by Carmen Caine
Was this Lucian’s strange hobby or something more sinister? Wanting to know, I took a deep, a very deep, breath.
Mana.
Faint traces.
So, the dolls were spelled, or … cursed?
Fascinated, I reached out to touch the nearest one: a plump matronly figure with a huge nose and purple hair.
Voices.
I froze.
Voices ascending the stairs, heading my way.
I glanced around, looking for a place to hide. Fortunately, there were more than a few choices. Darting to the corner, I squeezed myself behind several antique iron-banded trunks and waved for Ricky to join me.
To my relief, he obliged and, skittering after me, hopped up onto my shoulder to perch like the ghost of a parrot.
The voices grew louder, rising as if in anger. I strained to hear, but I couldn’t quite make out the words.
A moment later, light flickered under the door, and the knob moved.
Lucian entered, carrying the suitcase.
He was followed by a distinguished-looking man in his thirties, of medium height and build. A classic Italian face. Large Roman nose. Square chin. Dark hair. A slightly receding hairline. An air of danger swirled around him.
I smelled him at once, a strangely familiar scent, even though I was certain I’d never encountered it before. The thread of death couldn’t be denied. He was a Chosen One.
I stared at him, but the more I stared, the more a nagging thought grew that just maybe I’d heard his voice somewhere else before.
But where?
Lucian interrupted my puzzled thoughts by tossing the suitcase onto the floor. Turning to face the vampire, he folded his arms and adopted a belligerent stance.
“She’s already in danger of becoming essential,” he said in a voice of cool contempt. “That isn’t an option, and it wasn’t the point. Simply put, you never told me of her existence. And she shouldn’t even exist at all. How did she survive? I wouldn’t have risked it if I’d known. I wouldn’t have accepted the job. As dark as I am, I don’t murder children!”
“You forget yourself. Remember, I made you what you are,” the Chosen One replied coldly. “Do you think to question my motives?”
Lucian’s jaw clenched. He was angry. Livid, actually, but firmly in control. In a voice of the softest, most deadly kind, he continued, “You’re foolish if you don’t see the betrayal. And the results. It was too close. I had no defense. I could easily have been destroyed. I was barely able to activate the wards in time. A mere second later, and I would’ve been dead. When a curse returns to its master, there is no stronger or deadlier power—especially when the warlock is defenseless.” He couldn’t have stressed the words more.
The vampire didn’t care. He just yawned and wandered over to poke a few marionettes before pausing in front of the puppet of the priest and running a finger over its head. The vampire smiled—a disingenuous smile. Turning to Lucian, he said, “Then you would’ve simply proven yourself too weak to survive, Lucian. A warlock of your stature must handle the unexpected. How else can you prepare for Terzi attacks? I dare say they’re not in the habit of informing you first, are they?”
He chuckled at his own wit.
The muscle on Lucian’s jaw twitched. “You’re missing the point,” he almost growled. “If you withhold such things, how can I trust you? How do I know you’ve not changed your mind?” He suddenly advanced on the vampire and challenged, “Will you join the Terzi? Have you decided to embrace your Gloria once again?”
The vampire jerked and his chin trembled. “Gloria!” he shouted the name, outraged. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath before adding in a slightly lower voice, “Never speak her name. Not in my presence. Never. Never again.”
Lucian didn’t appear too intimidated. He tapped his fingers on his arms impatiently. “I understand you better than you think, my friend,” he murmured softly. “I’m no fool. I know why you used me to commission her. Why you had her turn your … shall we say, plaything?”
The Chosen One merely shrugged, but he looked a little less smug. “My reasons are hardly secret, you foolish boy.” He gave a laugh, but it sounded a little shaky, even to my ears. “One day, you’ll learn that a lover spurned presents a danger like no other. I couldn’t turn her myself. She would have become a part of my clan—would have linked minds and shared our thoughts. As an immortal, that would have been beyond foolish.”
Linked minds?
That little sentence revealed a wealth of information.
