momentary diversion. Nothing else.

Something inside me broke. I felt my soul turn cold. Dispassionate. Detached. But … it was powerful. An all-encompassing force.

I recognized it instantly.

The birth of true rage. A true anger. Yeah, I ran hot. I was the passionate sort. I lacked patience. So, when I got mad, I acted. But that’s precisely what was different this time. The anger forming deep inside me was made of ice.

The desire for real revenge. Oh, I’d wanted revenge for my twisted childhood my entire life. It was something I could even wait for. Lucian had hit the nail on the head. It wasn’t enough to dispatch Emilio with a quick blade to the heart. He needed to suffer like I’d suffered. I wanted to rip everything he held away, extract every ounce of pain that I could, and then some.

A deep conviction rose inside me. It was time to educate myself. Train. Outwit. Time to work with anyone and do anything that took me down the path of ultimate revenge.

Passion? A distraction. Such emotions would only get in the way.

As Lucian had said, revenge truly was a dish best served cold.

My eyes fell on the bedside table. Someone had found my knives, all three of them. They rested on a leather-bound ancient manuscript next to a half-finished marionette lying on its side. It was an ugly doll. Dark comb-over. Long, hawk nose. Lips curled in a sneer and a mole on its chin. Long, black puppet strings fell from its hands to the floor.

The symbolism was perfect.

Forcing my broken body into a sitting position, I grabbed my blade and slashed one of the strings free. As I tied the string around my wrist, I vowed I’d never forget. Each day, that string would remind me of my origins, of Lucian’s Puppet Curse, my specter soul, how I’d been sucked back into a hellish existence all for Emilio’s perverted amusement.

I would exact my revenge, and I’d do whatever it took.

I fell back into the pillows, exhausted.

Lucian had wanted a real spellfinder … well, he had one now.

Game Begin

Fingers. Tiny, irritating fingers pried my eyelids open. The nasal giggle announced Ricky even before my eyes focused on his pupils plastered less than an inch from mine.

“Go away,” I grumbled, swatting him with my hand.

To my astonishment, the movement was delightfully free from pain. I sat bolt upright, launching the little imp right off the bed. He didn’t mind. With a cackle, he rolled head over heels and jumped up to rub his wispy hands together.

“Shouldn’t sleep the day away, doll,” he said.

“Day?” I grunted in distraction. There wasn’t much daylight left. I could see the last pale rays of sunlight slipping off the ceiling as we spoke.

Using my arm as a ramp, Ricky tiptoed up to my shoulder and, cupping his hands, whisper-shouted directly into my ear canal. “It hasn’t been all tickety-boo here. Lucian’s in a foul mood. Things have gone south. And the Terzi went after his marionette collection again, just an hour ago. Black mood. The worst. But now that you’re awake, we’ll track them down and then Bob’s your uncle.”

“Casssssidy,” a deep, resonating voice cut through Ricky’s chatter.

As the imp dove under my pillow, I spied the unusually tall form of a Night Terror gliding towards me in the darkening gloom. It took me a moment to recognize him as the Night Terror I’d met in Venice. Lucian had called him The Keeper of the Old Wisdom. Painfully thin with wispy hair and sagging jowls, he glowed, his skin white and his eyes gold. I found those eyes disturbing. They weren’t quite like the jaggers’ silver ones, but they were close enough to signal the relation. I had more in common with the Night Terrors than I cared to admit.

But then, if it got me what I wanted, what did it matter?

“Specter kindred,” I greeted, swinging my feet off the bed.

The Night Terror grinned, a ghastly, ghoulish smile. “You’ve gone home,” he said, clearly pleased as he dipped into the deepest, most respectful of bows. “It is the greatest honor to introduce myself to you, at last. My name is True.”

I met his gaze head on. “You’ve got more answers, don’t you,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

A slight smile played over his white lips. “Not ones you’re ready for, little one.”

Little one. The jagger had called me that. Whatever. I was tired of playing other people’s games. “Then I’m wasting my time with you, True,” I said curtly.

My brusqueness didn’t bother him. He humored me with a pacifying smile. “You must learn to control the mists first, little one. Then, and only then, will the Old Wisdom I keep be understood. You must crawl before you run.”

“Well, unless you plan on giving me lessons, there’s not much else left to say,” I told him.

True just nodded indulgently. It was irritating. “A gift for you, kin of my spirit,” he said, pulling a pint-sized crystal bottle of mana out of his sleeve.

I accepted the bottle from his thin fingers, realizing suddenly that I was quite hungry.

“Call my name in the mists when you need me,” True whispered, his golden eyes shining brightly. “Call, and I will come. We are kindred, you and I.”

With that, he drew his deep hood over his face and floated across the room to disappear directly into the wall.

I stared.

“Not ones to use doors, that lot,” Ricky emerged from under the pillow to mutter darkly. “Gives you the collywobbles.”

It was creepy, but less so than the noseless jagger, Justice, in the Nether Reaches. Ignoring Ricky, I stood up and uncorking the mana bottle, slapped my hand over the opening and drained it dry in less than three seconds. Energy coursed through me, not enough to find myself fully restored but enough to get me out and about.

I glanced at the black string tied around my wrist. Right. Time to get moving.

Eyeing another shopping bag courtesy of Heath, no doubt, I didn’t pay much attention to the clothing this time. I just slipped it on. My mind was busy. I needed knowledge in order to create my map of revenge. Knowledge. It was time to eat, sleep, and breathe Emilio.

No sooner had I thought his name than I smelled his unique spicy scent of death.

A moment later, his voice drifted up through the spiral staircase from the vicinity of the kitchen.

My eyes lit with a keen anticipation, and my heart went cold. Ice cold.

Calmly, I put one booted foot on the staircase.

Game begin.

The Charmed Mafia

“Word in the Fringe is that the Terzi shattered your wards, Lord Rowle,” Emilio’s distinctive voice began in the kitchen but ended in the living room. “And they say you’ve devastated their eastern clan in response. And now, I hear they’ve attacked your collection in Venice. I can’t have a war now, can I?”

I paused on the bottom step, searching for the sadistic vampire. He appeared the next instant, settling back onto the black leather couch in the living room. Dressed in an expensive Italian suit with a large ruby pinned to the lapel, he casually crossed his legs and took a long pull from a cigar to blow a smoke-ring with slow, leisurely grace.

As I entered, his gaze latched onto mine, his expression impenetrable. Emilio. My nemesis. I met his scrutiny with a steady confidence. It was easy now that I felt so cold inside, so detached. He watched me approach, the glint of intrigue growing in his eyes with each step I took.

When I finally came to a stop, he greeted me with a soft, “Bambina.”

He smiled.

It was odd, that smile. It beamed with pride. And not just any pride, it was distinctly paternal. Was ‘bambina’ more than a sexist, chauvinistic term of his? Did he really think I was his daughter? Was he truly narcissistic enough to fancy himself the only vampire to have ever fathered offspring?

Seizing the moment, I bent my head and stroked his vanity by murmuring a contrite lie. “I recognize you for what you are now. My father.”

The effect on Emilio was beyond my wildest expectations. I’d thought it merely an opening move, but I’d struck gold—no, platinum, or whatever was priceless beyond measure. He visibly expanded. The light in his eyes grew bright. A kind of eerie conceit radiated from him in palpable waves.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw Lucian standing near the window, dressed in one of those off-white traditional Irish sweaters and a pair of stone-washed jeans. He’d crossed his arms and was watching me with his dark brows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

I was just thinking I’d have to deal with him later when I all at once felt myself carried back and lifted up against the plate-glass window. Emilio. He held me in place by the throat, suspended enough so that my feet dangled off the floor.

“La famiglia viene prima di tutto,” the vampire murmured in my ear. His voice was soft, almost gentle, despite the fact that he was choking me. “What should be done to those who turn their backs on family, principessa?”

I didn’t have a clue what he expected. It was fortunate he was choking me. Not being able to reply kept me from saying something that would ruin the inroad I’d inadvertently made.

Snapping his fingers in front of my nose, Emilio whispered, “There’s joy in endurance, the bliss of suffering for a cause.” He released his hand and watched me slide down the glass and collapse at his feet. I gasped for air, and after a moment, he crouched down beside me, cupping my chin in his palm. “Fear is an option with me, bambina.”

Yep. No doubt about it. He was insane. A megalomaniac. I met his gaze head-on. “Death has a way of giving life to other options,” I replied cryptically, willing him to read what he wanted in that.

He did. His eyes flashed with outright delight, but there was something else in them. Suspicion? “A risk-taker—amante del rischio,” he said. “Not something inherited from your mother, bambina, eh? Tale padre, tale figlia.”

The way he searched my face reminded me of a tiger analyzing its prey for any sign of weakness, any fault that would allow it to spring forward and bury its fangs deep into its victim’s neck. It was obvious that he wanted something meaty from me to prove my change of heart and that I truly was his daughter. I didn’t really have anything of that caliber.

Or did I?

The way Emilio lifted his chin told me I was losing him. Following instinct, I gambled with the barely audible reply of, “The Keepers of the Nether Reaches would most likely agree with that.”

Again. Gold, platinum and every other precious metal combined. Emilio clearly had a history with the Nether Reach Keepers—that much was startlingly clear. He expanded again, pride oozing from every pore. His eyes nearly glowed.

“Keepers,” he repeated the word, drawing it out long and slow. “Keepers.”

I waited, hoping he’d drop another breadcrumb so I could pick my way across this minefield of a conversation, but he didn’t oblige this time.

Instead, he rose to his feet before saying, almost as an afterthought, “Trust. I have your mother in my thrall, my keeping. She’s my toy, il mio giocattolo. It would be a shame should she meet misfortune. Do you not think so, Cassidy? She is weak.”

What kind of demonic figure of fatherhood did he imagine himself to be? I didn’t let myself react. Calmly, I lifted myself off the floor. He obviously enjoyed speaking in riddles. “It is not the strongest that survives,” I said with a mysterious, bold smile of my own. “It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.”

Emilio’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. But for only the briefest of moments. Growing all at once harsh and cold, he dismissed me with a flick of his hand and turned back to Lucian. “This matter is of the gravest kind, Lord Rowle,” he said, picking up the thread of conversation from before. He pulled a fresh cigar from his jacket’s inner pocket and, returning to the couch, crossed his legs and nodded towards the kitchen. “Come, Samuel. Inform Lord Rowle of the accusations—the rumors circulating in the Fringe.”

Now that the spotlight had been diverted from me—at least temporarily—I cast a quick glance at Lucian. He was studying me, his pale silver-blue eyes smoldered with the promise of a future conversation before he dipped his chin politely in Emilio’s direction.

“Rumors are such slippery things.” Lucian’s deep baritone snaked through the tension-filled room. “Tell me, what drivel has some fool dredged up to humiliate himself with now?”

A new demanding, loud, and accusing voice sounded from the kitchen. “They say your blue troll’s been captured by the Terzi.”

The owner of the voice strode into the living room with a purposeful step. I recognized him at once from Lucian’s partially-finished marionette. Dark comb-over. Long, hawk nose. There was a mole on his chin, but it was much smaller in real life than portrayed on his doll counterpart. He wore a wine-colored jacket with brass buttons and a turned-up collar. Combined with black tuxedo trousers and shiny leather shoes, he looked just like a typical movie villain.

Smiling at Lucian, he continued, “And they say you’re not stopping with just the eastern clan. The rumor is you’re reviving the war. That’s why Gloria attacked the villa in Venice—and she nearly got the dolls this time.”

Lucian responded with a smooth smile. “Gloria’s always going after me. That’s nothing new, but really, my blue troll—captured?” His lips quirked with such a fine mixture of contempt and astonishment that I figured the little beast had been found. “Samuel, who gave you such a preposterous idea?” He began to laugh but quickly interrupted himself to ask, “Wait. More importantly—you believed them?” He chuckled again.

Samuel joined in his laughter.

It looked pretty genuine. They were a baffling bunch, these warlocks.

Emilio didn’t find the situation amusing in the slightest. “Lord Rowle,” his deep voice cut through their mirth like a knife. “Show me your wards and we’ll have done.”

From where I stood, I could see Lucian’s fingers curl, ever so slightly. It was a telltale gesture. So, he hadn’t secured his ward, after all. But that little fact didn’t stop him from rounding on the vampire with a scornful brow dripping in disdain. “You know quite well that no seasoned warlock carries his wards on him, Emilio,” he replied. “Nor am I prepared to simply show you my protection. And certainly not for such a story, a story beyond illogical. How could I gain such vast territory without every ward in my possession? Only a fool would fall for such hogwash.”

The vampire took another long pull on his cigar, blowing several more smoke rings as we watched, but his subtle posture betrayed a growing displeasure. It was in the set of his shoulders. The angle of his chin. Finally, he announced, “Then it’s a simple matter. Until I see your wards, Samuel will watch over your collection. I can’t have Gloria succeeding. Not with your most recent addition.”

“Most unwise,” Lucian judged swiftly, anger darkening his handsome face. “Can you risk such a disaster—”

A hard, malicious smile graced Emilio’s lips. “I’m dangerously close to losing my temper, Lord Rowle,” he said softly. “And you know how much I detest being angry.”

But Lucian wasn’t so easily intimidated. “Samuel’s time would be far better spent cleaning that muddle of a building stunt you pulled on Cassidy. It’s all over the internet. Our covers are blown. Wide open. Proof of immortals—proof of vampires. That’s the popular conclusion—”

“What’s done is done,” Emilio answered with an indifferent shrug. Apparently, he considered tossing someone off a rooftop a common everyday occurrence. Maybe it was for him. The leather sofa creaked as he stood up and stretched his neck from side to side. “My decision is made. There’s too much at stake. He must never waken. You know thissss.” He drew the last word out in a long, threatening hiss as he rocked back on his heels.

“Your marionettes are already en route,” Samuel asserted, taking his phone out of his coat pocket and tapping the surface with a long finger. “I gave the order minutes ago and just got confirmation they’re already on the plane.”

The look Lucian sent him struck the warlock into silence. He paled, nervously licking his lips.

One moment, Emilio stood by the sofa. The next, he stood before Lucian, clearly aggravated. “Show me the strength of your wards and then you can have your precious dolls back,” he promised harshly.

His demeanor didn’t daunt Lucian. “If you carry through with this decision, you’ll rue it for eternity, Emilio,” he responded in a soft, threatening tone.

But Emilio was already walking out the door.

I watched with interest. He must never waken. They were obviously talking about Dorian. Were they bringing him here? A flicker of interest crossed my mind. Emilio had been so obsessed with capturing and containing the vampire. It might be that a free Dorian would be a devastating blow. Definitely a revenge-worthy one. But it was easier said than done to break such a curse, I would imagine.

My distraction didn’t pass unnoticed. The hawk-nosed wizard turned a wary gaze on me. “Cassidy, is it?” he asked, his lips curled into an even deeper lecherous sneer than the one depicted on the marionette. “I find myself quite taken with you. Enthralled, perhaps. But just who are you, Cassidy?”

Meeting his gaze squarely, I replied in a brash tone, “I’m Lucian’s spellfinder, One of the Damned.” I followed up with a bored, “And you are?”

The warlock stood there, arrogance personified. He clearly wanted to ask about the Damned but was too proud to admit he didn’t know. After several prolonged sniffs, he turned smartly on his heel and swaggered out the door after Emilio.

“Arrogant cur.” Lucian snorted the moment the door snapped shut behind them. Arching a brow, he examined me with an unfathomable silvery gaze. “Family reunion, eh? How sweet.” His tone was anything but.

“Stranger things have happened,” I clipped my reply. I didn’t owe him an explanation.

“Indeed,” he granted, his inquisitive eyes dropping briefly to the black string tied around my wrist. “And now you’re proud to say you’re my spellfinder?”

“I’m merely a woman of my word, honoring my contract,” I replied with a shrug.

He moved to the kitchen. I followed. He leaned against the countertop and tapped his fingers on the granite, staring at me with a keen interest.

The silenced lengthened, and from the corner of my eye, I caught Ricky tiptoeing across the kitchen floor behind Lucian. But as the little puff of smoke slid into the cupboard above the refrigerator, Lucian slammed both hands palms down onto the countertop, and I lost all interest in Ricky’s doings.

“Honoring the contract means you work for Emilio,” he announced, watching me like a hawk. “You follow his orders. You play his game. You give up on your brand of revenge.”

“Not a problem,” I lied.

His eyes narrowed a little. That was all.

It was my turn to question. “Sounds like you’ve been busy, but you haven’t found your ward yet,” I stated the obvious. “Have any leads?”

A slight grimace settled in the corners of his mouth.

I took that as a no. “Your dolls?” I prodded. “If all your wards fail, do the curses break? Is that what Emilio’s so worried about?” If Dorian was arriving in that collection, a secret part of me hoped his answer would be yes. But upon seeing the closed expression on Lucian’s face, I quickly switched gears. “Just trying to factor Samuel into this equation here,” I offered as a weak diversion. “Saw that partially completed marionette earlier. Are you going to turn him? As your spellfinder, I need to know these things, don’t I?”

Again, Lucian didn’t answer. His face was a mask. Slowly, he lifted his hand and wrapped a strand of my hair around his finger. “This is a different side of you,” he murmured as if merely thinking aloud. “Why the change of heart?”

A change of heart, and then some. With Lucian, I knew the best strategy would be sticking to the truth—as close as possible, anyway. “I need your protection,” I admitted. “Being tossed off a building wakes you up. I can’t take on the Charmed world, Emilio, and the Knight Templars alone.” Not to mention the Nether Reach Keepers and the jaggers. “And more importantly, I can’t run from what I am anymore.”

“I see,” was all he said.

It was hard to tell if he believed me. Or cared, for that matter. Brushing me aside, he opened the cupboard above the sink and took out a large shopping bag and a black candle. I already knew what was in the bag. I could see the long, protruding hawk nose of the marionette I’d seen earlier upstairs. Samuel.

With a wicked gleam in his pale eyes, Lucian plucked the marionette from the bag and suspended it over the black candle. In soft, deep tones, he began to murmur. I didn’t recognize the language. After about thirty seconds, the candle burst into flame, rising to consume the doll with a force that blasted our hair back from our faces, causing it to whip wildly around our faces for several seconds. And then the flames melted back, and as they receded, the marionette began to shrink. By the time the flames had died altogether, disappearing with a gentle poof, the doll was less than three inches tall.

“Delightful,” Lucian announced with a chilling smile. Tucking the miniature marionette into his back pocket, he added, “It’s been a stunning interlude, spellfinder, but now it’s time to get to work.”

I glanced down at the black string tied around my wrist. “Right,” I agreed.

I was more than ready.

Revenge or Folly?

We went to Culpepper’s apartment first, a rundown building in one of New York’s shadier areas. Just that morning, Lucian’s crew had found the Templar and confronted him there. But he’d surprised them. Another spider had crawled out of his nose, and with a superhuman strength, the Knight Templar had broken free to escape out of the window, disappearing without a trace.

“Nothing, not even the slightest hint,” Lucian repeated, finishing the tale as he opened the door and waved for me to precede him. “You first, spellfinder.”

I raised a brow at the yawning darkness framed by the door before me.

Lucian found that terribly amusing. “That’s why you’re here, spellfinder.” He cocked a wickedly humorous brow. “Spellfinders are always first through the door. Find those spells and protect me.”

I really needed to find time to read all the fine print in my spellfinder job description. But I had my own minion to boss around, didn’t I? Jamming my hands into my pockets, I searched for Ricky, with the intent of tossing the little puff of smoke through the door ahead of me. But then I remembered I’d last seen him sneaking into Lucian’s kitchen cupboard. No doubt he’d been on a turmeric raid. I scowled. It was way past time to start Ricky’s obedience training. I wondered if there were group-rate classes or maybe some kind of Imp whisperer out there to help me out.

Marshalling my thoughts, I scowled, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply.

Various aromas greeted my nostrils, a jumble of unique scents. Mana. There were many spelled objects in there. Strange. I’d thought the Knights Templar were purists.

“Detect anything dangerous?” Lucian’s deep baritone queried.

Dangerous? “No,” I said. The smells were faint. They certainly weren’t dangerous, at least nothing like the scents the spiders had emitted. “Just minor things. Weak, actually.”

“Then proceed,” Lucian ordered with an impatient nod. “Find the spelled objects. If we can determine their purpose, we may identify the caster, and then we’ll be ahead in this game. We’re running out of time here. We’ve got to get my ward back and soon.”

I stood in the doorway, wondering just what would happen should Lucian’s ward not be found. He seemed pretty powerful without it. Was it simply a matter of Dorian breaking free or would all of the marionettes wake? There had to be at least several hundred dolls in that room in Venice. While I might just be up for Dorian on the prowl again, I didn’t want to be running from hundreds of creatures all hell-bent on their own brand of revenge.

“Any day now, spellfinder,” Lucian’s acid tones interrupted my musing. He moved close behind me, his hard muscled chest brushing against my back as he reached inside to flip the light switch on.

We both simply stood there and stared, our mouths dropping open.

Pictures. The walls were covered with them. The apartment was a small studio, and relatively empty, only a threadbare recliner, a plastic lawn chair, and a kitchen table that served as a desk, placed right next to the front door. But it was the walls that captured our attention. Drawings, handwritten notes, and photos were plastered all over. And all devoted to Lucian, Heath, Tabitha, and myself. It was disturbing to see snapshots of me in various poses and venues, pinned there amidst those of the others. There were even a few of Emilio and the hawk-nosed Samuel.

Apparently, the Knights Templar had been surveilling us for weeks.

Half mesmerized and the other half feeling downright violated, I drifted towards a particularly large cluster of photos depicting me in the act of touching numerous victims in Times Square. So, Culpepper knew how I fed. He even knew where I lived. There was a picture of my apartment. It was circled in red and tagged with a purple Post-it note.

Lucian’s cellphone buzzed. Expelling an aggravated huff of breath, he slouched against the door to answer it. I shook my head. Right. I had work to do, too. The soft murmur of the warlock’s voice melted into the background as I forced myself back to the task at hand and, moving away from the pictures, settled down to work.

Filling my lungs with air, I focused on the first thin thread of mana slithering through the air. Like tugging on a rope, the scent pulled me to the source, but before I’d taken more than three steps, Lucian’s scathing baritone intercepted my concentration.

“Only a fool would move my collection,” his voice rose in sharp anger. “You’ve played right into her hands, Emilio. Do you want him loose again? We just cursed him!”

I perked up. Dorian. No harm in gathering intel. Changing directions, I casually wandered towards the closest spelled item in Lucian’s vicinity instead. It turned out to be a toothpick near the sink. As I reluctantly picked it up, the warlock’s voice dropped into a murmur. Straining to hear, I absently rolled the toothpick between my hands. To my surprise, the mana came right off. It was like rubbing the gummy residue of a price sticker off of a gift.

As I absorbed the tiny tendril, I received the distinct impression of eyes. Watchful eyes. I drew back, faintly alarmed.

“He’s by far the most treacherous of them all.” Lucian’s voice rose heatedly, once again. “You know what it took to spell him. And now, you’ve all but set him free.”

Shaking off my strange mana experience, I zoned back into his conversation. Obviously, setting Dorian free would be a great way to give Emilio an apoplectic fit. My first real act of revenge. But I didn’t have a viable way of freeing just him alone. Risking the loss of Lucian’s ward was a self-defeating move in more ways than one, especially since I still needed the warlock’s protection. I sighed. As interesting as the thought had been, clearly, I’d be better off looking for revenge elsewhere. Patience. Revenge was a dish best served cold.

I glanced at Lucian from the corner of my eyes.

Engrossed in his conversation, he’d picked a pencil up from the table and began to twirl it in his fingers. But he was highly observant. He caught me looking at him and abruptly turned his back.

Edgy.

I didn’t care. Focusing on my job once again, I tracked down the next spelled object. A spoon in the sink. Again, the mana brushed off into my hand. Again, I saw eyes. Gray eyes, staring back at me. Cripes. That was disturbing.

Lucian’s conversation had disintegrated into a series of “You’re a fool” and “I’m done with the Marchesi” as I moved about the room. I was aware of his keen eyes following my every move as I located the spelled objects one by one. A cup. A sock. A cough drop. Scissors. A moldy fortune cookie. All of them spelled. I picked up each one, rubbing the mana off before depositing them in a small pile near the sink. Each object was the same, leaving me with the unmistakable visualization of observant, gray eyes. A woman’s eyes.

“Fool!” Lucian’s voice rose in sudden anger. I glanced over as the pencil in his fingers snapped in half. In a flare of temper, he slammed his phone into his pocket and began to swear, violently.

A slight movement on the ceiling above his head snagged my attention. The next moment, a current of air confirmed it. A spider, watching us with its many eyes. The scent of evil. My fangs extended automatically. Apparently, it had just darted out of the woodwork. It caught me looking at it, but before it could skitter away, I drew my smallest knife, flicked my wrist, and let the blade fly.

The next moment, the spider was immobilized.

Lucian didn’t react. He just watched me from under dark lashes as I jumped onto the table next to him and wrenched my blade free from the ceiling. The spider was still alive, but it didn’t look like it would be for long. I watched it wriggle on the tip of my dagger, its legs stretching my way as if trying to cast a spell. Maybe it was. It generated an unusual amount of mana for something so small. Hopping down, I curiously ran my finger over its ensorcelled body.

Just like before, the mana rolled off, and just like before, as I consumed it, I saw the eyes staring at me, but this time, they were real, much stronger, and with it the vague notion of a word in my head, too: Moarte. Whatever language it was, there was no mistaking its meaning. Death.

