Cast into Darkness

by Janet Tait

  The interest in his eyes died like the last light going out in an abandoned tunnel. “Oh.” His eyes shifted to Hayley. “Your cousin bring you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well. Have a good time. There’s beer in the fridge.” He cleared his throat, then, “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He turned and walked back into the crowd.

  “That went better than expected.” She glanced across the room, caught sight of Missy and Gordon, their skin covered in golden fur, all decked out like a pair of lions that had just rolled in a rich woman’s attic. Better avoid them. “Can you get me where I need to go?”

  “Wait,” Hayley said. “You know Victor. He’s probably tracking you with something. What’s in your purse?”

  Kate upended her small white bag on the end table next to her. Three pens, a tube of lipstick, spare change, her wallet, breath mints, her phone, keys, and her sunglasses.

  “Anything you don’t recognize?” Hayley asked.

  “Just one of the pens.” She relaxed her focus and engaged her magesight. “It’s glowing.”

  “Leave it here,” Hayley said. “Victor can track it all he wants. We’ll pick it up on the way back.”

  Kate looked at everything else with her magesight. Nothing else glowed. Did Victor really think playing nanny was going to work now that she could catch him at it?

  No. He wouldn’t. So what else had he done?

  She reached up to tug on her ears. Grayson had given her two silver earrings this afternoon. From the front they’d looked like silver beads set on simple posts, but from the back a subtle glow of amber had peeked out when she’d examined them in his office.

  Grayson said they were talismans, like the one he’d used to heal her father, or the giant silver-and-topaz ball that told Victor she wasn’t still possessed. The earrings would conceal her caster aura from anyone with magesight, Grayson had said. He’d been stern with her: they would only work if she wore them. So she had to wear them all the time, even while she slept.

  Seems like overkill, but whatever.

  Now, it made her wonder. There were two earrings, and therefore, potentially two talismans. She wouldn’t put it past Grayson to weave another little spell in them, difficult as it might be. One to let Victor track her, or at least find her in an emergency.

  A couple of days as a caster and already I’m as paranoid as a combat mage.

  Hayley took her arm and guided her to the bathroom. As good a place for a secret teleport as any. “I’ll pick you up in two hours. Same place I leave you,” Hayley said.

  A minute later, Hayley dropped her off in front of the Montauk Oceanview Inn. The blue, two-story motel loomed quietly against the ocean, only the soft glow of the old lamps illuminating its peeling paint in the growing darkness. The room whose number Kris had texted her earlier in the day was on the second floor, overlooking the ocean.

  She walked past the little office and pushed the “up” button on the elevator. Kris had scored a prime room at the start of the summer tourist season—she had no idea how. The sea breeze wafted by, bringing the smell of salty air and old fish and a blast of coolness. She shivered. Given the situation, maybe going off by herself to meet someone, even her boyfriend, wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. She should’ve listened to Victor’s warnings. Gone home and stayed there. She stared up at the light shining from the second story when the elevator dinged its arrival.

  Kristof poured himself another glass of the pinot noir and checked his watch. Quarter past ten. Where was she? He couldn’t risk another text—either she’d be here or she wouldn’t. And if she didn’t come, then he’d need another plan. A much more dangerous one.

  He scrutinized his illusion spell in the room’s long mirror. Every element of his Kris Stevens cover was set—the boy-next-door look had replaced the hard-edged operative.

  The differences were subtle—first a change in hair color and length from his natural, wavy, light brown to a darker brown with a preppier cut. Then a softening of his sharp features, a lightening of his olive skin and deep-blue eyes. He added a slight rise to the bass pitch of his voice and a perfect native-Floridian accent. Most important, he created a total transformation in how he carried himself. Lightened his step. Relaxed his manner.

  Kris Stevens had never had to fight for his life against opponents determined to kill him. He had never been tortured, beaten, stabbed in the back by his family, never sat huddled in a closet, convinced everyone around him was poisoning his food, and had never been left to die in some godforsaken armpit of a city by someone he’d thought he could trust.

  Kris Stevens wasn’t a caster.

  Kris Stevens’s biggest problems were getting a passing grade in Organic Chemistry, deciding where to apply for grad school, and worrying that his vintage Camaro wasn’t going to make it another month. The worst injury he’d ever suffered—a dog bite that caused the crescent-shaped scar on his hand. His only concern at the moment was keeping his girlfriend, Kate, from breaking up with him because of her controlling father.