Could it be that only Chosen Ones of the same clan could link minds? But what did that say about the fact that Dorian had willy-nilly access of mine? Could I be a part of his clan? I was so startled at the implication that I nearly missed their next exchange.
“The portrait I’ve promised in payment is here in Venice,” The Chosen One said. “I will tell you its location once I have Dorian in my hands. I am waiting, but I have little patience left, Lucian. Do what I’ve paid you to do, already, and do it with haste!”
I blinked, surprised again.
So, this vampire was Lucian’s client, and his pay was the location of a portrait. No wonder Lucian was poor. But then, Ricky had told me that curse-masters used objects, sometimes portraits. Maybe a possessed portrait was worth a small fortune in the Charmed world. Still, it would be hard to pay the rent with it.
I glanced down at Ricky still perched on my shoulder but discovered he was distracted, his eyes focused on the window.
Alarmed, I followed his gaze to see the silhouette of a cat.
Great.
Esmeralda. Did she know I was there? Just what had she seen?
Suddenly and irreverently shoving the marionette he’d been stroking aside, Lucian’s employer clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the warlock. “Dorian is dangerous—ancient and powerful. And you are young, a child in my eyes, and consumed with revenge. Your power is still an unknown,” he observed dryly. “At times, I wonder if you’re truly up to this challenge.”
Lucian didn’t flinch. “Underestimate me as you please,” he replied with a grim smile. Waving his hand to the door, he bowed. “After you?”
They left then, closing the door behind them, but I didn’t move.
My eyes were locked on Esmeralda’s shadowy figure crouched on the windowsill. That cat could get me into a lot of trouble. Maybe, if I held very still, she wouldn’t detect me and …
Ricky shattered that hope.
I watched in horror as he hopped off my shoulder and skittered across the carpet, screaming at the top of his miniature lungs, “Esmeraldaaaaaaaa!”
I gasped. Why, oh why, hadn’t I crammed that little fiend back into his bottle the first chance I had?
In an instant, Esmeralda transformed from turkey-perched peacenik into a black fury devil of teeth and claws. Spitting fiercely, she lunged off the windowsill and pounced on Ricky, knocking him flat onto the carpet.
He screeched.
Before I knew it, I’d lunged into the fray. “Don’t hurt him!” I hissed in warning.
I needn’t have worried. I clearly hadn’t thought this one through. Ricky was made of smoke. How could he be harmed by teeth and claws?
But I didn’t realize it until Ricky sifted himself through Esmeralda’s paws and mouth, and reassembled on top of her head with crossed arms and legs, and rolling eyes.
“You’re a bit gormless—on the dense-side, eh, love?” he asked with his adenoidal giggle. “I had her distracted. It was your cue to escape.”
I thinned my lips in annoyance. “Nice job on giving me the heads up,” I scolded.
Esmeralda pinned her ears down and growled deep in her throat.
I eyed her with a wary expression. Her back was arched, her fur raised. She looked just like one of those black cats pictured in Halloween candy advertisements, only much more dangerous and decidedly more evil.
We stood there a few moments at an impasse, but then I heard voices once again.<
br />
The doorknob jiggled.
I didn’t hesitate.
In a flash, I dove for the window. Yanking it up, I tossed my leg over the sill and dropped down into the inner courtyard below.
The Silver Swing and the Dog-Eared Book
Hugging the villa’s rough stone walls, I headed for a set of French doors just a few yards away. They were open, and in the bright moonlight, their long white curtains billowed softly in the evening breeze.
I managed to slip inside just as Lucian called out from the window above, “Who is it? Who’s there?”
Like I was going to answer that one—voluntarily, anyway. No doubt, that dark-hearted beast of a cat had already informed the warlock of what I’d done. And I had no doubt he’d be furious. The only thing that kept me from leaving the house that very moment was Dorian. Doubtless, the kilt-wearing vampire was already waiting for me outside by the canal—and not to give me a handy ride to the airport.
