by Vivian Wood
Cassandra Chase stood in front of the full-sized mirror in her lavish walk-in closet, turning this way and that as she admired the stunning Rosie Assoulin skirt that had just arrived for her. The skirt was the most vivid shade of sapphire imaginable, sitting high on Cassie’s waist and falling in a smooth curtain to her feet. She’d paired it with a sleek, sleeveless white satin blouse, then pulled back her flame-colored hair, finishing the look with a pair of diamond ear bobs. A touch of blush on her high cheekbones brought out the finely wrought lines of her heart-shaped face, a little mascara emphasized her thick lashes, and a reddish orange lip stain accentuated her dramatic, full lips.
Cassie turned to the side once more, checking out her figure. She was tall and curvy, her bust and hips wider than they ought to be. Still, Cassie loved nothing more than truly beautiful designer clothes, so she bought the clothes she loved on sight and altered them to fit her sinful frame.
Everyone needed a hobby; women who rarely left the confines of their personal quarters, doubly so.
Satisfied with her primping, Cassie whirled and returned to the living area of her suite. The room held a beautiful gilded Anthropologie dining room set, a stunning West Elm-furnished library and lounge area, and a custom sewing and fabric storage area. Coupled with Cassie’s decadent bedroom and bathroom and the massive walk-in closet, these rooms were her entire world.
Her beautiful, carefully built, and suffocating gilded cage.
Cassie picked up a tablet computer and put on a new album she liked, the singer a fellow redhead named Florence Welch. She spent a few minutes humming along to the music and tidying up her sewing area. Living in such a confined space, Cassie was unable to abide any kind of mess. There was simply no way to escape anything in her rooms, so she kept them as pristine as possible.
It helped that her captors allowed her to buy anything she wished. If Cassie saw it online and thought it might amuse her, she simply had to ask. As long as the item would not help her escape the sprawling mansion in which she lived, held captive with a dozen or more other useful witches, she could have her heart’s desire.
Cassie had lived in the Birdcage, as mansion’s residents called it, for four years now. After the first year, she’d completely abandoned all attempts to escape. Pere Mal might keep her close at hand, and he might demand the use of her powers once a week or so, but otherwise Cassie had gained a kind of freedom. Sometimes Pere Mal even took her out of the Birdcage, brought her to meet important people at fancy Kith clubs in the French Quarter.
Cassie jumped at the sound of a soft knock coming from her bedroom. Biting her lip, she rushed into her bedroom, pulling her heavy wardrobe away from the wall. Behind the wardrobe was a smooth-edged hole in the wall, about three square feet in size.
Crouching in the hole, a wild look in her arresting navy blue eyes, was Alice. Cassie’s only friend and confidante, and a fellow Birdcage captive. Sparrows, they called themselves.
“You have to be quieter,” Cassie admonished Alice.
Alice arched a dark brow and climbed out of the tunnel they’d carved between their bedrooms, patting the two dark herringbone braids that bound her long, wavy raven-colored hair. Alice wore a simple but stunning black dress with white pearl buttons up the front and a white collar, no doubt every penny as expensive as Cassie’s own outfit. Probably a Rag and Bone dress, if Cassie had her designers right.
“We’re not going to get caught,” Alice said with a shrug.
Cassie pursed her lips, eyeing Alice for a moment. At twenty six, Cassie was only two years older than Alice, but Alice often had the maddening, unconcerned quality of a much younger girl. Cassie suspected that Alice’s youthful moments were the product of some touch of insanity, a place where Alice retreated when the world around her was threatening or overbearing.
Or perhaps it was all for show, and Alice kept her true self from Cassie as much as anyone else. In the three months since Alice had first dug a small hole between their rooms and started slipping Cassie notes, Cassie had yet to feel that she totally understood the other woman.
“You can’t know that, Alice,” Cassie said, trying to keep the impatience from her tone.
“Actually, I can,” Alice said, quirking her head to the side. ‘That’s what I came over here to tell you. I’ve finally found a way to send up a distress signal. Like shooting a flare gun, but with psychic energy.”
Alice raised her hand and mimicked the motion of shooting a gun overhead, and Cassie grew curious.
