Mindbreaker (A Cassidy Edwards Novel Book 3)
Page 12
It wasn’t too hard this time to focus on other things, though. Like my annoying headache. I was grumpy. In the past hour, the pain had taken a decided turn for the worse.
I squinted at Lucian and gave him an unapologetic shrug. “Yeah, I’m late,” I acknowledged. “Me and time don’t get along.”
I really wasn’t up to explaining that I’d hung around Times Square long after sunset trying to catch another glimpse of the Emilio lookalike. I hadn’t succeeded, though an unshakable instinct informed me that he’d watched my every move. Intently. Crud.
Who was he? And why did my head hurt so dang much?
Shifting from the wall, Lucian stalked over to tower above me. “What hurts?” he asked, touching my chin lightly with his thumb. A small knot of concern worried his brow.
The instant his skin touched mine, the throbbing in my head ceased. A coincidence, to be sure, but who cared? I welcomed any respite from the pain. “Have a headache,” I answered, savoring the blissful moment.
Lucian arched a brow. “And is the headache still with you, in your pocket?” he asked acidly, but the slight twinkle in his eye dampened the poison of his scathing tone. “Or is he loose in the city again?”
Ricky? My lip twitched in response. I patted my pocket, indicating that the imp snoozed inside, but on the third pat, I paused.
Interesting.
Had my headache vanished completely? Gone? Like someone had turned it off with a light switch?
Cripes, had I been spelled?
I opened my mouth to ask if Lucian could tell, but Tabitha chose that moment to exit his apartment and join us in the hall. She’d wrapped herself in a red, voluminous cloak that billowed around her white, platform heels, and with each approaching step, the warmth in the atmosphere dropped about ten degrees.
Coercing my lips into the semblance of a smile, I greeted her with a semi-friendly, “Good evening, Tabitha. Any luck with the investigation?”
“Yes,” she said, without blinking.
I waited, but when it became obvious she wasn’t about to tell me, Lucian herded us through the elevator doors.
“Let’s go. We’re very late,” he said. “Emilio detests waiting. By now, he’ll be beyond irate.”
* * *
Emilio certainly didn’t look irate.
The Italian vampire stood in the center of his study with his eyes closed, wearing a crimson silk dressing gown and looking very much like he’d just stepped out of the nineteenth century. One hand cradled a goblet of red wine. The other conducted an imaginary orchestra as the symphonic sounds of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor resonated off the walls.
He made us wait quite some time before acknowledging our presence, and only then because Lucian lost his patience and made for the door. But before he’d reached it, Emilio flashed to his desk, turned the music off and settled into his throne-like chair before the last note of the violin faded.
Lucian paused.
Chuckling, Emilio held his goblet up against the light and, staring at the red wine, asked me, “You bleed, do you not, principessa?”
Right. So I’d always thought he just enjoyed riddles, but I could see True’s point now. Clearly, the dude’s brain was fried. But this time, I was more interested in his face. I couldn’t help but study the details: the high cheekbones, the Roman nose, and the square chin. The likeness to the man in Times Square was undeniable. It either had really been Emilio or his doppelganger. And since Emilio was a vampire and couldn’t stand in the sunlight, that meant there was someone who shared his likeness running around New York City—interested in … me.
Unless, of course, Emilio’s vampirism was just a masquerade.
I took a deep breath, just to be sure, but there was no denying the spicy death scent invading his mana. He was, undoubtedly, a Chosen One, and as such, sunlight was out of the question.
So … who was this doppelganger? Was it … my father? The Mindbreaker?
I hadn’t wanted to actually think the words before. It made being the daughter of a genocidal maniac so final.
But I wasn’t a sentimental fool, either. A fact is a fact, and it sure looked like I couldn’t deny his existence anymore. It had to be him. I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Cripes, but why did he look like Emilio? Were they related? Was that why Emilio was so obsessed?
The Mindbreaker? The Mindbreaker really was my father? Wow, Blair, you really know how to pick them.
“And why so silent, bambina?” Emilio turned on me then, eyeing me with an open, predatory interest.
