by Carmen Caine
“So, what’ll happen to the guilty party?” I asked Emilio, curious, but looking at Lucian the entire time. “Once we find them.”
It didn’t play out like I’d wanted.
Emilio was psychotic.
A split second later, he had me pinned against the wall right next to that Picasso, his cold viselike grip choking my air supply.
“This, principessa, is what I will greet the traitor with,” he hissed in a feral growl, his eyes suddenly green. “Pain. Torture. Death without dying. An eternity of anguish—”
Lucian’s unscathed hand clamped down over the vampire’s shoulder. “Let her go, Emilio,” the warlock ordered between clenched teeth. “Now!”
I couldn’t breathe. He was crushing my windpipe. Dizziness assailed me. His grip relaxed just before I passed out, but just enough to allow a rattling drag of air. He studied my face as I gasped. It was hard to tell if the gleam in his eye held suspicion or was simply a watermark of the unhinged. Finally, he released me.
In a flash, he returned to his desk and reached for a crystal carafe of scotch sitting next to an opened box of cigars. “Nothing will save those who betray me,” he stated softly. “Lover. Child. Partner. Socio di affair. Should I discover one thread of disloyalty, un solo filo … no, I will not hesitate to send any one of them—or all—to torment for an eternity. Tormento eterno!”
Well, that pretty much covered all of us, Lucian, me, and my mother as well. Long term, I doubted she could stay loyal to anyone—it wasn’t in her genetic makeup.
“Right,” I said, pushing off the wall and rubbing my sore throat.
Note to self: avoid asking Emilio questions about his enemies that might trigger a desire to demo his dream plans.
Lucian sent me a dark look before shooting an even darker glare at Emilio. “Nice chat, Marchesi,” he said, tight-lipped. “But it’s late, and I’ll need an hour of sleep before commencing this investigation.”
He spun on his heel and made for the door, but Emilio stopped him with a barely discernable, “My ring?”
Lucian’s broad shoulders straightened.
“Eh.” The corner of Emilio’s lips turned downwards as he gave another shrug. “I hear you sent it to your penthouse. Not to mine? An errore. Surely, a mistake. No?”
Lucian rotated his neck a little, popping it, before answering without even facing the vampire. “I’ll be keeping the ring for now,” he replied evenly.
Just who was in charge? Emilio? Lucian? I could never make up my mind. The lines of power blurred in confusing ways.
This time, Emilio betrayed more angst than I knew he cared to reveal by tapping his index finger on the desk. “You retrieved my trinket, and I’m grateful. A memento of love,” he said, but a thread of steel crept into his tone as he added, “But my memento, young warlock. It belongs with me.”
Memento of love? I didn’t buy it.
“Spare me the mewling,” Lucian retorted, still not bothering to turn around. “It stays where I put it.”
Alright, that was an interesting twist. They both wanted it now? I ratcheted the silver ring’s importance up a notch.
As I moved to join Lucian, Emilio poured himself a shot of scotch, tossed it down his throat, and closed his eyes, savoring it with outright relish.
The expression on his face made me pause.
Yeah, I’d seen Emilio drink scotch before, but it struck me as supremely odd this time. Obviously, he enjoyed it. How? I’d thought vampires relished only blood and all else was for show.
“Then if you’ll excuse me.” Lucian cleared his throat and reached for the doorknob.
“Time is passing,” Emilio murmured before Lucian twisted it. “Keep the ring if you wish. For a time.” He put another cigar to his teeth, but didn’t light it. Reaching into his desk drawer, he took a keyring out and tossed it my way.
I caught it reflexively.
“Your apartment, bambina.” Emilio graced me with a smile. “Next to your fiancé’s. Your mother moved your belongings for you. Thank her as a dutiful daughter, eh?”
I didn’t care for Emilio ordering me to behave like a grateful daughter any more than I liked the idea of my mother rummaging through my belongings—all two cardboard boxes of them.
And the apartment? Undoubtedly, it was a trap.
But I smiled anyway and sidling closer to Lucian, slipped my arm through his. “An apartment? How wonderful.” Fluttering my eyelashes at Lucian, I added, “Though how much time will I actually be spending in it, studmuffin?”
