Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1)

by Carmen Caine

  The corner of his lip lifted into a mocking smile. “Then I’ll just not send Emilio Marchesi that message,” he began nonchalantly.

  Yes, there was nothing that could change my mind—except that.

  He knew it. From the smug smile on his face, he knew he had hooked me.

  “Where is Emilio?” I asked.

  Could it be, after all this time, I’d finally found a lead?

  “Really, my dear.” Lucian gave a superior chuckle. “I can deliver on my side. You know who I am. But it is customary that you deliver on your part of the bargain before getting paid, is it not?”

  I sent him a dark glare.

  Was this aggravatingly sexy warlock playing with me, or did he really know where Emilio was? And did I honestly have a choice other than to trust him? At least for the moment, anyway.

  “Very well then,” Lucian said with a crisp nod as he adjusted his cloak. Striding to the door, he paused and, turning back, added, “Now that things are cleared up between us, I expect the contract to be followed to the letter. The plane leaves in four hours. Be there on time. I detest waiting.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  I hurried after him, poking my head out the door to look both ways up and down the street, but the only moving thing I saw was a small black cat slipping over the chain-linked fence across the street. Was it his?

  I swore under my breath.

  Yeah. His visit had really cleared things up. I wondered if all warlocks were as vague, devious, and supremely irritating, or if Lucian had cornered that market all on his own.

  Returning to my apartment, I eyed the manila envelope with suspicion. It didn’t smell unusual, but then, I didn’t really expect it to. I’d never smelled mana on inanimate objects before.

  But a lot had happened in the past twenty-four hours. In my book, all bets were off.

  I found it thrilling.

  At long last, I’d finally made a legitimate step in finding out more about Emilio. For the last six years, I’d read every book to do with vampires I could find. I’d surfed through every internet forum, reading and discussing vampirism with countless people, even those claiming to be Chosen Ones themselves. And I’d faithfully tracked down each and every one of them.

  All of them had turned out to be humans and more than a few of them, mentally ill.

  After all of that work, I hadn’t gotten any closer to finding Emilio. I hadn’t even found anyone who’d heard of him.

  Until Lucian.

  It was too good of a lead to turn down.

  “It’s just one job,” I said aloud. “A couple of weeks”

  I couldn’t see it lasting longer.

  Grabbing the manila envelope, I ripped it open and dumped the contents. A thick wad of cash rolled out onto the table, and I found myself grinning. I’d never seen that much money in one place before, let alone had called it my own.

  “Lucian, devil though you may be, you have yourself a deal!” I laughed aloud.

  Drawing a knife, I used the blade to poke through the rest of the envelope’s contents: an itinerary for a trip to Venice, departure: four hours. A passport for Cassidy Edwards—it had to be forged, but it looked real enough, a crystal vial on a silver chain, and finally, an aged, brass skeleton key.

  How positively gothic.

  The key fascinated me. When I touched it, I felt something vibrate. There had to be mana in it, I was certain. So, mana could be infused with an object. There wasn’t enough for me to even bother trying to extract. It would be like trying to sate your hunger with a single grain of spelt.

  It didn’t take me long to get ready; I had packed my meager belongings in less than a half an hour.

  I certainly wasn’t going to miss that dingy studio.

  Tossing some bills to cover my back-rent in full, I left my pickle-scented apartment without a backwards glance.

  It was getting late. Darkness had fallen. I squared my shoulders and headed for the bus stop.

  It was then that I smelled her.

  My mother.

  Leaving Philly

  I’d seen my mother only twice since I’d left her house in New York four years ago. Both times, I’d been the one to seek her out; she’d never reached out to me. She was always on the move and never interested in my doings.

  But there was no doubting her unique scent filling the night air, the curious mixture of what seemed like a sickly young man—must be her latest victim—and the spicy fragrance of death that was uniquely Blair.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and honed in on the direction. It came from the left. She was close by.