  No matter how much Kristof enjoyed being with Kate, he needed to remember one thing: he wasn’t Kris Stevens.

  Kristof sank back in the armchair that formed a little seating group with its not-so-matching sofa in the room he’d rented and gazed out at the ocean. Getting into his cover identity was all very fine. It had served him well for getting Kate in a position of trust. She gave him whatever he needed now—information, cooperation. Well, almost everything. Not the stone.

  He toyed with the keys he used as Kris that sat on a coffee table that had seen better days. His Florida conch shell was attached to his key ring by a short loop of leather. He’d retrieved it from Melina—modified to his specs. When he activated it remotely, it would punch a hole in the Hamiltons’ security net so that he could teleport in, get the stone, and teleport out. It would block their spells from reactivating until he’d left. But it would have to be inside the Hamiltons’ security grid to work. That’s where Kate came in.

  He’d once told her the shell was his lucky charm.

  Someone knocked on the door. Kate? He set down his wineglass and checked to make sure. Yes.

  She rushed into his arms as he pulled her inside and shut the door.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to go to someplace else first to make it seem like I wasn’t coming here and—”

  “Shh.” He held a finger gently against her lips, then let it trail around her pearls and down her neck. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

  He bent down and kissed her, and her mouth felt warm and tasted like lime and mint. It had only been a few days since they had last been together but he’d missed being with her, and he kissed her again, as if testing that strange idea. Her hair held its familiar rose scent and he buried his face in her neck, inhaling the subtle fragrance of her skin.

  Her body felt tense—whether with bone-deep grief or something else, he didn’t know. He wanted her to melt into him, let everything that hurt her fade away.

  Then a streak of silver slid past his cheek, and an inner alarm sounded.

  He pulled back a little, focusing his magesight on her earrings. Nothing but silver. But better to be sure. He nuzzled her ear, getting as close as he could to her earring without touching it. There was something about them… Yes. Subtle, and cloaked, but they were talismans.

  But the spell inside looked passive, not active. Which meant that as long as he didn’t cast, they shouldn’t trigger. He had no idea what the spells did. Monitor her or track her, maybe. He should have expected this after sending Brooke after the stone.

  “Kris? Is something—”

  “No, sorry. I was just…thinking.”

  She smiled. “What about?”

  “How much I missed you. Whether we’ll get to see each other again after this.” He leaned down and kissed her again.

  A little sigh caught in her throat. “Don’t think about that. Be here now. With me.” Stretching her arms up, she pulled her silk shir
t over her head, revealing her lace bra. Her hands wandered over to his shirt and unbuttoned it until she could slide it off, her fingernails tracing a teasing line down his chest.

  His muscles quivered at the tickle her fingers provoked. A chuckle rumbled from him. He picked her up and tossed her on the bed. She bounced as she landed and laughed, the first laugh he’d heard from her in days. He didn’t waste any time with the rest of his clothes—he kicked them off, the same with his shoes.

  He lay down next to her and drew her into his arms. He slid her skirt and panties off as he ran his hands down her hips. Kate kissed his neck, his chest, at first softly, then harder, more urgent. She reached down and caressed him, and he inhaled sharply. He struggled to undo her bra until it finally came free, and he tossed it on the floor.

  Kristof trailed kisses down her breasts, her stomach, and then lower. She arched against him as he tasted her, her gasp bringing a smug smile to his face.

  “Kris, please…now.”

  He moved up and into her. Feeling her open for him was like returning to the home he’d never had.

  It was so easy to become lost in her.

  Afterward, he pushed her hair back from her sweat-soaked forehead. Her eyes were half closed, and a little grin played across her face. She murmured something, her eyes fluttering. He let his own smile show and stretched out, a yawn rumbling through him.

  His eyes landed on the conch shell, sitting on the coffee table.

  He couldn’t relax. That was deadly. This wasn’t a date; it was a mission.

  “Feel better?” he asked her.

  “Much.” She sighed and snuggled closer to him.

  He knew what he needed to say next. Ask about her brother’s death. Find out what her family would be doing with the stone. But as he stroked the soft hair of the woman next to him, he couldn’t get the words out.

  She did it for him.

  “Things have changed…at home. Because of Brian.” She squeezed his arm.

  “How’s that?”

  “You know how I told you that my dad didn’t want me to join the family business? Well, now he does.”

  She couldn’t mean what it sounded like. She wasn’t a caster. She could never take Brian’s place. “What kind of work does he want you to do?”

