by Carmen Caine
Reserve judgment? Courtesy? Was that arrogant pile of nonsense supposed to be some magnanimous display of kindness? I rolled my eyes at him. It was so very Lucian to saddle me with a defective sidekick and then hold me responsible, but I held my tongue out of respect for Heath.
We left the apartment then, heading back to the elevators and down to the street below. Night was falling and the wind had a bite to it. I buried my chin in my jacket and waited for the taxi, wondering what Lucian had against having a car of his own. Thankfully, the cab appeared almost at once and in moments, we’d bundled inside. The evening rush hour was in full force, but every traffic light we approached flipped to green with such regularity that I figured Lucian must be pulling some kind of trick.
Sooner than I’d have thought possible, we’d been dropped off across the street from the gray-bricked Capelli Theater on West 52nd Street. The early evening theater crowd already roamed the sidewalks, and I couldn’t resist smacking my lips in anticipation. After ordering us to fan out to case the place and regroup on the west side in fifteen minutes, Lucian disappeared into the stream of pedestrians. And as Heath headed off in the opposite direction, I settled down to commence my own surveillance, sniffing for spells and indulging in a few quick ‘bites’ along the way.
At the back of the building, I stumbled upon a knot of teenage girls peering into a dark alley, phones out and pointing. Curious, I joined them.
Nothing unusual. At least, at first. Just a garbage dumpster with scattered bits of trash and a stack of soggy cardboard boxes. The only scents drifting my way were of the urine and garbage kind.
“Maybe it’ll go viral,” one of them said hopefully.
“But what is it?” another asked.
“There,” one of them said, snorting a giggle as she pointed.
As I squinted in the direction of her finger, the tiniest current of air brought Ricky’s delicate scent to my nostrils.
I scowled.
A moment later, a paper bag scooted out from under the dumpster. The bottom tipped up to peek over at us before zipping back under.
“It’s a rat,” I proclaimed caustically.
That made them all squeal and leave. And in a hurry. It was true, anyway. Ricky was a rat and a troublemaker of the highest order.
My boots rang loudly on the old alleyway bricks as I headed for the dumpster.
“You know, being undercover is not just being under a cover. You almost went viral.” I crouched down as Ricky popped out of the paper bag and ran to me as fast as his little smoke legs could carry him. In a flash, he’d taken refuge up my sleeve.
“About time you stopped faffing around and showed up,” he poked his head up the back of my collar to complain. “It’s been ghastly! A total Tony Blair—er, that means nightmare.”
“Oh, quit griping, we’ve no time for your Cockney slang now,” I groused, heading back to the street. “It’s time to focus on business. You’ve got a real chance to exonerate yourself with Lucian. We’re here to find all of the shipments. And fast. We’re out of time.”
“There’s only the one shipment, love,” Ricky huffed.
I didn’t know much about Lucian’s doings, but even I knew his collection was much bigger than one briefcase-sized box. “Then it’s back inside to look again,” I informed the grumpy imp. “We’ve got—”
Ricky actually hissed. “Inside? I’m not going back into that house of horrors. No, it’s pip pip, cheerio and all that rot for me, duck.” He began slithering down the back of my shirt.
“Oh no you don’t,” I snapped, wiggling a little. “We’ve got only a few hours before it’ll be too late. Buck up and help. We’ve got to find all the boxes. Can’t let them get into the wrong hands. Not now. This is our last chance.”
To my surprise, Ricky raced back to my collar, but not because of what I’d said. In a voice sounding unnaturally strangled, he gasped the last words I’d expected to hear. “Just what have you done? What’s that thing following you?”
The hair on the back of my neck rose as I came to an abrupt stop. “What do you mean?” I asked in a hoarse whisper, instinctively reaching for a blade and whirling to search the falling darkness behind me.
Was something there?
Ricky didn’t answer.
After a few moments, I rolled my eyes, on the verge of brushing the whole thing off as yet another irritating Ricky-diversion when a wave of cold fear hit me like a bucket of ice water. It was dark. Sinister. Paralyzed, I stared at the shadows flickering on the brick walls behind the dumpster.
