Mindbreaker (A Cassidy Edwards Novel Book 3)

by Carmen Caine

  The last and longest? Me, sitting at the restaurant just an hour ago, swallowing the talcum chowder and telling myself not to gag.

  Wow. Talk about strange impressions. I looked like a madwoman, always sniffing the air and hunting for her next meal—though only Lucian knew that I fed that way. He probably thought my stomach controlled me while the rest of humanity wondered about my fetish for scents. Whatever. At least it appeared I’d managed to delete the incriminating stuff.

  Yep. Lucian had cocked a curious brow in my direction. Oddly though, he was looking much better. Color had returned to his face.

  “Fascinating,” the perimancer murmured as the water’s surface turned clear once again. He tilted his head my direction, viewing me with open interest. “Your mind is fascinating, my dear.”

  “Thanks,” I replied dryly.

  Phew. Nuclear missile narrowly avoided—for now.

  “No memory of Dorian?” Tabitha prodded, her brows drawn into a disappointed frown.

  “No,” the perimancer answered, underscoring his conviction with a nod. “They do not exist in her mind.”

  Or were eaten on the way out. But again, that kind of “hypothetical” tidbit was best kept to myself.

  The old man’s answer clearly displeased Tabitha. “And that means? Do you have to dig deeper? The rocks? Did they not identify her?”

  Vicious little thing. I struggled to keep a neutral expression on my face. No point in annoying the nasty snake-boss any more than I already had.

  “They do remember her,” the perimancer answered, tapping his chin with his forefinger.

  Not liking the direction this was heading, I clapped my hands together. “Well, I guess we’re finished here,” I said. “Hope it was helpful.”

  I might have been done, but the perimancer wasn’t.

  “Just one last thing, my dear,” he said. With a crooked smile, he lifted a hand, and just like that, I couldn’t move again. “We must complete the final stage of the memory expedition.”

  Expedition? I didn’t like being frozen again. If I made it through this experience unscathed, I was going to demand my inalienable right to not be spelled again without first giving consent. Still able to control my eyes, I shot Lucian an acid look, but his blue gaze had locked on the surface of the scrying bowl.

  This time, it was a stealth attack. I hadn’t even had time to summon my specter vision—however I’d even managed to do it in the first place.

  “There we are, the retrieval of the heartstring is complete,” the perimancer was saying, waving his knobby fingers over the water.

  My heart sank. This time, he’d fished memories fully intact. Just when I thought I was home safe, he had to pull that.

  “And now the origin string,” the old man explained, smiling as if he made sense.

  The spell holding me suddenly evaporated. My mouth opened first. “What the heck?” I began indignantly. “What—”

  “Come, let us see the heartstring,” he interrupted me as if I didn’t exist. “It will show where your loyalties lie.”

  Well, this wasn’t going to be good. I prepped myself to run, knowing the only thing appearing on that water would be an HD version of Dorian’s release, but Lucian seemed to read my mind.

  Stepping up beside me, he clamped my forearm in fingers of steel, closing them around me like an iron manacle.

  Crud. I wasn’t going anywhere. It was already too late, anyway. The personal IMAX of my life was already playing. Crisp. Clear. Sick-heartedly, I joined the others to gawk at my betrayal as my mind began to spin plausible explanations that might prevent my death.

  But I didn’t get very far. The scene playing out wasn’t what I’d expected.

  I blinked, watching a miniature version of Lucian walking towards me in his kitchen, looking so wickedly hot and sexy. He walked right into me, pressed me back against the countertop with his hard chest and narrow hips. His fingers ran over my face, tracing my cheekbones and stroking my jaw before he pulled my lips up to his, scorching them with a kiss.

  Huh?

  Surprise held everyone wordless—including me—as the water continued displaying the frenzied, lust-filled session of husky whispers and groans. Our lips met and meshed with an intensity that surprised me. I hadn’t remembered being so brazen. Cripes, I looked like a cat in heat. But then, so did Lucian. His hands were all over me and his lips as well, nuzzling my throat, neck, and shoulders before he dragged his mouth away to pant things I’d been too distracted to hear the first time.