  Was she waiting for me?

  That was a first.

  Dragging my suitcase behind me, I followed her trail around the corner to a rundown diner with a humming neon sign flashing to the world outside that it was open.

  The single bell gave an anemic clang as I pushed the door back and stepped inside.

  The place was a dive. Cold, greasy burger leftovers scattered the surfaces of the empty tables plastered with dried ketchup and who knows what else. It didn’t matter. There weren’t any customers that I could see. I supposed the cockroaches skittering by the floor baseboards helped with that.

  Blair’s scent was overwhelming.

  “Cassidy,” she suddenly whispered from behind me.

  The coolness of her breath never failed to send chills down my spine.

  I turned to look at her.

  She was gorgeous, as usual. Long, dark hair. A model-perfect smile. Big brown eyes, and a slim, svelte figure. She hadn’t changed a bit since I’d seen her last. But then, she was a vampire. She didn’t age.

  “You haven’t changed,” she said the same of me. “It’s as I suspected. You won’t grow any older now.”

  I raised a brow. I’d never really wondered about my lifespan before. I was too hungry and consumed with revenge to bother worrying about that.

  “Blair,” I said with a nod. “What are you doing here?”

  Her lips thinned with displeasure at my abrupt greeting. I honestly don’t know what else she expected. Waving her hand to a dark, winding staircase at the back of the room, she motioned for me to precede her.

  On the third step, I smelled the mana of the young man that my mother had apparently just bitten. He was still alive. Apparently, she’d taken only a nip, not enough to turn him into a Chosen One. But maybe she wasn’t finished with him yet.

  His scent grew stronger with each step. I found him in the first room by the top of the stairs. He turned out to be a sandy-haired man in his early twenties, decked out in black leather, tattoos, and body-piercings. He lay on a stained mattress on the floor in the corner. A broken window shade hung over the open window. I could tell from his scent that he was under the influence of drugs and who knows what else.

  The thought of dining on him made my stomach queasy. I looked at my mother in surprise.

  She read my unspoken question and replied with the last words I’d expected. “This is Terzi territory,” she clarified with a shrug. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

  “Terzi?” I seized the word, setting my suitcase down on the floor with a thump.

  My mother was the last one I would have thought to ask about the Terzi.

  She brushed her hair back from her face, as if primping for a party and, beginning to fan herself, explained, “It’s why I’m here. You’ve gotten yourself involved with the wrong crowd, Cassidy. The Terzi aren’t the kind to cross.”

  I still couldn’t get over the fact that my mother was standing there, warning me about anything, let alone these mysterious Terzi who apparently controlled the food supply around my apartment.

  “And what about you?” I asked, pointing to the stoned musician now snoring on the mattress. “If you’re not their enemy, then why are you forced to eat that?”

  Blair had always hated being challenged. Clearly, she still did. Drawing her perfectly plucked brows into a straight line, she snapped, “I’m an Undeci
ded. I still have a few years before I’m even eligible to join a clan. And until I do, I must tread carefully when I enter a clan’s feeding grounds. You should know this by now, after all of the information they’ve told me that you’ve gathered.”

  Another surprise.

  So, my vampire research had actually gotten the attention of real vampires, and these Terzi no less. It was a bit unfair they took offense, since I hadn’t really learned that much.

  Knowing I wouldn’t get any useful information out of my mother by making her angry, I switched tactics and adopted a more neutral tone. “I’m afraid I haven’t learned what they think I have,” I said honestly enough. “I’d never even heard of the Terzi until this afternoon.”

  She drew a deep breath in the attempt to calm her own temper before replying, “This morning, I was contacted by a Terzi, and she made it clear those that anger the Terzi don’t last long, Cassidy. And your doings this day have angered them tremendously.”

