Spellfinder

by Carmen Caine

  Dorian looked just like he had at our first meeting. Ruddy. Powerful. Rippling muscles. His brown hair curled around the strong column of his neck, falling over the soft green kilt so casually thrown across his broad shoulder. And his sheer, animal magnetism had survived as well. He was as spellbinding as ever.

  “You’re free,” I gasped.

  Bad choice of words. It only served to remind him that I’d been party to his predicament in the first place. The grin immediately left his face.

  Setting me down on my feet, he towered over me, rising to his full height.

  I went for my knives. I had them unsheathed, and the silver tips pressed into his muscled chest so fast that even he didn’t have time to react.

  The vampire’s green eyes widened. Flashing out of my reach, he tossed his head back and let out a long peal of laughter, punctuated by a few thigh slaps. When he finally looked at me once again, it was with more than a gleam of interest. It was with outright lust.

  Not the response I’d expected.

  He gave me a long, slow wink. “Aye, but you’re a sight for sore eyes, my bonny wee glaistig who canna be tamed,” he rumbled in his Scottish burr.

  Determined to keep the upper hand, I brandished my knives. “You’d better leave—” I began.

  But the next moment, he’d shoved my blades aside and pulled me roughly into his arms, crushing me hard against his chest of steel. “Ach, you canna look at me with those innocent, provocative doe eyes and not expect to be kissed, lass,” he growled before claiming my mouth in a harsh kiss.

  It was a hungry, devouring conquering of the lips. Clearly, he was accustomed to simply seizing what he wanted. And he was such a hot, raw, male animal, radiating such heat, power, and lust that I suppose few could summon the strength to resist him. I couldn’t either. At first, anyway. For a few blissful moments, I let his tongue sweep between my lips to dance with mine, an intense encounter of pleasure.

  But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I preferred something else. Someone else. And as hot as Dorian was, for me his kiss lacked the sensuous volcanic heat of Lucian’s that never failed to send my blood pulsing in a response that satisfied my entire soul.

  He sensed it. Vexed, he tore his lips from mine. “Who is he?” he asked harshly. “What man claims your thoughts, lass?”

  Like I was going to tell him? I shoved him back.

  I could see at once that his temper threatened to break loose. He reigned it in with great difficulty. Clearly, he wasn’t used to women who resisted his charms. But judging from the gleam in his eyes, it looked like he just might like it. “Ach, but I’m an unscrupulous soul,” he said with a devilishly unrepentant grin. “But the fault, ‘tis clearly yours, my lady, for snaring me in your net.” Capturing my hand, he lowered his lashes seductively to brush his lips over my knuckles.

  Over Lucian’s ring.

  He jerked back with a hiss, as if he’d been burnt. “Sweet Mary! What’s this?” he swore, his green eyes sparking under brows knotted in fury. “I know this ring. I know it well!”

  I imagined he did, considering he’d been the primary driver behind Lady Elizabeth’s downfall. I jerked my hand free. Evidently, freeing Dorian was going to be easier than getting rid of him. “You’ve got to get out of here,” I said. “Lucian’s going to be here soon.”

  Apparently, that’s exactly what he wanted. “The warlock moves surpassingly quick,” he observed with a savage scowl. “Aye, and ‘twas a curse of the blackest kind he wrought in Venice. I’ve a score to settle with Rowle.” Dropping his eyes to my ring, he added, “More than one. Have a care, lass. Do you truly know who you’re bedding? Your enemies are not those who hold their blades against you in battle, but those by your side, hiding their dirks behind their backs.”

  I winced, finding the words a particularly apt description for my own actions of the evening.

  He was sharp. And cunning. He read me like an open book. Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, he began to chuckle. “And what a fine kettle of fish we have here, aye? Two souls and a secret. This makes a conspiracy, lass.”

  I didn’t share his humor.

  He didn’t mind. Shaking his head in amusement, he added, “When yon warlock discovers you’ve set me free, you’ll have no choice but to run straight into my willing arms. Not even lust can survive such a thing, aye?”

  I brandished my blades again. “Then you’ll betray me?” I couldn’t believe it.

