by Carmen Caine
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 behin
d 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 str
uggled. 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