  “Enough,” Lucian’s deep voice exclaimed in a strangled whisper.

  Everyone jerked, almost guiltily.

  With a quick flick of his fingers, the perimancer cut the scene short, but not before we saw me run my fingers through Lucian’s hair, provoking a long, sexy moan from his mouth. There was no denying the raw chemistry, the passion in that sound.

  “The question of loyalty has been answered,” the wispy-browed perimancer announced the verdict. “The heartstring never lies.”

  Could the day get any stranger? Clearly, he’d confused heartstrings with those of the puppet variety, but in this case, it worked to my advantage.

  I tossed a quick glance at Tabitha. Shock painted her face. She just stood there as still as death.

  Well, that was amusing.

  By her side, Heath grinned at me, smugly pleased and no doubt telling himself again how wolves always smelled the truth.

  And Lucian? When I finally looked up, it was directly into his silvery-blue gaze. He lifted a cool brow. A decidedly superior, cool brow. Whatever that meant. He was nothing short of confusing.

  Rankled, I snapped the black puppet string tied around my wrist, not really sure what I meant.

  He took something from it, though. His expression briefly altered, sending an electrical charge straight up my spine.

  Hex it. The pull between us was simply too strong.

  Scowling, I ripped my eyes from his, suddenly angry. This heartstring detour threatened to stir up emotions better left alone. I had revenge to concentrate on—as soon as I finished getting myself out of the hot seat.

  “And now, the origin will expose the foundations from which choices are made,” the perimancer declared.

  Wasn’t he done snooping yet? I wanted to protest, but the images already flickered. I cocked a leery brow, wondering what secret he’d dredge up this time.

  The mists of the Nether Regions appeared, and pools of mana rippled into view, zooming to one in particular. Yeah, my origin, as odd and science-fictiony as it was, me the infant, umbilical cord and all. My origins. The birth of my specter soul.

  But I didn’t see Justice, the jagger, swooping in to claim my soul after I’d inadvertently triggered the gates to enter the Nether Reaches, nor did I see Lucian’s puppet curse yank me back to the land of the living.

  Come to think of it, I didn’t see an umbilical cord either.

  I squinted closer.

  Nope, this wasn’t the same memory of my ‘birth’ I’d recalled before. The baby sitting in the pool of goo was older. A month or two. And the thing floating up behind her certainly wasn’t any specter coming to claim her and take her home, to wander the mists with their kind.

  The new arrival wore tattered robes and black armor.

  I choked.

  The figure moving towards the infant and extending that oh-so-familiar Ping-Pong ball of light filled me with dread.

  A Fallen One.

  An Unwanted Gift

  I watched, horrified, as the Fallen One’s image flowed across the surface of the scrying bowl. Slowly, so very slowly, it squatted beside and extended its unholy skeletal fingers to place the light ball on my infant lips. The baby version of me swallowed it whole with apparent relish, and as it zipped down my tiny throat, the Mindbreaker’s symbol flashed in the air.

  This time, the perimancer shattered the vision.

  “No!” he gasped, horrified. Jerking his arm, he upended the shallow bowl, dumping the water onto
the ground. “We’re done here. No more! No more!”

  Startled by his alarm, I drew my blades and crouched, half expecting Fallen Ones to appear as Heath joined me, morphing into wolf form. Baring his fangs, his eyes glowed gold as the fur on the ridge of his spine stood on end.

  “At ease,” Lucian suggested calmly, raising a hand.

  The wizened perimancer shook his head, vigorously. “I do not scry for them,” he puffed as he began collecting his things. “I am finished here. No more!”

  Them. After witnessing the surprising childhood vignette, I suddenly wanted answers. I obviously needed to know more about them. But one look at the perimancer’s face and it was clear I wouldn’t be getting any answers from him. I pursed my lips into a line. I was at the cemetery already. Maybe it was time to see if True, the Night Terror and Keeper of the Old Wisdom, felt ready to share a few of the ancient secrets he kept.