As the spider shriveled, I repeated the word aloud, “Moarte.”

I glanced up at Lucian. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw in his face.

Shock. Complete. Utter. Shock.

“What is it?” I asked, whipping around on full alert.

Lucian’s hard hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me back to face him. “Just what did you do?” he asked in a strangled voice. He glanced at the pile of items I’d collected near the sink and then back to the spider skewered on my blade. “Just what have you been doing here?”

“Doing?” I frowned. “I’m your spellfinder. I’m finding spelled items and checking them out.” What was the dude’s problem? My frown deepened into a scowl.

“You didn’t just check them out,” Lucian accused hoarsely. “You’re removing the spells. Completely.”

Oh? Was that the mana rolling off thing? I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I have to admit the eyes were a surprise. Gray eyes. A woman’s. She’s spelled the whole place. She’s been watching everything, I guess, but not anymore. The place is cleared …” My voice trailed off as his brows continued to climb into his hairline. Just where was Ricky when I needed him? I felt like strangling the little wretch. I’d obviously blundered again. Licking my lips, I asked, “Aren’t spellfinders supposed to find spells and, uh, remove them?”

He was just watching me. I couldn’t interpret his expression. Finally, he replied in cool, crisp tones. “No. Curses and spells simply can’t be removed. They must be broken.”

“Hairsplitting,” I retorted with an eye roll.

He wasn’t amused.

I folded my arms. “There’s a difference?”

He angled his chin at the dead spider. “Clearly,” he replied with a frosty superiority. “When magic is removed incorrectly, the spelled object is destroyed.” As we both looked at the spider, he added, “Usually.”

I shrugged. “It’s dead,” I agreed.

“No,” he said, drawing his dark brows into a line. “Destroyed. Obliterated. Turned to dust.”

Like Dougall. I nodded.

Lucian stared at me, his sexy lips pressed into a grimace. For a moment, I thought he was going to swear in aggravation and stalk away, but he settled for expelling a long impatient breath out of his nose before saying, “What I’m trying to tell you is that you broke a curse, Cassidy. You bungled the job like a novice, but you didn’t destroy it. Breaking a curse requires a key, but you did it without one. You just kind of … picked the lock and then proceeded to break the curse in the wrong way, of course.”

“Right,” I muttered cynically. “Clear as mud.”

A maniacal gleam entered his eye. “Curses can only be removed by unlocking the curse first, by destroying the object that holds it,” he said, attempting to explain the mechanics of curse-breaking. “For example, the Terzi drawings I tore to release you in Venice. The drawings were the key. And once the key unlocks the door, the cursemaster must negate the mana before it can escape to cause harm … therein lies the danger.” Suddenly, he pressed his lips together, as if he’d said too much, and raising a piqued, querying brow, asked instead, “And the other previously spelled items?”

I pointed at the toothpick, the cookie, and the other things near the sink.

He swiftly walked over to inspect my pile, lightly running his long, elegant fingers over the items. When he turned to face me again, his pale eyes were almost feverish with possibility. “I had no idea …” he began. As I joined him, he leaned over me, his dark hair falling forward. “It’s as I suspected. There’s only one answer to this. Gloria was wrong. You don’t have one foot in each world, Cassidy. You have two feet in both.”

Only one word came out of my lips. “Huh?”

Almost absently, he reached down to stroke my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “While your body mended—and I might add with the most uncommon, astonishing speed—you journeyed to the Nether Reaches, did you not?” His penetrating gaze searched my face.

I tensed under his touch. Yeah, it was a good guess but probably a common one in the Charmed World, especially for those tossed from rooftops. I didn’t feel like answering.

I guess I didn’t have to.

Putting a finger over my lips, he whispered, “By some strange twist of fate, you integrated with the specter kindred in the Nether Reaches. It has to be. And I’d hazard a guess that my puppet curse brought you back before they could finish the job.”

Ok. That was a pretty impressive guess, but I still didn’t feel inclined to confirm it.

A faraway look crossed his handsome face and, staring straight ahead, he spoke as if merely musing aloud. “There are those of the specter kindred who manipulate mana like no other. Jaggers, they’re called. Powerful creatures, even more than the Night Terrors in some ways. They see curses, spells, and charms as mana, morsels to be eaten. But the jaggers have never walked here on Earth. Not until now. You truly are … unique, my dear.”

He was still talking, but I scarcely heard him.

I was astounded.

I did have a viable way of removing a curse. Maybe I could just plunge the proverbial revenge knife deep into Emilio’s heart after all.

Perhaps, just perhaps, I could get my hands on Dorian’s marionette and remove his curse, freeing Emilio’s dreaded enemy myself.

To Betray or Not Betray … that is the Question

But, freeing Dorian was a bad idea. Or at least, half of my brain thought so, the half screaming that the Scottish Highlander of a vampire was a danger of the most deadly kind. Yeah, I might break the curse binding him, but once wakened, would he take kindly to the fact that I’d betrayed him to begin with? And setting Emilio aside, what about Lucian? Lucian hated Dorian in his own right, apart from whatever Emilio’s issue was with the dude. If the warlock ever discovered that I’d freed the vampire responsible for his family’s misfortune … well, let’s just say, I’d certainly find out if I could really die or not then.

A leg fell off the spider impaled on the tip of my blade. Crud. It was a moot point. As far as removing spells went, my abilities didn’t look so hot. I flicked the dead spider off my blade and sheathed the knife in my boot.

What good was removing the spell if I destroyed Dorian in the process? If anything, that would tickle Emilio pink and make his day—if not century.

But then, the other half of my brain roared to life, terribly excited.

Dorian was a vampire. What was the harm? He’d be the perfect victim to practice on—he was already dead.

“Cassidy.” Lucian’s smooth-as-velvet voice reeled me in.

Crud. Lucian could read my face like an open book. I couldn’t let him follow these particular thoughts.

Adopting a sultry expression, I sent him a bold, mysterious smile to throw him off course—but promptly threw myself off with it.

The sexy warlock’s response was immediate. His blue eyes sparked. One dark, sensual brow lifted.

And just like that, in spite of the fact I was still recovering from being tossed off a building and almost completely consumed by my newfound thirst for revenge, the sizzling passion boiling under the surface ignited between us.

I should have known better. Flirting with Lucian was as foolish as juggling sticks of dynamite while standing in a burning building. He’d once claimed that my sensitivity to mana was my Achilles heel. But I knew he was wrong. So very, very wrong.

He was my ultimate weakness.

The silver-blue eyes piercing mine burned with emotion, and the expression in them was a suggestive one, an outright challenge if I ever saw one. We stood on the brink of an unleashed passion, and we both knew it.

Revenge, Cassidy. Revenge.

Dropping my gaze, I focused on the black string tied to my wrist instead. Revenge. I couldn’t let anything get in the way. Not even Lucian’s sinfully addicting lips. Steeling my resolve, I turned away.

But I was only half of the equation.

Lucian’s fingers entered my field of vision, sliding down my arm to my wrist, and slipping an elegant finger between the black cord and my skin, he murmured, “This string can mean other things, Cassidy.”

I froze.

He asserted control then, twirling me into his arms to effectively cage me against the lean coils of muscle banding his chest as his head descended towards mine. It wasn’t the soft, lingering touch of a kiss. It was a hard one, hungry, sealing my lips and commanding my mouth. And as his tongue swept past any resistance I might have summoned, I knew with my entire soul that he suffered from the same affliction: he couldn’t resist me any more than I could him.

Had the puppet curse robbed us of all choice and self-control? Did it matter?

For a few short moments of bliss, passion erupted between us. Our tongues tangled in a wickedly frenzied dance of sensuality. He was a master, eliciting a wild ecstasy of the senses as he kissed and nipped a scorching trail down the side of my neck. And as his hot lips found the pulse point, I fisted my hands in his hair and kissed him back with everything I had. I almost jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist.

Fortunately, we both came to our senses at the same time. We sprang apart. The only sound to be heard was our breath: harsh, rapid, and shallow.

I waited for him to say something, anything that would make it easier to walk away, to actually take action on the plan I’d been toying with, and to ultimately betray him by freeing Dorian. After all, he always said exactly the worst thing at precisely the worst possible moment. Didn’t he?

But this time, he just stood there, swearing under his breath, his chiseled jaw clenched tight.

Upset and frustrated, I placed both hands on his chest and shoved him back. Of course, he wasn’t going to make anything easier for me. He never did.

A dark scowl descended over his handsome face. “Check this place for spells again, spellfinder,” he grated hoarsely. “You’ve clearly let something slip through.”

The accusation fell flat this time.

“Right,” I said, willing myself to be angry. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t even do a proper job at faking it.

I stepped away, pretending to search, but my newfound ice-cold soul of revenge was momentarily rattled by the sudden recollection of lips brushing my forehead during my recovery. That had been real. My body had been broken, wracked with pain as I laid on Lucian’s bed. Lips had kissed me, making me feel safe. Lips I recognized. Lips that I knew belonged to the dark and dangerous warlock standing just a few feet away.

My ice-cold soul turned even colder as a deep anger engulfed me then, the deepest of furies. I’d silently begged him to ruin the moment between us. And now I knew with certainty that he actually had. With these last two kisses, he’d thrown me the king of all monkey wrenches.

He was going to make me choose.

Unseeing, I ran my hands over the items cluttering Culpepper’s makeshift desk, pretending to search for spells.

With Dorian’s arrival, destiny was handing me an opportunity on a silver platter, a chance to plunge the knife of revenge deep into Emilio’s black, twisted heart. But I’d have to betray Lucian to take it. Could I really do that? Knowing full well that he’d labored long and hard to ensorcell the very vampire who’d cursed his family line?

I clenched my jaw. My eyes fell on my puppet-string bracelet.

Revenge, Cassidy. It’s all you’ve lived for.

I stared at the string, and with each passing moment, my mind began to clear.

In spite of the heat of that kiss, the ice was only growing stronger inside me. I could feel it. Ice that hadn’t been there before. It steeled my resolve. Provided clarity. It would allow me to work with anyone to achieve my goal. To do anything. It raised my chin, held my head high, and seeped into my voice as I announced, “There are no more spells here, Lord Rowle. It’s time to move on.”

Yes.

Revenge was all that mattered.

Betray Lucian?

Piece of cake.

The Fringe

Before we left, Lucian insisted I scour Culpepper’s dingy apartment one last time for spelled spiders. He lounged in the doorway, silent, impatience seething out of every pore. The passion that had flared between us died as quickly as it had sprung to life.

“Nothing here,” I grunted, straightening up from examining the last baseboard.

“It looks like you shriveled the only lead we had,” he accused, nettled, his tone a blistering one.

I subjected him to a cool gaze and slapped the dust bunnies off my knees. “Date any gray-eyed women lately?” I asked tartly. “Ones who use the word ‘moarte’?”

His eyes took on a shuttered look, but before I could probe further, he growled, “Enough of this rabbit hole of a detour. It’s time we joined Heath and Tabitha in the Fringe. We’re late.” Drawing his brows into a withering knot of displeasure, he spun on his heel and disappeared into the dark corridor towards the exit.

Obviously, he wasn’t about to share any information about his gray-eyed ex. It didn’t matter. It would take me less than two minutes to squeeze it out of Heath.

The moon glowed behind layers of clouds as I stepped outside the rundown apartment complex. A few minutes later, we sat in yet another taxi. Lucian hunched in the back, the set of his jaw broadcasting that all forms of conversation would be ignored.

That was fine by me. I didn’t feel like talking myself. I’d have to feed soon. My energy was dissipating fast and my head hurt. Pasting my forehead against the car window, I savored its coolness as I watched vignettes of New York City’s late nightlife whiz before my eyes. The traffic had died down dramatically. We practically sped through the dark city streets.

It seemed just minutes later when we pulled up at Rockefeller Center, near the sunken ice rink with its 18-foot-tall bronze Prometheus sprawling against the backdrop of flags. The place was eerily quiet. Not a person in sight. I got out and stretched, eyeing the textured gray limestone compound rising above me.

Lucian paid the fare, and still refusing to acknowledge my existence, set off in long strides towards the lower plaza. As usual, locked doors meant nothing to him. With a mere wave of his hand, he defused alarms and picked any lock that barred his way and in seconds, we were inside.

We entered the skyscraper’s marble-lined corridors and stalked through the maze of Art Deco offices. At random intervals, Lucian paused to weave his fingers in the air. Runes of fire sizzled into life in the air in front of him. They didn’t last long. Only a few seconds later, they would disappear in poofs of smoke. Several times, his wards flickered, allowing me to catch a whiff of his powerful mana. And as usual, the delicious smell made my stomach growl and my fangs lengthen.

He didn’t explain and I didn’t ask. After about fifteen minutes, he made a beeline for the underground parking garage elevators. We only went down to level three, but the ride was an awkward one, seeming to take an eternity before the doors whooshed open to blast us with that pungent, urine-tinged parking garage smell.

Holding my breath in disgust, I followed Lucian through the near empty lot towards a nice set of wheels, a shiny black Mercedes SUV with tinted windows. He bypassed it for a gray-steel door marked ‘Maintenance Only’, and again, the lock was picked, his hand touched the knob, and he was through in a flash.

I barely managed to slip in after him before the door clicked shut with a resounding bang.

Mana blasted my senses, the incredibly intense mana of the Charmed mingled with garden-variety human. My fangs extended on their own, drooling in anticipation at the myriad of scents fluctuating around me.

I heard—and felt—the music next. We’d entered a dim corridor lit only by a single flickering bulb. The walls were made of cement blocks, painted a dingy yellow and the floor a gray concrete. At the other end of the narrow passageway, I could hear and feel the muffled beat of music coming from behind another scuffed metal door.

Lucian already stood before it, waiting for me. As I joined him, he looked down at me to say, “Welcome to the dark, thriving underbelly of the Fringe, Cassidy, home to humanity’s dark arts.”

“I smell more than humans behind that door,” I challenged, cocking a skeptical brow.

He found that amusing. “The Charmed frequent the Fringe quite often,” he said with a wicked glint in his eye. “There’s no better place to find a human to bend to your will.”

“Is that why we’re here?” I asked. “Human will-bending?”

“That, among other things,” he replied, the levity in his tone disappearing. “For the Charmed, there’s only one rule in the Fringe: don’t reveal yourself. Remember, you’re undercover. Just keep your ears and nose wide open. And be careful once we’re inside. The Knights Templar come here often, looking for clues. On occasion, one of our kind slips up and they get lucky.”

“Got it,” I said, anxious to mingle with the mana drifting my way.

Satisfied, Lucian opened the door. Strobe lights pulsed with the bass of the music as we stepped inside and emerged onto a balcony of sorts that overlooked the typical club scene. Low lighting. Illuminated wall of liquor covering one side. A multitude of heads bobbing up and down. Bodies writhing to loud music. At least half of those bodies were Charmed, a melting pot of creatures too intoxicating to resist.

Talking was impossible here. It didn’t matter. Lucian commandeered my attention with a hard hand clamping down on my shoulder. He pointed to a door across the room, left of the illuminated liquor wall before setting off down the metal dimple-plated steps leading into the chaos below.

A vibrant variety of mana assailed my senses as I plunged into the mosh pit. Quite a few vampires, even a few Terzi—I recognized the clan aroma. Gloria’s minions? Judging by the woodsy scents assailing my nostrils, there had to be more than one werewolf here as well. Several aromas reminded me of Lucian. Perhaps that was the warlock and witch category. There were many others I didn’t recognize.

With the sheer number of bodies smashing against me, it was impossible not to indulge in a wee nip or two of mana. They fell right into me. Several times, I shoved a Chosen One off my neck as they attempted to indulge in a hasty bite of their own, and more than once, I actually managed to snatch the mana of one of the Charmed myself. It was beyond anything I’d ever imagined mana could be. Powerful. Heady. Almost giddy, I pushed my way forward, and by the time I emerged from the sea of bodies, I felt stronger and more restored than I’d felt in months—and maybe, just maybe, slightly buzzed.

Lucian could tell. He took one look at me and drew his brows in a line of rank disapproval. I shrugged unapologetically. His disapproval intensified, but it didn’t bother me as I sashayed after him into the adjoining room.

This room was darker than the last, an under-the-sea themed bar. Blue and green neon water tubes bubbled along the length of the walls, drooped across the ceiling, and wound around pillars to ultimately end in a series of aquariums fashioned into a bar. The people hugging it were predominately human, but I could smell the occasional vampire squeezed in between them as we meandered by. It was somewhat quieter here, the constant thrum of music from the club next door mixing with the ever present hum of voices provided a façade of privacy.

As I followed Lucian towards a cluster of tables, I caught two large eyes floating through the tube over my head from the corner of my eye. A double take revealed only a flurry of bubbles.

I frowned.

Maybe indulging in Charmed mana had unintended side effects. I did feel a tad lightheaded.

I stalked after Lucian, but a man at a nearby table caught my eye. Or, his eyebrows did, anyway. He recognized me the same instant that I did him. It was Mr. Caterpillar-brow man from the blitzkrieg van, along with a couple of his companions, including the sacrificial lamb.

I couldn’t resist a small detour.

“Hey there, boys!” I smiled, leaning down to fold my elbows chummily on their table.

Was it the lighting, or did they all just turn as white as ghosts?

They just stared at me, their eyes growing round.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay and play. Lucian hadn’t waited. “Maybe later, huh?” I suggested, grinning. And then with a wave—which they didn’t return—I headed after the self-centered warlock.

He hadn’t gone far, just to a small table near the wall where we found Heath and Tabitha nursing half-empty beer mugs and a bowl of peanuts.

Heath was hard to miss. The funky lighting illuminated his Hawaiian shirt and shell necklace, making him stand out like a glow stick in the dark. As I joined them, he grinned and patted an empty leather-covered stool.

Tabitha watched me with unblinking eyes. I dipped my head in respect, but she didn’t bat an eyelash. She’d covered her bald head with a white shoulder-length wig, and decked in a blue sheath dress with intricate henna designs on her hands, arms, and neck, she looked more dragon-like than ever. I made a quick mental note to read up—as soon as possible—on just how one befriended cranky snakes.

Again, eyes whizzed by, eyes accompanied by a flurry of bubbles in the tubes snaking up the wall behind Heath’s back. This time, I was sure I’d seen them, two pale orbs, but there were so many bubbles and the tubing wound around in such intricate loops that I quickly lost track of which tube to follow.

“The pack’s still out on the mission, man,” Heath’s voice rose above the background murmur. “Got ‘em on the run.”

“Then keep them running,” Lucian grunted before arching an expectant brow. “And?”

“Ready whenever he shows.” Heath grinned, patting his shirt pocket. “We’ll intercept the shipment, no doubt about it, man.” That was Heath. Ever the optimist.

Lucian dropped the miniaturized marionette version of the hawk-nosed wizard onto the table. “This will ensure it,” he said in chilled tones.

So, it was a Charmed stakeout. Or, from the harsh gleam in Lucian’s eye, maybe some Charmed version of torture to elicit information. In any event, I didn’t feel much pity for Samuel.

I leaned forward to hear better when Lucian’s wards dipped and I got a delicious lungful of his mana. I’d just indulged in an array of exotic manas and felt borderline tipsy, but the handsome warlock at my side was still beyond tempting. I leaned into him. Somehow, my hand slid over his shoulder, creeping for his chest, the heart chakra. His strong fingers stopped me, clamping over my wrist.

To my relief, his scent winked out at once.

“Concentrate,” he growl-shouted in a way that I was certain only he could. “You’re here to work, not play.”

My acidic retort was subverted by the return of the mysteriously elusive eyeballs. This time, I got a good look at them—and immediately wished I hadn’t. There was no mistaking that cheesy grin that accompanied them.

Ricky.

An Unexpected Turn

Ricky waved as he rocketed past, bubbles ejecting from his nose like twin jet streams. The little beast never failed to conjure up a dichotomy of emotions within me, and this time, it was a split between supreme annoyance and absolute amusement. This time, the last one edged out the first, probably because I was high on Charmed mana.

I snorted a giggle.

Lucian’s pale eyes latched onto mine, the look brimming with suspicion.

Fortunately, Heath chose that moment to interrupt. “Yep, there’s Samuel,” he said with a low, surprised whistle. “Just like you said.”

Sure enough, the hawk-nosed wizard had arrived at the aquarium bar. Still dressed in his garish suit, he stood out like a sore thumb and a geeky one at that.

A cool, mirthless smile graced Lucian’s lips. He was clearly pleased with himself. “Keep sharp,” was all he said.

Swallowing my amusement, I watched Samuel elbow his way between two stylish young women, but he’d scarcely delivered his lecherous grin before they fell away like lemmings abandoning a sinking ship. The warlock didn’t seem to mind, though. He probably had years of rejection experience. He settled in comfortably and ordered a drink.

At our table, Lucian began to drum his fingers on the miniature marionette’s head.

“Bingo,” Heath said suddenly, tapping his earlobe. “He’s broadcasting.”

The hawk-nosed warlock had downed his shot and tilted his head to one side.

“Intercept,” Lucian ordered crisply, his expression an almost maniacal one. “Gloria won’t come herself. But at least one of the Chosen Ones lounging around here are hers. Be alert.”

I laughed a little at that. “One?” I repeated, finding that funny. “There’s five.” Relaxed. That’s what I felt. I could get hooked on Charmed mana. In spite of all that had transpired the past few days, I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

It took me a second to realize that Lucian and Heath were watching me in astonishment.

“You can smell clan affiliations?” Lucian asked with a glimmer of disbelief tingeing his tone.

Heath was much more appreciative. “Sweet!” The werewolf’s eyes widened in admiration. “I can’t do that. Didn’t know anyone could, actually.” He leaned forward, obviously wanting to chat and compare abilities.

But Lucian turned all business and interrupted with a, “Where are they, Cassidy?”

I began to turn, but he grabbed my wrist. “Don’t look at them,” he hissed in warning. “Undercover, remember? The Templars near the bar are watching every move we make. They’re dangerous.”

His pale, silvery gaze flicked to where two men hunkered over shot glasses at a table near the tiered aquariums. One wore a Seattle Seahawks jersey. The square line of his jaw and tight skin announced a youth at decided odds with the gray hair poking out from under a red baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The other man reminded me of a chubby Italian opera singer. Both men were distinctive. Unusual. And judging by their mana, decidedly human. Definitely spider-free.

“They’ve been building a case against me for months,” Lucian continued in low tones. “I can’t have them springing it right now. Not those two. They’re worse than Culpepper, a completely different ballpark. So, no mistakes, not even a whiff.”

Ricky chose that moment to swoosh by.

I cleared my throat. “Not a whiff, eh?” Was Ricky considered more or less than a whiff? I was still relaxed enough to let my lips twitch at the thought.

Fortunately, Lucian didn’t notice my distraction this time. His attention had shifted back to Heath. “So?” he prompted with a single word.

The werewolf didn’t answer at first. He’d taken a crystal from his pocket and twirled it discreetly in the palm of his hand. I could tell it was Charmed, but it was an unusual form of mana, one I’d never encountered before. The smell reminded me of damp, autumn leaves.

All of sudden, Heath froze. “Got the beam,” he said, a triumphant grin splitting his lips. “You’re right. He’s contacting the Terzi. How’d you know he was a mole? Impressive, dude.”

Lucian accepted his compliment with a chillingly crisp nod. “They’ll answer soon,” he answered with a single-minded focus. “Soon, proof of his betrayal will be forever etched in stone. Emilio will have no choice. Samuel’s a dead man walking.”

And Samuel just might have remained a dead man … if Ricky hadn’t swooped by again.

It all happened quickly after that.

I didn’t have a choice. Not really. If the Templars caught the little imp, they’d just have to hand him a bottle of turmeric and he’d sing like a canary.

Horror consumed my warm fuzziness in one gulp as I watched Ricky bob up and down, riding the tubes on a direct collision course with the Templars. They weren’t going to miss an imp parading over their heads. I had to catch the little miscreant before he got himself—and us—into some real hot water.

I jumped to my feet and lurched into the crowd after Ricky’s wide, gleeful grin. As the imp slid bonelessly above my head, I began to dance to the music. Under the circumstances, it was the best excuse I could think of for waving my arms above my head in order to snag Ricky’s attention.

The little rat in the pipes didn’t respond, but more than one particularly tasty-smelling guy did—along with the two Knights Templars. I wriggled and gyrated, hoping they’d just take me for a woman desperate for attention. They both swiveled on their stools, watching me with avid interest.

I could almost feel Lucian’s seething gaze burning holes in the back of my head.

Even Gloria’s Chosen Ones zeroed in on me like lasers.

So much for stealth and undercover.

With only a few feet remaining before Ricky would be zipping over the Templars’ heads, his eyes finally connected with mine. I shot him a fierce look, complete with a throat-slashing gesture. Aware of the eyes still observing me, I quickly transitioned it into a suggestive trailing of fingers over my lips.

It could have been a response, or a mere coincidence, but at the last second, the little imp flattened into a pancake, closing his eyes to float almost invisibly over the Templars’ table. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Close call.

His tube spilled into an aquarium surrounding the bar. I headed for it, determined to catch the trouble-causer before he got sucked back up to start his fun ride all over again. I arrived just as he shot out the end of the tube, holding onto his toes, his mouth split into the widest grin as though he were on some waterpark slide. He splashed into a top-tier aquarium too high for me to reach. I couldn’t do much, save watch him float on his back like he was chilling out at a pool party.

I kept up my ruse of dancing.