“I thought you couldn’t remove the wards on the Birdcage,” Cassie said.
“I can do anything I set my mind to, Cassandra.” Alice always called everyone by their full name. “You of all people should know that by now.”
She was perfectly right, of course. Alice had dug most of the tunnel between their rooms in a single night, using only a metal spoon she’d purloined off one of the meal trays sent up from the kitchen. Alice was both determined and fearless, a striking and sometimes frightening combination.
“True enough. You think you can really get us rescued?” Cassie asked.
“I’m sure enough that I’m telling you to pack up your favorite things. If I send up a flare, Pere Mal will be forced to clear out the Birdcage, move us all somewhere else. Once we get outside, we’ll stash our bags and then I’ll create a diversion. From there…” Alice raised her brows. “Clean getaway.”
Cassie thought it over for a second.
“Where would we go?” she asked, ashamed of herself. The idea of so much freedom all at once scared her. Other than Alice, Cassie had no one, unless you counted the junkie parents she’d run away from at sixteen. Her shitty home life had been the first of several factors and poor bits of luck, all of which had snowballed until Cassie had ended up in the Birdcage.
At least you’re not at one of the blood brothels in the Gray Market, she always reminded herself. Without your powers, that’s exactly where you would be right now.
“Anywhere,” Alice said, nibbling on her lower lip thoughtfully. “We could do anything we want.”
“And when are you sending up this signal?” Cassie asked.
“Oh…” Alice gave Cassie a wide-eyed glance. “Ten minutes ago, give or take.”
“Alice!” Cassie said, grabbing her petite friend by the shoulders and propelling her back toward the wall. “Get back to your room. If they see the tunnel, they’ll know you were the one who sent up the flare.”
Alice gave a sigh.
“Cassandra, you sweet thing. They probably already know. That’s why we have to escape.”
Shooting her friend a glare, Cassie pushed her into the tunnel.
“I’ll meet you on the side of the house, near that mermaid fountain,” Cassie whispered. “When they come to tell you to pack up, try not to let on that you expected them, okay?”
Alice retreated without another word, and Cassie pushed the wardrobe back against the wall with a groan. For a few long seconds she leaned against the wardrobe, feeling paralyzed, staring at her lovingly-selected bedroom furniture. Her gilded cage it might be, but it was also lined with soft, pretty things that Cassie loved.
Pushing herself upright, Cassie ran to her walk-in closet and began pulling down the things she couldn’t bear to leave behind. The pile towered in a few short minutes, and she was forced to pare it down again and again.
By the time one of the guards thumped on Cassie’s door, she’d made her selections.
“Come in!” she called, walking out into the living area.
“You’re taking a trip,” a grumpy, dark-suited guard told her, thrusting a pair of rolling suitcases into the room. “Be ready in ten minutes.”
Cassie only nodded, her heart thundering in her chest. The guard slammed the door shut behind him, the sound made Cassie shiver. She looked around the room for a moment, wishing she had some personal mementos to take along with her. Her fingers instinctively sought her necklace, a silver locket with a chain long enough to tuck the pendant under any
thing she wore. It was the only thing she’d kept from her family, the last gift from the beloved grandmother who passed away when Cassie was twelve.
Dragging her suitcases to the closet, she spent a few minutes packing. After packing her clothes, Cassie dug into the very bottom shelf of her closet and produced several thick stacks of cash, carefully cultivated over several years by pretending to exchange items she’d requested, then selling them instead.
After she split the stacks up and rolled them in t-shirts, she placed some money in each of her bags lest she lose one. Then she rolled the suitcases back to the front door and waited. Tugging on a long pair of lightweight, arm-length Burburry kid leather gloves, Cassie blew out a long breath and tried to calm her nerves. Her mind was in chaos, her hands shaking, her tongue dry as sand.
The idea of escaping the Birdcage was so thrilling, and yet…
The door swung open again before Cassie had time to complete her thought.
“Let’s go,” said the guard, waving her out the door.
Taking a deep breath and straightening her spine, Cassie grabbed her suitcases and walked out her bedroom door without so much as a backward glance, not wanting to give away her trepidation.