Startled from my thoughts, I said the first thing that popped into my mind, “Gotta headache.”
Strange. Was it my imagination, or did his eyes light up? It was hard to tell, and with what I was struggling with, it was a bit hard to care at the moment—not that I’d have ever thought I’d even think those words.
Ignoring me again, Emilio seized a pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it. Eyeing Lucian with a slight smile, he stated in an even tone, “There is progress in the investigation. You now know the identity of the one who betrayed me. They will be punished … presto.” He enunciated each line clearly, calmly, and as if merely saying it would make it so.
When he was finished, he nodded in satisfaction, took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and blew a smoke ring.
“There is progress,” Lucian confirmed, clasping his hands behind his back as he approached Emilio’s massive desk. “We went back to square one and approached this from a different perspective. And yes, it yielded a breakthrough. We retrieved the mana residue from both locations, but there’s a slight problem.”
Lucian’s words startled me out of my thoughts. Wow. They’d made hella progress for just going through a reset. I mentally kicked myself for the doppelganger distraction. After all these years, that could certainly wait a few days. The investigation, Cassidy, focus. Had he just said both locations? Both?
Emilio’s shoulders had gone rigid, and with his cigarette balanced on the corner of his lip, he paused in mid-puff. Surprised. Interesting. Why was he surprised?
But then, lifting a brow, he resumed his puff and expelled a cloud of smoke before asking, “Two places? Where? What problem is this?”
“The cemetery’s east corner, and the other site is forty-three feet west of the Rowle crypt,” Tabitha answered, setting two small, glowing purple vials down on the desk. “These are the mana samples.”
Cripes. I wasn’t out of the woods yet. They’d discovered my stop to witness the Fallen One delivering the power fragment. How? I mentally kicked myself again. Up your game, Cassidy. These players are waaaay ahead of you.
“Interessante,” Emilio murmured, stubbing his barely used cigarette out on an ashtray and lighting another one. “And, what was it that took place?”
“Both sites experienced an incredible surge of power,” Tabitha supplied tonelessly, sounding as if she were an actress reciting her lines in a badly acted play. “And both surges originated from the same unusual power source.”
Again, Emilio froze in mid-puff. He didn’t even attempt to hide his surprise this time. “The same source? Exact? Identica? Confirmed by a Nether Reach keeper?”
Huh? Yeah, I’d released Dorian at the first site, but on the second, I’d just stood there and watched the Fallen One deliver the power fragment.
Then the full realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.
Talk about double-edged swords of monstrous proportions. I shared the same signature as my father. The same. So, it had been him. And since we shared the same signature, he could do whatever he wanted and pin the crime on me. Considering he was a genocidal maniac, hell-bent on retrieving his powers to break people’s minds and most likely obliterate a few more Charmed species along the way, the chances of him wreaking all kinds of havoc and blaming me were highly likely.
I felt sick.
Had he created me for that purpose? To be his fall guy—gal?
It took me a few seconds to tune b
ack into the conversation still flowing around me.
“And since Strix collected them himself, I’ve no doubt they’re viable enough,” Lucian was saying. “Someone scrubbed the site of all evidence. There’s nothing useful left to find there. But we’ve enough for priming and to conduct the final signature verification—barely.”
Strix. Of course, he’d be involved. I mentally kicked myself. While I’d been searching Times Square for the Emilio doppelganger, they’d sealed my fate in the cemetery. Why did I feel so rattled? It wasn’t like me. I took a deep, stabilizing breath. Alright, Cassidy, focus. What’s up with you? You’re not one to be controlled by fear. Focus! There’s a way out of this.
“And your plan?” Emilio asked, calmly blowing another smoke ring.
Plan. I eyed the vials. I already knew my plan: get the vials and replace the mana with someone else’s. ASAP. That much was startlingly clear.
Lucian moved to tap the vials with a long, elegant finger. “Nanos. They’ll find the perpetrator and quickly.”