  His green eyes flashed at the insult. “Ach, wee fool, ‘tis not seemly to insult your clan, but I can forgive you, this once,” he retorted, anger flaring momentarily. “’Tis not me you should fret over, but the Night Terrors.”

  I tossed my head over that one. “True won’t say anything,” I replied, surprised at just how much I believed it.

  “Are you mad? Never trust a Night Terror. Dinna they betray you in Venice? Surely, you canna forget with such haste,” he said, surprised.

  “A lot’s happened since you’ve been gone,” I answered. I left it at that. I didn’t really want to explain it all and I wasn’t obligated to, anyway.

  A movement on the other side of the fence snagged our attention.

  Gloria. I caught only a glimpse of her slim figure shrouded by the shadows, but I could smell her easily enough.

  “Yes, Cassidy,” she spat at me. “Come a little closer, if you dare.”

  So much for her becoming all friendly and grateful that I’d set her brother free. Yeah, she wasn’t going to call off her assassins. She was going to double them.

  “Your ride’s here, Dorian,” I said.

  “A horse, lass?” He tilted his head to the side, bewildered. Ah, yes. He was so easy to converse with that I tended to forget he’d spent the bulk of his conscious hours in the Middle Ages.

  “Just go,” I said. “I’ve got to get moving myself.”

  “Don’t let her get away, Dorian,” Gloria’s hiss slithered through the darkness. “We’ve got to send her back to the Nether Reaches. The Keepers will see she stays there. You don’t know what she is. You haven’t seen what she’s become!”

  I froze in alarm.

  Dorian chuckled. “Aye, ‘tis heartwarming to hear your voice once again, even though you speak the words of a fool, my wee sister.”

  “You’re the fool,” Gloria disagreed vehemently. “You can’t keep her by your side. She’s a specter, a banshee—”

  “Aye, I know it well, you jealous harridan.” Dorian merely laughed. The next moment, he stood on the other side of the iron fence, folding his sister in his brawny arms. “I’ve missed you, Gloria, aye, but I’ve missed you, but I’ll not be allowing one hair of Cassidy’s wee head to be harmed, by you or any other,” he scolded her fondly. Turning to me once again, he coaxed me, crooking a long finger. “Come with us, Cassidy. ‘Tis the only way you’ll be safe.

  Gloria hissed.

  Right. My definition of ‘safe’ clearly didn’t coincide with his.

  Again, he read my response. I was going to have to take some poker lessons. And soon.

  With his broad shoulders deflating, he executed the courtliest of bows. “Then if you’ll excuse me, my lady, the past few months have been trying ones. I find I’m exceedingly thirsty. Our paths will cross soon. Fare thee well.”

  A sudden gust of wind knocked me back off my feet. I blinked, startled, jumping up to discover that both Dorian and Gloria were gone.

  I stood there a moment, astonished that I’d really done it.

  I’d freed him. And now? Well, now it was time to watch Emilio suffer and look for the next soft spot in his armor. But it was also time to cover my tracks and establish a bulletproof alibi. My hour was nearly done.

  It was time to hightail it back to the Rowle family crypt.

  I took off. It was dark, no one watched, so I felt no compunction to slow myself down. It must have only been a second or two later, and I’d almost reached the Rowle crypt when I felt it.

  That dark, sinister feeling.

&nb
sp; I stopped. Instantly. A ripple of fear crept up my spine.

  The Fallen One. It was here. And close.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Whirling, I searched the gathering darkness behind me, but I could see nothing in the inky blackness. I took a few faltering steps backwards before pivoting on my heel, deciding to make for the relative safety of the Temple of Nightmares when I spied something moving out of the corner of my eye.

  I whirled again.

  There, about ten feet to my left, and hovering about four feet above the ground was the Fallen One.

  The Orb

  The Fallen One floated in the darkness of the graveyard, just a few yards away, its moth-eaten cloak fluttering in the night air. Evil. Soulless. A husk of a creature. The visor of its black helmet was open this time, and out of its gaping mouth, protruded a long, demonically-pointed tongue. Its skeletal hands were outstretched.

  But not towards me.