The imp took a nosedive for another tube and slipped through it in a long black string into a large tank right next to me, filled with bright yellow fish. I didn’t think twice. Lifting an access panel, I plunged my hand into the water and went for him. It was like trying to catch a shoelace made of algae.

One of the bartenders wiping the bar with a towel glanced over at me. “Whatcha doing there?” he practically snarled. “Hands out of the tank, lady. This isn’t a sea petting zoo.”

“Hey, a girl’s gotta look out for her hardware,” I said, batting my lashes. “Lost my ring.”

Eyelash-batting didn’t work on this dude. Slapping the towel over his shoulder, he headed towards me just as the jerseyed Templar left his table. From the corner of my eye, I could see Samuel, grinning.

Swearing between clenched teeth, I knocked on the tank’s wall to let Ricky know I meant business.

“Hands out,” the bartender ordered, glowering over me. “Now.”

“But it’s my engagement ring,” I protested, attempting to buy time.

Ricky chose that moment to slither up my sleeve. The runt. I was definitely going to get even. Lifting my dripping arm out of the aquarium, I jiggled my closed fist, feigning success. “Found it!” I said.

The bartender arched a brow as the Knight Templar wearing the baseball cap entered my field of vision and pushed up to the bar just a few feet away. He looked at me with a keen interest. He was a striking man in his thirties despite his white hair. A bit short. My height. His white teeth flashed into a broad smile as he placed his hands, palm down, flat on the bar.

My first instinct was to run. I took a cautious step back—straight into Lucian’s rock-hard abs. I glanced up. He was furious. Well, actually beyond furious. And not just at me. His pale eyes dipped to my sleeve in a way that left no doubt that he knew exactly who lurked there.

I never would’ve played it if I’d been a little less buzzed. But I was. The Knight Templar didn’t look like the kind who would miss much; he’d probably seen Ricky. It was time to throw a curveball. I wasn’t sure he’d bought the ring story I’d told the bartender, but I was willing to chance that he had.

Pouncing on Lucian, I clasped my hands behind his neck. “There you are, handsome,” I squealed, pulling his astonished lips down to mine.

Kissing Lucian was always a dangerous proposition. Even under such circumstances as these. He was angry. Every muscle in his body taut. Tense. But he still responded. The kiss turned into a deeper one than I’d planned, and lasted much longer than I’d intended as well. There was no denying the passion was real, and given the circumstances, it played to our advantage.

The bartender shrugged and turned away. The Knight Templar seemed a little bored himself and more than a shade disappointed as he ordered a drink.

It took Samuel slithering up to join us and ask, “Engaged?” for Lucian to tear his lips from mine.

“You’re engaged?” the hawk-nosed warlock repeated in open challenge.

Lucian cast him a look of ice-cold disdain. Pulling me hard against his chest, he murmured in a sexy rumble, “Let’s go, shall we, sweetheart?”

“Gotta see that ring first,” Samuel inserted with a snide smile.

I arched a brow. Weren’t these two warlocks supposed to be on the same side?

At the bar, the jerseyed Templar’s interest had been caught once again. Tapping his finger on the side of his glass, he leaned his chin in his palm to watch.

Again I was the center of attention.

“Show him the ring, my dear,” Lucian’s deep voice suggested as his hand slid up my spine.

I gaped up at him, surprised at the betrayal, but he merely leaned down to plant a kiss on my forehead.

I felt it then. The third eye. It vibrated with mana, Lucian’s mana. Something cool, hard sprang to life in my fingers. The spell surprised me so much that I dropped the thing growing in my hand.

It sparkled as it fell. A ring dazzling with diamonds.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Lucian teased lightly as he swooped to pluck it up from the floor. Capturing my hand, he made a show of kissing my finger before sliding the sparkling ring over it with practiced ease.

I raised a brow. He’d missed his calling in life. He should have been an actor. He played the part of a passionate lover with such consummate skill that we received scattered applause and hurrahs from the customers clustered nearby. But they didn’t see what I saw. They didn’t see the rampant fury in those silver-blue eyes peering down at me. Oh, Lucian was displeased. Greatly displeased. It was a look reserved only for me.

The Templar genuinely lost interest then. Pushing himself off the bar, he disappeared into the dancing crowd. As he left, I thought I caught Culpepper’s scent, but it was so faint I chalked it up to imagination.

Samuel was frowning, obviously peeved. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he began jabbering as Lucian slid a hand low over my hip.

“Let’s get out of here,” Lucian bent low to growl in my ear. “The entire operation’s botched.” He frowned. Yep. There he was, back to his old crotchety self.

We’d gone no more than five feet before Samuel blocked our way.

“Emilio,” he said, a gleam of victory dancing in his eyes. “He wants to talk to you. Now.” He extended his phone.

Lucian shoved the man’s arm away. “I’m busy,” he snapped. Grabbing me by the wrist, he moved forward.

But Samuel wasn’t easy to get rid of. “Emilio beckons,” he persisted.

“He can beckon all he wants.” Lucian was just as stubborn. “We’re in a hurry.”

The hawk-nosed warlock’s lips split into a grin. “You can’t ignore him this time,” he warned. “The Marchesi demands your presence. At once. Both of you.”

That made Lucian grab the phone and yell something into it. The exchange was a short one, and I could tell by his dark expression that he’d lost. After a moment, he tossed the phone back at Samuel and changed course towards an exit in the corner. I don’t know if it was magic or his feet, but the door flew back with a bang as he burst into a dingy hallway leading to several elevators.

Samuel followed. “Need a ride?” he asked with an oily grin.

Lucian dipped his chin. “It’s been a pleasure,” he replied in a scathing tone. “You’ve done enough. I can take it from here.”

The warlock just grinned wider. We watched in silence as he punched the button to summon the elevators. The doors opened almost at once and with a fake wave, he stepped inside.

No sooner had the doors slid shut than Lucian turned on me. “And what part of undercover, not drawing attention to yourself, did you not understand?” he asked.

He was filled with a quiet rage. Every cell in him vibrated with anger, and the set of his jaw announced he stood on the verge of an explosion. Not wanting Ricky to light the fuse, I shoved my hands into my pockets and hoped the little imp possessed enough intelligence to stay hidden.

I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, the elevators suddenly dinged open, and the very last person I’d ever expected to see, stepped out.

“Cassidy,” his deep voice accosted. “Cassidy Edwards.”

It was the blond dude who’d never bothered to give me his name. The keeper from the Nether Reaches. Mr. High-and-Mighty.

Branded

Gone were the leggings, bow, and thunderbolt arrows. The Nether Reach keeper had changed into jeans and a knit long-sleeved t-shirt complete with a plain gray hoodie, but his attempt at nondescript human failed miserably. He was too striking to fly under any radar.

Lucian clapped a firm hand on the small of my back and swept me into the elevator before I could respond.

“Be gone, keeper,” he snapped. “We’re busy here.”

The elevator doors whooshed closed, but at the last second, a hand blocked them from sealing shut. As the doors sprang back, the keeper stepped inside, blue eyes flashing.

Crud. “What do you want?” I asked him sourly.

He didn’t answer. He just jabbed a button. The elevator lurched upwards, but only a few feet before he lifted his hand and jolted the car to a stop.

Lucian straightened and arched an angry brow.

Great. I was stuck in tiny quarters with an enraged warlock and a hostile keeper—not to mention the defective imp lurking in my cold, wet sleeve.

Could it end in anything but disaster?

But no sooner had I thought of Ricky than I realized I couldn’t feel him anymore—or, for that matter, smell him. Hex it. Had the imp deserted? Again? A quick pat down of my sleeves confirmed it. Who knew where he’d turn up next time?

Swearing inwardly, I glanced back at Lucian and the keeper. I’d missed the opening salvos of their exchange but tuned back just in time to hear the keeper say, “Your concerns are petty compared to mine, warlock. I owe you no explanation. You may not hinder me.”

The expression gracing Lucian’s handsome face was one of calculating, aloof disdain. “Mayn’t I?” he asked with a spooky calmness, eyeing the newcomer from down the lengths of his aristocratic nose. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Lucian Rowle.” He paused, waiting for the words to sink in before asking, “And you are?”

The name of Rowle produced the desired effect. The keeper’s cockiness vanished. Almost contrite, he dipped his chin in what could have been respect. His voice certainly adopted a markedly politer tone. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lord Rowle. I am Strix, the Eighth Son, and a Keeper of the Nether Reaches.”

Lucian grunted. “Then tell me what crime Cassidy has committed ere I release her into your custody.”

“Crime?” I seized the word, aghast. I whirled on the keeper. “Custody? Are you insane?” Lucian’s arm dropped lightly around my shoulders in a placating gesture, but I was hardly in the mood to be pacified. Angrily, I brushed him off and continued my confrontation. “Strix, is it? What game are you playing here? I’ve committed no crime!”

“No crime?” Strix challenged, his blond brows gathered in a knot. “The law begs to differ. You opened the gates between the reaches, Cassidy Edwards. You released one of your kind on Earth and not just any of the specter kindred. You released one of the worst, a creature born of shadows, the very stuff of nightmares. You freed one of the Fallen, and I’ve come to take you back, to stand judgment for your illegal entry into the Nether Reaches, your unlawful opening of the gates, and your brazen act of freeing one of the worst. It was clearly a premeditated act. I’ve come for both you and the fallen one who dared heed your call.”

My mouth dropped open at the preposterous accusations. “You’re crazy,” I charged, incredulous.

All at once, Lucian turned rigid, uneasy. Genuine concern sparked in his piercing gaze. But then his dark lashes lowered. “You’re mistaken, Strix,” he judged in a voice laced with ridicule. “She’s not strong enough to free something like that.”

“She is and she did, my lord,” Strix disagreed.

Lucian frowned. Was he uncertain?

Things weren’t going in the right direction.

Spinning back to Strix, I demanded, “Don’t you need a little thing called evidence? Proof?”

Strix smiled at me. It wasn’t a nice smile. Far from it. I’d never liked the guy from the start. I liked him even less now.

“My word is enough,” he replied curtly.

I snorted. “Well, it’s not enough for me.”

To my relief, Lucian agreed. “This stretches the bounds of belief,” he commented calmly. “And opening the gates? She’s not even of your kind, keeper. I’ve pressing matters to attend—”

“Then you clearly don’t know who she is, my lord,” Strix had the gall to interrupt.

He lifted his finger to weave a strange, intricate symbol in the air. The moment he was done, the entire thing burst into flames for about three seconds, enough to get a good look at it, anyway. It was an intricate Celtic circle with an eight-pointed star embedded in the center.

Lucian’s nostrils flared in contempt. “Nonsense. Pure tripe,” he replied through clenched teeth, locking gazes with Strix. “The Mindbreaker is a Nether Reach legend and nothing more. He walked the Reaches several thousand years ago. I’ve no time for harebrained fantasies.”

There we were again. The Mindbreaker.

Unaffected by Lucian’s scorn, Strix valiantly disagreed. “Far from a tale, my lord. There’s no doubt. He lives still and Cassidy is his offspring.”

Lucian delivered a long, condescending laugh. “The Charmed live long, but not that long,” he finally said. “Only a Chosen One could survive that span, and the dead cannot bestow life, fool.”

“Then explain this, my lord,” Strix dared, yanking something from his pocket.

It was mana. I could smell it. Mana from the Nether Reach pools, but shaped into a thin film, a flat piece of paper.

At my side, Lucian expelled an exasperated breath. “If it’s the quickest way to be rid of you, then be my guest,” he murmured, flicking his fingers in a gesture of displeasure.

I didn’t see it coming. Strix moved with lightning speed. In less than a millisecond, he’d pressed the film against my forehead. Pain lanced through my head, an intense, skull-splitting pain that jarred the teeth. And then it was gone, and the obnoxious keeper from the Nether Reaches stood there, hand extended—a look of ultimate satisfaction suffusing his arrogant face.

There, suspended above his palm like a living thing, burned the symbol we’d just seen moments before, the Celtic circle with the eight-pointed star.

“Whatever. Party tricks,” I snapped acidly. “I don’t know what you think you’ve proved with that.” I glanced up at Lucian, and then my heart stopped cold.

The color had drained from his face. He stared at the symbol in abject horror as it slowly disappeared in a poof of smoke.

“You see now, don’t you,” Strix’ voice droned in the background. “This is the Mindbreaker’s signature. She carries her father’s blood. There is no doubt, Lord Rowle. None at all. And this, you have just witnessed with your own eyes.”

Lucian didn’t speak. Of all possible responses, I found that the worst.

Strix turned on me then, earnestly. “You can right your wrong, Cassidy,” he said. “Jaggers are the finest of predators. Help me track the Fallen One you freed. If you assist me, it will lessen your crime.”

In spite of the current twist of events and their elusive meanings, I sure didn’t have to think that one over. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I responded at once, anger rising on every level. “I’m innocent, no matter what you—“

Patience wasn’t Strix’ strong suit. “Then I’ll take you into custody now,” he interrupted, temper flaring.

“No,” Lucian thundered with such final, absolute authority that both Strix and I clamped our mouths shut out of pure reflex. The dark-haired warlock continued in the most imperious of tones. “Cassidy is mine. I’ll not release her to you. There’s a mystery here, granted. But one you’ll have to solve before I’ll permit her return to the Nether Reaches. As a Rowle, it’s my right to render judgment in the matters of those under my care. A judgment you will abide by.”

From the look on Strix’ face, Lucian’s word was apparently law in the Charmed World. I found it immensely gratifying. I nodded once and with overt satisfaction.

Lord Lucian Rowle could be downright useful in a pinch.

But the blond keeper still had an ace up his sleeve. “Then I’ll exercise my right as a Keeper of the Nether Reaches,” he replied, his jaw clenched so tightly I could scarcely understand his words.

There was a flash of silver. The next moment, what looked like handcuffs encircled my wrists. But they were apparently some Charmed version. With a bright flash, they sizzled into my flesh, leaving a silvery tattoo in their place as a small series of marks like a barcode appeared on the webbing between my thumb and index finger.

“You’re branded now.” Strix nodded, apparently mollified. “A criminal.”

“A criminal?” Instinctively, I reached for my blades.

Lucian blocked me with a quick hand, mouthing the word, “Easy.”

Right. I eased off on drawing my knives. Lucian didn’t like to be crossed. No doubt, the mighty Lord Rowle would chastise the keeper who dared to challenge his authority. I was going to enjoy watching Mr. High-and-Mighty eat crow. With a smug smile, I extended my wrists expectantly as Lucian faced Strix once more.

Strix’ eyes narrowed. “My lord,” he protested. “It’s my right!”

“And I disagree,” Lucian’s deep voice differed. He nodded his sexy chin at the tattoos on my wrist. “Criminal Level Four? Releasing a Fallen One is a transgression of the worst kind. She’s easily Level Five.”

An Engagement

Pure. Rage.

That didn’t even cover what I felt as I glared at Lucian. “This isn’t a game,” I spat vehemently.

He towered over me, a perverse gleam of satisfaction in his eye. “Agreed, spellfinder,” he granted with a slight, mocking smirk.

I lunged, shoving him back out of pure frustration. But he maneuvered with vampire-like quickness. And before I could vent my anger further, he’d caught me from behind, twisted me into his arms, and clamped a firm hand over my mouth.

“Well then, Strix,” he addressed the keeper with a charming smile. “Until your mission is accomplished, you’ll just have to tag along. Welcome to the team.”

His fingers muted my enraged bellow of an objection.

To my surprise, Strix responded with a pleasant smile of his own. It appeared genuine. “Then I’m honored to accept, my lord, though I pray it won’t be for long.”

How had we got to bromance so fast? Had I missed something?

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” I shouted into Lucian’s hand, but the words were too muffled to be understood.

They weren’t listening, anyway. As the elevator ascended, Lucian laughed, a relaxed, lazy sound as if he were enjoying himself enormously. Maybe he was. “You haven’t mingled with humans much, have you?” he drawled. “Things here get messy. Expect to stay far longer than you wish.”

He kept spouting, but I was too peeved to listen. As the male-bonding session progressed, I writhed angrily in Lucian’s clutches. Hex it. How could the black-hearted warlock be so strong? I’d never seen him do anything other than lounge around and deliver a wealth of sarcasm while casting the occasional odd spell.

Finally, a well-placed elbow separated the muscles of his hard abs.

He grunted, surprised. “I can’t hold her back much longer, Strix,” he warned, his breath hitching a little. “You’d best leave us for now, unless you care to join me in speaking with Emilio.”

Strix drew back as if in distaste. “I’ll wait, my lord. I’m not an admirer of the Chosen Ones.”

“Then we’ll continue our chat later,” Lucian suggested before chuckling at me to add, “When she’s occupied elsewhere.”

The keeper had the gall to nod.

As if on cue, the elevator doors sprang back, and with a final bow, Strix was gone. Lucian waited until the doors had sealed shut once again before releasing me.

“Team?” I practically roared, rounding on him.

“He’ll be an excellent partner,” Lucian replied smoothly, brushing his sleeves. “A keeper’s not a bad thing to have on your side. He can be useful. And he’ll keep you safe.” He leaned down, placing his nose inches from mine and added with wicked humor, “If only so he can take you back to a Nether Reach prison.”

“Forgive me for not laughing,” I spat, glancing down at the silver barcode between my fingers. It looked like some funky, artsy tattoo.

Lucan followed the direction of my gaze. “Being branded a dangerous criminal could be useful,” he said. And then all traces of levity vanished. “You’ve no idea just what you and your imp have cost me this evening, spellfinder. You blew the trap. I’m not likely to get another chance with Samuel, and that’s not something I’m likely to forget. Strix may be just what I need to keep the two of you under control. Now let’s get moving. We’ve wasted enough time.”

The elevators zinged open again, and he exited without waiting for me, heading back the way we’d come, past the bronze Prometheus to the curb where a jolly, rotund man with unusually dark purple lips waited in a black Lexus.

As Lucian commandeered the passenger seat, I slid into the back.

There was no sign of Strix. Whatever. So I had a barcode on my hand now. Big deal. I could wear gloves if I needed to. Part of me wondered if it really was that simple.

The Lexus purred to life.

In the seat in front of me, Lucian let out a long breath and stretched his neck, as if easing a knot between his shoulder blades. He just oozed sexy charisma.

I glanced away.

My fingers slid over the black puppet-string bracelet. Revenge. It was the only thing that mattered. And right now, I was headed back to Emilio—where I wanted to be. Time to take advantage of his father delusions, if possible. Or maybe pick up a bit more info on Dorian’s impending arrival.

We rode in silence, and it wasn’t until we got out at Lucian’s apartment building that we spoke again. “What are we doing here?” I asked as the black Lexus pulled away.

“Emilio beckons, we run,” Lucian responded curtly.

I followed him inside but waited until we were safely ensconced in the elevator before probing, “So, what are we? Emilio’s henchmen?”

His jaw tightened as he answered in clipped tones. “Emilio is head of the Marchesi Clan. We do whatever it takes to keep him there.”

He folded his arms then, and we lapsed back into silence.

So, I’d joined the Charmed mafia.

The elevator went to the very top this time. The penthouse. We stepped out into an opulent, marble-lined corridor with only one door at the very end, one with a gold handle. Emilio was behind that door. I could smell him. But it wasn’t his scent that made me wince. It was the other one.

My mother’s.

I drew my lips into a thin line. Of course. Where else would Blair be?

Lucian was already at the door, unlocking it with the mere wave of his hand and walking right inside as if he owned the place.

I hurried after him but paused on the threshold.

Emilio’s pad was obscenely lavish. A designer couch artfully placed in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an unmatched view of the city. A bubbling pool of neon-lit water with a glass surface that served as a coffee table. Japanese vases, Roman busts, modern sculptures—priceless antiques, all of them.

Again, Lucian hadn’t waited. As he disappeared into a nearby hallway, I found myself running after him yet again. We entered a private office complete with a magnificently carved desk and a red velvet chair that looked more like a throne.

Extraordinary works of art adorned the walls. There was more than one Picasso. Originals? Funny. I’d always had a thing for Picasso. Who knew I shared Emilio’s taste in art? It was oddly disturbing.

The windows were covered with heavy brocade drapery, no doubt designed to stop even a single ray of sunlight from penetrating the vampire domain shrouded within. Soon, they’d be put to the test. Dawn wasn’t far off.

I drifted closer to a Picasso as Lucian waited in the center of the room.

Suddenly, Emilio stood before me in a black satin robe, holding a tumbler of scotch in one hand and a cigar in the other. “No, no, no, bambina,” the vampire whispered, wagging his cigar as his oddly colored eyes drilled into mine. “No, no, no. Not without my consent.”

What was it with this guy and riddles? At least this one was easy to answer. “I’m not one who needs permission—especially yours,” I countered, opting for the truth.

“Ah,” was all he said, his expression impenetrable. The next moment, he appeared before Lucian. “You may be Lord Lucian Rowle, but this will not happen. No. Assolutamente no!”

“This?” Lucian repeated, arching a suave brow. “Be quick, Marchesi. My time is precious.”

The vampire lifted his tumbler to his lips and tipped the contents down his throat. After a few puffs on his cigar, he returned to me. “Bambina. La mia bambina. How can I allow such a grave matter to be taken lightly? I find I cannot. In all conscience, I cannot.”

Had he somehow and most mysteriously delved into my mind and discovered my half-baked Dorian plans? I tensed defensively, expecting to be pinned against the wall and choked again.

He moved, but only to draw the curtains back from the window and pace in front of the night sky. “Passion. The thrill of the chase. I understand. I was young once. So very long ago,” he said absently, as if merely thinking aloud. “But this cannot be. The stakes, too high. The loss, incalculable. I simply cannot allow it. Too soon. Much too soon.”

I perked up at the incalculable loss part.

“You have two minutes left of my time,” Lucian announced curtly.

Emilio pulled deeply on his ever-present cigar. After blowing another smoke ring, he turned to stare at Lucian, tapping his bottom lip with his thumb all the while. And then he said the last thing I expected. “You cannot marry her, warlock. I forbid it. This engagement ends here. Now. All’istante.”

Lucian looked as surprised as I felt. “And this is your crisis?” he asked in outright disbelief.

Emilio was in front of me again, dangling a set of keys near my nose. “A decent place for you to stay. Your own apartment, two floors down. And a Picasso of your own.” He waved his hand at the walls. “Take your pick.”

Disconcerted, I searched the vampire’s eyes so close to mine. Cripes, he couldn’t be taking this father nonsense that seriously, could he? Nah. Not likely. He had to be playing some new devilish game. But what the heck was it?

“Suspicion. Mistrust. Diffidenza. So much of it in you, e molta di più.” Emilio clucked, sadly shaking his head back and forth. And then he spread his arms wide. “We’ve started on the wrong foot with each other, eh? A truce, perhaps? A father-figure. What you wished for in childhood? The beginning is always now, bambina, never forget that.”

The only thing I’d wished for in childhood was to bury my dagger in his chest. Still wished it, actually. But that was clearly not the best of responses.

He smiled at me, all kind-and-fatherly, but I knew callous manipulation simmered under the surface. The entire situation was more than odd. Why would an engagement to Lucian stir up such a response?

And a truce?

Well, however fake his offer, it was one step further down the path of revenge.

I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders. Knowing I’d rouse suspicion if I caved too easily, I adopted an attitude of defiance with the tiniest sprinkle of wistfulness tossed in. “Childhood wishessss…” I said with a catch in my voice and let the word trail before hardening my voice to add, “This isn’t the middle ages. I don’t need your consent.”

It was an Oscar-worthy performance. I could tell by the light in his eyes that I’d struck just the right chord.

But of course, Lucian was still there. And that meant things swerving into the unexpected.

In a single step, he was once again by my side. “Nor does a Rowle need such consent from a Marchesi,” he announced in a deadly voice. “I’m not your minion.”

Funny. I’d thought he was. Just what was their relationship?

Emilio drew back, his expression growing rigid, cold. “That engagement ring of yours, bambina,” he said, tilting his chin at the conjured diamond sparkler still on my finger. “I fail to recognize it.”

Lucian drew in a sharp breath, tossing his head like he’d just been insulted.

The vampire’s lip lifted, revealing a fang. “I’ve seen the Rowle rings firsthand. Priceless heirlooms. At least five of them are in your possession, warlock,” he said, eyes glued to Lucian’s. Dropping his voice into a low hiss, he demanded, “Tell me, what filth is on her finger?”

The line of Lucian’s jaw tightened.

Obviously, there was another conversation going on here, but I couldn’t follow it.

Emilio grabbed my hand, his touch making my flesh crawl. “No prestige here. No respect—” he began, but as his eyes fell on my criminal barcode, he interrupted himself to ask, outraged, “And what’s this? A Nether Reach Keeper’s brand?”

I felt Lucian’s ribcage expand as I jerked my hand free.

Something unusual flitted across the vampire’s face. Fear? He whirled away before I could be certain. “You allowed this, Rowle?” he asked, reviving his verbal assault. “Her protector? Her lover? You permit such things? Tell me, just who is this keeper?”

I heard it then. Something in his voice. The deeper inflection of the word “keeper”. Whatever it was, my gut response was instantaneous. Certain. Above all, I couldn’t let Emilio find out about Strix. I had to find out what the keepers really meant to him, and pronto.

Instinct made me fling myself in front of Lucian, cutting off his response. “Oh, but you’re the one responsible for this, all of it,” I accused Emilio, attempting a redirect.

His attention was arrested at once. His razor sharp gaze sliced through mine. In less than a millisecond he was at my side, breathing. “And just how do you know this?”