He glanced down at me, his lips forming a smoldering smile that passed for genuine with flying colors. As far as acting went, Lucian was a master—when he put his mind to it.
We left Emilio there, tossing another slug of scotch down his throat, and I couldn’t help but take pleasure in the general aura of displeasure swirling around him. He was obviously having a bad night. All in all, it had been a useful visit as far as revenge went. I’d learned a few things, the most important being that the silver ring was important to both Emilio and Lucian. I’d have to delve into that mystery some—after saving my own butt, of course.
“You’re coming to my apartment first,” Lucian announced the moment we stepped inside the mirrored elevator to head just a few floors down. “We have an investigation to talk about.”
Crud.
Time to start tap dancing.
The Art of Bluffing
Only one word described Lucian’s apartment: luxurious. All black leather and antiques juxtaposed with minimalist, modern art.
However, there was one unpleasant item present in his domain: Tabitha. The firedrake waited for us, sitting cross-legged on the couch against the backdrop of the impressive New York City skyline which could be seen through the floor-to-ceiling, plate glass windows. She’d apparently wiled the time away by dabbing henna all over her arms and hands. Nordic runes. They stood out in sharp contrast to her pale, white skin.
She wasn’t pleased to see me, but I could say the same.
“So, the investigation,” I prompted, jumping right from the frying pan and into the fire. Boldness had always served me well, and I wasn’t above brazenly fishing for hints. “Have any suspects? What’s our plan to nail them?”
Tabitha simply looked at me—not that I expected anything else.
Lucian shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the back of a black-leather chair before crossing the expanse of his polished, hardwood floor to stare out the window. “The investigation will be a quick one,” he supplied, his manner distant, preoccupied. “You may not like the answer.”
I certainly didn’t like what I read between those lines, that was for sure. But I knew a thing or two about the fine art of bluffing. First off, stick as close to the truth as possible. Heck, say it outright as a curveball and go for the jugular.
“Doesn’t matter what I think, unless you try to pin it on me,” I said with a dry laugh. “Why would I care?”
Lucian turned, enough to reveal the profile of his handsome face moving into a particularly chilling smile. “Personal feelings are petty things,” he said.
Oh, so he was going all Emilio on me with riddles?
I didn’t get a chance to reply. Before I could, he blanched, peering down at his injured hand. Something moved on it. A glimmering white thread of light, creeping over his skin and snaking up his arm. I didn’t catch more than a fleeting glimpse before he shoved his fingers back into his pocket.
“The Night Terrors—” Tabitha began, rushing to his side.
“No,” he barked harshly. “It’s … nothing.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed.
Tabitha obviously didn’t.
Heath’s arrival spared him from saying more. With a brisk knock followed by a ‘halloooo all’, the werewolf let himself inside, an easy grin playing on his amiable face. “Starving,” he said, ruffling his hands through his blond beach-styled hair and making a beeline for the refrigerator. “Want a sandwich, Cassidy?”
I hated eating. It was just
manipulating mouthfuls of sawdust and pretending to enjoy it while controlling my gag reflex. I wasn’t in the mood to expend that much effort.
Spying a gleaming espresso machine tucked on the corner of the granite countertop, I said, “Nah, but I’ll hit the coffee.” Drinking was easier. It slid down faster.
Mirroring the werewolf’s smile, I joined him in the kitchen, and as he began ferrying sandwich material between the refrigerator to the countertop, I snagged the coffee and flipped the espresso machine’s on-switch. The next few minutes were enjoyable. Chummy. Heath whistled, slapping piles of pastrami on rye, along with cheese and other fixings as I jammed a cup into Lucian’s espresso machine and hit some random button. All too soon, the espresso spat out a stream of what looked like car oil and probably tasted like it too. I smiled and took a fake appreciative sniff, forcing myself to complete the sham by swallowing the bitter concoction in one gulp.
“News?” Lucian finally asked from his post by the window.
“Vamoosed just like you thought, man. Untraceable,” Heath replied, downing his sandwich with a wide werewolf grin.