A soft sound teased the edge of my hearing. A voice?
Was I the victim of my own imagination, or was that more than a shadow there? Was it coalescing? Trying to communicate?
“There you are,” Lucian’s deep baritone shattered my thoughts.
The wave of fear vanished. And the shadows. Well, they were just shadows, right? Deciding not to let Ricky rattle me, I spun on my heel and faced Lucian and Heath.
“Found something, my dear?” the warlock asked, his hard, suspicious blue eyes at decided odds with the pleasant smile on his goateed face.
Apparently, spelled mannerisms and looks couldn’t fully mask an arrogant personality. “A rat,” I said, sheathing my dagger. “Hiding in the dumpster.”
Lucian’s eyes lit.
A low growl erupted from Heath’s lips.
“What is it?” both Lucian and I asked at the same time.
The werewolf’s eyes took on a yellow glow as he stared at the dumpster. “I don’t know,” he said in a low, rumbling voice almost too low to really hear. “But it wasn’t good, man. It’s gone now.”
Precisely what I hadn’t wanted to hear.
I didn’t have to see Lucian’s dark look of accusation. I felt it. And I liked his words even less. “Strix can handle this one. He’s already on the way,” he said tightly.
Great. My favorite keeper. Not. But, had I really let something awful loose?
Lucian clamped his strong fingers down over my arm and gave it a little shake. “To the matter at hand. Right now, we’ve got to get inside and quickly. We’ve had only false starts so far. Perhaps the rat can speed this process up?”
With my mind more on the dumpster and its mysterious shadows, I responded a bit distractedly. “The rat isn’t interested.”
Wrong answer.
Lucian’s temper flared. Planting his hands on his hips and his face just a few inches from mine, he echoed, “Not interested?” His voice was soft. Deadly. With a dry, mirthless chuckle far more intimidating than any display of anger, he added, “I really don’t care in the slightest what that rat is interested in. It’s going to get us inside and it’s going to lead the way. It doesn’t have a choice. It better follow orders or I’ll personally see its toes roasted with blue ice.”
I heard Ricky’s sharp intake of breath whistle behind my ear. “Poor blighter,” he muttered. “Rotten way to treat even a rat.”
Really? Did I have to connect the dots? “The rat’s you,” I hissed the revelation.
He gasped in complete shock. Ringing my neck like a black choker and hanging his head upside down like a pendant, I could see his big eyes blinking wide with horror on the edge of my peripheral vision. “Cor blimey! I’m not heading back in there, they’re not the kind to have a chin-wag with.”
“Blue. Ice. Several blocks and for at least a year,” Lucian expanded for his benefit.
Ricky’s ears flattened. “Tallyho then,” he said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Sliding away from my neck, he looped himself around my ear in the shape of a dangling, gothic-style earring. “Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.”
I scowled as Lucian left the alley, returning to the sidewalk, and after one long, last look at the dumpster, I did the same. The mystery could wait. I’d stay away from the dark for now.
“Left, right,” the imp moaned into my ear canal. “Onward march to doom!”
“Focus,” I growled a warning at him, but it was really m
ore for myself than anyone else. “Have any idea how we can safely get inside?”
“Through the main entrance,” Ricky wailed, complete with a heart-catching hiccup.
“The main entrance?” I repeated, taken aback. I stopped beside Lucian and glanced up at him for confirmation.
The warlock merely shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Never thought it would end this way,” Ricky keened tragically. “What a way to go. What a way to pop one’s clogs.”
I frowned at Lucian. “We’re not going to just waltz right through the front door, are we? Shouldn’t—”
“I’m not an amateur, Cass,” he cut me short with an abrupt wave of his hand. “No one can see or hear us if I don’t want them to.”
Well, his ego was certainly alive and well. I just hoped it was enough to not get us killed with his wards on the fritz.