Bumbling through the dark room, I headed for the thread of light running under the door and soon burst out into the hallway. I squinted, taking in unfamiliar surroundings. Just how big was this villa? Or was this a different one?
Well, I couldn’t chance that Lucian had followed. I charged down the hall, but when I heard a sound behind me, I ducked through the nearest door.
It was a library of some kind. No windows. The books that filled the shelves were leather-bound tomes, but the room itself was ultra-modern. It looked like something you’d see on a spaceship from Planet Bizarro World. A red-velvet chair in the shape of a hand. A fern in a metallic pot. Various red carpets dotted the cork floor. But most interestingly, in the very center of the room, hung a large round silver swing—like a gigantic, hollowed-out coin dangling in the midst.
I heaved a breath, intending to place my ear to the door to determine if I’d been followed, but I suddenly lost interest in everything.
Something was in the room—something beckoning me. Calling me. Pulling me.
I held still and focused.
There it was.
Soft. Delicate, with a thread of death. The trace of a familiar scent. A complex mixture that reminded me of my mother, the buried Terzi in the plague grave, and strangely, Lucian’s employer.
Slowly, carefully, I let my nose guide me and followed the trail.
It led to a book, of all things—a large, blue, dog-eared tome with gold embossing. A tree with winding roots ran over its cover and down the spine. Pulling it off the shelf, I hefted it once or twice before thumbing rapidly through the pages. I didn’t recognize the language; it was some archaic-looking script. However, in the middle of the book, I found an interesting illustration of a round silver swing, identical to the one suspended in the room I was in now. Odd. But most likely, whoever had read the book had loved the idea so much that they’d just copied it.
Hurriedly, I flipped to the last page. A dedication: To Gloria, the love of my life … Eternally Yours, Emilio.
I gasped, nearly dropping the volume.
Emilio?
Was it the Emilio I sought? And Gloria? Hadn’t Lucian just mentioned that name?
I sniffed the pages, but before I could resume reading, hands reached over my shoulder to pluck the book from my grasp.
“You’re not allowed in here,” Lucian’s deep, brusque voice rumbled in my ear.
Crud. Was I ever going to get used to the fact I couldn’t smell him? I wasn’t used to being surprised. And how had he snuck inside? I hadn’t heard the door open.
“This isn’t upstairs,” I responded in my defense. Thinking quickly, I added, “And I needed to find a book.”
His piercing eyes looked down on me, filled with suspicion as he hugged the blue book tightly to his chest. Bending down and practically planting his face in mine, he challenged, “A book? What book?”
Ricky chose that moment to slip under the door. Bless him, the little louse. Time to throw Lucian a curveball.
Pointing to my errant sidekick, I replied in a brassy tone, “I’m looking for something like An Idiot’s Guide to Managing Imps with Addictions. It’s your fault, you know, saddling me with this cheap bargain imp.”
Irritation flickered across his face. Good. Irritation was better than suspicion of the truth.
As he turned to the books, I escaped his immediate vicinity and headed for the huge silver swing suspended from the ceiling by a single chain. It was odd to have an indoor swing in a library, but it was surprisingly fun. I’d just hooked my booted heel on a comfortable angle when a paw slid around the door and Esmeralda pushed herself in.
Flicking her tail, she sent me a wicked feline grin.
Apprehension filled me at once. Had she told on me?
I shot Lucian a quick glance, but he was busily searching through the books. When I glanced back at Esmeralda, I could almost hear her snickering.
She was toying with me and definitely enjoying it.
For a brief moment, I entertained the idea of picking her up and tossing her outside. But I quickly set that thought aside. I only had two hands. She had four claw-filled paws and sharp fangs. Mathematically, I was outnumbered.
Instead, I decided not to play her nasty little game. I sent her my most disarming smile and then turned away. She could engage in whatever cat-terror techniques she wished, but I simply wouldn’t be intimidated. I really didn’t have a choice, anyway, but she didn’t need to know that.
From the corner of my eye, I could see her ears flick down, and as she made a beeline for Lucian, I decided to pounce first.