With every step she took, Cassie knew she was moving toward a whole new life. Perhaps a new beginning would be exactly what it took to set Cassandra Chase’s gold-caged heart free.
Chapter Two
Gabriel Thorne drew his long sword, lips moving silently as he cast a spell to enhance his vision as he prowled the depths of a long, pitch-black back alley in New Orleans’ famed French Quarter. At the moment he was stalking a foul-looking Drekros demon. The eerily pale, lumpy-skinned creature crept forward on deceptively weak-looking legs, its long, thin neck supporting a cruel head that was mostly made up of razor-sharp yellow teeth. Saliva dripped from its open mouth onto its hideous body.
As Gabriel stalked the Drekros, it was in turn stalking a pair of giggling college girls as they staggered down the dark alley, no doubt trying to make it back to the streetcar for a ride back to Tulane. The Drekros paused and raised its misshapen head, seeming to test the breeze. Gabriel couldn’t see a nose on the Drekros’s face, but that didn’t mean the creature couldn’t sense him coming.
The creature turned on Gabriel with a high-pitched moan, sending acidic spittle flying everywhere, burning everything it touched.
“Oh, did I ruin your dinner?” Gabriel asked with a grin.
The creature moaned again and stared at him, seeming not to comprehend. Perhaps Gabriel’s English accent threw it off kilter. Perhaps the thing didn’t speak or understand speech. Gabriel neither knew nor cared, he only wanted to dispatch the thing and go on with the last hour of his patrol.
Dawn would light the city soon enough, and Gabriel could return to the Manor and seek his bed, possibly after a quick stop at one of the Kith clubs to find a sexy paranormal bedmate. He was particularly interested in succubi these days, as long as they promised to play nice.
“Come on, then,” Gabriel said, thrusting his sword at the creature.
It launched itself at Gabriel with a slurping snarl, murderous intent plain enough in its beady eyes. Gabriel flashed the Drekros a dazzling grin as he cleaved it in half. The demon gurgled as it went up in flame, body vanishing with a bright flare of fire, brimstone, and smoke.
“Enjoy being back in hell. Tell your maker I said hello,” Gabriel said, though the creature was long gone. Gabriel pulled out a thick length of cloth and wiped the blade of his sword clean before returning the weapon to his scabbard. Tossing the cloth in the closest trash can, Gabriel headed back toward St. Louis Cathedral.
Only steps from the Cathedral’s hallowed ground was Spitfire Coffee, Gabriel’s favorite way to end a long night of patrol. The place was open insanely late and made the best damned espresso he’d ever tasted.
Not that nineteenth century London had boasted a lot of espresso, exactly. Gabriel’s original time period had barely produced and roasted the bitterest coffee beans, much less the rich, fruity, nutty flavors that Gabriel preferred in his espresso.
Walking out of Spitfire with a traditional macchiato, two shots of espresso topped with a dollop of milk foam, was the perfect end to Gabriel’s evening. He sipped his drink as he walked back toward the Manor, keeping his eyes peeled. The last hour of darkness was often rife with trouble, Kith preying on humans or on one another.
As he headed to the far end of the French Quarter and strolled up Frenchmen St., Gabriel’s mind wandered. He eyed several Kith clubs, but none of them called to him tonight. Perhaps his self-imposed three week dry spell would continue on, then.
Rhys Macaulay had ruined everything. A fellow Guardian tasked with protecting the city and the closest thing Gabriel had to a friend, Rhys had run smack into his intended mate just over a month ago. Bear shifters knew their mates on sight, and once they’d found their destined mate and settled down, the bear would never take another.
For some reason, Rhys’s exultant happiness after finding his beautiful blonde mate made Gabriel miserable. Gods knew that if anyone deserved a little goodness in their life, it was noble, loyal Rhys. But that didn’t stop Gabriel’s hackles from raising every time he caught Rhys and Echo making out like teenagers in some strange corner of the Manor.
Gabriel honestly wasn’t sure if it was envy, disgust, fear, or some combination thereof, but it had put him off one night stands.
“Just me and my coffee,” he mused aloud, finishing the last drops of his beloved brew and dropping the cup in a trashcan.