  “Come with me, Cassidy,” Lucian’s butter-smooth voice whispered in my ear, sliding through my thoughts.

  I didn’t hesitate. Yeah, going anywhere with him was most likely a mistake in the distraction-from-revenge kind of way—especially when the slightest brush of his lips over the tip of my ear produced such strong neck tingles—but it would be foolish to turn down an opportunity to escape Tabitha’s clutches.

  The firedrake stood just a few feet away, her face impassive, but I knew the sudden turn of events had displeased her greatly. The perimancer might be done, but she certainly wasn’t.

  I caught a movement from the corner of my eye and turned, realizing that Lucian hadn’t waited for me. He was in a hurry. Murmuring “later” in Tabitha’s direction and sending a genuine smile in Heath’s, I sprinted down the gravel walkway after Lucian’s disappearing back.

  He moved at a fast clip, threading his way between the tombstones. As I followed, I felt the sting of cold rain bite my cheek and glanced up. The gray clouds had chased almost all of the blue away. It was decidedly colder. To one side, a flock of birds suddenly broke free of the trees above and fluttered off. Crows. Yeah, the place was downright creepy—Edgar Allen Poe creepy.

  I quickened my pace, and the moment I drew abreast, Lucian checked his long stride, and we fell into step.

  “What’s up?” I asked, but the instant the words left my lips, the sudden sensation of being watched subverted my attention.

  Slightly unnerved, I cast a quick glance around but didn’t see anything. It distracted me so much that I almost missed Lucian’s soft reply to a question I nearly forgot I’d even asked.

  “Be careful about staying with me, Cassidy,” he was warning in a deep rumble. “I might get a taste for it.”

  I blinked. Ermmm, what? Startled, I delivered the ever-so-sexy and glorious response of, “Huh?”

  Lucian stopped dead in his tracks. Turning my way, he allowed his blue-eyed gaze to trail slowly down my body and back up again before commenting, “I really thought you’d run.”

  So, what conversation were we having here?

  “You’re going to have to clue me in, Lucian,” I said, settling on my favorite tactical response: absolute candor. “I really don’t get you right now.”

  He turned away, continuing down the path and didn’t speak again until we’d reached the arched doorway of the Rowle family crypt. Reaching up, he ran his finger over the family’s weathered coat of arms and studied me intently, his eyes tightening at the corners.

  “I wish I could trust you, but I know you’re caught in anger,” he said, and then added with a rueful smile, “And for that, I am undeniably responsible.”

  I knit my brows into a puzzled line. Yeah, he was ‘undeniably responsible’ for the puppet curse that had turned me into what I was. But why bring that up now? “So, care to tell me where you’re going with this?” I didn’t hesitate to push again.

  “Be careful, spellfinder,” he cautioned, peering down at me from the straight line of his nose. “You’re a sly fox with few scruples right now, if any—”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I interrupted with a snort.

  He lowered his lashes at me. “It makes you a liability,” he continued. “You’ll have to decide soon what side you’re truly on.”

  Words like ‘liability’ and ‘what side’ tended to trigger alarms. I narrowed my eyes, staring at him from under my brows. Just what did he know?

  Lowering his voice, he murmured, “You should know I’m not the forgiving type. Nor do I forget.”

  “Wow, what a shock,” I retorted in sarcasm. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Tell me, why didn’t you run?” he asked, dropping his hand to let a gloved finger drift down the line of my jaw.

  Crud, but his fingertips could do wicked things, even covered. I barely suppressed a shiver as a whirlwind of thoughts zipped through my mind. Why didn’t I run? Was it a trick question? Some way to get me to confess I’d just outwitted Tabitha’s trap? Did he know I was guilty? I couldn’t chance an answer that might reveal too much. Instead, I settled on a different form of the truth, one that felt surprisingly real the moment it left my lips.

  “Maybe I’m not done with you yet,” I said.

  With vampire-like quickness, he slipped strong, hard fingers around my waist and, pressing against the small of my back, pushed me close against his chest.