  My doings. My joining Lucian’s mission? I just shook my head. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?” I asked, switching subjects for a moment. “You let me think I was alone in the world. That there aren’t any others like me—”

  Quicker than lightning, her hand flashed out to latch onto mine. “You are alone, Cassidy,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder as if she were afraid she could be overheard. “There’s no one else like you. That’s why I’m here.”

  “But the warlocks,” I whispered back in protest. “And the firedrakes, the—”

  She interrupted me again. “I didn’t know the Charmed existed, either. There are many supernatural creatures living amongst these humans. They’re spelled to appear human. It’s why we never knew of their existence, Cassidy. We didn’t know how to look for them.”

  Spelled? Who knew my mother could be such a treasure trove of information.

  “How do you know so much now?” I asked bluntly.

  She faltered. Averting her eyes, she cleared her throat. “It was … well, after you left, Cassidy. They … the Chosen Ones, sent someone … to explain ...”

  Cripes. From her guilty expression, I knew just exactly who that someone had been. Emilio. I could barely suppress a growl. I knew very well that if given a choice between me and Emilio just exactly who she’d pick.

  It wouldn’t be me.

  But I wouldn’t get any useful information from my mother by cutting into that festering wound. I settled for gnashing my teeth and forcing my lips to remain shut out of sheer willpower.

  There was an extended, stilted silence.

  Finally, she dug her fingers into my flesh and lowered her voice even more. “But none of them, Cassidy,none of them are like you. You weren’t supposed to survive. No one knows what you truly are, what your true potential is. You have to run from here. You can’t let them discover who you are.”

  “Just who am I?” I asked her, aggravated with her cryptic warning. “Do you even know? What are you so worried about?”

  She shook her head. Her nostrils flared.

  I recognized the end when I saw it. Apparently, that was all I was going to get out of her. Well, if that was all she was going to divulge, then I was wasting my time. Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I picked it up.

  “Well then, it was nice seeing you,” I told her in clipped tones. “Thanks for the Terzi-warning, but I’ve got a short-term gig for some necessary cash. And I’m going to develop my own relationships with these Charmed characters. You know, misfits like me. And maybe they’ll give me a bit of useful information for once.”

  I saw the fear in her eyes then. She knew I was talking about Emilio.

  So, that was why she wanted to stop me, why she’d braved the feeding grounds of the Terzi territory—to dissuade me from joining Lucian.

  She was protecting Emilio. She didn’t want me to find him.

  Clenching my jaw in disgust, I banged my suitcase down the stairs and slammed the door of the diner so hard behind me that the glass shattered.

  I didn’t care, though.

  My mother could deal with it, and the place really was in need of some fresh air.

  The Rehab Imp

  Tabitha met me at the airport bus stop. She didn’t say anything until the bus pulled away and we were alone.

  “You really don’t know anything about the Charmed,” were the first words out of her mouth.

  I waited. I wasn’t sure where she was going with it. Threat? Superiority complex? Boredom? A mixture of all three?

  When she remained silent, I decided to fish for hints and prompted, “And?”

  She just glared at me as if placing me on probation. Maybe she was. At least I wasn’t her outright enemy—yet.

  Muttering a sarcastic, “Thanks, so helpful,” I glanced around, wondering why Lucian had sent her to pick me up when he’d explicitly warned me to avoid her company.

  After a moment, I noticed Heath—still wearing a Hawaiian shirt—standing near the escalators, practicing his golf swing with an imaginary club.

  Ignoring Tabitha, I headed his way.

  Heath greeted me with an easy-going grin. “Good timing,” he said, tapping the face of his watch. “We can swing by and pick up your stuff before heading out to the plane.”

  “I’ve already got my stuff,” I said, wiggling the handle of my suitcase. That and my knives—knives I was going to wait until the very last second to pack before getting onto the plane.

  “Wrong stuff,” he said with a smile. Stretching out his hand, he asked, “So, let’s see your key.”

  Unzipping my suitcase, I handed him the brass skeleton key from the manila envelope. “This one?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said, twirling it around his finger as he nodded at a black sports car parked illegally by the curb. “Hop in. It’s not far,” he said.