His cell phone vibrated somewhere in his tactical vest, and he fished it out with a skeptical grimace. Cell phones ringing meant there was a distress call from somewhere in the city. Distress calls meant dispatching Guardians to the scene. As the Guardian on patrol, Gabriel would likely have to turn right around and head back to the Quarter. Perhaps it was two werewolves brawling, or some weak Kith being threatened by one of the nastier breeds of demon.
“Yeah,” Gabriel said into the phone.
“You won’t believe what I’ve got for you tonight.” Echo, Rhys’s new mate, had taken on the duties of a sort of paranormal police dispatcher, and she always brought a bit of levity when she sent Gabriel on missions.
“I was guessing drunk werewolves,” Gabriel said, pausing at the corner of Frenchmen and Dauphine.
“Actually, I hear there are hot girls involved,” Echo said, sounding amused. “A bunch of witches trapped in one of Pere Mal’s bolt-holes, desperate for rescue. Right up your alley, basically.”
“What’s the address?” Gabriel asked. Echo gave him an address about six blocks to the northeast, in the St. Roch neighborhood. Gabriel could picture the intersection in his mind, a gentrification-heavy block of new and old homes. “Anything else I should know about?”
“One of the witches sent up a huge distress signal, and she mentioned Pere Mal by name. I’d hurry if I were you, before he silences her. Permanently,” Echo said.
“On my way,” Gabriel said. “Send the other two as backup, just in case.”
“Done and done,” Echo said. She disconnected the call before Gabriel could, and he slipped the phone back into his pocket and began to jog toward the address she’d listed.
When Gabriel made it to the area, there was absolutely no doubt as to which house he was heading toward. A ramshackle white cottage in the middle of an otherwise silent block was teeming with activity, drawing Gabriel like a magnet. The biggest clue was the squadron of anxious-looking burly guys in dark suits, a dead giveaway that could be found in any of Pere Mal’s operations. The guy might be a stone-cold killer and a lunatic who planned to rip apart the fabric of the universe in his personal quest for power, but he knew how dress his crew.
There were four massive SUVs parked in the street outside the house, and a few of Pere Mal’s guys were frog-marching disoriented-looking young women, handcuffed from the front door to the cars. Doing a quick count, Gabriel thought that there were already
almost a dozen witches crammed into the SUVs.
Gabriel drew his sword as he approached, his mind working quickly to determine how to take down as many of Pere Mal’s henchmen at once without harming any of their captives. Gabriel decided to stun as many of Pere Mal’s men as he could, figuring that if he freed the women they would take flight on their own.
The first surprise was the fact that he made it several paces onto the property before any of the bad guys even noticed him. Gabriel was almost six and a half feet tall, strikingly handsome, and magic was currently pouring off him in waves; the fact that his presence went undetected was a testament to the melee around him. Dozens of bodies moved in every different direction, men loaded luggage into the SUVs, some of the female captives sobbed as they were dragged to the waiting cars.
“Hey!” came a shout.
Gabriel saw one of Pere Mal’s guys push a tall, willowy blonde to the ground before drawing a firearm. Gabriel pulled a small vial of Mere Marie’s stunning potion from his pocket and hurled it at the guy, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
Unfortunately, the blonde chose that moment to release an ear-shattering scream of alarm, and in seconds Gabriel was defending himself against another half dozen men. He didn’t want to kill or maim any of them if he could help it, so he took down a few with blows to the head or injuries to the limbs. Killing demons was one thing, but he didn’t kill Kith or humans unless there was no other choice.
Gabriel turned to find two men holding a struggling redhead by the arms, wrestling her toward the last SUV. Another man followed behind them, lugging two large suitcases in his wake. The woman looked up, her soft gray eyes catching Gabriel’s gaze. There was something…
The world slipped away for a moment. Gabriel’s bear was usually reserved if not silent, taking a back seat to his human side. Now, though, his bear awoke, a distinct sensation of hunger and possession reverberating through Gabriel’s entire being.
Mate. The thought sung in his heart even as a sound of denial slipped from his lips. This woman, this stranger, was his only priority now. Her eyes were on him, pleading for help.
