by Carmen Caine
I saw Dorian’s face. His eyes were filled with concern. His strong hand stretched out to mine. “Don’t be wandering in the mists, lass,” he cautioned in his deep Scottish burr. “’Tis perilous. Nay, you’ll be best served by returning at once. The Nether Reaches shouldna be taken lightly.”
My eyes flew open. Mists. Soft blue, green, and pink clouds surrounded me. I felt light. Airy. Weightless. But most importantly, blissfully free of pain. I’d been dreaming of Dorian. He’d warned me about returning as soon as I could. Return? I cast a puzzled look around. There was nothing but mist as far as I could see. Was I caught in a dream? Or a dream within a dream?
Silence surrounded me. Complete, utter silence. I found it extraordinarily … comforting. A large cloud of mist drifted over me, caressing my face with a fine, cool spray. I closed my eyes, savoring its soft, refreshing touch.
It was relaxing.
Especially after being tossed off a rooftop.
Jolted back to reality by the sudden memory, I was about to leap to my feet when I abruptly recognized where I was: The Nether Reaches. I’d been here before—for a few seconds, anyway—on the day that Dorian had pinned me to the wall like a beetle on a card.
Cautiously, I tried to sit up. I failed miserably. I couldn’t move. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything beyond my face. Startled, I glanced down at my body.
And screamed—or, I tried to, anyway.
In my first, briefest of visits to the Nether Reaches, I’d caught only a glimpse of a white, ghostly hand. Now, I saw much more. My hands—if I could call them that—were skeletal filaments of light. No body that I could see. Just glowing strands of light vibrating around in the general vicinity of arms, torso, and legs.
I freaked out. And I mean, really freaked out. But it didn’t do any good. I didn’t have any control … or any vocal chords. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. The only thing I could do was sit there and stare in horror while the mists swirled around me. After what seemed like eons, I realized that my body was growing thicker, layer upon layer, gradually reassembling itself to solidify in the mists. Exerting every ounce of willpower I possessed, I forced my thoughts to calm and attempted to reason.
Emilio. The vampire had thrown me off a building. My body had suffered great trauma. Was I dead? From my last experience of taking a spear right in the chest, I’d assumed that I couldn’t die. That might have been the wrong assumption. Could a devastating fall do me in? Or did such a grievous injury make my transition to the Nether Reaches a rough one? And just what were these Nether Reaches, anyway?
Nervously, I checked my body again, and to my relief, discovered that my feet had begun to appear. Along with my fingers. I managed to wiggle a couple of them. As I did, the outline of my arms and legs took shape. I heaved a sigh of relief, immense relief. My body was retaking shape.
After a time, I gradually became aware of sounds, muted ones, as though I listened from under twenty feet of water. A few more minutes passed, and I found my hearing reinstated—and I immediately wished it hadn’t been.
Moans. Screams. Hissing. It was the stuff of nightmares.
A close, shrill cry made me jerk, bringing with it the revelation that I could now move. My body was no longer a semi-transparent work in progress. For the most part, it was functional. My clothing was beginning to form now, the last bit to make the transitional journey with me, but I wasn’t going to hang around for it. One more scream like that, and I was going to start a dead run, clothing or no.
The mists were so thick that I couldn’t see farther than three feet in any direction. And after several wobbly attempts, I managed to stand on unsteady feet, my muscles feeling like they were made of jelly.
The scream shrieked again. Closer.
I was about to hightail or wobble it right out of there—wherever there was—when a crack of thunder rent the air, and the screams abruptly ended in a sharp squeal.
Grateful for the temporary reprieve, I took a deep breath. I couldn’t smell anything, but whether it was because nothing smelled or that my nose had yet to be restored, I didn’t know.
The haunting melody of a flute began to play. It sent chills down my spine. It drifted in the fog around me, imparting a great sense of unease, and the relief I experienced when it stopped was immense. No sooner had the last note died on the wind than I became aware of a sucking, bubbling sound—like boiling mud. A quick check revealed that my boots—and clothing—had fully materialized, and that I stood in a gurgling, glowing puddle of goop, a few inches deep and about three feet in diameter.
