Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1)

by Carmen Caine

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

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

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

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

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

  “It’s a rehabilitee,” I began.

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

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

  Good. That was a relief.

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

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

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

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

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

  But it was too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  So, I had a kiss-up for an imp.

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

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

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

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

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

  He was supposed to be my imp, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Impossible.

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

  With a growl of frustration, I gave up.

  Ricky flattened his ears and glared at me.

  I glared back.

  So much for bonding.

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

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

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

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

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

  I continued to glower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  And how?

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

  A shiver went down my back.

  Apparently, he knew too much.

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

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

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

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

  He knew that he’d won.

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

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

  The Dangers of Turmeric

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

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

  I studied him intently.

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

  It wasn’t a bad way to wake up.

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

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

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

  I jerked, startled.

  Touché. There was no hiding my guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Muttering a curse, I rose to my feet.

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

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

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

  There was no response.

  I shook his bottle, but it was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Lucian apparently knew where he was going.

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

  “Hungry?” Heath asked with a cheerful smile.

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

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

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

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

  There was no denying that he was wickedly hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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