  “You’re playing with fire,” he said in a low, smoldering voice. “This isn’t a game you should start with me. When I play, I win. And I only play when the odds weigh heavily in my favor.”

  He gave a chuckle, one of the jaded kind, but it still sent a shivery thrill of awareness raging through me.

  “Duly noted,” I replied. Ignoring the heady sensation of desire trying its best to steer things into the hot and heavy, I placed my palms on his chest and shoved off. With a nod at the family crest hanging over our heads, I switched subjects. “Just why did you bring us here?”

  He stood there a minute, his eyes searching mine. I don’t know what answers he found there, if any, but at last he replied, “We’re debriefing the Night Terrors. They know who took Dorian’s case. And I know how to make them talk. This won’t last long.”

  Crud. So, it wasn’t over yet.

  “Shall we, my dear?” he asked with a pronounced sparkle of humor in his eye.

  The humor bothered me. Humor? He was laughing at me? Why?

  He didn’t give me time to think about it. Moving to the back of the crypt, he unlatched the hidden door and with a courtly bow, waved for me to precede him. “After you, sweetheart.”

  I eyed the darkened doorway.

  I really wasn’t in the mood for any more drama. The past few days had been intense, and the whole memory-fishing experience had really taken something out of me. I felt drained, wanting nothing more than mana, a nice hot bubble bath, and a place to crash.

  “Don’t you guys ever sleep?” I growled, entering the hidden domain of the Night Terrors and stalking down the steps leading into the shadowy bowels of the Earth. The earthy scent of dying leaves blasted my nostrils. “Can’t say much for this gig’s working hours,” I complained. “Is there a Spellfinder’s Union to keep warlocks like you in check?”

  He just chuckled.

  * * *

  Lucian was right. The interrogation didn’t last long—but not because of him.

  And to my absolute relief, True, the Night Terror, held true to his word. The tall, painfully thin creature with his glowing eyes and alabaster skin did not betray me, keeping his promise of specter kinship.

  And yet, he never lied—outright, anyway.

  Instead, he danced a complicated, intricate pirouette around the truth, misleading Lucian with consummate skill. His delivered lines of “No, I never saw anyone pick up the case from the floor”, “I do not guard the doors, so yes, anyone could have walked in”, and “No, I can’t say who released him” all sounded like statements of truth. Maybe they were at face value.

  But when he uttered phrases such as ‘can’t say’, was it because he�
�d sworn to protect me? Or because he hadn’t personally witnessed Dorian’s curse-breaking? Or was he engaged in some other twisted play on words that even I didn’t understand?

  Whatever the reason, I was grateful.

  We sat underground, in the typical dark and sparsely furnished Night Terror room, equipped with only a table, two chairs, and the standard-issue iron candelabra. The twin flames spitting on the wicks did little to dispel the black shadows surrounding us.

  True didn’t sit. After seeing us properly placed in our chairs, he hovered just outside the dim circle of candlelight, his long spindly fingers steepled over his chest. After each question Lucian tossed his way, he’d float back and forth a few feet, the long black robes covering his skinny form fluttering behind him. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes into the conversation when he noticed Lucian’s gloved hand.

  “And what is this?” True asked, his eyes suddenly glowing brighter. “Why the glove? What happened?”

  Lucian jerked his hand back. “Nothing,” he snapped a terse reply.

  True's hauntingly gaunt face tensed with excitement. “The mana is powerful,” he said, taking a deep breath. “One of a kind. How is this possible?”

  He savored the scent with such delight that I experienced a surge of jealousy. Too bad Lucian’s wards kept me from smelling and enjoying it, too.

  “Such purity. It must have hurt,” True murmured and then added even softer, “At first.”

  Lucian went rigid at those words. Odd. Drawing his dark brows in a bristling line of displeasure, he repeated sternly, “It’s nothing.”

  I didn’t think True believed him. His sagging jowls rippled into an indulgent smile. “Then as you say, Lord Rowle.” He bowed his head, respectfully, yet in a placating manner. “As you … say.”

  Lucian’s nostrils flared.

  They locked gazes after that, and about thirty seconds later, the interview ended abruptly.