  Tabitha squinted at the key. “Bertha’s,” she said to no one in particular.

  It turned out Bertha’s was actually the name of a small yarn shop right down the street from the airport terminal. To my surprise, it didn’t close until 2:00am. Wondering what kind of yarn shop kept such odd hours, I followed Heath and Tabitha inside to be greeted by a pleasant, woolly smell. Skeins of various colored yarn were crammed into every nook and cranny, and spinning wheels hung from the ceiling.

  Several women browsed through shelves of knitting patterns. One of them waved us to a door in the back.

  Descending squeaking stairs down into the basement, we arrived in a small room. It was empty except for a wooden counter placed before a huge steel vault with a narrow reinforced door.

  “You’re finally here,” a voice sounded from inside the vault.

  A moment later, a freckle-faced, middle-aged woman with a blonde ponytail appeared.

  Nodding his head in greeting, Heath gave her a friendly, “Good evening, Bertha!”

  “You’re finally here,” she grumbled, extending her hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Heath dropped the key into her palm.

  “Oh, an imp,” Bertha muttered, squinting at the key.

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. “An imp?” I repeated, looking at Heath.

  He nodded, pushing his blond hair back from his tanned face. “’finders get imps,” he said. “Tools of the trade. It’s a cool deal. A real cool deal.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant the imps or the trade. Or if he was even sure what he meant himself.

  “It does matter which imp you receive,” Tabitha suddenly spoke up. “The Grade A and B imps have all gone over to the Terzi.”

  There they were again, the Terzi. But I was more interested in imps right now than the opposing side. “So, we’re getting Grade C?” I asked.

  Tabitha smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, and she didn’t bother to respond.

  I sent her what was becoming a standard look of annoyance and then turned my attention back to the ponytailed Bertha who was still inspecting the key.

  She breathed on it a couple of times and rubbed it
with the hem of her shirt. “Got a light?” she asked Heath.

  As he beamed his cellphone onto her hand, she studied what looked like a serial number engraved on the key’s shaft.

  “Ah, it’s that one,” she suddenly said, perking up for the first time to look over at me with interest. “You’re a courageous young gal now, aren’t you?”

  Crud. I didn’t like where this was going. “Why?” I asked. “What grade am I getting?”

  “Grade?” Bertha snorted. “You’ll see.” Tossing a grin over her shoulder, she disappeared through the vault door.

  “What does that mean?” I asked Heath.

  I wasn’t really surprised when he just turned his hands palms up and shrugged. Tabitha wasn’t helpful, either, but then, I wasn’t surprised by that, either.

  Bertha returned and thumped a tiny red clay bottle with a battered cork onto the counter.

  “Here you go,” she said with an unconcealed sigh of relief. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see this one go.”

  I picked up the tiny bottle and held it at arm’s length. I couldn’t see any letters on it, nothing to proclaim its grade, although there was some kind of Arabic-looking script running along its base.

  I frowned, puzzled.

  “It’s a rehab,” the woman informed me before I could ask.

  A rehab? “A rehabilitated imp?” I asked, astonished.

  Bertha and Tabitha both grinned in a way I didn’t appreciate.

  Heath looked more sympathetic.

  “What grade is it now, then?” I asked, feeling cheated. “D? F?”

  “A rehab is short for rehabilitee, but I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” Heath said, trying to sound optimistic.

  So, it hadn’t even been rehabilitated yet. It was an imp with some kind of problem. Great.

  “Rehabs are ungraded,” Tabitha took great pleasure in informing me then. “They’re the rejects, the trouble-causers. They’re cheaper than the others because they’re so unstable. Not exactly trustworthy.”

  “Figured as much.” I snapped.

  In a darkening mood, I stuffed the imp bottle into my suitcase and followed Heath and Tabitha back to the car.