Cripes, but the way he devoured that sandwich made me hungry myself. Honestly, he was quite the morsel himself. I couldn’t resist a greedy glance towards his chest and washboard abs. Good thing Lucian’s wards were back online, rendering his scent invisible to me. What I wouldn’t give for a nip of mana right now. Real food.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Heath offered cheerfully, unaware I was at that moment viewing him as a tasty steak dinner. “We’ll find him off his guard and then it’s wham—back into the puppet collection.”
Lucian caught his breath and grimaced in pain. “It’s nothing,” he glared at Heath, heading off his concern. “Let’s catch a few hours’ rest. We’ll start at 10:00AM sharp.”
“Right,” Heath nodded, exchanging a glance with Tabitha before sending Lucian a warm smile. “You just need some rest. When you wake up, you’ll be as right as rain, dude.”
Just how that werewolf remained so optimistic working with Lucian was the real mystery here. Not to mention his relationship with Tabitha—talk about mystery of mysteries. But then, it all played to my advantage. Heath couldn’t keep a secret even if his fuzzy ears depended on it. I could mine his brain for intel to help build my alibi.
“We need to go shopping sometime, Heath,” I said, dropping a glance over his red Hawaiian-print shirt and faded jeans. His fashion sense still amazed me, especially since he never applied it to himself. “And soon. I’d like your advice. Tomorrow, after work maybe?”
“Love to,” he replied, grinning even wider as he reached for more bread and pastrami.
Cool. He’d most likely know something worth prying out by then.
“I’ll escort you to your apartment, Cassidy,” Lucian interjected, his soft British accent suddenly more pronounced as he stalked into the kitchen.
“New digs?” Heath asked, wolfing down another sandwich. “Congrats, Cassidy. You’ve earned it. That was first-rate spellfinding tonight. Impressive. Topnotch.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling at him. Heath was a nice guy. I turned to face Lucian glaring gloomily down at me. “It’s just next door. I can find it.”
“I insist,” he replied, drawing his brows into a disapproving line. “Come.”
He didn’t wait for my response. Typical. He strode to the door, opened it, and indicated I should join him with an impatient jerk of his head. He’d taken his injured hand out of his pocket, and I caught a better glimpse as I moved towards him. The series of white, glowing lines had progressed, disappearing up into his sleeve. Veins? Of what? It didn’t look like Anya’s work.
Catching my curious gaze, he turned, blocking my view.
I brushed past him, but tossed a quick glance back into the kitchen and caught Heath’s cheerful wave as Tabitha poofed into lizard-form on the granite countertop next to him. The door closed between us, but not before I saw her jump onto Heath’s hand and wrap her tail around his pinky. Yeah, they were close. Heath was such a warm guy. I wondered what he saw in her artic-chilled personality.
Lucian didn’t go far—my apartment really was the next door down.
“Well, I could’ve found that myself,” I said, reaching past him to fit the key into the lock of a polished wooden door with a brass, engraved plaque bearing the numbers ’2902’.
“And the spells?” he queried sarcastically in my ear. “Surely, you know they lurk in there, ready to spring. Perhaps even too fast for you to eat.”
That made me pause. Yeah, I suffered from an extraordinary sensitivity to spells, but I’d never realized until this moment that without the protection of his wards, they might trigger before I found and consumed them. Crud. Maybe I was stuck with him.
“Wouldn’t mind a late-night snack,” I retorted, twisting the key in the lock.
I smelled her before the door even opened. Mother Dearest. There was no mistaking her unique, spicy, death aroma mixed with the feeble, sickly stench of her latest victim. Junk food. As a creation of a Terzi vampire in the middle of Marchesi feeding grounds, she wasn’t respected by either side. And with her food choices severely limited, she was forced to feed on the other vampires’ leftovers; the victims they didn’t want. Druggies. Drunks.
“You’d think Emilio would at least treat you to a decent meal,” I grumbled, reaching over to flip on the lights.
Yeah, that spectacularly ticked her off. She couldn’t abide anyone criticizing her precious Emilio. “That is no way to speak of your father,” she replied, arriving in the typical, vampire-blur to stand in front of me.