I hadn’t expected such an intense response. What had I said to evoke it? I attempted to follow up with the retort of, “You did throw me off that building.”

“Eh.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal and then searched my face, clearly expecting more.

I should’ve kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. I tacked on a belated, “Father.”

It didn’t work this time. I was losing him.

Suddenly, Lucian’s sculpted chest pressed hard against my back. His hands slid around my waist with a sensual slowness to rest low on my hips. “I can defend myself, sweetheart,” he rumbled in a seductive timbre.

Yeah. Of course he’d think it was all about him. Biting back an acidic retort, I melted against him. “Whatever you say, studmuffin.” I followed it up with a little wiggle.

I didn’t hear but felt the chuckle vibrate through his chest.

Emilio was back on his throne-like chair, lighting a fresh cigar in the perfect picture of a mafia godfather. “Then we talk, Lucian, you and I,” he said. Flicking a dismissive finger at me, he added almost as an afterthought, “Speak with your mother, bambina. Va’! Go! Perhaps she can open your eyes.”

Crud. I’d overplayed my hand.

He misread my response. “Respect, bambina,” he interjected with great displeasure. “Respect your mother.”

I suppressed a laugh at his hypocrisy. What had he called her? A toy? Or worse, an imbecile?

Blair’s spicy death scent announced her arrival. She must have been eavesdropping at the door, but not for my sake. The next moment, she was there at his side, fawning over him with a desperation that made me cringe. She didn’t even look at me. Her big brown eyes saw only Emilio. As usual, she was dressed to the nines, wearing a red silk evening dress with a perfectly matching shade of lipstick. The dark hair framing her youthful face hung in loose curls, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. No one could deny that she was beautiful.

It was only when Emilio ordered, “Open your daughter’s eyes, Blair,” that she acknowledged my existence.

“Hi, mom,” I half-growled.

Blair nodded then. Eagerly. But not because she was glad to see me. It was obvious that she so greatly wanted Emilio’s approval.

“Come, let’s go, Cassidy,” she said, sounding like she’d much rather be pulling her teeth out.

I felt a twinge of reluctance at leaving Lucian with Emilio. But just a twinge. And gut feelings aside, Strix didn’t need my protection. He was just another Charmed jerk, after all. No, the interesting thing was Emilio’s reaction to Nether Reach Keepers. And right now, maybe I’d find out more by leaving.

Switching gears, I followed my mother out of the room. When it came to me, she had the attention span of a flea, and with Lucian and Emilio occupied, I figured I’d get to poke around for some real revenge-building intel within minutes.

Blair didn’t go far, just across the hall. “My boudoir,” she said, opening the door on a cream-colored frilly fluff of a room. She floated to a vanity with a large oval mirror and studied her reflection.

"Wrinkles," she sighed as she patted her face.

I rolled my eyes. There wasn’t a wrinkle on her perfect face. She was a vampire, after all.

Reaching into the top drawer, she pulled out a tube and refreshed her lipstick, smacking her lips a few times. Satisfied, she hit the powder next, dabbing a healthy amount on her nose.

I just stood near the doorway, watching her.

“I see you’ve woken up, my dear,” she said. She was still eyeing herself in the mirror. I wasn’t quite sure she was talking to me until she added, “Now that you’ve made peace with Emilio, perhaps we can be a real mother and daughter.”

That was insulting. I wanted to slap her awake, out of her Emilio obsession, but I knew it was hopeless. Instead, I asked the question I had no idea I’d wanted to ask until the words were out of my mouth. “Who’s my real father?”

She slanted a curious glance at me from over her shoulder. “Emilio is all the father you need,” she said, impatience coloring her tone.

“He killed me,” I informed her coldly.

This time, she rolled her eyes. “You can’t die, Cassidy,” she said with a huff, as if it were my fault.

That stung. I attempted to put the conversation back on track. “Seriously. I want to know. I have the right to know. Who is he?”

She just pouted and continued dabbling makeup on her face.

Nope. Things hadn’t changed. It was the only response I’d ever gotten from her.

Giving up, I wandered around her room, just waiting to slip away. I figured I’d be presented with the opportunity in about ten minutes.

It was actually only five.

Her cellphone rang. She answered it at once. As the conversation lengthened, she sat down at the vanity and began to paint her nails. She didn’t even notice when I left the room.

I took a deep breath, on the alert for whiffs of mana.

Lucian’s wards had dipped again. I could detect his delectable scent. I had to shake my head to refocus. There were only the four of us in the penthouse at present. I didn’t have to smell Lucian and Emilio to tell where they were. I could hear them shouting angrily from behind the closed door in front of me.

Good. They were busy.

I set off down the hall, towards the plethora of mana traces floating my way. Spelled objects. The penthouse was full of them, a treasure trove of relics. At least one of them had to provide a key to torture Emilio’s black heart.

A familiar, unique scent crossed my path.

I paused.

Gloria.

According to the scrawled dedication on the page of the book I’d seen in Venice, Emilio had loved her. Most likely, loved her still. And that smacked of revenge material to me.

Following the delicate trail, I entered a room filled with more antiques, medieval style this time. A large, rosewood chest. Dark, walnut-stained shelves cradling various unique containers made of glass, wicker, and wood.

Tempting, all of them.

Spelled, all of them.

But I had a purpose. With laser precision, I followed the delicate Gloria mana-thread. My trail ended at a small gold-inlaid writing desk and the sketchbook resting upon it. Black, leather cover. I flipped through the yellowed pages. The entire thing was filled with charcoal renditions of Gloria’s face. There was a serious obsession here. Dorian had told me of Emilio’s fixation with his sister from the start. I wondered what the story truly was.

“You shouldn’t be in here!” my mother hissed on my neck the precise moment I smelled her.

I whirled, accidently knocking the sketchbook to the floor.

Her perfect brows were drawn into an angry line. “Get out,” she seethed. “Neither of us will be forgiven if we’re found here! Put that book back and leave at once! He’s calling for you.”

The next instant, she was gone, waiting out in the hall.

I scowled. Loyalty to her child was obviously nonexistent. I bent down to retrieve the sketchbook.

And froze.

There, on the back, was emblazoned the Mindbreaker’s symbol, the Celtic circle with the eight-pointed star, and right under it was the silver swing, the one I’d sat on in Venice.

More Than a Black, Empty Hole

“Siamo venuti a un accordo. An agreement, principessa,” were the words that greeted me as I entered the vampire’s private office once again.

Emilio stood in front of the window, still holding his eternally present cigar as Lucian lounged in the throne-like red chair before him with his feet propped up on the desk and a Cheshire Cat-style grin on his face. He looked like he owned the place.

I really wasn’t understanding their relationship. Just who worked for whom?

“And a longstanding one,” Emilio continued, moving to grind his cigar into an ashtray in slow circular movements. “Time, bambina. There will be time to change your mind.”

“Or time to change mine,” Lucian inserted with a mocking smile.

So, he’d kept up the engagement sham. Was there anyone in the room not playing some sort of twisted game?

Lucian came at me swiftly then, sweeping me right into his arms and rubbing his cheek against mine. He obviously didn’t want me to rock the boat. “I’ve missed you, baby,” he crooned, nuzzling my neck. “Half an hour felt like an eternity.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to play the part of a Rowle fiancée, even for a few minutes. His stubble-peppered chin scratched my cheek, so I bit his ear. It wasn’t a nice bite.

His eyes lit all the same. “Not here. Control yourself, kitten. We can play later,” he chuckled suggestively. And then as quick as lightning, his lips brushed my forehead, right over the third eye.

Mana surged.

Spelled. Again.

Abruptly, everything seemed so very far away, like I was looking through the wrong end of a telescope. I heard voices. My own responded, but I had no idea what it said before I began walking.

The ding of another elevator.

More walking.

My brain was foggy. Confused.

The sound of a door clicking shut startled me into the present and, all at once, I was wide-eyed and alert. Refreshed, actually.

I stood in Lucian’s kitchen.

I didn’t hesitate. Drawing a blade, I went for him, shoving him back against the wall. “You spelled me again,” I charged, thrusting the tip of my knife under his chin.

The next instant, I was flipped and slammed against the wall myself. He’d pinned both of my hands over my head before I even heard the metallic clang of my dagger striking the floor.

“Do you have a death wish?” Lucian hissed in my ear. “The game you’re playing with Emilio. It’s a dangerous one."

“Oh? And what game are you playing?” I challenged, spitting the words venomously.

“I know what I’m doing,” he had the arrogance to retort. Lowering his voice, he continued, “So tell me, just what have you done to Emilio? He’s all but convinced he’s your father.”

I stubbornly jutted my chin. “Maybe he is,” I said, just to be obstinate.

“Then you’re as delusional as he is,” Lucian concluded harshly. His pale eyes narrowed into slits. “Emilio’s not the Mindbreaker. He can’t be.”

“Mindbreaker?” I repeated. My breath hitched. So, Lucian was a believer now, too? “Just who is this Mindbreaker you guys keep harping about?”

He studied my face and then releasing me, took a step back. “Legend claims the Mindbreaker was one of the most powerful keepers to ever exist in the Nether Reaches. He sought to create a utopia for the Charmed, to unleash the Reaches upon the Earth, and he had no qualms destroying anything that stood in his way. Think mass genocide. The worst kind. Many species went extinct because of him. Cadpris. Unicorns. Pics. And some are still on the brink. The dragons, grindles, and silidons to name a few.”

“Never heard of a lot of those,” I said, frowning to digest it all.

“Precisely,” he answered with a dark scowl.

I snorted incredulously. “And this … this Mindbreaker … this legendary monster, Strix thinks he’s my father and you believe him?”

I wanted him to roll his eyes and reproach me as ridiculous to even entertain such a far-fetched idea. After all, couldn’t he have agreed with Strix because he was manipulating the guy, just like he apparently manipulated everyone? Like he was manipulating me now?

But he didn’t disagree at all.

Corralling me against the wall once again, he placed his hands, palms down, on either side of my head and stared into my eyes from inches away. “Through genetic manipulation or some twist of fate, there is no doubt, Cassidy,” he said the last words I’d wanted to hear. “You are the Mindbreaker’s daughter. The questions are how, and most importantly, why.”

We stared at each other, our harsh breathing the only sound in the room.

So, I was the daughter of a true monster. Like I wasn’t enough of a freak already? My mother had done a fair share of damage to my psyche. Was it my father’s turn now? Yeah, I’d always wanted to discover who he was. Apparently, it was one of those things I was better off not knowing.

Fear. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. All of them rose to engulf me.

It was one of those defining moments, to bow to the oncoming storm, or to stand tall and take it head on. There was no choice for me, really. I’d always despised weakness. Melting into a pile of goo was not an option.

As usual, I went for strength. But it was hard this time.

Striking out at Lucian, I pushed him back. “You spelled me!” I accused, abruptly switching subjects, looking for something to toughen me up.

I meant to sound harsh, but there was a pronounced tremble in my voice.

Lucian’s eyes went hard, cold. Cocking a perfectly arrogant brow, he replied in the utmost scornful of tones, “You’re foolish, Cass. I had to protect you.”

Cass. For the first time, I was glad to hear the butchering of my name. It made me angry. And anger was just what I needed right now. Holding onto my fury, I carped, “More likely, you spelled me so I couldn’t throw a monkey wrench into your little game. Engagement? Really?” My voice grew stronger.

He shrugged, as if he didn’t care. “Oh, you’ll play this game as long as I need you to,” he threatened in his soft, slightly British-accented voice. “And you’ll play it well, spellfinder. You are, after all, mine to command. If I say you marry me, then you marry me.”

There it was. Real anger. “I belong to no one,” I stated with conviction.

“And as my fiancée, you’ll wear a Rowle ring,” he rattled on, not even hearing me. A humorless, wicked smile curved his lips. “An added benefit is that this will end things with that Romanian witch once and for all. She’s the jealous type, though, so you’d best have a care or you just might find yourself spelled, and not in a nice way.”

I’d always known he was a jerk, but to use me as a final breakup message? Disgust mixed with my anger, making me feel more like myself.

He was still spouting. “And if you lose this ring or damage it in any way,” he cautioned, holding up a dramatic finger of warning. “Well, let’s just say you’ll find yourself with Strix, headed for the Nether Reaches before you can blink an eye. And with my blessing.”

“You’re all heart, Lord Rowle,” I responded sarcastically, relieved to be back in my game.

He just shrugged my comment away, moving to the bookcase covering the wall. “Come here,” he ordered crisply, flipping a long, thin silver box open with his thumb.

I wasn’t exactly in the mood to follow orders, especially his, but a current of air brought the mana from the box to my nostrils. The stress of the last hour had made me hungry. I was at his side in a flash, fangs extending in my version of a drool.

The moment I arrived, he snapped the lid shut and the delicious scents vanished, all except one. It was tantalizing, inviting, reminiscent of a fresh rose wet with morning dew. A ring lay in the palm of his hand, a gold-filigreed setting with a ruby that sparkled with its own light. I peered at it closer. Mana infiltrated the precious stone to the core.

“Ah, a moment,” Lucian’s voice startled me.

I drew back, realizing then just how much my fangs had extruded.

He waved his fingers over the stone. The enticing scent vanished. “There,” he grunted in satisfaction. “Maybe you can control yourself better now. Can’t have my future bride sucking her ring in public.”

I scowled up at him, but he ignored me to murmur a few unrecognizable words, waving his hand over the fake diamond ring he’d conjured up in the Fringe.

It exploded in a shower of sparks. They burned.

“Hey!” I snapped, yanking my hand back.

Brandishing the heirloom, he captured my hand. “This belonged to Lady Elizabeth Rowle,” he said, his dark brows gathering into a stern line. “She was—”

“I know who she is,” I interrupted with a growl. My finger still smarted from the sparks.

“Is?” He arched a curious brow. “Lady Elizabeth lived during the Middle Ages—”

“Yeah, I know. Met her in a portrait in Venice,” I grumbled. My finger already felt better, but my mood was degenerating. It had been a long night. My stomach growled.

At Lucian’s prolonged silence, I glanced up into his stunned face.

Right. He clearly didn’t know his great-to-the-something grandmother was still snooping in his business. “You didn’t know she talked from portraits?” I asked, jumping to the point.

“No,” was all he said.

He stood there a moment, still holding the ring, and then with a shake of his head, he continued, “This is her wedding ring. Guard it well.”

Lady Elizabeth’s ring. She’d appeared in her other favorite items, like the cup. I hesitated, wondering if her face would pop up in the gem.

He didn’t notice my hesitation as he snagged my hand and slipped the ruby over my finger, murmuring unintelligible words all the while. “There,” he said when he was done. “That will ensure it never comes off. I’ll not permit you to lose it.”

So, what was all that bluster about Strix and shipping me off to the Nether Reaches if I couldn’t lose it, after all? I stared up into the complex warlock’s clear blue eyes.

“Well, I can’t imagine this engagement lasting for long,” I said, truthfully enough.

“Nor I,” he replied.

He towered over me, distant, arrogant. Yet, deep in his eyes, I saw something else. Something that betrayed the fact that he’d just spent the last few minutes goading me on purpose. Could he understand me that well, to provoke strength in me when I needed it the most and in just the way I preferred it? He’d claimed he didn’t have a heart. Was that a bald-faced lie?

“No, Cassidy,” I heard him whisper. “This is a slippery slope—”

Yanking his head down, I cut his protest short with a kiss.

Slippery slope?

Well, he didn’t know the half of it. My emotions were caught in utter chaos. And even though my thirst for revenge was alive and well, and even though I knew I was still going to betray him by freeing Dorian given half the chance, I knew just as well that I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of this. No. Not anymore.

I wanted him. And I was going to have him.

Now. This very night.

As I ripped his shirt open, his resistance melted. He plundered my mouth, his hands sliding up my back, leaving a scorching trail on my bare skin.

But then the worst happened.

All at once, his wards went down.

It was too much for me. The frenzied lust, the unleashing of the bottled passion, and the full scent of him.

I didn’t have any control, really.

I was a thing possessed.

There was horror in his eyes as I went for his heart chakra.

Help from Whom?

I stood in the mists. I recognized them now. The Nether Reaches. My body was whole this time, solid. Not one filament of light to be seen.

“They call lasses like you banshees,” Dorian’s Scottish burr sounded from behind me.

I whirled.

He stood, not five feet away, wearing the green kilt that made his eyes look like emeralds. He’d braided his auburn-tinted brown hair at the temples, allowing the rest to flow loose over his broad muscular shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and the way his kilt slung low over his hips only drew more attention to his six-pack abs.

“Banshees. Jaggers. They’re one and the same,” he continued with an easy shrug.

I cast a quick glance around. “I thought jaggers never walked the Earth,” I replied.

“Aye, and they haven’t,” he answered easily enough. “But they came close enough once. ‘Twas when the Mindbreaker opened rifts to the reaches and let the humans catch a wee glimpse of things better left hidden.”

So, Dorian was talking about the Mindbreaker, too, now?

“You shouldn’t be here, Cassidy,” Dorian warned gently, stepping closer. “Aye, your specter heart is wild and reckless and ‘twill beckon, call you like a siren to the mists. But do not heed the call, lass. ‘Tis perilous if you do.”

As he spoke, I could feel the dark and powerful specter waking within me. Images fled across my mind, filling me with yearning, the desire to float, to glide in the cool mists surrounding me, to dance with the flutes and to sing with my kind.

There was a slap. My cheek stung. “You hit me,” I accused, my mouth dropping open.

“Ach, only a wee bit of a blow,” Dorian acknowledged with an unapologetic bow. “Already, you were beginning to fade. I had no choice.”

“Just like when you pinned me to the wall?” I retorted.

He brushed my comment away with a wave of his hand. “The greatest danger lies in the warlock’s puppet curse, ‘tis woven deep into your soul,” he said. “Things walk these lands, creatures of the dark, and they’ll hither to your side should you beckon them, lass. If you haven’t a care, they’ll follow you back like a puppet dancing on a string.”

He was sounding remarkably like Strix now. “Do you mean the Fallen Ones?” I asked pointedly.

There was a crack of thunder.

The highlander of a vampire flashed to my side. “Nay, do not call them here, Cassidy,” he commanded me urgently, gripping my shoulders with his large, strong hands. “’Tis time you returned. Go back and find me. Release me. With what’s coming, I need to be free, to fight at your side.”

I shook my head. “I’m not that stupid. You hate me,” I said. “So what, I’ll free you and then you’ll get even because I helped Lucian turn you into a doll.”

Laughter filled his green eyes, and his lips split into a wide grin. “I’ll never hate you, my bonny wee fool. I can’t.”

I frowned at him. I wasn’t so sure.

The expression in his eyes turned earnest as he delivered his final warning. “Have a care of the path you tread. The dead are trickier than the living, inclined to play as a cat does with a mouse.”

There was a shriek, something unholy. Something that struck fear into every fiber of my being. Something far worse than I’d ever heard before.

Was it following me?

Suddenly, I was ripped away.

I woke up with a loud gasp, sucking in a huge lungful of air. Sitting bolt upright, I took in my surroundings.

I’d been dreaming. But what? I frowned, concentrating on the fleeting images of mist, but the harder I fought to remember, the faster it slipped away.

I expelled a sigh and glanced around.

I was in Lucian’s bed. Again. It was becoming a habit.

And also again, I didn’t possess the slightest inkling of just how I’d gotten there.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows.

Déjà vu … all over again.

Growling, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I’d obviously been spelled. My lack of memory proved it. I didn’t like having an on-and-off switch that Lucian could just flip whenever he pleased.

But at least I didn’t smell like garlic this time.

And Ricky, well, I couldn’t see the little rat anywhere, and right now, with my raging headache that was a definite plus.

A paper shopping bag of clothing stood at the foot of the bed, next to my cellphone. I smiled as I slipped on Heath’s new outfit, a combo of black leggings and an unusual navy tunic with a multitude of hidden pockets. Not something I’d have picked out myself, but once on, it worked astonishingly well. I was really going to have to take that werewolf shopping.

Voices from the kitchen below interrupted my thoughts.

Right. Time to confront Lucian. Scowling in preparation, I slipped my phone into a back pocket and was halfway down the spiral staircase when the sun caught the ruby on my finger.

Lady Rowle’s engagement ring.

It all came back with a rush, down to the last gritty detail—including my lunge for Lucian’s heart.

I paused mid-step.

Oh.

Well, I guess self-defense could be considered a legitimate reason for knocking me out. Subdued, I skipped down the last few steps and, executing a pirouette at the bottom, altered course for the kitchen.

It was just Heath and Lucian, standing next to the stove. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Apparently, the tides had shifted, and not in a positive way for Lord Rowle.

I’d never seen Heath upset before. He looked tired, his green Hawaiian shirt torn and stained—was that blood? A scratch ran down the side of his cheek. He didn’t even acknowledge my arrival as I stepped up to the granite counter and placed my hands, palm down.

“Not a hint, man,” the werewolf said, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “We didn’t see it coming. Whoever this witch or warlock is … well, they’re powerful. Lost four of my kind. Four.” His voice shook on the last word.

Lucian moved to clasp a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I will hold them in the highest of honor. I will list their names in the House of Rowle. And I will make this right.”

Heath closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Unsure, I just froze by the counter and waited.

A grieving silence fell, one of those kind that make you supremely conscious of just how loud your own breath can be when suddenly, my phone chirped.

The sound buzzed through the kitchen, louder than a jet engine.

Lucian grimaced in displeasure as I slapped my hand over the offending source.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, as softly as I could, flipping on silent mode.

The warlock didn’t respond. Verbally, anyway. But the muscles in his jaw announced that he was irked. Royally.

My phone vibrated.

Lucian’s clear eyes zeroed in on mine. “Take that call elsewhere, spellfinder,” he snapped. “Or better yet, use that phone to buy yourself a one-way ticket to Tahiti. We’re on the brink of disaster. In less than 48 hours, I won’t be able to protect you anymore, not even from a Terzi witchling wanting to practice her homework.”

My eyes widened. “What happened?”

The warlock tossed his head in disgust. “What hasn’t happened?” he asked the ceiling acidly. “The shipment arrived from Venice. Heath’s pack sustained fatal injuries whilst trying to secure it from the Terzi. They are wielding some unknown, unholy power.”

I cast a quick glance at Heath. He hadn’t moved. “I’m sorry, Heath,” I said.

He didn’t open his eyes, but he responded with a microscopic nod.

When Lucian didn’t continue, I prodded, “What was in the shipment?”

“Crates of squid ink,” he responded tersely. “It was a trap. Samuel played right into the Terzis’ hands. Gloria’s got my collection now and who knows where? We’ve lost all leads. Even Culpepper has vanished, sending us back to square one with no time to restart. And now that she’s got both the dolls and my ward … when those marionettes wake en force …” he paused and took a deep breath. “Let’s just say that even I won’t be able to hide. None of this should have happened. None of it! We had the upper hand!”

He was only getting angrier by the second. No doubt he’d bring up the Fringe and how Ricky and I had ruined his master plan to turn Samuel into a doll.

Maybe Tahiti was a grand idea.

My phone buzzed again. Crud. Even on vibrate, it still sounded obnoxious. I coughed, attempting to conceal it.

Lucian threw his hands up in the air with a sarcastic chuckle. “Why not answer it, Cass?” he mocked. “There’s nothing else left to do. Might as well fill your last remaining hours with social chit-chat.”

“Grow up,” I snorted as my phone buzzed again.

Irritated, I yanked it from my pocket. Who would be calling me? I only had the thing to access the web.

The display blinked on.

1,582 text messages from an unknown number. Curiously, I tapped on the icon and blinked in surprise.

Ricky’s eyeball.

Scowling, I slid my finger across the screen, scanning the messages.

Same eyeball. Hundreds of different angles.

I could feel Lucian’s heated gaze burning holes through my head.

“Well?” the warlock queried in a tone colder than ice. “What’s the emergency?”

His boots rang loud on the wood floor as he stalked around the countertop to join me.

I cringed, zooming through the messages. The pest was apparently playing with someone’s phone, and the never-ending onslaught of images revealed more of Ricky than I ever wanted to see again. He seemed inordinately fascinated with his nostrils.

“Beyond ridiculous,” Lucian breathed in outrage over my shoulder.

But then a different image flitted across the screen.

“Wait,” I heard my own voice say in shocked surprise.

I thumbed the picture back.

The imp had sent it about ten hours ago. A picture of a street sign. West 52nd Street. And the next image, the outside of a building, a gray-bricked theater.

A couple more pictures of Ricky eyeballs. Five of his left nostril before the more compelling image of the white-haired, baseball-capped Templar sitting on the edge of a desk, casually swinging his leg next to a man squinting at a computer screen.

The man was Culpepper.

And then, the most astonishing image of all. A zoomed-in photo of the computer screen. It was fuzzy and hard to read, but three words were obvious enough: FedEx, Venice, and Arrival.

Lucian’s hand zipped over my shoulder to touch my phone.

The arrival date enlarged, forming out of the gray fuzz on the display.

A small package, briefcase-sized. Arriving at the airport tonight. At midnight.

The Thing

Before we left his apartment, Lucian spelled our appearances, dipping his thumb into a small mana vial and tracing a symbol onto each of our foreheads. I gasped as an electrical current jolted through me, like I’d just stuck a wet finger into a light socket—a high-voltage one.

As the warlock headed for Heath, I glanced at my phone curiously. To my surprise, I only saw a scowling version of myself glaring back up from the tiny screen.

“Hey, don’t I get a disguise?” I challenged with a frown.