“No, no, no,” Emilio responded at once, his eyes widening in alarm. “Far too dangerous! Un disastro! If they loop back, lock on the vials … a disaster! No, no. Too risky. I object!” He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray in furious, short little jabs. “Assolutamente no, mi oppongo a questo!”
Lucian arched a puzzled brow and snorted in disdain. “Loop back? Impossible! What kind of warlock do you imagine I am? My curses are as reliable and certain as mana signatures. When I spell nanoparticles, it becomes the perfect blend of Knight Templar technology and sorcery. You’ve certainly never objected to my using them before.”
Nanoparticles. Ricky had mentioned them, along with the fact they didn’t stand a chance with me. That was good. Apparently, the little suckers would soon be hot on my trail. I jiggled my pocket. Ricky was going to have to wake up soon. I had to shake some answers out of him and get ahead of this new threat.
“No, no, no!” Emilio insisted stubbornly. “Try another route. A second opinion, perhaps? Samuel? Think about it, Lucian. Think about it.”
At Samuel’s name, Lucian’s head snapped back, and an expression of utter shock suffused his face. “Samuel?” he mouthed the name in an incredulous, scathing sort of hiss. “I tell you the man betrayed you, and you wish to loop him into this most sensitive and extraordinarily important of investigations?”
Emilio started, just a little, enough to reveal he’d only just realized he’d insulted Lucian. A rare loss of control? Whatever it was, the crack in his armor lasted less than a second before he masked his emotions and charged in a low, angry voice, “Yes, you accused Samuel. I listened. Faithfully. Loyally. Come un cane, like a dog. I listened. Samuel is like a son to me, come un figlio. But even then I listened to you, Lucian. And I asked for evidence.” Dropping his voice a few more decibels, he added, “You gave me none. What am I to think it is but jealousy? There is no room for jealousy now. You gave me no evidence! None!”
I stepped back, trying to appear inconspicuous, knowing full well that Ricky and I both had a hand in that evidence-gathering fiasco in the Fringe.
Fortunately, Lucian wasn’t interested in pointing fingers. He saw only Emilio.
“You have the audacity to suggest I’m jealous of him?” the warlock queried in the most chilling—and deadly soft—of tones. “I don’t have to think about anything, Marchesi. I have an answer for you now, and that’s I’ll never work with Samuel, even if that means Dorian remains forever free.”
As Dorian’s name fell from Lucian’s lips, rage flushed Emilio’s face. He moved, quicker than the eye could track. One instant, he stood by his chair. The next he hovered in front of Lucian, his fangs bared in a complete loss of composure. “That name,” he grated in a low voice. “That name … you know it must not be spoken. No! Non in la mia presenza! Never!”
His rage didn’t faze Lucian in the slightest. “I’m not your lapdog,” the warlock responded, clearly angry himself, dropping his voice into a whisper rife with fury. “Samuel’s a double agent, whether or not you wish to acknowledge it. You’ve played right into Terzi hands, and it may very well be too late to avoid reaping what you have sown.”
They exchanged a rapid series of retorts then, each speaking softer in turn. By the third round, I could only hear an occasional fragment in their whisper match of raw anger. A few stood out: “betrayed you”, “guilty”, “the son I never had. Never!”, “a substandard warlock”, and “Terzi spy”.
Well, one thing was clear. I had an answer to one of my problems, anyway. Was it fortune? Il destino? I didn’t question it. Desperation and a foreign sense of fear had flipped my mind into high gear.
Samuel was already guilty. I’d witnessed his betrayal in the Fringe myself. Pinning the crime on his obnoxious head would end the investigation once and for all. Lucian wouldn’t doubt the resolution for a second. And using Samuel had the added bonus of dealing a blow to Emilio’s pride. He’d suffer a healthy dose of humiliation when presented with evidence that his pet warlock, the son he’d never had … had knifed him in the back. Betrayed. Come era stato fatto a Cesare.
Perfetto.
On all accounts, Samuel was the ideal scapegoat … un capro espiatorio.
And with all the spells he’d set off in my apartment, procuring his mana would be a piece of cake.