The goop was fascinating. It was beautiful, like liquid mother-of-pearl, and it was oddly familiar. As if compelled, I bent down and dipped a finger in it. It was light, foamy, and cool to the touch.
Abruptly, my sense of smell returned with a vengeance.
Holy Crud.
The goop was mana. A thick, bubbling form of mana.
“Casssssssssidy,” a voice floated in the mists surrounding me.
Instinctively, I dove for my knives, but of course, they were still on the rooftop of a New York City building.
“Who’s there?” I called out.
There was no reply.
In the distance, I heard another scream, followed by a sharp crack of thunder.
The mists eddying around me parted, affording me a startling view of my surroundings. Countless pools of glowing mana goop in a myriad of colors spread across the horizon as far as I could see. It reminded me of a horizontal honeycomb. Some of the pools were quite large, and a few very, very small, but the majority were the same size as mine. The mixture of scents colliding around me was quite intoxicating.
I stood there, disoriented and unnerved as the mists fused around me, leaving me isolated once again.
“Where the blazes am I?” I gasped through parched lips.
To my surprise, a voice answered in my ear, “Home.”
I whirled. My reflexes much slower than usual, and the movement made me fairly dizzy, but I was fast enough to catch the shape of a dark shadow receding into the mists.
Odd. I didn’t feel like I was in any particular danger. Why?
And … home?
“Who are you?” I challenged. “Where am I?”
The voice answered at once. “The Nether Reaches, little one. Home of the specter kindred.”
This time, alarm rippled through me. “Specter kindred?” I caught my breath and swallowed. “Am I … dead?”
Laughter encircled me. Something—make that many somethings—moved at the edges of the mist surrounding me.
I saw their eyes then. Silver eyes, blinking like Christmas lights.
The helpful voice returned, closer, speaking from behind me. I felt its breath on my neck. “The Reaches are not a place for the dead,” it reassured kindly. “Only those wielding the strongest mana gain entry here.”
I spun again. This time, I caught a form hovering on the edge of the mist just a stone’s throw away. A dark shadow. Humanoid shape—with head and shoulders, anyway. The rest of the body faded into the mist, but the eyes stood out, silver eyes that chilled me to the bone. Glowing eyes. Unholy eyes that stared straight into the soul.
“There are many Reaches woven within the Earth,” the shadow spoke without blinking. “The Outer Reaches. The Under Reaches. The Far Reaches. The Deeper Reaches. The Greater and Lesser Reaches. And many more. Havens of the Charmed, all of them. This one …” Here the shadow tilted its head to one side. “This one is the Nether Reaches. The humans call this place the Mists of Avalon.”
I’d read my fair share of stories about the fabled lands of the Fae in Arthurian legends and elsewhere, but this was not how I imagined it.
“Very few can open the gates of the Nether Reaches from Earth,” the voice purred with pride. “You are powerful, little one. Very powerful.”
Finally, I’d found someone who appeared willing to provide answers and they’d have to be a bodiless spirit. I wasn’t sure whether to run, or stay and chat. Especi
ally, since after hearing what I’d just heard, I suddenly had a lot more questions.
But before I could decide, there was a collective hiss around me, and the shadows disappeared.
“Wait!” I called, stretching my hand out.
I stepped out of the mana pool, but the ground was surprisingly slippery. Like ice. I slid, seeking a foothold, but failed and fell facedown, landing hard and jarring my teeth. Catching my breath, I lifted my head.
The first thing I saw was a boot. Brown leather. White tendrils of mist curled around it like a living thing. The boot was attached to a man standing over me, alert and protective. He wore his long blond hair in braids, and under a dark blue-hooded cloak, his muscular form sported some kind of black chain-link armor. In one of his strong hands, he held a silver, engraved bow.
“Get up,” he hissed without sparing me more than a cursory glance. “Jaggers. At least a dozen of them.”
The glowing silver eyes reappeared, a little farther away this time.
A shriek rent the air.
The blond dude standing over me spun on his heel and, bringing his bow up, fit a small round ball of light to the string.