“You did,” Lucian responded curtly. “You’ll always only see yourself. It’s by design, prevents a host of Charmed identity disorders and such things.”

Charmed identity disorders? I formed a silent ‘o’ with my lips and watched him morph Heath into a painfully thin teenage boy with red freckles, a nose ring, and at least a dozen tattoos. A moment later, Lucian himself appeared as a distinguished bald man with a gray-speckled goatee and silver-rimmed glasses.

I didn’t see Tabitha, but then, being invisible was her specialty. But no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than her tiny green head poked up from Heath’s shirt pocket and her unblinking beady eyes locked onto mine.

Yep. She still hated me.

“Right.” Lucian surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. “With my wards as weak as they are, these effects won’t last long. We’ve only a few hours left to find the rest of the shipments, so let’s not waste time.”

“Roger,” Heath replied, his tone still subdued.

Lucian shrugged into a black trench coat and clapped his hands. “As a rule, Templars rarely stay in one place long, and when compromised, I’ve seen them evacuate even hi-tech laboratories in less than an hour. Let’s hope they haven’t yet noticed anything amiss.”

I winced at that one. Ricky had sent those messages almost ten hours ago. What were the odds he’d laid low since then?

Of course, Lucian had the eyes of a hawk. Noticing my expression he grunted in sarcastic agreement, “Precisely.” Waving his hand at the door, he resumed his spat of orders. “Remember, there’s no room left for error. Not one misstep. Not a single one. Focus on finding the shipments. I’ve got teams already in place and standing by at the airport and other shipment facilities, but they need to know what they’re looking for if we’re going to outwit Gloria. She’s no doubt got the Terzi deployed as well.”

I nodded.

Heath responded with a half-hearted, two-finger salute and another, “Roger.” That was it. No ‘it’s all gonna be good’ or any optimistic, encouraging words. He was obviously deeply affected by the loss of his pack mates.

I sent him a sympathetic look. We were going to need Heath at the top of his game in order to succeed. Right now, he wasn’t even playing, but I wasn’t sure how to help him.

“And you, Cass.” Lucian deliberately mangled my name. “Ricky is your imp, and as such, you are held responsible for each and every one of his actions. But I’ll grant you the courtesy of reserving judgment until after this lead plays out. For now, do your part. Keep that nose of yours alert. And by that I mean the very highest of all highest alerts.”

Reserve judgment? Courtesy? Was that arrogant pile of nonsense supposed to be some magnanimous display of kindness? I rolled my eyes at him. It was so very Lucian to saddle me with a defective sidekick and then hold me responsible, but I held my tongue out of respect for Heath.

We left the apartment then, heading back to the elevators and down to the street below. Night was falling and the wind had a bite to it. I buried my chin in my jacket and waited for the taxi, wondering what Lucian had against having a car of his own. Thankfully, the cab appeared almost at once and in moments, we’d bundled inside. The evening rush hour was in full force, but every traffic light we approached flipped to green with such regularity that I figured Lucian must be pulling some kind of trick.

Sooner than I’d have thought possible, we’d been dropped off across the street from the gray-bricked Capelli Theater on West 52nd Street. The early evening theater crowd already roamed the sidewalks, and I couldn’t resist smacking my lips in anticipation. After ordering us to fan out to case the place and regroup on the west side in fifteen minutes, Lucian disappeared into the stream of pedestrians. And as Heath headed off in the opposite direction, I settled down to commence my own surveillance, sniffing for spells and indulging in a few quick ‘bites’ along the way.

At the back of the building, I stumbled upon a knot of teenage girls peering into a dark alley, phones out and pointing. Curious, I joined them.

Nothing unusual. At least, at first. Just a garbage dumpster with scattered bits of trash and a stack of soggy cardboard boxes. The only scents drifting my way were of the urine and garbage kind.

“Maybe it’ll go viral,” one of them said hopefully.

“But what is it?” another asked.

“There,” one of them said, snorting a giggle as she pointed.

As I squinted in the direction of her finger, the tiniest current of air brought Ricky’s delicate scent to my nostrils.

I scowled.

A moment later, a paper bag scooted out from under the dumpster. The bottom tipped up to peek over at us before zipping back under.

“It’s a rat,” I proclaimed caustically.

That made them all squeal and leave. And in a hurry. It was true, anyway. Ricky was a rat and a troublemaker of the highest order.

My boots rang loudly on the old alleyway bricks as I headed for the dumpster.

“You know, being undercover is not just being under a cover. You almost went viral.” I crouched down as Ricky popped out of the paper bag and ran to me as fast as his little smoke legs could carry him. In a flash, he’d taken refuge up my sleeve.

“About time you stopped faffing around and showed up,” he poked his head up the back of my collar to complain. “It’s been ghastly! A total Tony Blair—er, that means nightmare.”

“Oh, quit griping, we’ve no time for your Cockney slang now,” I groused, heading back to the street. “It’s time to focus on business. You’ve got a real chance to exonerate yourself with Lucian. We’re here to find all of the shipments. And fast. We’re out of time.”

“There’s only the one shipment, love,” Ricky huffed.

I didn’t know much about Lucian’s doings, but even I knew his collection was much bigger than one briefcase-sized box. “Then it’s back inside to look again,” I informed the grumpy imp. “We’ve got—”

Ricky actually hissed. “Inside? I’m not going back into that house of horrors. No, it’s pip pip, cheerio and all that rot for me, duck.” He began slithering down the back of my shirt.

“Oh no you don’t,” I snapped, wiggling a little. “We’ve got only a few hours before it’ll be too late. Buck up and help. We’ve got to find all the boxes. Can’t let them get into the wrong hands. Not now. This is our last chance.”

To my surprise, Ricky raced back to my collar, but not because of what I’d said. In a voice sounding unnaturally strangled, he gasped the last words I’d expected to hear. “Just what have you done? What’s that thing following you?”

The hair on the back of my neck rose as I came to an abrupt stop. “What do you mean?” I asked in a hoarse whisper, instinctively reaching for a blade and whirling to search the falling darkness behind me.

Was something there?

Ricky didn’t answer.

After a few moments, I rolled my eyes, on the verge of brushing the whole thing off as yet another irritating Ricky-diversion when a wave of cold fear hit me like a bucket of ice water. It was dark. Sinister. Paralyzed, I stared at the shadows flickering on the brick walls behind the dumpster.

A soft sound teased the edge of my hearing. A voice?

Was I the victim of my own imagination, or was that more than a shadow there? Was it coalescing? Trying to communicate?

“There you are,” Lucian’s deep baritone shattered my thoughts.

The wave of fear vanished. And the shadows. Well, they were just shadows, right? Deciding not to let Ricky rattle me, I spun on my heel and faced Lucian and Heath.

“Found something, my dear?” the warlock asked, his hard, suspicious blue eyes at decided odds with the pleasant smile on his goateed face.

Apparently, spelled mannerisms and looks couldn’t fully mask an arrogant personality. “A rat,” I said, sheathing my dagger. “Hiding in the dumpster.”

Lucian’s eyes lit.

A low growl erupted from Heath’s lips.

“What is it?” both Lucian and I asked at the same time.

The werewolf’s eyes took on a yellow glow as he stared at the dumpster. “I don’t know,” he said in a low, rumbling voice almost too low to really hear. “But it wasn’t good, man. It’s gone now.”

Precisely what I hadn’t wanted to hear.

I didn’t have to see Lucian’s dark look of accusation. I felt it. And I liked his words even less. “Strix can handle this one. He’s already on the way,” he said tightly.

Great. My favorite keeper. Not. But, had I really let something awful loose?

Lucian clamped his strong fingers down over my arm and gave it a little shake. “To the matter at hand. Right now, we’ve got to get inside and quickly. We’ve had only false starts so far. Perhaps the rat can speed this process up?”

With my mind more on the dumpster and its mysterious shadows, I responded a bit distractedly. “The rat isn’t interested.”

Wrong answer.

Lucian’s temper flared. Planting his hands on his hips and his face just a few inches from mine, he echoed, “Not interested?” His voice was soft. Deadly. With a dry, mirthless chuckle far more intimidating than any display of anger, he added, “I really don’t care in the slightest what that rat is interested in. It’s going to get us inside and it’s going to lead the way. It doesn’t have a choice. It better follow orders or I’ll personally see its toes roasted with blue ice.”

I heard Ricky’s sharp intake of breath whistle behind my ear. “Poor blighter,” he muttered. “Rotten way to treat even a rat.”

Really? Did I have to connect the dots? “The rat’s you,” I hissed the revelation.

He gasped in complete shock. Ringing my neck like a black choker and hanging his head upside down like a pendant, I could see his big eyes blinking wide with horror on the edge of my peripheral vision. “Cor blimey! I’m not heading back in there, they’re not the kind to have a chin-wag with.”

“Blue. Ice. Several blocks and for at least a year,” Lucian expanded for his benefit.

Ricky’s ears flattened. “Tallyho then,” he said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Sliding away from my neck, he looped himself around my ear in the shape of a dangling, gothic-style earring. “Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.”

I scowled as Lucian left the alley, returning to the sidewalk, and after one long, last look at the dumpster, I did the same. The mystery could wait. I’d stay away from the dark for now.

“Left, right,” the imp moaned into my ear canal. “Onward march to doom!”

“Focus,” I growled a warning at him, but it was really more for myself than anyone else. “Have any idea how we can safely get inside?”

“Through the main entrance,” Ricky wailed, complete with a heart-catching hiccup.

“The main entrance?” I repeated, taken aback. I stopped beside Lucian and glanced up at him for confirmation.

The warlock merely shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Never thought it would end this way,” Ricky keened tragically. “What a way to go. What a way to pop one’s clogs.”

I frowned at Lucian. “We’re not going to just waltz right through the front door, are we? Shouldn’t—”

“I’m not an amateur, Cass,” he cut me short with an abrupt wave of his hand. “No one can see or hear us if I don’t want them to.”

Well, his ego was certainly alive and well. I just hoped it was enough to not get us killed with his wards on the fritz.

“There’s only the one way and that’s through the gauntlet.” Ricky sighed morosely in my ear. “First flight of apples and pears, um—stairs to the right, take the elevator to the third floor, then last door on the right. The other entrances are decoys, traps. Instant death, that sort of thing.”

“Enough of this caterwauling.” Lucian seized control of the conversation to dispense orders once again. “Spellfinder, it’s time to do your job. Get that imp under control and lead the way. If there’s a trap that can harm me, let me know at once.” With a dark, scathing scowl, he held out his hand, indicating that I should precede him.

Fine. Scowling back at him, I set off down the street as a sudden wave of New Yorkers poured out of the subway, spilling out onto the sidewalks. “So, spellfinders are pretty much like bomb-sniffing dogs,” I noted to Ricky under my breath as I shoved my way forward, feeling very much like a salmon swimming upstream. “Wonder what happened to his last one.”

“One? Try half a dozen in just the last year,” the little puff of smoke retorted before moaning pitifully in my ear. “Can’t we pick up a snack, love? I haven’t had a proper meal—”

I was stuck on half a dozen. “Did they die?” I gasped, louder than I should have. But then, the New Yorkers pushing past me didn’t notice anything unusual. They were New Yorkers.

“They quit,” Ricky sniffed. “Lawsuits. Gossip was all over the Charmed networks. Hostile work environment, that sort of thing. Maybe I could just trot across the street for a quick bite, back in a flash—”

“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, diving in between a couple of college-aged guys with backpacks. Hostile work environment. Sounded familiar. I was going to have to check out these Charmed networks.

Ricky was still jabbering. “But I’m knackered and more than a bit peckish, love. Don’t happen to have any peanuts or other spicier things on you? Surely, we could get on that phone of yours and ask Siri if there are any Indian restaurants nearby. She’s quite the doll, so very helpful—”

I ground my teeth in irritation.

He kept chattering.

Vowing to never wear him as an ear fashion accessory ever again, I shoved my way through the crowd the last few feet and finally stood in front of the theater entrance. But, no sooner had I stepped inside than Ricky slithered down from my ear and down my back. “Cheerio, duck,” he whispered. “Let me know when it’s all over.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” I snapped, following it up with an unintelligible growl of exasperation.

I didn’t get a response. I crossed my fingers, hoping he hadn’t slipped away and took a deep breath before searching for scents of the spelled kind.

The theater lobby was crowded and dimly lit. The walnut-stained trim and red-velvet striped wallpaper didn’t help much. They only made everything seem even darker. There was a distinct, old-timey feel to the place.

I maneuvered through the crowd, taking deep breaths, but there was nothing of the Charmed nature to be found. Circling back to the front, I headed to where Lucian and Heath lounged outside, apparently waiting for me to give the all clear.

But at the very last moment, a man stepped in front of me, and I smacked right into him.

“Sorry about that,” I mumbled an apology as he flailed a little, appearing to lose his balance.

His hand snaked out, as if instinctively grabbing my arm. But the grip was hard. Vice-like.

Startled, I glanced into his face with a bold stare, even as my heart stopped.

It was the white-haired Templar with the baseball cap.

Bait

The Templar dug his fingers into my arm like meat hooks, his eyes ablaze with hatred. “You’ve got nerve, creature,” he accused, pushing me towards a narrow staircase winding into the darkness above. “Are you here by yourself or did you bring friends?”

Creature? That threw me off-guard.

Wrenching free, I prepared to hightail it out of there when he said, “Culpepper told me about you last night, said Lucian would show up. Frankly, I didn’t believe him at first, but, ah well, even I can be wrong sometimes.”

I froze.

That. Bald-faced. Liar.

Lucian hadn’t spelled me. He’d duped me. The fact that Ricky had immediately recognized me should’ve been my first clue. Furious, I scanned the crowded lobby for any sign of my double-dealing boss, but I couldn’t see hide nor hair of his face, goateed or not.

“I can make even the unholiest of the unholy talk,” the Templar boasted in a low voice. “We’ll see how long you last.”

Right. Like I’d just hang around and let him try. I’d already tasted enough Knight Templar gadgetry to know that I wasn’t particularly interested in learning what else they had in their repertoire.

The Templar lunged for me then. Something glowed on his fingertips, some kind of neon padding that no doubt didn’t bode well for me. But he was human and easy enough to outmaneuver. I danced around him, searching for a break in the crowd to shove my way to freedom.

Suddenly, a large middle-aged woman with a prominent mole on her chin bowled right into the Templar from behind, knocking him against the walnut-stained paneling.

As she lifted a mortified hand to cover her mouth, I felt a mild, electrical shock wash over me.

“Entschuldigung!” the woman apologized in a heavy German accent. “Pardon me, Weisshaariger, I mean, white-haired man!”

The arrogant inflection of her tone made me look at the woman again. Yep. No doubt about it. It was Lucian. The superior smirk of amusement in her, er … his blue eyes confirmed it.

“There you are, mutter,” the German female Lucian grinned at me, sweeping forward to loop her arm through mine. “Beeil dich! Can you hurry? We’ll miss the show.”

The Templar began to swear. “Where did she run off to?” he barked to no one in particular. Looking right over me, he began a frantic search of the crowd that ended with him plunging into the sea of theater patrons. I caught only a few glimpses of his white baseball-capped head bobbing up and down towards the entrance before I lost him in the crowd.

Whatever this show was, it was certainly a popular one.

“Come, come, meine liebste mutter,” Lucian crooned indulgently, patting me on the head with a little more force than necessary.

I scowled, opening my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of his double-dealing ways when I noticed just how wrinkled, withered, and veined my hands actually were.

Cripes. He really had turned me into his mother—or from the looks of it, maybe even his grandmother.

Lucian slipped his palm between my shoulder blades to push me towards the stairs. “Schnell! Schnell!”

“You didn’t disguise me before,” I spat the accusation as Heath joined us, a red-headed woman in her twenties this time but still recognizable by his eyes.

“Ah, the spell was only a tad delayed,” Lucian quipped with a nonchalant lift of a brow. “Had to draw them out of their nest. How else could I find the proper way inside? Please! They needed a real reason to come down. Can’t fully trust an imp, you know, and especially a turmeric-addled one. But seems he told the truth this time.”

I couldn’t get over his strategy. “So, you used me as bait?” I stopped, planting my arthritic hands on my sagging hips. It really was a shade disturbing. I had a lot of extra padding in unexpected places. Apparently, his ‘mother’ dined exclusively on strudel. “What about Charmed Identity disorders?”

He actually tossed his head back and laughed at that one, great peals of laughter that oddly matched his German persona. “Ah, meine liebe, you fell for it. Not my fault,” he informed me unabashedly. And then his mirth melted away, and he became the cool, lofty warlock once again. “The spell kicked in when it truly mattered, so what’s the difference? Time to move on. We’re on a tight schedule. Smell anything?”

I was ticked off, but I could wait. It was time to focus. We’d reached the bottom of the stairs. They were beyond creepy. I couldn’t really see much past the first landing. Taking a deep breath, I analyzed the scents eddying around me.

“Nothing major,” I said, but added, “If this is the only entrance, they’re going to see …”

I let my words falter as Tabitha’s whirlwind of a tornado appeared on the landing above me. The next moment, she stepped out of it, resplendent in a silver sparkling evening gown with platform shoes to match. Rolling her eyes back into her head so only the whites remained, she threw her arms wide open.

Right. The veil of invisibility.

“Ok, guess they won’t see us after all,” I muttered under my breath. But I’d no sooner placed my foot on the first step than Lucian blocked me with an arm of steel.

He’d already dropped his German disguise, and as I glanced up into his familiar, handsome face, his arrogant expression altered unexpectedly. The hand he brushed over my forehead slowed as his thumb traced a lazy trail over my third eye and down my cheek to linger on my bottom lip. Again, the electrical surge, but this time, accompanied by a distinct pop as my spelled visage vanished. But I hardly noticed. An altogether different kind of electricity sparked between us.

We both realized it at the same time.

I took a hasty step back as Lucian whirled to de-spell Heath.

A moment later, the pretentious Lord Rowle reasserted himself to bark orders once again. “Stay alert. They won’t see us until we’re inside. I’ll lay a snare the first chance I get, but this time, I’m not to be fully relied upon. Do you understand?” He peered at us from under stern, dark brows.

“Loud and clear,” Heath rumbled with a half growl, shifting into full wolf mode, a great gray brute of a beast about the size of a pony.

They didn’t wait for me. Lucian flashed up the stairs with vampiric speed as Heath bounded up behind. I hurried after them, but the moment I drew abreast of Tabitha, I found my path blocked once again.

Lucian’s arm had been like steel. Tabitha’s felt like running straight into a brick wall. And she had scales. Thick green scales. They covered her arm, down to the very, very long claws where her fingers had been.

So, this must be the true firedrake.

“What’s this?” her voice shrilled as she inspected me with only the whites of her eyes.

I licked my lips nervously. “What’s up?” Drakes were intimidating. As. Hell. I half expected a forked tongue to flicker out of her mouth.

“On your hand.” Tabitha dropped her pupil-free gaze to my fingers. “That ring. It’s Lady Elizabeth’s ring. It must be worn only by Lucian’s bride.”

I blinked, startled. I’d honestly forgotten I’d even had the thing on, but I was hardly going to talk about it right now. “Don’t lose sleep over it,” I said, gingerly lifting her green-scaled arm enough to limbo under it to the other side. “Ask Lucian. He’ll explain.”

“Be assured that he will,” she vowed so softly, I hardly heard it.

She followed me as I closed the distance to where Lucian and Heath waited impatiently in the elevator. We hustled inside, but as the doors shut, two men emerged from the darkness nearby and walked right past us, obviously oblivious to our presence.

“Just Culpepper and Tony left,” one of them said.

“Good,” the other answered. “We’ll regroup at Location Eight by midnight.”

The doors sealed shut, cutting their conversation short.

“Just two left? How fortunate for us.” Lucian chuckled. It wasn’t a nice laugh, more like a dastardly villainous one. “Fate smiles at last.”

I didn’t have time to probe further. It was a zippy elevator. The doors sprang open onto a third floor decorated just like the lobby. Red-velvet wallpaper. Walnut trim and paneling. One light bulb for the entire corridor. Clearly, they didn’t pay much of a monthly electric bill here.

“Ready?” Lucian asked. “The imp said the last door on the right.”

I really don’t know why he even asked. Without even waiting for a response, he was out of the elevator and striding down the hall with purpose.

Heath and Tabitha were close behind.

I hurried after them, but mention of ‘the imp’ reminded me that I hadn’t seen my trouble-causing puff of smoke since I’d stepped foot in the theater. Most likely, he’d slipped away. But even so, I executed a quick pat down of my collar area and pockets. To my surprise, I found him at the bottom of my back left pocket. Catching him by the toes, I reeled him into my palm as I joined the others.

“Looks like a normal door,” Heath was saying.

“Cass?” Lucian arched a brow my direction.

Casting him a sour look, I inhaled deeply. “All clear.”

As Lucian nodded and turned away, I focused my attention on Ricky. He was holding unusually still, but I could feel him breathing, and the big black ears that had popped out between my fingers were flicking this way and that.

Bringing him up to my face, I scolded, “Hey, get to work.”

His little body shuddered, and his head popped up between my fingers. One eye opened to glare at me. “I say, what’s this?” he grouched back. “Waking a chap up from a much deserved nap?”

I snorted. Sleeping? Really? How could he even think of sleeping in such circumstances, but any exchange we might have had was cut short by Lucian’s announcement of, “Be ready on three.”

It was a fast three. Less than a second later, the door blew apart with a loud bang and a puff of acrid smoke—only to reveal another door behind it, a steel one complete with a hi-tech palm scanner.

“Careful there, guvnor,” Ricky piped up from somewhere at the top of my head. “It’s ultra-sensitive. One muck up and the thing blows the entire floor.”

Lucian didn’t even hesitate. Without turning, he reached behind his back and grabbed my arm. “Cassidy, come here.”

“Crud, no!” I balked, digging my heels in. “I’m done with this bait and bomb-sniffing gig.”

He turned to face me then, a dark gleam of amusement dancing in his pale eyes. “Really, Cass, what kind of man do you think I am?” He gripped my arm tighter, and I saw then that he’d merely begun to wave his other hand over my sleeve. “Just lifting the print, sweet thing. A shortcut.”

I frowned, watching as a shimmer of sparkles rose from my jacket to bathe his palm in glowing light.

“There,” he said, satisfied. “We’re lucky he touched you. Saved us some time, though your imp could’ve mentioned this little factoid before we’d gotten this far.” He cast a dark look of disapproval at the top of my head.

Ricky grumbled something in reply as he slid down my neck and took up residence behind my collar once again. I didn’t hear it all, but I caught a few choice words, amongst them: “hoity-toity” and “toffee-nosed prig”.

If Lucian heard, he gave no indication. Turning back to the palm scanner, he extended his glowing hand.

I winced, half inclined to run as the scanner mulled over his identity. But then, the door clicked as a soft feminine voice murmured from a ceiling speaker, “Access granted.”

“Right then,” Lucian murmured, obviously pleased with himself. “It’s show time.”

An Unexpected Find

And what a show it was. Lucian clearly had a penchant for flare. Kicking the door back on its hinges, he stormed through, disappearing into the complex, his deep baritone thundering harsh syllables that just plain sounded dangerous all by themselves. There was a flash of bright light—of the blinding, retina-burning kind. The floor beneath my feet rolled. Glass shattered. A cloud of blue smoke mushroomed through the doorway as Lucian’s tone shifted into a deep, wicked laugh, bouncing off of the walls in a crescendo of dark delight. It was absolutely terrifying. A laugh designed to strike fear in the hearts of any who heard it. As the last echo of that intimidating display faded, the warlock himself stepped out of the curling billows of smoke to dust his hands with a distinct smile of satisfaction.

“That will do,” he said, obviously pleased with his handiwork. “They’ll remain stunned for quite some time.”

“I’ll find Culpepper,” Heath volunteered, bounding off into the lifting haze.

“Aren’t the cops going to come running?” I asked, pointing to the floor. Surely, the people in the theater below were stampeding for the exits. The police had to already be on their way. Not to mention news cameras.

Lucian’s pale eyes sparked with scornful amusement. “No one hears, sees, or even smells what I don’t want them to,” he bragged.

Yeah. Right. Until his wards dipped again. Stepping up to him, I rapped my knuckles against his chest, murmuring dryly, “Yep, that pompous ego’s alive and well.”

A cool smile of disdain curled his lip, but I lost interest in further banter. I’d caught a glimpse of the destruction. It was the first time I’d witnessed the damage a single warlock could do. It looked like a bomb had detonated in the very center of the place with every interior window pulverized into sand, every door imploded, and every piece of furniture flattened into a pancake. Buzzing, sparking wires looped down from the ceiling, and the stench of burning electrical wires permeated the air.

“Lucian, quick, man!” Heath called from the recesses of a darkened corridor.

We took off at a dead run.

The werewolf crouched before a door, the ridge of his fur raised on alert and his ears pinned back. “There,” he growled, twitching his nose at the only unharmed door in the entire hallway. “Culpepper’s in there.”

Odd that it hadn’t been damaged. And odd that I couldn’t smell anything. “Really?” I murmured a bit skeptically.

That made them pause. Enough for Lucian to motion me to the forefront, anyway.

Whatever.

“You try,” he suggested with a sardonic lift of a brow.

I took another deep breath. “Nope,” I confirmed. “Can’t smell a thing.”

His eyes narrowed into shrewd calculating slits. “Finally,” he muttered, reaching over my shoulder to slam the door back with the heel of his hand.