Strange. Only a few minutes ago, I’d been on the verge of panic. Now, the pieces were falling so easily into place. I just had to get my hands on Tabitha’s vials and switch the mana out. And voila. Finito.
A sudden thought startled me.
Where had the Italian come from? What the heck had I even been saying? Crud. Was I hanging around Emilio too much? I’d never thought in Italian before. How could I? I didn’t even know it. The realization summoned the taste of bile in my throat.
Clearly, it was time for an Emilio break. I needed a breather.
I glanced over at Tabitha, but she had removed herself from the conversation to stand silently by the window, her back to me. Good. Saved me a fake smile. I’d never really identified with reptiles very well, even those in human form.
As Lucian and Emilio deepened their hissing match, I edged towards the door, but with each step, the throbbing in my head reasserted itself, turning into sharp, rhythmic jabs. Great. It made it even harder to think.
Yeah, I definitely needed to get away. Maybe some fresh air would help.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” I announced. No one noticed. I’m not sure they even heard me say, “Well, just gonna say ‘hi’ to mom.”
I backed out of the room, but the moment the door closed, I didn’t head for my mother’s pink boudoir of a bedroom. I don’t know exactly where I would’ve headed, but none of that mattered, because as I stepped into the hallway, I saw a flash of a figure from the corner of my eye.
I whirled.
A man, dashing around the corner of the hall. And not just any man.
It was the doppelganger.
Famiglia
I launched myself after him, setting off at a full run, but when I turned the same corner of the hallway in which he’d disappeared, I nearly ran straight into a plate glass window. I drew up short, looking in all directions, but there was no place he could’ve gone. It was just the end of a hallway, decorated by a palm tree in a brass pot placed before a window revealing the New York night sky.
A dead end.
I stood there a few seconds, wondering just who I’d seen. Was it the Mindbreaker? And was he a ghost? That would explain a heck of a lot, but I just couldn’t buy it. I was pretty sure ghosts couldn’t father children any more than vampires could. No, there had to be another explanation. Like maybe these pounding headaches were making me crazy.
Scowling, I straightened my jacket and headed back the way I’d bolted, mystified over the experience, but unwilling to let it distract me again. Fine, Cassidy. You have another mystery, but you can’t deal with it now. Right now, you have to focus on getting those dang vials, and …
I hesitated, torn between the desire of saving my butt and the opportunity to gain knowledge that would no doubt further my revenge. I went with the latter. A lifetime of wanting revenge was just too hard to ignore. And besides, I couldn’t filch the vials out from under Tabitha’s nose while she stood in the room.
Stepping inside Emilio’s special chamber, I quickly scanned the place. It had changed since my last visit. Someone had been cleaning up. A mound of cardboard boxes stood against one wall, each with a shipping label to an address in Venice pasted on its side. The walnut shelving stood empty, save for a pair of unique statues I hadn’t noticed the first time. They basically looked like big, ebony eyeballs cradled in hands made of claws. Bookends? Whatever they were, I found them disturbing.
So, Emilio was shipping it all back to Venice? I wondered why.
The sound of a door closing spurred me into action.
I just went with what I knew. Following Gloria’s mana-thread, I zeroed in on the sketchbook. It had either fallen or had been wedged between the wall and a chest of yellowed letters addressed to a ‘Geoffrey’. Snagging the sketchbook, I didn’t even look at it. I just decided to take it with me. Tucking it under my arm, I zipped out of the room and to my mother’s. No doubt, Blair probably had an army of shopping bags in her closet. I could use one to sneak the sketchbook back to my apartment with no one the wiser.
Crossing my fingers that Blair was out, I opened the door and slipped inside.
Yeah, no such luck.
A whiff of her death scent blasted my nostrils as I kicked the door shut behind me.
And there she was, sitting in a crimson dressing gown—matching Emilio’s—in front of a dressing table painted vanilla. She didn’t even respond to my sudden entry. Although, compared to her, my ‘sudden entry’ could only be a slow, clumsy maneuver. With her lightning quick reflexes, she’d probably already inspected me from head to toe, and then turned back to her ornately framed mirror to stare at herself again without me even noticing.