“Stand back,” he thundered in a voice that cut through the mist like a sword.
He let the ball fly. There was a flash, accompanied by a loud crack of thunder that vibrated through every bone in my body.
The eyes disappeared.
Two seconds later, they returned. More of them. This time, I saw three dim, shadowy shapes. I could see the heads and shoulders, but no feet.
The voice I’d been conversing with returned. “We’re not here for you, keeper,” it said. “We came to speak with our little one, Cassidy.”
“She’s not of the specter kind, jagger,” the blond dude disagreed vehemently. “Take one look and you’ll see she inhabits a body still.”
Those particular words disturbed me. Just minutes ago, I’d been bodiless. Hadn’t I? As if to reassure myself that I was now in solid form, I slapped my hands together.
One of the jagger shadows stepped out in front of the others.
“She’s here, in the Nether Reaches,” it responded disdainfully, obviously not too impressed with the blond dude’s logic. “She’s come home, keeper. Home to her kind.”
The shadow darted in my direction.
It could have been a threat, I couldn’t tell. The blond keeper apparently thought it was. Stepping in front of me, he raised his bow once again. “I’ll agree she came home,” he surprised me by saying. “But it’s nothing to do with you, jagger. She’s the Mindbreaker’s daughter.”
That took a second to register. “Mindbreaker’s what?” I asked in surprise, the words erupting on their own.
Both the jagger and the keeper ignored me.
With a laugh, one of the dark-shadowed jaggers drifted closer than the others had. I couldn’t suppress a shudder. It didn’t have feet. It hung in the air, the specter of a woman with silver eyes, no nose, but a wide mouth. Her white hair was long, falling down past her knees and with the consistency of straw. Tattered rags draped her frame, and her skeletal hands dangled limply at her sides. She was a ghost of some kind. I could see right through her.
The specter’s silver gaze fell upon the keeper still standing in front of me. “I’ll agree that Cassidy carries the blood of her father,” the specter granted with a dip of her chin. “But she is mine. I kissed her myself on the first day of her arrival. I claimed her before your kind found her in the pools. She imprinted as a jagger. You know this to be true. She is specter. Why else can she not die? When her human body is wounded beyond measure, she seeks solace as any child would. She comes home.”
As the jagger spoke, an image flashed across my mind: a mana pool, and in it, a tiny, sleeping infant sucking her thumb, curled in the classic fetal position—umbilical cord still attached. And then a shadow, bending down from the swirling mists, reaching down to kiss the baby on the cheek.
Frankly, it was disturbing. Mostly, because I knew it had happened. With a profound sense of certainty, I knew that I’d been here before, even before I’d been born. I shuddered. There was no denying that the jagger spoke the truth.
The blond dude at my side seemed to think so as well. There was horror written on his face.
Slowly, I rose to my feet.
The jagger drifted forward, stopping directly in front of me. Her two silver eyes, pinpoints of bright light. “You have the right to know your origins, little one,” she whispered. “On the day of your mother’s turning, your father’s blood opened the gates to the Nether Reaches, bringing you here, an unborn child on the brink of death. We all know this to be true.”
I nodded, dumbly.
Even the keeper didn’t object.
Pleased, the jagger smiled. It was gruesome. I guess because I couldn’t get past the fact that she didn’t have a nose. I simply wasn’t used to it.
“I, Justice, kissed your cheek,” the jagger reminisced, tilting her head to one side. Her long, straw-like hair blew about her face, mingling with the mist. “I claimed you for the specter kind, but the warlock’s puppet curse was too strong. Before your tiny soul could flee, his mana merged with that of the pool, sealing you and your new magic back into your body and forever binding you to him. His curse called you back from the Nether Reaches like a puppet on a string. But you are a jagger of the Specter Kindred. You smell mana as we do. You eat mana as we do. You control the mists as we do.” In a slow, jerking motion, she held her hand out in invitation. “Come. You belong in the Valley of Shadows, little one. Come home.”
I stared at her. Blankly. At first blush, it sounded like some wild, fantastical tale, a kind of randomly computer-generated nightmare, but deep inside, I knew it to be true.