The door flew back on its hinges, revealing the office I’d seen in Ricky’s photos. Muted colors. Modern IKEA desk furniture. A printer, one of those huge office floor models. Several computers. Efficient and functional, no frills. But I scarcely noticed the surroundings.

Straight ahead, with his back to us and still staring at a computer monitor sat Culpepper. He wasn’t moving. He sat there on his rolling office chair, one hand half-raised, the other holding a pencil, looking very much like one of those figures in a Madame Tussauds wax museum.

“Still nothing?” Lucian drilled from behind.

Right. He considered me the team bomb-sniffer. We needed to have a little tête-à-tête about that. I glanced around. It didn’t seem particularly dangerous. Straightening my shoulders, I stepped inside—and found myself nearly flattened by that spicy, unique spider-scent.

“Spiders,” I gasped, battling the impulse to run. “A lot of them.”

Heath growled.

Lucian whistled between his teeth. “Guarding or spying?” he asked, joining me with a strange maniacal gleam in his pale eyes.

I shrugged. “Does it matter? They’re against us either way.”

“Catch one,” he ordered. “And don’t kill it this time. I need to track the spell.”

Yeah, that mad glint made sense now. “I see why you go through spellfinders so fast,” I observed in a withering tone.

He chuckled. “Catch that spider,” was all he said and then turned away, motioning Heath over to where Culpepper sat.

I wasn’t too keen on catching one of the many-legged suckers, but with the apparent thousands lurking in the room, I figured it wouldn’t be too hard. There was so much mana, it was hard to function. As I followed a particularly pungent trail towards the wall, Heath rolled Culpepper aside and shifting back to his human form, began an inspection of the computer with Lucian hovering over his shoulder.

“Can’t be,” Lucian grunted. “Just the one shipment? There’s got to be more.”

Their voices faded into background buzz as the strong spider scent got even stronger to hijack my full attention. That concentration of mana was beyond unusual. I’d never experienced anything like it, even in the Nether Reaches’ mana pools. It made my stomach roil. A sudden pain shot across the back of my head. My eyes began to burn.

“Wake up, Ricky,” I hissed, stumbling to a stop. “Something’s up.”

The imp’s soft body slid up to curl around my neck like a smoke stole. But he didn’t offer any words of wisdom. Instead, he giggled, and then straddling my neck like he was settling into a saddle, he seized my ears and proceeded to use them like reins, yanking my head to the left. “Tally-ho, Silver!” he chirped gleefully.

I scowled. “Go back to sleep.” What had I been thinking? Help? From him?

An acute wave of nausea rolled over me again. I grimaced and closed my eyes, attempting to control it, but it only grew stronger. It had to be a spell. Lucian had warned me I was unusually susceptible to such things. Almost as if in confirmation, an image flitted across my mind. Gray eyes filled with evil amusement. A hand, the fingers reaching out for me. And then, the echo of a gloating laugh.

Dizziness gripped me, but a new sensation rose to counteract it. A soft cool healing. The Tiger Balm tingling that I’d experienced during my recovery from journeying into the Nether Reaches.

The gray eyes still watching me narrowed in alarm, and then vanished, along with the seeking fingers and the laugh.

A moment later, the nausea disappeared as well.

My eyes flew open. Surprised, I whirled towards Lucian, but he was still hunkered over Heath’s shoulder, eyes glued to the monitor.

They caught the movement and looked over, asking in unison. “What is it?”

I lifted a calculating brow.

“Get to work,” Lucian ordered, complete with a scowl.

Right. He certainly wasn’t the source of that Tiger Balm sensation.

“Straight ahead, Silver, there’s a good sport!” Ricky yapped, yanking my ear further to the left and spurring me on with a kick of his smoke heel. “Smashing fun, mate.”

Yeah, the imp certainly wasn’t, either. Even though the manual I’d read in Venice had postulated elite imps could heal, those powerful creatures were rare. Legendary rumors, really. Obviously, the turmeric-addicted puff of smoke pretending I was his horse didn’t fall into that category.

Shrugging it off as some latent jagger skill to be analyzed after the immediate crisis, I focused on the job at hand and inhaled again.

The foul odor of spider overshadowed everything else in the room, and now that the nausea had vanished, the major source of the stench obviously originated from behind the printer. Quite coincidentally, I was pointed the right direction.

With Ricky chortling “straight on” in my ear, I stalked forward, and with one booted foot, shoved the printer aside. It rolled back a few feet, enough to reveal a small shoebox under the electrical outlet.

Curious, I flipped the lid off with my toe.

“Cripes!” I gasped, recoiling.

“What is it?” Lucian and Heath bombarded me at once.

Footsteps pounded my way, but I only had eyes for the shoebox.

It was filled to the brim with spiders, writhing in a disturbingly squirming repulsive mass. So many little eyes zeroed in on me. I shuddered, almost feeling their tiny legs creeping over my flesh. I didn’t like spiders very much, but I could tolerate them—normal ones, anyway. However, these weren’t your average arachnid. These were the many-legged minions of some gray-eyed witch.

Again, the mana came at me in waves, a thousand lancing points of pain.

“Stand back,” Lucian hissed. “There’s sorcery here. Ancient sorcery.”

I hardly heard him. The mana was so thick, threatening to overwhelm me once again. I raised an instinctive hand in self-defense—and froze. I felt them then. Tiny feather-light channels of mana slithered through the air, thinner than a single strand of spider silk. Several of them fell gently across my extended hand, so fragile that even the slightest whisper of a movement would destroy them.

At my side, Lucian’s deep voice chanted some mysterious spell. His eyes had closed, and he clutched an amulet in one hand.

The air felt heavy, so pregnant with mana that I wondered if I’d soon be able to even breathe. My thinking slowed. And in that near stupor, it was as if some long forgotten knowledge arose, guiding my hand to my forehead, my third eye. Instinct made my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth as I focused a rapt attention on the invisible mana strands nestled against my flesh, so vibrant, so alive.

A movie began to play in my mind’s eye then. Crystal clear. But in reverse. I zoomed back along the sidewalk darting through the feet of pedestrians walking backwards through Times Square, and then up the side of the wall, swinging across a few street signs to ride backwards on the back of a blue van. It was all low, hugging the ground, clearly from the spider point-of-view. I kept traveling back to Park Avenue, to a large brick building with a green door. The door knob was unique. A large, brass gargoyle with a wide open mouth. A mouth many spiders were crawling out of.

I zipped inside, following the trail of spiders marching in lines like ants, to where a mysterious woman sat, wearing a medieval-style hooded blue cloak. She jerked, accidentally knocking the hood back from her face, revealing gray eyes, a heart-shaped flawless face, and honey-blonde hair.

A large dark-haired tarantula crouched above her ear like a flower.

The woman stared at me for a moment, and then quickly drew her hood back over her face. She turned away, but not before I saw the star-shaped scar on the back of her hand.

The image wavered.

At my side, Lucian’s voice rose.

The woman reappeared in my mind then, or just the bottom half of her face anyway. I watched her pink lips open. I saw more than heard the word: moarte.

The effect was immediate.

Spiders. They appeared from all around me, dropping from the ceiling, bubbling up from the baseboards, and leaping out from under every nook and cranny.

The mana was too much. I could drown in its sickening stench. But before I could even let out one gurgling gasp, Lucian’s baritone cracked through the air.

There was a brilliant flash of light.

I heard their collective hiss as they died, spiders in all shapes and sizes, crumbling into dust along with the heavy, overwhelming odor that had threatened to undo me.

All spiders, except one. I could still smell and touch the single strand of mana coming from the shoebox.

Curious, I glanced down.

The shoebox was filled to the brim with ash, but something under it moved.

“At last,” Lucian breathed at my side.

As I watched, a small blue figure emerged, covered in dust. It was the warlock’s ward, the blue troll he used to protect the House of Rowle. But there was something wrong with it. Its skin had taken on a waxen sheen, giving it the appearance of a typical plastic figurine more than a magical vessel belonging to a powerful warlock.

Lucian caught his breath.

I saw the legs then. The hairy tarantula legs, climbing up the back of the doll.

I didn’t hesitate. My blade flew through the air, spearing the spider straight in the gut and pinning it to the wall with a disturbingly squelching thud.

Darling

The spider shrieked as it died, a kind of night-owly, unnerving screech, a sound I didn’t know spiders could make.

Stricken, Lucian dropped on one knee next to the shoebox. “I knew it had to be close,” he murmured as if in a dream. “It’s the only explanation for the door and Cassidy—why she couldn’t detect Culpepper or the mana in this place.”

Tabitha chose that moment to burst into the room. Her eyes widened upon seeing the ward, but she only said, “They’re coming. We maybe have three minutes.”

Lucian began to swear. “We leave now then,” he said, plucking the ward from the box.

“But the tracking spell?” Heath asked with a fearsome snarl.

I glanced up to find him once again a werewolf, his white-tipped gray fur standing on end and his teeth bared.

The narrowing of Lucian’s eyes betrayed his anger and frustration, but staring straight ahead, he replied in a deceptively calm voice, “You can see as well as I that it shattered.” He waved an elegant finger to where the now-cracked amulet lay on the floor. “I could only see that it was a witch.”

“Gray eyes. Honey-blonde hair. A star-shaped scar on the back of her hand.” I offered the choice details with a cool smile of my own.

The shock on Lucian’s handsome face was priceless.

Figuring the witch in question was likely still eavesdropping, I couldn’t resist goading her a bit. Placing my hand on my hip, I tacked on a spray of criticisms, hoping at least one would hit the spot. “Self-centered. Vain. Definite lack of fashion sense. Fairly plain-looking and not that bright.”

I didn’t divulge the green door with its gargoyle knob on Park Avenue. I didn’t want her to know that I knew her location. And anyway, it was obvious that I’d said enough.

Lucian looked positively ill. He clearly knew who it was. Apparently, so did Heath.

“Anya,” the werewolf growled low in his throat.

“Can’t be,” Lucian whispered hoarsely. A bead of sweat appeared on his brow.

Ricky didn’t like the news, either. “Oi! It’s cheerio for me, duck,” he gulped before zipping back to safety under my collar.

I cocked a curious brow, but before I could press further, Culpepper swiveled in his chair to face us, slack-jawed, limp, and with a completely blank expression in his eyes. But that didn’t stop whatever possessed him. The corner of his lip jerked up as if attached to a puppet string to say, “Your recent engagement changes nothing between us, darling.”

Darling? So, we really were dealing with an ex-girlfriend of some sort. The same Romanian witch he’d tried to send a breakup message to by pretending to be engaged to me.

Lucian ground his teeth together. “What do you want from me, Anya?”

She’d apparently thought about it. A lot. Her answer was immediate. “Your agony,” she responded through Culpepper’s body. “And a knife in your throat.”

One thing I’ll say for Lucian. He was resilient. Recovering quickly from his ex-girlfriend’s unexpected appearance, he tilted his handsome head to one side and curved his lips into a smile of the most chilling kind. “Don’t play this game with me, Anya,” he warned. “You’ll lose.”

Anya laughed. It had a kind of monotone quality to it. It was creepy, watching that sound come out of the corner of Culpepper’s lips. “You thought me a simple witch. A fool to bend to your will. You used me.”

Lucian’s icy blue eyes glittered, but he didn’t respond.

“It doesn’t matter. Your power will soon be mine,” she promised. “My lovely, my pet, already completed his mission. He’s a special breed of my own design. Clever, isn’t it? Soon, you’ll discover the real danger, darling. But I shan’t tell you more. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

I glanced in alarm at Lucian’s ward. The spider was dead, but the trace of sickly mana stench was still there. Was she trying to control Lucian as she did the spiders?

“I’ll never bow to your blackmail and free Dorian,” Lucian interjected curtly. “Your bluff is doomed to fail. No witch or warlock can control the mana of living things to that extent, and certainly not you.”

I wasn’t so sure. I took a deep breath. Reaching out with my mind’s eye to the mana swirling around Lucian as he held his ward, I tried once again to travel back to the source. It was faster this time. Almost at once, Anya’s half-shrouded face appeared in my mind. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could see her mouth.

“Destroy the girl,” Culpepper suddenly droned from behind, lip-syncing with the woman featured in the movie playing in my head. “She’s a danger to the plan.”

Somehow, Culpepper moved, rolling my way as if pushed by invisible hands. Heath bounded forward to stop him as Lucian once again raised his hand to cast some spell, but before either could execute, there was a horrible hissing, gargling sound.

A black wolf spider launched itself out of the Templar’s nose, straight at me, but it only made it half way before Lucian thundered the completion of his spell.

The creature burst into flames mid-air, falling in a soft rain of ash at my feet.

“Let’s get out of here,” Lucian growled, tucking his ward into some hidden pocket. Tilting his head at Tabitha standing just a few feet from Culpepper, he added, “Your revenge on him will have to wait.”

She bowed in acceptance.

We filed after Lucian, through the destruction and out the corridor, taking the steps to the floor below. With a swift kick, Lucian opened the door leading out onto a rusted, creaking fire escape and disappeared into the darkness.

Tabitha and Heath quickly followed.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, and a brisk wind blew against me as I stepped into the night air. The fire escape groaned under my weight. It only inspired me to jump into the alley below faster.

I landed near the dumpsters where I’d found Ricky.

“Wait,” Lucian hissed, holding a staying hand.

I watched him disappear with Tabitha, presumably to scout out the safest avenue of escape. It was hard to just stand there and wait, especially with what I’d felt in the shadows there before. I cast a quick glance around, but nothing moved.

At my side, Heath growled.

“What is it?” I asked, on alert.

“Nothing,” he said mildly.

I frowned. “Then why did you growl?”

“Just in case,” he said, tossing his great wolf head in the equivalent of a shrug.

Yeah. This conversation was going nowhere fast. Deciding to make it a worthwhile one, I prodded, “So, just who is this Anya? I want to know what I’m dealing with here.”

He cringed a little, looking guilty just like a dog caught digging into the trash by its master. “You should ask Lucian, you know. But it’s all cool. She didn’t mean anything to him,” he said. “Not really.”

His response confused me a moment, until I caught his eyes darting to the engagement ring on my finger. Right. “Not worried about that,” I said with a curt, chopping motion of my hand. “Just who is she?”

It took about two minutes to extract the information from him this time and not the usual thirty seconds. He kept stressing just how little she meant to Lucian. Obviously, he was convinced that Lucian and I were really engaged. I didn’t bother to explain otherwise. I wanted to learn all I could about this Anya, but in the end, there really wasn’t that much.

Her full name was Anya Maria Tudor, a simple Romanian witch affiliated with the minor houses of necromancy and spell-crafting. Lucian had swept her off her feet, dating her to gain access to her uncle in order to turn him into a marionette. Once he had, he’d dumped her. For being such a smart warlock, it was a pretty dumb move.

The werewolf wrapped up the tale with, “She’s a Scryer, a pretty weak one.” He looked doubtful. “She was always scared of spiders. Kinda hard to believe she’s really behind this. Gnarly.” He shook his great head from side to side.

I knew he was wrong about her arachnophobia. The woman styled her hair with a tarantula barrette and deployed spiders all over New York to act as her evil minions. She was neither scared of spiders nor weak.

Lucian and Tabitha returned then, accompanied by another tall, familiar figure that summoned a sour taste in my mouth: Strix.

“Sense anything, Cassidy?” the Nether Reach keeper asked, coming up to me.

The criminal barcode tattooed into my flesh chose that moment to burn. I glanced down to see it pulsing in the dark.

I simply sent him a dark look—and paused. He’d apparently been in a scuffle since I’d seen him last. A cut graced his chiseled cheekbones, his white-blond hair was disheveled, and the sleeve of his gray hoodie was torn. He was breathing heavily.

“Gloria,” Lucian supplied, catching my look. “She’s here with her clan. It’s time for us to leave.”

I glanced up at the rooftops, half-expecting the vampires to come flying down to surround us.

“Oh, it’s not Gloria that you should fret about, Cassidy. It will come to you soon, haunt your every waking step,” Strix leaned forward to tell me. “It’s just waiting for you to call it. But we’ll chat later. Don’t worry, you’re my prisoner. I’m right behind you.”

What could I really say to that? Especially when the hair on the back of my neck already stood on end from the shadows playing on the walls behind me. But, before I could summon any kind of snarky response, he’d lifted his hand and wove a symbol in the air.

It wasn’t the Mindbreaker’s emblem this time, but it burst into flame all the same, and the moment it did, I couldn’t move. It was a repeat of the Nether Reaches, when I’d stepped into the gate unbidden. A heavy, sinking sensation anchored me to the ground. The theater alley around me just kind of melted, and suddenly everything swirled, like it was going down the drain. It felt like my insides were being sucked right out through my toes.

There were at least five seconds of utter chaos, a swirl of melted colors enveloping me in ice. And just when I thought my brain was going to explode, I heard a pop. I found myself standing next to Lucian and Heath, inside an airport security fence next to a large hangar and warehouse emblazoned with the FedEx logo.

I whirled to Lucian, confused.

“The advantages of having a Keeper of the Gates in your employ.” He graced me with a condescendingly cool smile before brushing me curtly aside to clap his hands together. “Well now, Heath, what’s the status?”

As Heath bounded into the darkness behind the warehouse to presumably find out, Strix appeared, seemingly rising from the ground. This method of travel was as disturbing to watch as to experience. “They’ll be here shortly,” he warned Lucian. “They’re quick.”

“We won’t be long,” Lucian replied calmly. “And once we’ve secured Dorian, we’ll find Anya and finish this thing.”

They moved away from me then, bowing their heads to converse in low tones.

I suppose I could’ve interrupted them, to tell Lucian about the green, gargoyle-knobbed door on Park Avenue, but something held me back.

Well, maybe not something. Some-one.

Dorian.

It was like I could almost hear his voice whispering in my head. “Aye, lass. Aye, ‘tis time to free me. We’re of the same clan and there canna be a bond greater than that. ‘Tis time for you to come into your own. ‘Tis time to join me, my bonny wee glaistig.”

I froze. That thought had taken an unexpected turn. Glaistig? That bit of what I assumed to be Gaelic certainly hadn’t originated in my brain.

“You canna run from me, lass,” Dorian chuckled.

It was the laugh. I remembered then. It all came flooding back, the numerous dreams I’d had of late, dreams featuring that Scottish Highlander of a vampire.

So. Dorian was back. He’d been dispensing advice to me all along, reaching me through my dreams. And now he was close, close enough to access the clan mental connection while I was wide awake.

My pulse quickened.

It was odd, hearing his voice again. It had the strange effect of whetting my revenge anew.

Revenge.

Was my first real act of revenge really within my grasp? Was my moment coming?

I knew in my bones that it was.

I snapped the black puppet string tied about my wrist. Revenge, Cassidy. It’s all you’ve lived for. I didn’t let myself think of anything else. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did was Dorian making Emilio’s life miserable.

“You canna turn a deaf ear to me forever, lass,” Dorian chided in his soft, Scottish burr. “We’re the same, you and I.”

“Shut up,” I thought back at him. “I’m not your minion.”

“’Tis time to free me from this curse. All is forgiven atween us, ionmhainn,” he pressed on as if I hadn’t said a thing. “Come to me. I sense you are close. So close.”

Interesting. Could I only receive? “Helloooo, Dorian. Can you hear me?” I tried broadcasting again.

“Ach, now ‘tis not the time to play as a cat does with a mouse,” he snapped, losing momentary control of his temper. “Speak to me, lass!”

Well, that confirmed it. He couldn’t hear me. Either because I wasn’t doing it right or couldn’t do it at all. I grimaced. Great. That meant I couldn’t order him to shut up. I was stuck with a one-way conversation playing in my head whenever he decided he was in a chatty mood.

My inner dialogue was cut short by Heath padding our way, followed by a smaller snow-white wolf. It morphed into a thin, gangly teenaged boy with a nose ring and a blue mohawk. He bowed respectfully to Lucian before saying, “The package is secured, my lord. Follow me.”

“Well done.” Lucian respired with the first genuine smile I’d seen in days.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Strix warned again, scanning the surrounding area.

We moved quickly, following Heath and the gangly teenager to the back of the warehouse and through a side door. The place smelled like wet cardboard and for a good reason. There were walls of the stuff, partially shrink-wrapped wooden pallets stacked four to five high on metals shelves.

Stepping around a forklift piled high with boxes that had clearly just arrived, we approached a small group of people standing about ten feet away. Heath’s pack? The moment they spied Lucian, they drew back to reveal a small, briefcase-sized package resting on the cold, cement floor.

Dorian.

My pulse leapt.

But before anyone could move, a tiny red dot of a laser appeared on the very center of Lucian’s forehead.

A moment later, a swarm of spiders descended from the ceiling.

War

Tabitha appeared from seemingly nowhere, looking very dangerous. Viper-like. Every cell coiled and ready to spring.

“They’re here.” Strix dropped to a crouch, pointing out the obvious.

I eyed Dorian’s package, standing by itself just ten feet away. I almost went for it. But I never would’ve made it. Echoes of laughter surrounded us, and I smelled them then.

The Terzi.

At least two dozen, with more arriving every second. A few of them appeared on top of the pallets just a few feet away, grinning widely, shaking their shoulders and heads and laughing in anticipation of the clash to come.

But we weren’t alone. Reinforcements of our own arrived, Charmed folk I’d never seen before, filing in behind Lucian in a show of support and ready to fight.

A vampire with black lipstick. A suave man in a blue suit. A girl with hair dyed pink and yellow at the tips. An old hippie with a lip ring. A man with a potbelly wearing a bedazzled crown. A punk teen with a shaved head and a bandanna, and a young woman with jeans, t-shirt, and white sneakers. An eclectic bunch.

There were a few more coming, I could sense them outside the warehouse, but nothing like the numbers facing us. We were vastly outnumbered.

I swallowed, glancing over at Lucian.

He just stood there, his handsome face once again masked, but I thought there was something oddly off. Was it the color of his skin?

The Terzi standing on pallets suddenly parted, making way for one of the most striking, compelling vampires that I’d ever seen. A scar ran down the side of his face, but it only served to make him interesting, enhancing his beauty in the strangest of ways. He stood there, rolling a toothpick in the corner of his mouth with his tongue and his head tilted curiously to one side.

“You can leave, Lord Rowle,” he called down to Lucian. “You can simply just walk away.”

Lucian didn’t reply.

The vampire grinned, still playing with his toothpick.

I took a deep, nervous breath. Were we really going to fight? Judging by the ever-growing Terzi ranks, the odds weren’t in our favor.

“Are you truly foolish enough to stay, young one?” The scar-faced vampire laughed at Lucian.

With a cool smile, Lucian slowly removed his gloves and unbuttoned his black trench coat, letting it drop off his broad shoulders and onto the warehouse floor. In a slow, deliberate movement, he withdrew a pair of metallic handles linked by a chain. Silver. They were obviously more than just the odd, decorative fashion accessory. The sight of it made more than one face in the Terzi clan blanch.

Heath growled as Tabitha lifted her arms. From the corner of my eye, I saw Strix cover the bottom half of his face with a blue scarf before cracking his neck and knuckles in preparation.

The Terzi waited.

All eyes were on Lucian, standing there tall, calm in the eye of the impending storm.

I found myself holding my breath.

And then, ever so slowly, Lord Lucian Rowle brandished his silver chain, spreading his arms wide to stretch it into a taut lethal line.

"We're too many even for you, Lord Rowle,” the beautiful, scar-faced vampire with the toothpick warned again. “Rolf will dispatch you in less than a second. Is that truly how you desire the House of Rowle to end?”

Lucian replied by lifting his hand and beckoning with two fingers.

The vampire grinned. “Then, Lord Rowle, may I say I shall miss you. You were a worthy opponent.” He bowed, long, deep, and respectfully before straightening with a shrug to call over his shoulder. “Rolf, the floor is yours. Make it quick.”

The next moment, I witnessed firsthand just how effective a vampire deterrent Lucian’s chain truly was. As a Terzi vampire appeared from nowhere, Lucian charged forward, meeting him head on. It was quick. In a blur, the dark-haired warlock maneuvered behind his victim to drive one of the silver handles like a stake into the vampire’s heart. The vampire froze, long enough for Lucian to draw the chain around his neck like a garrote. His muscles flexed. The next second, the vampire’s severed head hit the warehouse floor with a distinct plop, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop near Dorian’s package.

Silence descended, the kind in which you can hear a pin drop.

And then all hell broke loose.

Flames erupted. Bolts of lightning shot through the air. Explosions shook the ground beneath my feet. Wires, insulation, and ceiling tiles came crashing down from above.

It was war—and it was a confusing, disorienting mess.

Dirt and dust filled the air, whirling around me at almost tornado speed. I stumbled back as Ricky shot out of the back of my neck yelling, “Charge!” but the whirlwind snatched him from me at once. The last I saw of my smoky imp were his two, big green blinking eyes.

I ran forward, screaming his name, but the ground beneath my feet lurched and I fell, smacking facedown against the cement floor. Lifting my head up a couple of inches, I took stock of the world around me at floor level. For the most part, the opposing firepower seemed concentrated on Lucian. Dorian’s package lay in the very center of the battle, untouched and in what appeared to be neutral territory—apparently the prize to be awarded to the victor.

Unless I just got lucky.

Letting revenge rise to consume me, I sprang to my feet and as explosions went off around me like small grenades, tossing more dirt and chunks of cement into the air, I dove for Dorian.

As my fingers touched the edge of the cardboard box, electrical wires dropped from above and wrapped around my ankles like a living thing, yanking me up and away. Using my blade, I slashed myself free, but by the time I dropped to the floor, dodging several more explosions, Dorian’s package had succumbed to the clutches of a delicate, red-hooded figure.