“So, this is as good a time as any to tell you I’m done, Lord Rowle,” I announced boldly, adopting my huskiest, smokiest voice—the one that had never failed to secure what I wanted from a male specimen. I smiled. “The contract is finished, and I must be heading home now. I’m sure you’ll understand if I ask for my remuneration now. It’s the best for everyone.”
“No,” came his curt reply.
So much for the husky-voiced attempt at nicety. Apparently, he was the one straight male immune to it. Figured.
Irritated, I retorted, “But it’s time you deliver on your end. I found your Terzi vampires. I’ve done what you’ve asked of me—that spell-finder detection stuff or whatever you call it. What about my information? What of Emilio?”
Selecting a slim, tan-leather book, he faced me with his lip curled up on one side. “Why this obsession with Emilio?” he asked softly.
I hesitated, but then answered honestly enough, “Revenge.” Revenge was something he could understand.
The look he gave me was a long, calculating one. He advanced on me, slowly. Each step as measured as the look in his pale, piercing eyes. Upon reaching me, he tossed the book into my lap and, gripping the swing on either side of its round frame, effectively caged me in.
Attraction, pure and simple. It oozed from every cell of his handsome, lean body. There was only one thought racing through my mind. What would kissing him feel like?
My eyes lingered on his carved lips before dipping over his tantalizing jawline and up to his eyelashes, exceptionally long ones.
Slowly, I met his gaze.
Again, the sensual gleam in his eye. There was no doubting it.
Just what was it between us?
He hovered there, inches from me. It was all I could do to keep from running my hands over his torso.
And then, just as abruptly as before, the spell shattered.
With a twisting jerk of his body, he unexpectedly turned away from me.
“Out!” he thundered, pointing at the door and not even bothering to look over his shoulder at me.
Unhinged—that’s what he was. An unstable, unhinged, and most likely mad warlock.
Snagging the book, I clipped the words, “Good night, Lord Lucian Rowle.”
I only left because I wanted to.
Imps 101
Once in the relative safety of my bedroom, I decided that Lucian was better dealt with in the morning. I still had a lot of unanswer
ed questions. In addition to the subject of my contract and pay, I would like to know if he knew more about my-controlling-mana thing.
And what about what I’d overheard in the marionette room? The Chosen Ones ability to link minds, and how Dorian could link with mine. Not that I could ask Lucian about it without revealing I’d been there—that’s if Esmeralda hadn’t already spilled the beans.
But I didn’t want to press the matter. Not right now. Not with the way things tended to spiral into the sensual so quickly. It was odd. Unnatural, maybe. Was it some kind of spell?
With a scowl, I clenched my teeth and gave a growl of frustration.
The mysteries of the Charmed world only grew more each day.
Plopping down onto my bed with the tan-covered book, I read the title: Imps 101 – A Beginner’s Guide to Handling Imps.
I drew a quick breath. So, Lucian knew I didn’t have a clue.
Curious, I skimmed the pages. The book was a treasure trove of imp trivia. They detested dogs, pined for human companionship, played with human emotions, held an insatiable taste for gossip, loved to play in fire, and considered peanuts a rare treat.
The part about fire really didn’t surprise me. Ricky was basically a miniature demon. He was only missing the pitchfork.
The section on addiction was by far the longest chapter in the book. Imps had a long list of weaknesses, everything from mental indulgences to the culinary. Turmeric was one of the worst addictions to break. Few imps were ever motivated to truly quit. Figured. Some of the mental addictions were surprising: Crossword Puzzles, Sudoku, and Poker. I made a mental note never to take Ricky on a plane bound for Las Vegas.
There was only one page devoted to imp skillsets. Actually, it was just a paragraph:
Imps possess a variety of skills that spell-finders find useful. They are accomplished escape artists and reconnaissance gatherers. (Quick Tip: Imps suffering addictions may be enticed to join opposing sides during relapses. Turmeric-addicted imps should never be trusted for this reason. See addiction section.)