There was no doubt exactly what Emilio saw in my mother. She was gorgeous. Shiny, dark lustrous curls, porcelain skin, and the pouty lips I’d inherited. Flawless, heart-shaped face. Physical perfection.
Vapid personality.
I could never make her happy. We couldn’t talk more than fifteen minutes without feeling the pull to break out into a shouting match. The only difference this occasion offered was the fact it took just fifteen seconds.
“Ungrateful,” she accused as her temper flared into life. “You owe him so much, Cassidy. Everything.”
What would it take to open her eyes that he’d done nothing but use her from the start? And on the very weak, highly improbable—actually, impossible—theory he even was my father? The fact he’d abandoned us before my birth should have opened her eyes at least a millionth of a millimeter. I’d nearly starved before she’d figured out how to feed me. But could I say anything nearly so truthful to her?
I settled for gnashing my teeth together instead.
To my relief, she simply left. Blurring past us to zip her way back up to Emilio. “’Night,” I shouted behind her vanishing form, kicking the door shut.
Tossing my head, I spun around. Crud. Lucian stood there. I’d forgotten about him.
“Mother-daughter love,” I spat, feeling oddly embarrassed at airing my personal laundry.
“My parents were far worse,” he offered, drawing his lips into a wry smile.
I waited, half expecting further criticism, but instead, he stood there like a gentleman, looking almost … sympathetic.
“I’m tired,” I mumbled, wondering if my radar was off or if he was too tired to be snarky. Maybe it was both. It had been a long night.
Shrugging it off, I shot a glance at my new digs. First impression: spacious and pleasantly cool, one of those open floor plans. It featured a dramatic black-granite kitchen reminiscent of Lucian’s and chockfull of stainless steel appliances that I’d never use. The living room was off to one side, composed of a white leather couch lounging on a gray shag carpet. On the other side of the vaulted-ceiling room I spied a desk with a pad of paper and a shiny new Apple MacBook—ok, I’d use that. And windows. Lots. Spanning the entire length of the place and just like Lucian’s, revealing the same grand view of Lincoln Center and the New York City skyline.
The city lights weren’t as bright now. I caught a faint gli
mmer of gray appearing low on the dark horizon.
I stepped forward, swiveling a curious gaze up the metal spiral staircase with polished wood treads leading to the bedroom loft above. “Nice,” I judged. All and all, pretty cool digs. Smaller than Lucian’s, but by far the biggest—and nicest—pad I’d ever lived in.
But as Lucian had expected, the place stank overwhelmingly of mana.
“More spells in here than furniture.” I snorted. I recognized a predominantly pungent scent. “Mostly Samuel’s work.”
Lucian’s chin jerked back sharply at that revelation. “Samuel,” he growled, sounding more like a werewolf than a warlock.
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Samuel.”
Samuel, the garishly dressed sleaze of a warlock Emilio had hired to take Lucian’s place. I wondered what had happened to the marionette Lucian had created to hold his cursed soul. The likeness had been startling. Same dark comb-over. Long, hawk nose. Even the mole on the chin.
“Need I remind you that if not for your imp’s shenanigans, I would have had Samuel safely in puppet form by now?” Lucian grated. The look he sent me spoke volumes of displeasure.
Yeah, Ricky and I had derailed things in the fringe.
I froze.
Cripes. Ricky.
I’d forgotten all about my annoying sidekick. I clamped my hand against my jacket pocket. Well, the cup was still there, but I knew the chances of Ricky being in it were practically nil. Still, I slammed it on the kitchen counter and popped the plastic lid.
Wonder-of-wonders and to my utter shock, the little imp was still there, sound asleep in a thick puddle of black smoke that not only smelled like coffee but looked like it too.
I glanced around for a new container. Not many choices, but next to the sink, I spied a blender. Well, it was a container with a lid. That’s all that mattered.
Ricky didn’t even wake up as I poured him inside.
Lucian eyed him with a snort of distaste.
“Don’t even start, Lucian,” I warned, catching his expression from the corner of my eye.
Surprisingly, he didn’t. He nodded instead, the slightest dip of the chin.