The fighting stopped at once, and all eyes turned on the slender figure.

Anya.

She withdrew enough of her hood to peer at me from under her brows, and her pink lips curled into a cruel smile. “Moarte,” she said, the soft word bouncing around the rubble-strewn warehouse as bits of torn paper fluttered through the chill air.

Behind me, I heard Lucian gasp.

I whirled to see him leaning against a debris-covered forklift turned on its side.

I stared at him in horror.

Something was wrong. Really wrong. His face was chalk-white. I saw the red stain then, the blood spreading across his chest.

Tabitha lay at his feet, her leg at an odd angle and her dark eyes closed.

Heath struggled up from where he’d collapsed near the lifeless form of the snow-white wolf, his white-tipped gray fur matted with blood. Baring his wicked teeth with a snarl, Heath launched himself towards Anya.

She smiled.

Someone or something sent Heath flying back to crash against the industrial steel shelving. I heard the crack from where I stood, and his growl ended in an abrupt squeal of pain. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t.

Heath. Easy-going, Zen-minded Heath.

Something began to boil inside me.

I considered Heath my friend. My first, true friend.

And with that, the monster inside me woke.

The Mindbreaker’s Daughter

At first, I thought I’d fallen victim to some kind of spell. My balance shifted. My vision altered, making everything appear all disjointed and jerky, the kind of vision you see in those first-person, hand-filmed camera movies. But then my senses came alive and everything appeared brighter. Deeper. Vivid.

I didn’t need to call the mists. They were already there, swirling in the air around me, around everyone, a hitherto unseen, invisible force.

I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. I heard the shriek. It was inhuman. If it hadn’t come from my own mouth, I would have quaked in my boots.

Lucian opened his eyes, breathing heavily, and then catching sight of me, froze. I saw the fear in his eyes, but it didn’t stop me.

Fear was my weapon, and now that I could see it in the mists, I instinctively knew how to use it, the same way I’d traced the mana threads back to the green door with its gargoyle knob on Park Avenue. It was just like pulling a rope, creating a noose of mist around each victim’s throat before pulling it tight. The fear would do its own magic then, destroying them from within.

The Terzi vampires hissed, crouching on the wreckage around me, steadying themselves for a concerted attack.

They charged.

Strangely, I slipped right through them. Was I bodiless? It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I was like a thing possessed. I tightened the mists swirling around my victims as I passed by them. Half the Terzi rank faltered as the others regrouped to face me once more.

I screeched again, a banshee’s keening wail, and stretched my hands.

What I saw made even my heart quail.

My fingers were bony. Gray. Filaments of light, more ghost than human. My hair swirled around me, a strange mixture of my auburn red and the gray straw-like locks of the jaggers I’d seen in the Nether Reaches.

“I am here, Cassssssidy,” a voice spoke from behind me.

I whirled, or floated, really. I didn’t seem to have feet.

True, the Night Terror, stood behind me, looking very much like the specter of death. I could only see his two glowing eyes shining brightly in the recesses of his dark, cowled cloak.

“Let’s get them,” I hissed at him, nodding at the Terzi vampires cringing before me. “We can finish them off.” Strange. When had I become so bloodthirsty? But I brushed the thought away as inconsequential.

“No, little one,” he disagreed. “We’ve come for you.”

I looked over his shoulder to see the warehouse filling with Night Terrors. An army of them. I smiled. We could win now. “Let’s attack!” I said, surging forward.

I lost control of myself then. The specter in me unleashed in all its pent fury. I felt giddy with power and only growing stronger by the moment. I was invincible. And certainly never more alive. I had the Terzi vampires on the run. The witch, too. She was half-crouched on the floor over Dorian’s package, her gray eyes glued to my face in horror. I squeezed the mists around her, watching her gasp, drop the package, and fall back to join the rest of her crew.

I had them on the run, and I certainly wasn’t going to let them escape. I wanted their blood, their lives, their shrieking screams of terror as payment for the pain they’d inflicted on what I considered mine.

“Attack!” I screeched.

True’s hand clamped over one of my gray, glowing wrists. “No,” he blocked my path. “You must govern the specter inside you. Let me show you the way back before it’s too late.”

“Back?” I asked, but I wasn’t really interested in his answer.

Giddy with bloodlust and power, I flexed my arms and called to the mists surrounding me. They were live things, I saw that now. I wanted to converse with them. Feel them. Touch them. Cradle them. For the first time, I understood the temptation of the Nether Reaches, to float with the mists in an eternal conversation.

“It’s a mirage, little one,” True warned, grabbing my bony shoulders and shaking them as if to wake me. “When a specter feels all powerful, unconquerable, and indomitable, that is when you can be enslaved. Possessed. Controlled. You must return to your human form. And quickly. Your ability is a double-edged sword!”

I didn’t want to listen to him. I wanted to destroy Anya and the Terzi.

“Cassidy!”

A new voice called my name.

Wait. It wasn’t new. Dimly, I recognized that slightly British-accented baritone. Lord … Lord? It took me a moment to remember his name. Lucian.

That startled me. How could I forget him? Confused and alarmed, I turned back to where Lucian had collapsed to his knees next to the overturned forklift. The sight of his blood staining his shirt made me sick to my stomach, pulling me back from my strange frenzied state like nothing else could have. Heath had returned to his human form to crawl to the warlock’s side as Tabitha hovered over them both, balancing on her broken leg and moving her hands in front of her face in a gesture that looked as if she were warding off evil.

Was she protecting them from … me?

Lucian’s eyes locked with mine, the expression in them calm, accepting. Holding his hand out, the mists carried his whisper to my ears. “It’s enough, Cassidy. Enough. Come back.”

I blinked.

A reflection in the forklift window caught my eye then. I gulped, catching the full image of the disturbing creature staring back at me. Long, red, straw-like hair. Gray skin. The eyes. Two bright, silver glowing pinpoints of light. Jagger eyes. And … no nose.

I took a step back … or more accurately, floated back, my legs had disappeared into tendrils of mist.

Whatever the movement, the reflection mirrored it. There was no denying it. It was me.

“You’ve got to come back, Cassidy! Now!” True gasped at my side. “It is coming.”

It.

I lifted my head in alarm as the dark, sinister feeling from before descended upon me, the uncanny coldness that I’d felt near the dumpsters by the theater. A melancholy call snaked through the air.

Around me, the Terzi vampires that still remained wailed in fear.

I knew what it was, what was coming. A Fallen One.

Strix, wherever he was, was right. The creature had followed me, and judging by True’s reaction, it was intent on possessing me. I could sense its arrival even before I looked up at the warehouse entrance to see it suspended in midair, a spectral figure in the moonlight, wearing black armor wrapped within a tattered black cloak that flapped in the breeze.

Even from that distance, I felt its invisible touch caress my face. I could smell its rank breath.

It was evil incarnate. And it wanted me.

And I? I had set it free from the Nether Reaches. Somehow, I had called it to me. I had freed it. My own nemesis?

I couldn’t believe that. True had to be wrong. But it was moving towards me, and I found myself mesmerized, incapable or maybe unwilling to lift a finger to escape.

“You must return to your body!” True shouted in fear.

And then Lucian’s voice reached my ears, weak, but still commanding. “Look at me, sweetheart. Look at me!”

I only turned because it was Lucian’s voice begging me to. Still, it took every ounce of my willpower. As the Fallen One swooped towards me, I glanced over to where Lucian now lay on the debris-littered warehouse floor.

‘Breathe,” Lucian ordered. “Focus.”

I focused on the red-stain spreading over his shirt. Even from this distance, I could smell the coppery scent of his blood.

A cold finger touched the back of my neck. The Fallen One.

And then I understood. It couldn’t possess me. It wasn’t that way, at all. Throwing my head back, I whirled to face the creature, crying, “No! I am your master!”

Crouching down on one knee, I banged my fist against the cold, cement floor.

The Mindbreaker’s symbol flashed silver white under my hand.

Everyone gasped, but no one louder than myself, and then, the Terzi—including Anya—fled.

Somehow, Lucian was there, holding my hands—flesh-colored, normal hands.

"I think I'm sick," I said, looking up into his silver-blue eyes.

And then everything went dark.

The Key

I woke with a clammy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I took a deep breath. The mana surrounding me was vibrant, intoxicating, swirling around me in a multitude of heady mixes. But there were three fragrances among them that I found troubling: Heath’s woodsy smell, Tabitha’s spicy exotic scent, and Lucian’s one-of-a-kind powerful, mouthwatering aroma. I shouldn’t be smelling them at all, and certainly not in their full unchecked glory. It could only mean that Lucian’s wards were completely down.

Hadn’t the Terzi fled? Hadn’t we won?

Thoughts of winning reminded me of just what I’d become to ensure it. A true monster. Something uncontrollable. And the Fallen One. Master? I felt sick again, just thinking about it. What had happened? Where had it gone?

Cautiously, I opened my eyes and propped myself up on an elbow. The room was dark, lit only by a single candle in an iron candelabra, its dim light affording me only a glimpse of an arched entrance, the brick walls of the windowless chamber, and the futon-like cot on which I lay. Beyond that, the place seemed empty.

I sat up.

Immediately, a shadow separated itself from the wall to approach me. I wasn’t alarmed. I’d caught the scent. True, the Night Terror and for want of a better word, my … cousin.

“Welcome to the Temple of Nightmares, little one,” he chanted a greeting, gliding to the foot of the bed. “The home of the Night Terrors.”

I couldn’t really see much of their home. It was too dark. Swinging my feet over the edge of the bed, I asked, “Lucian? How is he?” The blood I’d seen on his shirt couldn’t have been good. Now, with the strength of the mana I was smelling, I figured it was even worse.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” True answered, bowing his head and tucking his hands up his long, sweeping sleeves. “He suffers. Follow me. I will take you to him.”

“Shouldn’t he be in the hospital?” I probed, padding after him.

The Night Terror stopped and hissed, highly insulted. “And what human hospital can treat a warlock?” he practically spat at me. “They’re no more than butcher shops.”

“Touché,” I granted under my breath.

“It’s an attack on the House of Rowle,” True explained, resuming his glide down the dark corridor. “An attack of the likes never seen before.” He paused in front of an arched door and waved me inside.

I hesitated. I was hungry and Lucian’s mana was the ultimate temptation. It didn’t seem like too bright of an idea to hover over him in a defenseless state. Especially since I’d repeatedly demonstrated a decided lack of control whenever his mana was involved.

True shrugged and floated into the room without me. I was fine with that and decided to remain in the hall and just poke my head inside instead.

Lucian’s room was bigger than mine, sporting a two candle iron candelabra, and in place of a cot, he lay on a carved walnut, medieval-style bed complete with heavy, red brocade curtains tied neatly to the bedposts. A coat-of-arms hung on the wall. It took me a moment to recognize the Rowle family crest.

True had joined several other Night Terrors at the foot of the bed. They drifted there in a clump, looking for all the world like specters of death waiting for their victim to rise into their waiting hands.

It was all very macabre. Ghoulish.

“Cassidy, lass,” Dorian’s voice suddenly snaked through my mind. “Ach, can you truly be this close?”

I jerked, spying the cardboard package we’d fought the Terzi for, propped up against the wall near the candelabra.

Dorian.

Temptation blazed across my mind. Revenge. And within an arm’s length. At last.

Now that I wasn’t engaged in the chaos of battle, I could smell his faint, unique scent, the combination of the Chosen One death scent, the Terzi clan aroma, and the slightest whiff of the highlander he’d once been.

But it was all intertwined, fused with Lucian’s mana, the power of the curse that held the vampire in the warlock’s thrall.

And it was … breaking.

I gasped, realizing that instant that there was something wrong with Lucian’s mana.

I was at his bedside in a flash, forgetting all about Dorian and the temptation of setting him free.

Anya’s curse, the scent of her spiders, the stench that made me want to run the instant I detected it … that rank odor had invaded Lucian’s heavenly mana. Yes, by only the slightest hint, but it was enough. A foothold.

“This must be her nasty surprise,” I muttered aloud, looking down at Lucian unconscious on the bed.

His dark, sooty lashes were closed, and his skin beaded with sweat. A series of cuts marred the sleek lines of his flawlessly muscled bare chest. Amazingly, the injuries were more than half healed, a few of the smaller ones little more than purple lines, already fading at the edges. It had only been hours since Lucian had received them. No wonder True had called hospitals butcher shops.

I saw a small form then, resting on the pillow next to Lucian’s head. His ward, the blue troll. One look and even I could tell it was too late for the little creature. It reeked of Anya’s curse, holding the bulk of it inside its little body like it was trying to sponge up the mess. But the evil mana was too strong. The curse was leaking out, traveling back through Lucian’s household mana to infect the warlock himself. Somehow, she’d succeeded in attacking the very foundation of Lucian’s hereditary magic.

Alarmed, I took a deeper breath, searching for Heath and Tabitha’s mana amongst the others swirling in the place. They were close, most likely in the next room. Injured, but not terminally. Closer to bruised and battered. I could sense life in the strength of their scent.

Cripes!

They were infected, too.

“It’s bad,” I choked.

That woke Lucian. He looked up at me weakly. It took several attempts, but he finally managed to gasp, “Strix.”

As if on cue, Strix appeared at my side. The blond Nether Reach keeper looked exhausted and definitely worse for the wear with bandages on his arms and left thigh. But he was standing. Barely. “My lord,” he bowed his head in respect.

The lines around Lucian’s mouth creased in irritation. “Not you,” he struggled to say, locking his silver-blue eyes with mine. “Strix,” he repeated feebly. “He’ll … watch over … you.”

I froze. Alarmed.

Lucian closed his eyes. “Anya,” he murmured through white lips, his tone riddled with defeat. “I never … saw … it coming.”

My anger roared to life then. Anger at Anya, of course, but anger at Lucian, too. “You’re not dead yet,” I snapped. “I didn’t know Rowles gave up so easily.”

“Easy?” Strix whirled on me, fury lacing his tone. “Can you not see the profound danger of this situation? Any other warlock would have succumbed, weeks ago. He’s a miracle. It’s astoundingly beyond belief that he could carry on this long! And this curse of hers, it’s ancient. Powerful. Unheard of.”

Talk about hair-trigger tempers. And I thought that I was bad? “Well, it’s not over yet, Mr. High-and-Mighty,” I retorted, furious myself. “I’m not just going to shrivel up and accept fate right now. I’ll keep fighting, to the bitter end.”

His fine nostril’s flared with contempt. “Tell me, Mindbreaker’s Daughter, just what is there to fight now?” With a broad wave encompassing Lucian and his nearly defunct ward, he added, “Curses can only be broken by destroying the object that hold them—the key.”

I knew that wasn’t true, but I wasn’t going to practice my fledgling mana-removal skills on Lucian. That was the surest way to hasten his death. But I didn’t even have to torture myself with that dilemma. Strix delivered his ultimatum with his next breath, and it was an ultimatum that conveniently and neatly might solve everything.

Towering over me, the blond keeper barked, “So, unless you know exactly which spider of hers holds this curse and just where we can find her within the hour, it’s simply too late!”

I straightened.

And smiled out of profound relief.

“A tarantula,” I said with complete certainty. “She’s wearing it in her hair like a barrette. And she hides out at a town house with a green door on Park Avenue. You’ll recognize it by the door knob. It’s a gargoyle.”

The Hell Stone

In the end, Strix went himself. Tying a cloth over the lower half of his face, he slung his bow over his shoulder and disappeared into the darkness. I didn’t put up much of a fuss about going along. Even I knew that I was a loose cannon.

But of course, that wasn’t the only reason. Dorian’s package lay just four feet away. I’d only moved an inch in its direction when True floated forward to place long, white fingers on my arm.

“Your imp,” the Night Terror intoned with a mournful expression. “Come. His box is in the next room.”

Ricky.

I closed my eyes, recalling how the tornado had sucked him to meet his bitter end. It was a harsh way to go. All said and done, I was going to miss the little pest.

Moving soundlessly to the adjoining chamber just as dark as the others, True drifted past the standard room-issue iron candelabra to a table holding two black boxes. One large and one small. An enormous, gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall, right next to the arched door. I didn’t see any other furniture. The Night Terrors were apparently minimalists.

“This pains me.” True lowered his voice, picking up the smaller black box to drop it into my outstretched palms.

My eyes misted. With a heavy feeling, I flipped the lid open on its hinges. I really don’t know what I expected to see. The room was dark. The box was black. And Ricky was made of nothing but smoke of the exact same color.

“I’m going to miss him,” I admitted, my voice hoarse with raw emotion.

True’s brow arched. “Why?” he asked, pointedly. Clearly, he didn’t share my opinion.

“I guess he was an acquired taste,” I mumbled, closing the lid. “He was a good egg,” I added, thinking Ricky would appreciate the English expression.

“Poor blighter,” a voice commiserated in my ear. “Was that the rat Lucian wanted to torture with blue ice?”

I jumped.

A moment later, I realized that Ricky wasn’t dead in a box but crouched on my shoulder with that wide, ear-to-ear cheeky grin splitting his obnoxious little face.

“I thought you were dead,” I snapped, the acid in my voice returning with a rush.

“That we should be so fortunate.” True sighed, frowning at us both from under his brows. “I’ve always found imps so very painfully irksome to deal with. Especially ones who do not stay in their assigned boxes.”

“Why don’t you give it a go, big chap,” Ricky snorted testily before sliding around my neck to mutter, “Cheerio, duck, time to find a bite to eat. I’m Hank Marvin, er, that means starving!”

The next moment, I spied his big green blinking eyes darting out of the room.

True fluttered his fingers in a disparaging gesture. “Imps,” was all he said, but that one word spoke volumes.

“Thanks for looking after him,” I said, feeling the need to apologize on Ricky’s behalf.

The Night Terror humphed in reply and then abruptly switched subjects. “We have other, far more important matters to speak of,” he said, waving me closer to the table and pointing a pale, spindly finger to the large, black box.

I was curious, of course. But my mind was on revenge. And almost as if sensing it, Dorian decided to chat again.

“’Tis now, my bonny wee glaistig,” the Scottish highlander of a vampire crooned. “Set me free afore the chance is lost. Forever.”

“Later,” I told the Night Terror. I had a decision to make. It was time. “I’ll just sit with Lucian awhile, if you don’t mind.”

True wasn’t so easy to ditch. “There’s little to fret over now,” he assured me quickly. “Strix is a keeper, and we keepers never fail our missions. Our mana rivals yours, little one. And Lucian’s as well. Nothing will stop a keeper from attaining his goal. And now that Strix knows her vessel and location, the witch can’t hide. Lucian’s as good as healed already. Within the hour, his power will be restored. Completely.”

Was it bad that the word completely filled me with relief and disappointment at the same time? Completely. Back to his powerful, strong, sexy self. So completely that I wouldn’t be smelling his mana again.

But without smelling it, how could I attempt any extraction of it? Voila. No curse-breaking for Dorian.

It wasn’t until that thought that I consciously acknowledged that I was really going through with it. Betrayal, consequences, and everything else aside. I ran my fingers under the puppet string bracelet still tied to my wrist. Revenge was paramount. Finally, it was time to plunge the first knife into Emilio’s black heart.

And Lucian? Well, he’d said himself that he’d work with anyone and do anything to achieve his goal. He could add betrayal to that list.

Sweeping the last twinge of conscience aside, I repeated curtly, “Later. We can chat later.”

I attempted to step around the Night Terror, but I discovered they were an obstinate bunch. And quick on their feet, or whatever they glided on under those billowing robes. He blocked my path.

“No,” True insisted. “We speak now.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t respond well to orders,” I replied, rankled.

True sighed. “Come, come, little one,” he softened his voice. “You must hear me while there is still time.”

I shoved past him. “I’m in a bit of a time crunch,” I said, determined to make the most of my hour. This chance wouldn’t come again.

He waited until I was almost at the door before asking, “Is this what you’re looking for?”

The smell made me turn around. I knew before I saw it just exactly what he held in his hands. I’d never really gotten a good look at Dorian’s marionette before. I’d been too distracted in Venice. And even though the room was dark and gloomy, there was no mistaking the likeness. It was creepy. The reddish-brown hair and the green eyes that perfectly matched the kilt draped over a small, wooden body. The puppet strings fell from the Night Terror’s hands to the floor in a black tangled mess.

“God’s Blood, lass, ‘tis sweeter than heaven to see your bonny face again,” I heard Dorian’s disembodied voice in my head.

“You want this, do you not, Mindbreaker’s Daughter?” True asked.

Great. Proven guilty before even committing the crime. I figured I’d better start running. I was going to need that hour lead on Lucian.

And then, True tossed the marionette into my arms. “You can have it,” he said. “It’s yours.”

I caught the doll. It felt extraordinarily heavy, like it was made of lead.

True’s eyes shimmered at me with an expression I couldn’t understand.

“What’s the catch?” I asked, bluntly.

“We are specters, you and I,” he replied with a ghastly smile. “If we can’t trust each other, just who can we trust?”

Yeah. Right.

“I ask only a few minutes of your time,” he said, folding his arms to hide his bony fingers in the voluminous sleeves of his robes. “I ask only that you listen.”

I hesitated. What could be the harm in listening?

As I waffled, he floated to the table and, opening the large black box, took out an object roughly two feet tall and one in circumference. I recognized it immediately. The large gray cylindrical stone, a series of intricate Celtic circles carved into the top of its unpolished surface. The Hell Stone. I’d touched it in Venice. It had been surprisingly light, like a feather. And the screams. I could still hear the weeping, hideous screams I’d heard then, when I’d put an ear to its mana-infused surface.

“Your birthright,” True whispered softly, almost reverently.

My … what?

I glanced up at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“The Mindbreaker brought the Hell Stone to Earth, over a thousand years ago. It was his safeguard, his contingency should he fail in his desire to eradicate those who fought against him,” he answered with a story instead. “The Hell Stone is his anchor, Cassidy. With it, he can still win. With it, he can call the Fallen Ones to his side and retrieve that which he has hidden in the domain of demons—that which he must not retrieve.”

Alright. I’d tried. “Sorry,” I said. “You’ve lost me. Do we have to speak in riddles?”

A curl of amusement graced his lips. “There are no riddles here. I, True, Keeper of the Old Wisdom most certainly cannot allow the Mindbreaker to return. Not now. It’s no longer his right.”

“Alrighty then,” I said when he didn’t continue. “Good luck with that.”

He just stood there, grinning at me.

I gripped Dorian’s marionette tighter. There had to be a catch here. Somewhere. “So?” I prodded when he made no move to explain himself. “What kind of deal are we talking here? What are you expecting from me? You know …” I trailed off and wiggled the puppet a bit.

“Lord Rowle will never know that I gave the doll to you, nor will he know that you took it,” the Night Terror answered at once, his eyes glowing brighter.

Uh-huh. “You know, Dorian told me that Night Terrors are loyal only to the highest bidder,” I said, searching his face closely.

“The specter kind are loyal to themselves, little one, and to none other,” he replied, as if that explained everything.

“Does that include kissing cousins?” I asked, still looking for the catch.

True floated up to me, his eyes, two glowing points of gold. “How can I remain loyal to the Mindbreaker when his daughter is of my kind?” he asked softly.

Hmm. I didn’t like the way this plot was twisting. I had my own issues. I didn’t want to inherit a ton of my so-called father’s as well. Especially since he sounded like quite the mentally-deranged, genocidal tyrant.

“Remember, Cassidy Edwards, when you call me, I will come.” True bowed with deep reverence. “And the Hell Stone, I will protect it well, guard it safely, for you and you alone.”

Uh. What?

He didn’t wait for my response. Floating past me, he disappeared into the darkness beyond the archway, taking the Hell Stone with him.

I stood there, a bit unsettled by the peculiar conversation. But he’d gone and my clock was ticking. As I moved for the door, I caught my reflection in the gilt-framed mirror and paused. I looked beyond exhausted, the evidence of the hellish night apparent in the purple rings under my puffy eyes housed in a pinched face. My lips were chapped and my hair a ratted mess of dark, auburn locks. I attempted to rake my fingers through them a few times, but gave up. It was time to go.

As I stepped into the corridor, a new voice instructed, “Take the stairs straight ahead to exit this place, little one.”

It was another Night Terror. Right. This place was filled with them. I couldn’t very well waltz out there carrying Dorian for all to see. One of them would squeal, kissing cousin or no. Darting back into the room, I stuffed the marionette into the black box that had housed the Hell Stone, and tucking the thing under my arm, sprinted towards the exit.

As luck would have it, I passed right outside Lucian’s door. His unexpected moan made me pause. But only for a moment.

Gritting my teeth, I forced my feet away, down the hall, and up the winding staircase leading to the world outside. There were a lot of steps, just as many as there had been in Venice, but finally, I reached the top and taking a deep, steadying breath, opened the door to the world outside.

A Scottish Highlander of a Vampire

I stood in a graveyard, in the mouth of a crypt. It was old. I couldn’t read the writing engraved above the entrance. Wind, rain, and time had rendered it illegible. But I really didn’t need to. There was a family crest chiseled in the very center. I recognized it at once: the Rowles of Castle Llewelyn.

Bile burned my mouth.

Whatever.

I didn’t owe Lucian anything. And really, I’d just saved the man’s life, hadn’t I? He couldn’t begrudge me a bit of my own vengeance.

Lifting my chin and gripping Dorian’s box even tighter, I forged ahead.