And it was a little too much to take.
I didn’t need to reply. Somehow, she sensed my resistance, my denial, and certainly that I had no intention of going with her anywhere.
“Very well,” her voice swirled around us, rife with disappointment as she melted back into the mists. “We will wait. But you will come. We are kindred. When you need our aid, when you wish to wake the specter slumbering inside you, call the mists. The mists will come, and then those who harm you will see what they fear most.”
I stood there, speechless and unmoving.
With a loud, collective sigh, the jaggers withdrew, their silver eyes winking out and disappearing into the dark, curling mists.
As the last pair of eyes vanished, I turned to the blond dude still standing there, bow raised as if ready to launch another one of his thundering energy bolts. He looked down at me. And it was then that I saw the absolute hostility in his blue eyes. It made wonder if I should reconsider the jagger’s offer.
Slinging his bow over his shoulder, he flared his nostrils in disgust. “You’re not welcome here, Cassidy Edwards,” he spat. “Tell the Mindbreaker that we will find him. He can’t hide forever.”
I winced. Whoever this dude was, he was exacerbating my headache—along with this mysterious Mindbreaker. “Sorry, can’t help you out.” I snorted with a spark of temper. “I’m no one’s messenger, and I’ve never even heard of this Mindbreaker. As far as I know, my father was as human as they come.”
One of his fine brows arched in high skepticism. “Only a Keeper of the Nether Reaches can open the gates here,” he supplied disdainfully. “You carry his signature in your mana. Do you think we’d not know our own kind? There is nothing to doubt, foolish girl.”
Wow. His attitude was even worse than Lucian’s. What was it with Charmed men? I’d had enough. That was it, the last straw. After all, my day had pretty much started with waking up spelled with amnesia, only to then be tossed off a rooftop by a sadistic vampire. It had only gone downhill from there.
“You’re wrong, Mr. High-and-Mighty,” I growled, unleashing my anger. “I think I’d know. My mother just cheated on one guy … not two—” But for all of the venom I’d planned to spew, no sooner had those words left my lips t
han I snapped my mouth shut as a wave of uncertainty engulfed me.
It was Blair I was talking about. She wasn’t the most moral person on the planet. As my hesitation grew and the superior smile widened on Mr. High-and-Mighty’s lips, I struggled to shake off the doubt.
After several awkward attempts, I managed to speak with a renewed conviction. “No, it can’t be true. Both of my parents were originally plain ‘ol humans, nothing special, unless you’re talking about Emilio …” At that, I paused again, taken aback.
But Mr. High-and-Mighty nipped that fear in the bud. With an eye roll of disgust, he interrupted curtly, “Vampires can’t father children. They are dead. The dead cannot give life.”
An immense feeling of relief washed over me. And my irritation returned. “Well, proves my point then, Mr. High-and-Mighty or whoever you are.”
He inhaled a long breath through his nose as if striving to control a rising temper of his own. “Who I am doesn’t matter,” he countered coldly. “All that you need to know is that I’m here to send you back. You’re not welcome in the Nether Reaches. Do not return.”
I surveyed the kaleidoscope of colored mist drifting around me before facing him once again. “Believe me, I’m not interested in coming back here,” I retorted. Tossing him a scowl for extra emphasis, I added, “Chilling screams, creepy flutes, and ghosts aren’t my idea of paradise, and you’re not exactly the most welcoming host I’ve ever encountered.”
“I’m a keeper—” he began curtly.
“Well then, keep away from me,” I interrupted.
He visibly tensed. Evidently, he was a bit sensitive under all that bluff and bluster. “A fair warning, Cassidy,” he said. “Be careful of the path you tread. We’ll not allow you to instill the fear in others. Nor will we let you set the jaggers or anything else free.”
Instill fear in others? Was that what I’d done in Venice? “Thanks for the fair warning,” I said, simply to rub his fur the wrong way. “Now I know what to disregard.”
A mixture of irritation and alarm crossed his face. Deciding the sooner he was rid of me the better, he pointed to the pool I’d exited and barked, “Enter the gate, and I’ll send you back. And be quick. I’ve places to be.”