by Carmen Caine
“Then give it a go,” my imp advised. “Even with all those bits and bobs slopping around in there, you should be able to hear what note his mana plays.”
I wasn’t too keen on releasing more Samuel-stench into my apartment, but I knew it couldn’t be helped. When I unscrewed the lid, I nearly gagged at the smell that met my nostrils.
“How do I hear the frequency?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t know, duck,” Ricky answered, settling down contentedly on the countertop and crossing his ankles. He looked for all the world like he was having the time of his life—maybe he was. “You’re the specter. I’m the imp.”
“Yeah, thanks, didn’t know that,” I muttered sarcastically, squinting into the bottle again.
I heard him giggling in the background, that nasal sound that always grated on my nerves. Strangely, this time it didn’t.
“And you say that bint of a drake has the nanos and vials next door?” he was asking.
I didn’t answer him. I had frequencies to tune into. I struggled a bit at first. Stress, worry, even fear was setting me on edge. But finally, I managed to open my mind, slip into specter vision, and gaze at Samuel’s gray mana gobs.
The mana still lived. Somewhat. The strands wriggled slowly, gray strings, but here and there parts of them flickered like broken glow sticks. No doubt about it. They were disgusting. Nothing like the fine white threads of Lucian’s protective spells I now saw scattered about my apartment, a silver glistening web of defense. They were beautiful, and no doubt mana strands capable of making music. Nothing like the flat, gray, burping pile of goop coalescing at the bottom of the turmeric jar.
“Don’t think, just do, duck,” I heard Ricky say at some point.
So helpful—not.
I stared at Samuel’s mana again. Concentrating harder this time. My reward? A spasm of horrendous pain, starting from behind my eyes and radiating to the back of my head.
Giving up, I growled, “Not sure I can—”
But then I heard something. I confused it with my heartbeat at first, but as I concentrated, it emerged on its own, a low, rhythmic pulse. As I centered on the vibration, it grew from being just on the edge of my hearing to a loud, jarring bass, sounding almost like someone continuously plucking the lowest string of an electric guitar.
What the heck?
That sound wasn’t Samuel’s. I analyzed the gray goop just to make sure. I heard it then, a whiney, sneering snarl, reminding me of the warlock’s voice itself. Feeling heavy and strangely lethargic, I moved as if in a dream, and slowly reached for the strands of limping gray mana to pluck them like harp strings.
The first strand twanged and like a harp string wound to tight, promptly broke.
Lighter touch, Cassidy. Much lighter.
Soon, I got them vibrating on different frequencies. And after the first few tries, it was actually more of a letdown than anything else. All the fear and drama over that? It wasn’t even hard.
Pleased, I spared a few seconds to concentrate on the deep, pulsing beat again and sensed this time that it came from outside my apartment. From Lucian’s place? A side effect of his wards? Somehow, I didn’t think so. So what was it?
Shaking my head, I let my specter vision and hearing recede and found myself looking directly into my imp’s hopeful face from about two inches away.
“Well?” he asked, his eyes wide and unblinking. “WELL?”
“Bingo,” I grinned, pushing him back a foot or two and patting him on the head. “Time for step two.”
“Right-o! Did me a bit of MI5 nosing about while you were checked out, doll,” he replied, jumping from the countertop and skipping towards the door. “Bopped through Lucian’s keyhole, and we’ve hit a luck truck. The drake must’ve gone for a bimble, er … walk, because there’s not a gaffer in the whole flat!”
“Checked out?” I asked, stuffing Samuel’s mana jar back into my pocket. “It was just a few minutes…”
But it hadn’t been.
I’d lost track of time. Night had fallen. City lights twinkled through my window.
“Crud,” I muttered. “We have to hurry.”
Following Ricky, I strode out of my apartment and hurried down the brass-and-mirrored corridor to Lucian’s place next door. I have to say, Ricky impressed me. Imps—ones not ‘rat-arsed’ on turmeric—were dang useful.
As quick as a flash, Ricky streamed himself through Lucian’s keyhole, unlocking the front door just as fast as the warlock could unlock it himself. Seconds later, I found myself standing in his living room.