  It was waiting for someone else. And judging by the shadows swirling in the direction of its gaze, that someone else had just arrived.

  I darted behind a large tombstone and crouched down to poke my head around the corner.

  The newcomer was already there, hooded, swathed in a dark cloak to hide any hint of an identity.

  The Fallen One apparently knew who it was. It moved then, sinking to the ground to prostrate itself in welcome.

  The hooded figure responded with a laugh, a distinctly male sound, and then slowly, ever so slowly extended his hand.

  My mind went numb, unable to truly register what I was seeing. As if caught in a slow-motion horror film, I watched the Fallen One lift its head. Its long tongue snaked out even further, stretching up to the laughing figure staring down at it. And then something began to glow from inside the Fallen One’s body, beginning in the stomach area and travelling up and out along the tongue to the very tip.

  It was small, an orb, glowing like a red coal about the size of a Ping-Pong ball.

  The hooded figure didn’t hesitate.

  Plucking the creature’s offering, he laughed again, a deep chortle of triumph, and then tossing his head back, swallowed the glowing orb whole. I caught a glimpse of his chin, but nothing more before the hood fell back over his face once again.

  And then, as quickly as he’d arrived, he turned on his heel and left, the Fallen One disappearing behind him.

  I don’t know just how long I stayed there. Just what had I witnessed? I huddled in the chill air, behind the cold tombstone, caught in some kind of time-warped state before a mournful call swirled in the air around me.

  True. He was calling me. “Casssssidyyy. Come back, Casssiddy.”

  Shaking myself from my stupor, I sprang to my feet.

  I’d have to crack this Fallen One mystery later, as now there were more pressing matters. Pivoting on a heel, I ran to the Rowle crypt.

  The Sweet Taste of Revenge

  It was close. True proved some form of loyalty with that one. I tore down the stairs as fast as I could, and I’d only been at Lucian’s bedside a grand total of about three minutes before a deep breath expanded his chest. His long, dark lashes swept up. And in that precise moment, all traces of his scent vanished.

  Strix had accomplished his mission.

  Relief coursed through me.

  Lucian was back—and growing stronger with each passing millisecond. Rising from the bed and already looking as handsome as sin itself, he swept his black hair back into a ponytail while tossing a cool nod at his white shirt on the foot of the bed.

  A Night Terror hurried forward, offering it to him with a deep bow.

  Taking it as if merely receiving his due, the warlock shrugged into the thing, absently clasping only a few of the buttons while directing his full attention upon his ward. Without even glancing in our direction, he ordered us away with a curt gesture of his hand. “Leave me,” he demanded. “At once.”

  There was no ignoring the authority of that tone, and I found myself exiting with the others, following True to yet another gloomy, sparsely furnished room.

  But we’d scarcely filed in before I smelled Emilio’s unique scent.

  My eyes lit in anticipation.

  A moment later, Emilio himself strode through the archway, pausing on the threshold. He was well-groomed, as usual. With a red rose tucked into the pocket of his tailored Italian suit and a long wool coat draped over his arm, he looked like he was ready for an evening at the opera. However, one glance at his face revealed that something was wrong. His eyes. They were unusually worried.

  I smiled to myself, gloating a little. Just wait, Emilio. You’re worried now? Just wait.

  “Lord Rowle?” the vampire queried, his voice concerned. “He is well, is he not? Has he recovered?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the Night Terror bowed reverentially.

  My lord? I arched a curious brow. I’d thought Lucian to be the only noble, but then, maybe True was just the flattering kind. Whatever. Settling back against the wall, I prepared to enjoy the fireworks. I hadn’t expected a front row seat to witness Emilio’s devastation. Icing on the cake. Simply icing on the cake.

  It actually happened very quickly.

  It started with a roar. Lucian’s.

  I knew what that sound meant. Glee filled my soul.

  The entire room took off at a run, heading towards Lucian’s room, but he met us in the hallway, breathing hard, holding the cardboard package out for all to see. And even in the dim lighting, we could all see that it was empty.

  Inexplicably, I couldn’t meet his eyes. I watched his chest rise and fall instead.