“There’s only the one way and that’s through the gauntlet.” Ricky sighed morosely in my ear. “First flight of apples and pears, um—stairs to the right, take the elevator to the third floor, then last door on the right. The other entrances are decoys, traps. Instant death, that sort of thing.”
“Enough of this caterwauling.” Lucian seized control of the conversation to dispense orders once again. “Spellfinder, it’s time to do your job. Get that imp under control and lead the way. If there’s a trap that can harm me, let me know at once.” With a dark, scathing scowl, he held out his hand, indicating that I should precede him.
Fine. Scowling back at him, I set off down the street as a sudden wave of New Yorkers poured out of the subway, spilling out onto the sidewalks. “So, spellfinders are pretty much like bomb-sniffing dogs,” I noted to Ricky under my breath as I shoved my way forward, feeling very much like a salmon swimming upstream. “Wonder what happened to his last one.”
“One? Try half a dozen in just the last year,” the little puff of smoke retorted before moaning pitifully in my ear. “Can’t we pick up a snack, love? I haven’t had a proper meal—”
I was stuck on half a dozen. “Did they die?” I gasped, louder than I should have. But then, the New Yorkers pushing past me didn’t notice anything unusual. They were New Yorkers.
“They quit,” Ricky sniffed. “Lawsuits. Gossip was all over the Charmed networks. Hostile work environment, that sort of thing. Maybe I could just trot across the street for a quick bite, back in a flash—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, diving in between a couple of college-aged guys with backpacks. Hostile work environment. Sounded familiar. I was going to have to check out these Charmed networks.
Ricky was still jabbering. “But I’m knackered and more than a bit peckish, love. Don’t happen to have any peanuts or other spicier things on you? Surely, we could get on that phone of yours and ask Siri if there are any Indian restaurants nearby. She’s quite the doll, so very helpful—”
I ground my teeth in irritation.
He kept chattering.
Vowing to never wear him as an ear fashion accessory ever again, I shoved my way through the crowd the last few feet and finally stood in front of the theater entrance. But, no sooner had I stepped inside than Ricky slithered down from my ear and down my back. “Cheerio, duck,” he whispered. “Let me know when it’s all over.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I snapped, following it up with an unintelligible growl of exasperation.
I didn’t get a response. I crossed my fingers, hoping he hadn’t slipped away and took a deep breath before searching for scents of the spelled kind.
The theater lobby was crowded and dimly lit. The walnut-stained trim and red-velvet striped wallpaper didn’t help much. They only made everything seem even darker. There was a distinct, old-timey feel to the place.
I maneuvered through the crowd, taking deep breaths, but there was nothing of the Charmed nature to be found. Circling back to the front, I headed to where Lucian and Heath lounged outside, apparently waiting for me to give the all clear.
But at the very last moment, a man stepped in front of me, and I smacked right into him.
“Sorry about that,” I mumbled an apology as he flailed a little, appearing to lose his balance.
His hand snaked out, as if instinctively grabbing my arm. But the grip was hard. Vice-like.
Startled, I glanced into his face with a bold stare, even as my heart stopped.
It was the white-haired Templar with the baseball cap.
Bait
The Templar dug his fingers into my arm like meat hooks, his eyes ablaze with hatred. “You’ve got nerve, creature,” he accused, pushing me towards a narrow staircase winding into the darkness above. “Are you here by yourself or did you bring friends?”
Creature? That threw me off-guard.
Wrenching free, I prepared to hightail it out of there when he said, “Culpepper told me about you last night, said Lucian would show up. Frankly, I didn’t believe him at first, but, ah well, even I can be wrong sometimes.”
I froze.
That. Bald-faced. Liar.
Lucian hadn’t spelled me. He’d duped me. The fact that Ricky had immediately recognized me should’ve been my first clue. Furious, I scanned the crowded lobby for any sign of my double-dealing boss, but I couldn’t see hide nor hair of his face, goateed or not.
“I can make even the unholiest of the unholy talk,” the Templar boasted in a low voice. “We’ll see how long you last.”
Right. Like I’d just hang around and let him try. I’d already tasted enough Knight Templar gadgetry to know that I wasn’t particularly interested in learning what else they had in their repertoire.