But I didn’t notice anything but the mana this time.
The instant I set foot in the place, strong, powerful strands of mana washed over me in pulsing, vibrating waves. The source of the deep vibrations I’d heard from my place. But what the heck? The scent was so powerful I couldn’t tell if it masked all others, or if there simply were no other aromas left in Lucian’s domain.
And as for the Nether Reach vials … well, I couldn’t smell them anyway, not when they were crammed full of my own mana.
“Great, I sure hope she didn’t take them with her,” I muttered. “Can you find the vials, Ricky?”
“Wager we can,” he chirped. “You go up the apples and pears, and I’ll have a look-see down here, eh?”
He sounded so happy that a part of me smiled before I zipped up Lucian’s staircase. The source of the mana and sound came from up there anyway, but when I actually found it, I could only stop and stare.
There, in the warlock’s bedroom, stood the Ring.
It looked just the same as before, just the same metallic, antique-looking ring. Well, to the naked eye, at least. But with specter-vision, it was quite another story. It glowed. White strands of mana radiated from it in glowing, shining threads. Lucian’s mana? Somehow, I didn’t think so. For one, I could smell it. And secondly, the strands had a slight yellow overcast in spite of their brilliance.
And the sound? I winced, wondering if the sound would shatter my eardrums.
Still, I felt almost mesmerized and unable to stop myself, approached it curiously.
But a strange thing happened then. With each advancing step, the throbbing in my head increased, keeping time with the deep, vibrations rolling beneath my feet. The pain was incredible. It felt like my mind could really break. Yet there was something familiar about the pain. Sooo … familiar, but I couldn’t place my finger on it.
Well, one mystery solved. I now knew the source of my headaches.
The blasted Ring.
Though what it meant was still a mystery. A spell? Lucian?
Anger rolled over me, an ice-cold fury. Had he been torturing me this entire time?
Compelled, I reached out and touched the ring’s frame. But the instant I felt the cold metal, I knew it wasn’t Lucian. Far from it.
Eyes.
Chilling eyes. Ruthless eyes. Cruel eyes.
All accompanied by the Mindbreaker’s symbol and the laugh of a madman chortling through my head, deep and triumphant.
I jumped, startled, and broke the connection.
Was the ring some sort of transmitter?
The laughter continued to ring in my head, exacerbating the pain, and with a choking gasp, I flashed back to the stairs—straight into a familiar set of rock-hard abs.
Lucian.
Mannaggia to Infinity
“What are you doing here?” I heard Lucian ask, speaking as if from a very great distance.
His palm brushed across my forehead.
Relief. Pure. Relief. At the first touch of his skin against mine, the skull-smashing pain wracking my head vanished.
I drew a long, ragged breath of relief.
“I’ll ask again,” Lucian’s cool, sardonic tones filtered through the haze in my mind. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
Yeah. Right. I wasn’t supposed to be here. “Ricky,” I said, licking my dry lips. Crud. I sounded as shell-shocked as I actually was. “Looking for Ricky.”
“This imp?” Strix asked from the kitchen below.
Great. So Strix was here, too? To drag me to prison?
Both Lucian and I peered over the railing to see the blond Nether Reach keeper standing before an open cupboard and suspending Ricky by the scruff of the neck like a limp, newborn kitten. Funny. My smoky sidekick even had a stony-eyed, paralyzed look.
Crud.
Those paralyzed eyes weren’t shell-shocked. No, those eyes were turmeric-glazed.
I knew things had been going a little too well.
“And why are you up here?” Lucian was asking. “If your imp—”
Whatever. Time for a curveball.
“Turmeric?” I turned on the warlock angrily, hands on my hips. “You know he’s a recovering addict! Really? You keep turmeric in your kitchen?”
Tilting his head to one side, Lucian crossed his arms and glared back. “May I say that you’re the intruder here, sweetheart?”
I shook my sparkling diamond engagement ring under his nose. “Really?” I asked, counting on the fact he hadn’t told Strix the truth about our fake arrangement. Not that we’d furthered the ruse much ourselves, but still, it was a card to be played.
