Spellfinder

by Carmen Caine

  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 b
egan 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 perfec
tly 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.