Spellfinder

by Carmen Caine

  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 a
ction 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 commande
ered 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.