From the glint in his eye, he hadn’t shared with the keeper that our engagement was a sham. I guess Strix had hoped Lucian and I would be spending our honeymoon together but separated by Nether Reach jail bars.
Bingo.
But as always with Lucian, things go off course really fast. He moved. Quickly. His palm slid up my spine, crushing me against him, hard, while the fingers of his other hand caught me under the chin, tilting my jaw up at an angle.
He kissed me then.
His tongue dominated mine in a pulsing, red-hot clash of the lips. A ravenous kiss. And in spite of the time pressure, one that summoned a carnal response from deep within me. Amazingly, I couldn’t hold back, even with the madness descending upon me from all sides. But then, this was a kind of madness, too. For a few seconds, I kissed him back, unable to deny an insatiable hunger. As my hands moved towards his hair, he tore his lips from mine.
“We’ll continue this later, love,” he murmured, his heated gaze piercing mine. “Something’s up. Emilio wants to meet. He’s inordinately upset and says it’s urgent. Strix, you wait here, but hand me the nanos. I’m taking them with me.”
* * *
Ricky’s relapse saved my butt not once. Not twice. But thrice.
First, by providing an excuse for being in Lucian’s apartment—that of hunting down a turmeric-jonesing little thief.
Second, by giving me time to collect my wits after that soul-searing kiss. Lucian waited for me by the door of my apartment as I poured my smoky partner-in-crime back into his blender.
“Thanks, Ricky,” I whispered. “Even though you’re a pain.”
And the third time he saved my butt? Right after my fond whisperings. My little wisp of smoke responded to my heartfelt gratitude with a burp. It stank. All of my warm, fuzzy feelings towards him flew out the window.
And it knocked me solidly back on course.
Right.
This wasn’t like me. I didn’t have time for any more missteps.
The headaches were wearing me down and almost as if on cue, a spasm of pain arced back through my head. Yeah, if I got through the night, I’d have to pay True a visit and see what he knew about that ring and my headaches. Surely, he’d be able to block it somehow.
But I didn’t have time to deal with it now.
I had to get my hands on the nanos and re-prime them ASAP. No more distractions, and that meant no more passion-inducing kisses from the sensual warlock lounging in my door.
Thankfully, he seemed to be of like mind on the kissing subject. As I joined him, he merely spun on his heel and headed for the elevator.
Alright, to the matter at hand. Emilio was upset.
It smacked of unordinary luck and opportunity that Tabitha had given up possession of the nanos to Strix at some point in her absence from the apartment.
Now that the little buggers now resided in Lucian’s pocket, I much preferred the odds of getting my hands on them. As we began our ascent, I scoped him out, trying to identify which pocket they were in, but he caught my scrutiny almost at once. Did the man miss nothing? Did he have eyes on the back of his head? Side? Everywhere?
“And?” he probed, arching an elegant, curious brow my direction.
“And?” I just repeated.
He sent me a look, one I couldn’t interpret, but the elevator zinged open then, and we were off to Emilo’s penthouse.
Instantly, as I set foot in his Picasso-lined study, I realized that Emilio wasn’t upset.
He wasn’t even irate.
Livid. That’s the only word that came near describing the utter rage and the naked violence writhing on Emilio’s face. His face was red. Purple even. A shade I considered strange. I mean, shouldn’t vampires always be on the anemic-end of the color spectrum due to the decided lack of blood pumping through their system? But then, maybe it depended on how recently they’d eaten.
With those thoughts oddly occupying my brain, it took me a few seconds to realize that from the moment I stepped into the room, Emilio saw only me.
Apparently, he’d just risen. Still wearing his crimson dressing gown, he leaned over his desk with his palms pressed flat on either side of the odd bookends I’d noticed in his treasure room before. I’d thought then that the clawed hands appeared to be holding big, ebony eyeballs—turns out, they actually were.
“The watchers saw nothing!” Emilio spat, looking only at me. “Nothing! Niente. Non hanno visto nulla! Why is that so, eh? Tell me, bambina, why is that so?”