  Emilio was the first to break the silence. “Dimmi … tell me, what is this?” he asked, flashing to Lucian’s side in a heartbeat.

  “Gone,” Lucian announced, anger blazed in the brilliant silver-blue depths of his eyes. Facing Emilio, he cut straight to the point, delivering the words with a lethal calmness, “I warned you, fool. His curse has been broken. Dorian’s free.”

  It was better than I could’ve imagined.

  My first true taste of revenge.

  Emilio simply stood there at first, as still as stone. And then his face turned lividly purple, a beautiful mottled shade of utter rage. With his hand jerking up to violently slice the air, he screamed, “How? How? How?” His tone rose to a feverish pitch as he repeated, “How? How?”

  “Your own arrogance,” Lucian answered, obviously having no scruples over rubbing salt in wounds. “That idiot of a warlock you let get his hands on my collection—”

  “No. No. No.” Emilio shook his head in disagreement. “No, no!”

  Seeing Emilio reduced to one syllable words was priceless. Beyond measure. If this was revenge, then I was addicted. Permanently.

  Being careful to hide my enjoyment, I watched the vampire inhale, long and deep. He shuddered. Closing his eyes, he began to curse under his breath in a long string of Italian before switching languages to say, “He is a dead man, as is any who helped him. Dead. Morto!”

  A fleeting stab of concern momentarily snagged my attention, but I brushed it away and forced myself to watch him just like everyone else in the room, with a calm, steady gaze.

  “Lucian, you will investigate,” Emilio ordered hoarsely. “You will find out who did this. And when you do, they are dead. Morti! I will destroy them to the very last cell of their existence. There will be nothing left. Nothing. Niente. Nothing will remain of them or their families. Not one cell. Obliterated. Sterminate senza pietà! Without pity, I say!”

  In a deadly voice as cold as steel, Lucian agreed, “I will find them, Marchesi. And I will exact vengeance, I assure you.” Setting his carved lips in a determined line, he lifted his exquisite pale blue eyes and locked them directly … onto me.

  My heart began to pound, a rapid staccato of a beat that I was certain everyone could hear. Emilio ranted and raved a bit more, oscillating between Italian and English, but the entire situation began to lose some of its sweetness for me. And when Tabitha
and Heath appeared, both looking like predators ready to pounce, it lost even more.

  I had to play it cool, careful. I hadn’t realized just how hard covering up could be.

  Resolved to play my part well, I turned back to Lucian, but it surprised me to see him standing right behind me, absently stroking his black cat on the head, his brows forming a deep line of displeasure as he met my gaze.

  Great. Esmeralda. Who’d let in that cat? Had she been watching me in the cemetery? She looked at me with knowing eyes, but I couldn’t tell if she was simply playing or if she’d actually witnessed something she shouldn’t have. For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be the mouse.

  The seconds ticked on, and Emilio lost more control. Lucian moved away. When no fingers of blame pointed my way, I relaxed a little and began to enjoy the show once again. Oh, Lucian had been so right. Watching them suffer was far more satisfying than a quick knife to the heart.

  I’d no sooner thought his name than I heard his soft, cultured baritone. “Cassidy. Follow me.”

  It took every ounce of skill I possessed to toss a casual “sure” over my shoulder.

  He didn’t even spare a glance in my direction. Spinning on his heel, he disappeared into the darkened corridor.

  I followed. Or tried to. I couldn’t smell him anymore. It only took seconds to lose him.

  He solved that one. As I passed by, he grabbed my forearm and, yanking me unceremoniously behind him, strode into yet another Night Terror chamber. This one was empty, save for the candelabra and its single candle.

  I didn’t see Esmeralda anywhere. Was that good? Or bad?

  “What’s up?” I asked, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on my hips.

  Lucian pinned me with a long, silent look, the kind of glare that could give you a migraine. And then turning away, he braced himself with one hand against the wall, using the other to flick the candle flames. Again and again, he touched the flame, letting it burn on his fingertip before splatting it to the bricks, the flames making little fizzing sounds as they sputtered and died. Apparently, warlocks didn’t burn. Clearly, when they’d burnt witches in the past, they’d been barking up the wrong tree.