The Templar lunged for me then. Something glowed on his fingertips, some kind of neon padding that no doubt didn’t bode well for me. But he was human and easy enough to outmaneuver. I danced around him, searching for a break in the crowd to shove my way to freedom.
Suddenly, a large middle-aged woman with a prominent mole on her chin bowled right into the Templar from behind, knocking him against the walnut-stained paneling.
As she lifted a mortified hand to cover her mouth, I felt a mild, electrical shock wash over me.
“Entschuldigung!” the woman apologized in a heavy German accent. “Pardon me, Weisshaariger, I mean, white-haired man!”
The arrogant inflection of her tone made me look at the woman again. Yep. No doubt about it. It was Lucian. The superior smirk of amusement in her, er … his blue eyes confirmed it.
“There you are, mutter,” the German female Lucian grinned at me, sweeping forward to loop her arm through mine. “Beeil dich! Can you hurry? We’ll miss the show.”
The Templar began to swear. “Where did she run off to?” he barked to no one in particular. Looking right over me, he began a frantic search of the crowd that ended with him plunging into the sea of theater patrons. I caught only a few glimpses of his white baseball-capped head bobbing up and down towards the entrance before I lost him in the crowd.
Whatever this show was, it was certainly a popular one.
“Come, come, meine liebste mutter,” Lucian crooned indulgently, patting me on the head with a little more force than necessary.
I scowled, opening my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of his double-dealing ways when I noticed just how wrinkled, withered, and veined my hands actually were.
Cripes. He really had turned me into his mother—or from the looks of it, maybe even his grandmother.
Lucian slipped his palm between my shoulder blades to push me towards the stairs. “Schnell! Schnell!”
“You didn’t disguise me before,” I spat the accusation as Heath joined us, a red-headed woman in her twenties this time but still recognizable by his eyes.
“Ah, the spell was only a tad delayed,” Lucian quipped with a nonchalant lift of a brow. “Had to draw them out of their nest. How else could I find the proper way inside? Please! They needed a real reason to come down. Can’t fully trust an imp, you know, and especially a turmeric-addled one. But seems he told the tr
uth this time.”
I couldn’t get over his strategy. “So, you used me as bait?” I stopped, planting my arthritic hands on my sagging hips. It really was a shade disturbing. I had a lot of extra padding in unexpected places. Apparently, his ‘mother’ dined exclusively on strudel. “What about Charmed Identity disorders?”
He actually tossed his head back and laughed at that one, great peals of laughter that oddly matched his German persona. “Ah, meine liebe, you fell for it. Not my fault,” he informed me unabashedly. And then his mirth melted away, and he became the cool, lofty warlock once again. “The spell kicked in when it truly mattered, so what’s the difference? Time to move on. We’re on a tight schedule. Smell anything?”
I was ticked off, but I could wait. It was time to focus. We’d reached the bottom of the stairs. They were beyond creepy. I couldn’t really see much past the first landing. Taking a deep breath, I analyzed the scents eddying around me.
“Nothing major,” I said, but added, “If this is the only entrance, they’re going to see …”
I let my words falter as Tabitha’s whirlwind of a tornado appeared on the landing above me. The next moment, she stepped out of it, resplendent in a silver sparkling evening gown with platform shoes to match. Rolling her eyes back into her head so only the whites remained, she threw her arms wide open.
Right. The veil of invisibility.
“Ok, guess they won’t see us after all,” I muttered under my breath. But I’d no sooner placed my foot on the first step than Lucian blocked me with an arm of steel.
He’d already dropped his German disguise, and as I glanced up into his familiar, handsome face, his arrogant expression altered unexpectedly. The hand he brushed over my forehead slowed as his thumb traced a lazy trail over my third eye and down my cheek to linger on my bottom lip. Again, the electrical surge, but this time, accompanied by a distinct pop as my spelled visage vanished. But I hardly noticed. An altogether different kind of electricity sparked between us.
We both realized it at the same time.