I didn’t take him seriously at first. I mean, weren’t they bookends? Was I really worried about a pair of egg-shaped, marble balls spilling the beans on my little theft of an old book of drawings? Not really. But I’d scarcely thought that when my recent experience with the Perimancer and his rocks sprang to the forefront of my mind. My concern doubled as Lucian stepped forward and began treating the matter seriously. Crud. Wasn’t anything truly inanimate in the Charmed World?
“And what did the watchers miss?” the warlock asked in his classy, elegant way.
Leery, I subjected the ebony bookends—err, watchers—to a closer inspection, but they just looked like odd, claw-shaped ebony bookends to me. And as far as mana went, I didn’t detect a thing.
Emilio’s multi-colored eyes still hadn’t left my face. Continuing to watch my every move, he dropped his voice into a whisper and answered Lucian, “They failed to see the one who stole my book. Il mio libro prezioso! An item of irreplaceable, incalculable value. Incalcolabile. The loss…” He shuddered.
Irreplaceable? So his sketchbook was irreplaceable? Who’d have thought he’d miss his book that much? From the way he stood there about to blow a gasket, it was clear that the loss belonged in his ‘Rolls Royce just went over a cliff!’ disaster category rather than to his ‘Driver lost the car keys.’ one.
After the day I’d had, I was tempted to congratulate myself on an accidental stroke of revenge, but nixed that idea in the bud when Emilio arrived a few feet in front of me, as if appearing out of thin air.
“Why did the watchers not sniff the intruder?” he snarled, circling me like a tiger.
Yeah, he wasn’t scaring me as much anymore. True, he looked just like the doppelganger, but apparently, Emilio was just a wannabe. I’d save my fear for the Mindbreaker-original over the unhinged vampire trying to emulate his every move.
Feeling emboldened, I summoned my own belligerent brand of sarcasm and challenged, “How would I know? Ask the big eyeballs yourself, maybe?”
Hostility flared in his eyes. Yeah, not what I wanted to see there—not unless I wanted to end up pinned against the wall again. No time to play the part of Tail in the donkey game right now. Cassidy, control your impulses!
But Emilio didn’t manhandle me this time. Instead, he stepped closer. “Perhaps you should do
the asking, eh?” he growled in turn, baring his fangs. “Please, please. Ask them. Ti prego!” He stepped aside then and extended his hand in invitation.
I glanced at the ebony eyeball bookends sitting on the desk.
“And how can she speak with them?” Lucian inserted in a biting tone. “The watchers are primed to communicate with and filter your mana only.”
Well, that was useful to know.
So, Emilio was obviously trying to trap me. And why was he suspicious about me? Most likely, my mother must’ve squealed about my previous visit to his precious little room. Anything for her Emilio. I eyed the watchers sourly, wondering just what he’d managed to extract from them. As soon as things calmed down, I was going to squeeze a Charmed crash course out of Ricky—if I could keep him away from turmeric long enough. Winging it from crisis to crisis was exhausting.
Apparently to illustrate the point, Lucian strode to the desk and waved his hands over the statues. They didn’t respond. Not until his hand passed between them. The instant that happened, the statues began to shriek, emitting a high-pierced wail that threatened to destroy my eardrums.
“Silence,” Emilio hissed the single word.
The disturbing statues went mute at once.
“They’re functioning as encoded,” Lucian announced. “Only you can take whatever they guard without tripping the alarm.”
Cripes. Some form of Charmed laser security system? Strange. Why hadn’t they gone off for me? I’d been lucky.
“My book,” Emilio whispered, flashing back to his desk. “It is missing.”
He sounded lost. Pitiful, almost. I knew I’d replay that moment, again and again—as soon as the Nano Crisis was over. But right now, I couldn’t let myself enjoy it much.
“Who has committed this deed … it is unforgiveable,” Emilio was still ranting, tapping the top of a watcher eyeball with his finger. “Imperdonabile! A costly mistake!” Again, the vampire narrowed his gaze my way even while conversing with Lucian, “You have a Nether Reach keeper on your team, Lucian. Use him. He can extract the mana signature of the one who stole my book, the one capable of lulling the eye of a watcher to sleep.”
Lucian arched a skeptical brow. “Few are powerful enough to fool a watcher,” he disagreed. “It’s more likely you misplaced your book.”