It was cold, but the sky was clear. I’d apparently slept almost the entire day away again. With the last streaks of sunlight painting the horizon a blood red, I picked my path through several mausoleums to a large pine at the edge of the cemetery. A large black iron fence ringed the entire perimeter of the place.

Dropping to my knees between the tree and the fence, I dumped Dorian out of the box.

My pulse accelerated with excitement. Emilio was about to have a horrible night … providing I succeeded.

“This just might kill you,” I addressed the marionette, propping it into a sitting position.

“What’s this? Words? Speak to me properly with your thoughts, lass,” Dorian ordered in my head.

I shot him a look. “Sorry, clan mindreading doesn’t work for my side of the conversation,” I said.

“Sweet Mary, how can this be? A Terzi who canna speak in the mind?” The Scottish lilt of his voice rose in shock.

Great. I didn’t need his constant chatter chiming in my head. With a scowl, I grabbed the puppet strings controlling his mouth and tied them tight.

He got the message.

An unnatural quiet fell over the graveyard then, a silence free of the usual backdrop of sirens, traffic, and other things.

It was time.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.

Anyone watching would’ve most likely thought me a crazy woman with my rat’s nest of hair and begrimed clothing, and the way I waved my hands over the marionette—searching for mana strands—would’ve only confirmed it. But it didn’t matter.

It was time.

I started with the puppet strings, figuring they’d be the most forgiving should I blunder in removing the mana. The process was easier than I expected. Lucian’s mana was delectable. Tasty. It rolled right off into my fingers. I couldn’t resist absorbing it. That set off a frenzy. It was addicting. But the faster I consumed it, the clearer I saw his image in my mind, lying ill, tossing in pain. There was no pretending here, no feigning ignorance. Each nip rubbed my betrayal right into my face.

But there was no turning back for me.

Gritting my teeth, I doggedly forged ahead until the last thread of his mana fell free from the puppet strings.

To my astonishment, the black string itself vanished in a shower of sparks.

Crud. That couldn’t be good.

Exercising greater care, I started on the next strands of mana, thrilling at the taste, at the strength surging through me while doing my best to ignore Lucian’s suffering. It was the ultimate conflict of interests. I continued tenaciously, but as time marched on, I began tossing all caution aside to consume the mana as fast as I could.

The puppet grew lighter and lighter as I removed thread by thread. Piece by piece.

Finally, there was nothing left.

Nothing happened.

The marionette just lay there on the withered grass next to some illegible tombstone. Lifeless. Motionless.

Yet, still in one piece.

Doubt surged. Had I missed something? I took a deeper, analyzing breath. I couldn’t smell anything. That was worrisome. Had I failed? Or worse yet, had Strix broken Lucian’s curse? Had his wards snapped back to full strength? Even now, were they making their way up from the bowels of the Earth to find me, curse me to some tortured existence for eternity?

I cast a worried glance over my shoulder, wondering if I should start running. It was almost dark now. Shadows moved around in the darkness behind me. I shuddered.

Really, what part of this had been a good idea?

I really was too green.

“At last! God’s Blood, at last!” Dorian’s voice thundered in my ears the exact instant arms of corded muscle caught me up, lifting me to my feet to whirl me around.

I sucked in a huge gulp of air. Stunned.

The large hands holding me up were real.

The square-jawed handsome highlander of a vampire holding me over his head and looking up at me was real. His jade-colored eyes sparkled and his white teeth flashed in a wide grin.

I matched his grin.

I’d really done it. I’d removed Lucian’s curse without the key—and most importantly, without obliterating my victim.

Dorian looked just like he had at our first meeting. Ruddy. Powerful. Rippling muscles. His brown hair curled around the strong column of his neck, falling over the soft green kilt so casually thrown across his broad shoulder. And his sheer, animal magnetism had survived as well. He was as spellbinding as ever.

“You’re free,” I gasped.

Bad choice of words. It only served to remind him that I’d been party to his predicament in the first place. The grin immediately left his face.

Setting me down on my feet, he towered over me, rising to his full height.

I went for my knives. I had them unsheathed, and the silver tips pressed into his muscled chest so fast that even he didn’t have time to react.

The vampire’s green eyes widened. Flashing out of my reach, he tossed his head back and let out a long peal of laughter, punctuated by a few thigh slaps. When he finally looked at me once again, it was with more than a gleam of interest. It was with outright lust.

Not the response I’d expected.

He gave me a long, slow wink. “Aye, but you’re a sight for sore eyes, my bonny wee glaistig who canna be tamed,” he rumbled in his Scottish burr.

Determined to keep the upper hand, I brandished my knives. “You’d better leave—” I began.

But the next moment, he’d shoved my blades aside and pulled me roughly into his arms, crushing me hard against his chest of steel. “Ach, you canna look at me with those innocent, provocative doe eyes and not expect to be kissed, lass,” he growled before claiming my mouth in a harsh kiss.

It was a hungry, devouring conquering of the lips. Clearly, he was accustomed to simply seizing what he wanted. And he was such a hot, raw, male animal, radiating such heat, power, and lust that I suppose few could summon the strength to resist him. I couldn’t either. At first, anyway. For a few blissful moments, I let his tongue sweep between my lips to dance with mine, an intense encounter of pleasure.

But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I preferred something else. Someone else. And as hot as Dorian was, for me his kiss lacked the sensuous volcanic heat of Lucian’s that never failed to send my blood pulsing in a response that satisfied my entire soul.

He sensed it. Vexed, he tore his lips from mine. “Who is he?” he asked harshly. “What man claims your thoughts, lass?”

Like I was going to tell him? I shoved him back.

I could see at once that his temper threatened to break loose. He reigned it in with great difficulty. Clearly, he wasn’t used to women who resisted his charms. But judging from the gleam in his eyes, it looked like he just might like it. “Ach, but I’m an unscrupulous soul,” he said with a devilishly unrepentant grin. “But the fault, ‘tis clearly yours, my lady, for snaring me in your net.” Capturing my hand, he lowered his lashes seductively to brush his lips over my knuckles.

Over Lucian’s ring.

He jerked back with a hiss, as if he’d been burnt. “Sweet Mary! What’s this?” he swore, his green eyes sparking under brows knotted in fury. “I know this ring. I know it well!”

I imagined he did, considering he’d been the primary driver behind Lady Elizabeth’s downfall. I jerked my hand free. Evidently, freeing Dorian was going to be easier than getting rid of him. “You’ve got to get out of here,” I said. “Lucian’s going to be here soon.”

Apparently, that’s exactly what he wanted. “The warlock moves surpassingly quick,” he observed with a savage scowl. “Aye, and ‘twas a curse of the blackest kind he wrought in Venice. I’ve a score to settle with Rowle.” Dropping his eyes to my ring, he added, “More than one. Have a care, lass. Do you truly know who you’re bedding? Your enemies are not those who hold their blades against you in battle, but those by your side, hiding their dirks behind their backs.”

I winced, finding the words a particularly apt description for my own actions of the evening.

He was sharp. And cunning. He read me like an open book. Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, he began to chuckle. “And what a fine kettle of fish we have here, aye? Two souls and a secret. This makes a conspiracy, lass.”

I didn’t share his humor.

He didn’t mind. Shaking his head in amusement, he added, “When yon warlock discovers you’ve set me free, you’ll have no choice but to run straight into my willing arms. Not even lust can survive such a thing, aye?”

I brandished my blades again. “Then you’ll betray me?” I couldn’t believe it.

His green eyes flashed at the insult. “Ach, wee fool, ‘tis not seemly to insult your clan, but I can forgive you, this once,” he retorted, anger flaring momentarily. “’Tis not me you should fret over, but the Night Terrors.”

I tossed my head over that one. “True won’t say anything,” I replied, surprised at just how much I believed it.

“Are you mad? Never trust a Night Terror. Dinna they betray you in Venice? Surely, you canna forget with such haste,” he said, surprised.

“A lot’s happened since you’ve been gone,” I answered. I left it at that. I didn’t really want to explain it all and I wasn’t obligated to, anyway.

A movement on the other side of the fence snagged our attention.

Gloria. I caught only a glimpse of her slim figure shrouded by the shadows, but I could smell her easily enough.

“Yes, Cassidy,” she spat at me. “Come a little closer, if you dare.”

So much for her becoming all friendly and grateful that I’d set her brother free. Yeah, she wasn’t going to call off her assassins. She was going to double them.

“Your ride’s here, Dorian,” I said.

“A horse, lass?” He tilted his head to the side, bewildered. Ah, yes. He was so easy to converse with that I tended to forget he’d spent the bulk of his conscious hours in the Middle Ages.

“Just go,” I said. “I’ve got to get moving myself.”

“Don’t let her get away, Dorian,” Gloria’s hiss slithered through the darkness. “We’ve got to send her back to the Nether Reaches. The Keepers will see she stays there. You don’t know what she is. You haven’t seen what she’s become!”

I froze in alarm.

Dorian chuckled. “Aye, ‘tis heartwarming to hear your voice once again, even though you speak the words of a fool, my wee sister.”

“You’re the fool,” Gloria disagreed vehemently. “You can’t keep her by your side. She’s a specter, a banshee—”

“Aye, I know it well, you jealous harridan.” Dorian merely laughed. The next moment, he stood on the other side of the iron fence, folding his sister in his brawny arms. “I’ve missed you, Gloria, aye, but I’ve missed you, but I’ll not be allowing one hair of Cassidy’s wee head to be harmed, by you or any other,” he scolded her fondly. Turning to me once again, he coaxed me, crooking a long finger. “Come with us, Cassidy. ‘Tis the only way you’ll be safe.

Gloria hissed.

Right. My definition of ‘safe’ clearly didn’t coincide with his.

Again, he read my response. I was going to have to take some poker lessons. And soon.

With his broad shoulders deflating, he executed the courtliest of bows. “Then if you’ll excuse me, my lady, the past few months have been trying ones. I find I’m exceedingly thirsty. Our paths will cross soon. Fare thee well.”

A sudden gust of wind knocked me back off my feet. I blinked, startled, jumping up to discover that both Dorian and Gloria were gone.

I stood there a moment, astonished that I’d really done it.

I’d freed him. And now? Well, now it was time to watch Emilio suffer and look for the next soft spot in his armor. But it was also time to cover my tracks and establish a bulletproof alibi. My hour was nearly done.

It was time to hightail it back to the Rowle family crypt.

I took off. It was dark, no one watched, so I felt no compunction to slow myself down. It must have only been a second or two later, and I’d almost reached the Rowle crypt when I felt it.

That dark, sinister feeling.

I stopped. Instantly. A ripple of fear crept up my spine.

The Fallen One. It was here. And close.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Whirling, I searched the gathering darkness behind me, but I could see nothing in the inky blackness. I took a few faltering steps backwards before pivoting on my heel, deciding to make for the relative safety of the Temple of Nightmares when I spied something moving out of the corner of my eye.

I whirled again.

There, about ten feet to my left, and hovering about four feet above the ground was the Fallen One.

The Orb

The Fallen One floated in the darkness of the graveyard, just a few yards away, its moth-eaten cloak fluttering in the night air. Evil. Soulless. A husk of a creature. The visor of its black helmet was open this time, and out of its gaping mouth, protruded a long, demonically-pointed tongue. Its skeletal hands were outstretched.

But not towards me.

It was waiting for someone else. And judging by the shadows swirling in the direction of its gaze, that someone else had just arrived.

I darted behind a large tombstone and crouched down to poke my head around the corner.

The newcomer was already there, hooded, swathed in a dark cloak to hide any hint of an identity.

The Fallen One apparently knew who it was. It moved then, sinking to the ground to prostrate itself in welcome.

The hooded figure responded with a laugh, a distinctly male sound, and then slowly, ever so slowly extended his hand.

My mind went numb, unable to truly register what I was seeing. As if caught in a slow-motion horror film, I watched the Fallen One lift its head. Its long tongue snaked out even further, stretching up to the laughing figure staring down at it. And then something began to glow from inside the Fallen One’s body, beginning in the stomach area and travelling up and out along the tongue to the very tip.

It was small, an orb, glowing like a red coal about the size of a Ping-Pong ball.

The hooded figure didn’t hesitate.

Plucking the creature’s offering, he laughed again, a deep chortle of triumph, and then tossing his head back, swallowed the glowing orb whole. I caught a glimpse of his chin, but nothing more before the hood fell back over his face once again.

And then, as quickly as he’d arrived, he turned on his heel and left, the Fallen One disappearing behind him.

I don’t know just how long I stayed there. Just what had I witnessed? I huddled in the chill air, behind the cold tombstone, caught in some kind of time-warped state before a mournful call swirled in the air around me.

True. He was calling me. “Casssssidyyy. Come back, Casssiddy.”

Shaking myself from my stupor, I sprang to my feet.

I’d have to crack this Fallen One mystery later, as now there were more pressing matters. Pivoting on a heel, I ran to the Rowle crypt.

The Sweet Taste of Revenge

It was close. True proved some form of loyalty with that one. I tore down the stairs as fast as I could, and I’d only been at Lucian’s bedside a grand total of about three minutes before a deep breath expanded his chest. His long, dark lashes swept up. And in that precise moment, all traces of his scent vanished.

Strix had accomplished his mission.

Relief coursed through me.

Lucian was back—and growing stronger with each passing millisecond. Rising from the bed and already looking as handsome as sin itself, he swept his black hair back into a ponytail while tossing a cool nod at his white shirt on the foot of the bed.

A Night Terror hurried forward, offering it to him with a deep bow.

Taking it as if merely receiving his due, the warlock shrugged into the thing, absently clasping only a few of the buttons while directing his full attention upon his ward. Without even glancing in our direction, he ordered us away with a curt gesture of his hand. “Leave me,” he demanded. “At once.”

There was no ignoring the authority of that tone, and I found myself exiting with the others, following True to yet another gloomy, sparsely furnished room.

But we’d scarcely filed in before I smelled Emilio’s unique scent.

My eyes lit in anticipation.

A moment later, Emilio himself strode through the archway, pausing on the threshold. He was well-groomed, as usual. With a red rose tucked into the pocket of his tailored Italian suit and a long wool coat draped over his arm, he looked like he was ready for an evening at the opera. However, one glance at his face revealed that something was wrong. His eyes. They were unusually worried.

I smiled to myself, gloating a little. Just wait, Emilio. You’re worried now? Just wait.

“Lord Rowle?” the vampire queried, his voice concerned. “He is well, is he not? Has he recovered?”

“Yes, my lord,” the Night Terror bowed reverentially.

My lord? I arched a curious brow. I’d thought Lucian to be the only noble, but then, maybe True was just the flattering kind. Whatever. Settling back against the wall, I prepared to enjoy the fireworks. I hadn’t expected a front row seat to witness Emilio’s devastation. Icing on the cake. Simply icing on the cake.

It actually happened very quickly.

It started with a roar. Lucian’s.

I knew what that sound meant. Glee filled my soul.

The entire room took off at a run, heading towards Lucian’s room, but he met us in the hallway, breathing hard, holding the cardboard package out for all to see. And even in the dim lighting, we could all see that it was empty.

Inexplicably, I couldn’t meet his eyes. I watched his chest rise and fall instead.

Emilio was the first to break the silence. “Dimmi … tell me, what is this?” he asked, flashing to Lucian’s side in a heartbeat.

“Gone,” Lucian announced, anger blazed in the brilliant silver-blue depths of his eyes. Facing Emilio, he cut straight to the point, delivering the words with a lethal calmness, “I warned you, fool. His curse has been broken. Dorian’s free.”

It was better than I could’ve imagined.

My first true taste of revenge.

Emilio simply stood there at first, as still as stone. And then his face turned lividly purple, a beautiful mottled shade of utter rage. With his hand jerking up to violently slice the air, he screamed, “How? How? How?” His tone rose to a feverish pitch as he repeated, “How? How?”

“Your own arrogance,” Lucian answered, obviously having no scruples over rubbing salt in wounds. “That idiot of a warlock you let get his hands on my collection—”

“No. No. No.” Emilio shook his head in disagreement. “No, no!”

Seeing Emilio reduced to one syllable words was priceless. Beyond measure. If this was revenge, then I was addicted. Permanently.

Being careful to hide my enjoyment, I watched the vampire inhale, long and deep. He shuddered. Closing his eyes, he began to curse under his breath in a long string of Italian before switching languages to say, “He is a dead man, as is any who helped him. Dead. Morto!”

A fleeting stab of concern momentarily snagged my attention, but I brushed it away and forced myself to watch him just like everyone else in the room, with a calm, steady gaze.

“Lucian, you will investigate,” Emilio ordered hoarsely. “You will find out who did this. And when you do, they are dead. Morti! I will destroy them to the very last cell of their existence. There will be nothing left. Nothing. Niente. Nothing will remain of them or their families. Not one cell. Obliterated. Sterminate senza pietà! Without pity, I say!”

In a deadly voice as cold as steel, Lucian agreed, “I will find them, Marchesi. And I will exact vengeance, I assure you.” Setting his carved lips in a determined line, he lifted his exquisite pale blue eyes and locked them directly … onto me.

My heart began to pound, a rapid staccato of a beat that I was certain everyone could hear. Emilio ranted and raved a bit more, oscillating between Italian and English, but the entire situation began to lose some of its sweetness for me. And when Tabitha and Heath appeared, both looking like predators ready to pounce, it lost even more.

I had to play it cool, careful. I hadn’t realized just how hard covering up could be.

Resolved to play my part well, I turned back to Lucian, but it surprised me to see him standing right behind me, absently stroking his black cat on the head, his brows forming a deep line of displeasure as he met my gaze.

Great. Esmeralda. Who’d let in that cat? Had she been watching me in the cemetery? She looked at me with knowing eyes, but I couldn’t tell if she was simply playing or if she’d actually witnessed something she shouldn’t have. For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be the mouse.

The seconds ticked on, and Emilio lost more control. Lucian moved away. When no fingers of blame pointed my way, I relaxed a little and began to enjoy the show once again. Oh, Lucian had been so right. Watching them suffer was far more satisfying than a quick knife to the heart.

I’d no sooner thought his name than I heard his soft, cultured baritone. “Cassidy. Follow me.”

It took every ounce of skill I possessed to toss a casual “sure” over my shoulder.

He didn’t even spare a glance in my direction. Spinning on his heel, he disappeared into the darkened corridor.

I followed. Or tried to. I couldn’t smell him anymore. It only took seconds to lose him.

He solved that one. As I passed by, he grabbed my forearm and, yanking me unceremoniously behind him, strode into yet another Night Terror chamber. This one was empty, save for the candelabra and its single candle.

I didn’t see Esmeralda anywhere. Was that good? Or bad?

“What’s up?” I asked, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on my hips.

Lucian pinned me with a long, silent look, the kind of glare that could give you a migraine. And then turning away, he braced himself with one hand against the wall, using the other to flick the candle flames. Again and again, he touched the flame, letting it burn on his fingertip before splatting it to the bricks, the flames making little fizzing sounds as they sputtered and died. Apparently, warlocks didn’t burn. Clearly, when they’d burnt witches in the past, they’d been barking up the wrong tree.

He broke the silence with, “I’ll grant your imp a temporary reprieve, but temporary only. I fear he is a case of short-term gain for long-term pain.”

Ricky. Hex it all. I’d forgotten all about the pest. Surely, he hadn’t witnessed my little doings in the cemetery? I held my breath. Cool, Cassidy. Play it cool.

Summoning my smokiest voice, I retorted an acidic, “Gee, thanks.”

The next instant, Lucian stood in front of me, moving quickly to hold my head between his hands. Slipping his thumbs under my chin, he forced me to meet his gaze. That gaze was unsettling. We stood so close, and for the first time, he didn’t physically respond to me at all. He was harsh. Cold. So very distant.

It felt like a knife in the gut.

“You should know that I will find out who set Dorian free,” he informed me in a low voice, his tone deadly. Dangerous. “You better not have had a hand in it. I will find out. In the world of the Charmed, nothing remains a secret. There are ways to find the truth. Painful ways.” The coolness of his tone only added to the weight of his threat.

I licked my dry lips. “I’m sure there are,” I agreed. Hex it, but he was too close to the truth. It was time for a curveball. And with Lucian, it was always best to stick to the truth as close as possible. “But you can’t blame me for enjoying this, Lucian. Just a little. After all that Emilio’s done, it’s a bit satisfying to see him have a bad day.”

“Dorian’s inflicted suffering beyond measure upon the House of Rowle and for centuries,” he answered icily. “But please, don’t let that stop your pleasure.”

Why did that hurt?

Dropping his hands, he moved away, staring straight ahead but still speaking to me. “I’ve been informed that you were instrumental in my restoration. I’ve deposited a nice sum of money into your account as a reward. A bonus.”

Money? His words strangely left a sour taste in my mouth.

“Your contract with me still stands,” he continued, his voice frigid, removed. He was still looking straight ahead. “Tabitha is a drake and an investigator unparalleled. She will lead our next mission. We will find out who freed Dorian, and quickly.”

Suddenly, I was grateful for the darkness.

Tabitha? The lead investigator?

It was already obvious how many suspects would be on her list before she even made it. One. Me.

Drawing on my inner monster strength, I coerced my voice to sound cool, in control as I answered, “That’s good, then. It’ll be over in a flash and then we’re done. Contract over.”

He turned at that, leveling an inscrutable look my way to grunt, “Follow me, spellfinder. We start now.”

He didn’t wait for me. Moving in long, quiet strides, he exited the chamber and headed up the stairs leading to the world outside.

I paused at the bottom step, gathering my wits.

So, the next mission would be to hunt myself.

Not quite the way I’d planned things.

I closed my eyes, summoning the ice inside my soul to assert itself and began to ascend the steps. Yes, my first whack at revenge hadn’t been flawlessly executed, but I couldn’t deny its success. Again, I replayed Emilio’s one-syllable responses in my mind, the fury and frustration in his voice. It made me smile. Yes, I’d gotten my first taste of revenge. Now, I wanted more. I wanted to extract every ounce of suffering out of him that I could.

I felt pretty pleased with myself—until I spied Lucian waiting at the head of the stairwell. One look at his face and an unexpected knot of remorse twisted my stomach. Gritting my teeth, I hardened my heart and followed him out of the crypt and through the tombstones to exit the cemetery. A black SUV waited for us in a parking lot nearby, and as we approached, the purple-lipped driver hopped out in order to open Lucian’s door.

Lucian waited until I’d buckled and the SUV had pulled out onto the cemetery drive before addressing me. “Strix has something of great interest to show us, spellfinder.” He didn’t turn my way but stared straight ahead out of the front window. It was strangely impersonal. “I need you alert. I will not tolerate one single mistake. Not one.”

“Right,” I acknowledged a bit distantly myself.

In those few short seconds, it was obvious that the dynamics of our relationship had changed. I’d known all along that Lucian would be collateral damage. I just hadn’t expected it to feel quite like it did.

The criminal barcode tattooed on the webbing of my fingers burned. I knew now that it meant Strix was nearby.

I grimaced.

I had the equivalent of the Nether Reach FBI after me, trying to pin a crime on me that I didn’t commit. And soon, the Rowle House Firedrake would be hunting me down, trying to pin a crime on me that I did commit. It was going to be difficult, but I couldn’t let either one of them succeed.

And what about the Mindbreaker? The Fallen One? Just what had I witnessed in the graveyard?

Suddenly, everything seemed just so muddled and messy.

The SUV pulled out onto the road, driving past a large construction site, complete with two cranes.

"Look up, Cassidy,” Dorian’s deep voice slipped through my mind. “Turn your gaze to the stars, my bonny lass.”

Almost mechanically, I leaned closer to the window and squinted up.

I saw him as we drove by, standing on top of the crane. His silhouette a sharp relief against the moon.

“Call me when you need me, my wee glaistig,” he murmured as we passed underneath him. “Call me, and I’ll come.”

But his words meant nothing to me.

I suddenly felt so empty inside. So drained. So … shattered.

Leaning back against the black leather seat, I closed my eyes.

Oddly, there was only one thought drifting aimlessly through my mind: just what did glaistig mean?

I should look that up.

* * *

Revenge is deceptive, leading one to believe that the end justifies the means. At first blush, it delivers a sweetness beyond measure. But the first blush soon passes, revealing the true price, hiding like water under the hay. The choice is to walk away or to dig deeper, much like a gambler, praying that the next round will pay for all.

The wise walk away.

Me? My first brush with success set off a frenzy, a near unquenchable thirst for revenge that would blind me to what mattered most.

And as for walking away … I wouldn’t be able to. Not without help.

The End

Carmen will be working on the next Cassidy Edwards novel, “Mindbreaker”, soon—right after she finishes “Heather House: Witch of the Moors”, the first in her new historical series about the Great Scottish Witch Trials and King James V of Scotland.

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.

And 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 Caine's website

Carmen Caine Collections and Other Books

The Cassidy Edwards Series

From Award-Winning Author Carmen Caine, a new Supernatural Revenge series.

Monster

Revenge. It's all I've lived for. Revenge against those who stacked the cards against me from the start. But I'm changing the deck now. I'm getting even. Born to a vampire, I wasn't supposed to survive--but I did.

My name is Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards. And I'm the first of my kind.

The Job

Trapping a sixteenth-century Scottish Highlander of a vampire who just might be seduction itself.

The Team

A firedrake with an attitude, a werewolf with a problem, and an imp in dire need of rehab.

The Boss
A dangerously powerful warlock as handsome as sin.

My Problem

Bluffing my way into a job, my first mission into the Charmed world opens a Pandora's box of betrayal and secrets ... along with attractions of the most lethal kind.

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.