  “Um…he hasn’t really told me that yet.” Kate shifted away from him a little. A lie.

  “Is this why he won’t let you go to summer school?” He stroked her cheek. “Is he going to make you transfer from Cornell? Or drop out?”

  “I…I don’t know. I could never be part of his world before. So I convinced myself I didn’t really want to. But now I can. It’s tempting. But I don’t want to lose you.” She sat up.

  “You don’t have to. You’ve got to stand up to him. Is this what you really want to do? Be under his thumb all your life?”

  “No. No, I don’t. I want to be with you, and I want to work for him. I’ll just have to find a way to make it happen.” She flopped back down on the bed. “Why does it have to be so complicated? First Brian, then Grayson.”

  “What’s wrong with your uncle?”

  “He’s…sick.”

  That only meant one thing in caster families.

  “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  Kate pulled herself back up and curled up against him. “No. I have to get used to the idea that he won’t always be around.” She sounded so sad. He wished he could help her, instead of dutifully passing the intelligence back to his father. Again.

  He held her as she leaned back against him and told him everything that had happened in the last few days. Oh, she masked it all in terms that would make sense to a Normal, that made her family seem like an average, well-off American family coping with the loss of its son. But to someone like him, who could read between the lines, one thing stood out.

  They were training her. But for what?

  He nuzzled her neck as he snuck a look at her aura with his magesight. Blue-green lines radiated out from her, same as always. He must be crazy to think that anything could have changed.

  He supposed a family could use a Null as an agent. It was against the Rules, but it was possible. Was that what her family was doing with Kate? Did they know about him? Were they setting him up?

  Relax. If they knew about his mission, Victor and his team would have been here, waiting for him, ready to take him out. No need for an elaborate plan. No, Kate’s puzzle had a different answer. He needed to figure out what but not as much as he needed the stone.

  The conch shell still lay on the coffee table, waiting. His time was running out. Any day now his father would get sick of his delays—or find out about the stone. And that would be the end of more than spending time with Kate. The time for indecision was over.

  “Kate?” He kissed her neck.

  “Hmm?”

  “When can I see you again?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  He brushed the hair back from her face. “Text me. No matter what your dad wants. Get away for an hour, for a day, for whatever time you can. I’ll wait for you.”

  He slid off the bed and walked to the coffee table. With a smooth twist, he detached the conch shell from his keys and brought it back to Kate. He held it out to her. “Hold on to the shell. Keep it with you. Promise me you won’t forget about us.”

  Kate took the key fob. “I promise.” She wrapped her arms around him, trembling with unshed tears. As he held her on the rumpled sheets, he tried to ignore the growing unease crawling through his gut. He felt like he had just stepped off a cliff far taller and steeper than the one that shored up his sister’s workroom. And nothing, no spell, no clever dodge, would save him from the sharp rocks that threatened below if he’d miscalculated.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the movies, it always rains during a funeral. The clouds would open, and water would come pouring down, just like the tears of the bereaved. The mourners would stand around the grave, sheltered under dark umbrellas, and some priest would mumble comforting words about the departed having gone to a happier place while lightning flashed overhead.

  But Brian didn’t get the drama of the heavens.

  Tuesday dawned hot and hazy, like every other summer day in the Hamptons. The morning gloom had burned off by noon, and by one, the time of the service at Paumanok Cemetery, Kate hated the required black dress and little black hat and veil almost as much as she despised the way the guests murmured their condolences and gave her a quick squeeze of her hands.

  Half of these people hadn’t even met Brian. They attended because of her father. Representatives of caster families from around the world, VIP Normals who knew the truth about casters—all were looking to gain some advantage by showing her father how much they cared.

  As if.

  She wound her way between the maple trees, making toward the family plot, a collection of headstones both old and weathered and much, much newer, bordered by an iron fence. She passed her mom’s marble marker: Faith Hamilton, beloved wife and mother. The earth around it had grown over with grass and wildflowers. Hamiltons, buried among Normals, passing in death the same way they did in life.

  Kate sat in the front row of seats set up for family, between her dad and Grayson. She listened as the priest droned on and on.

  When will this stupid thing be over?

  She glanced at her father. He stared straight ahead, his face unreadable. She curled her toes in her shoes. Nothing the man at the podium had to say mattered. What did she care about God and heaven and faith?

  God hadn’t helped Brian and her in the Sanctum.

  When the priest was done, Grayson got up to give the eulogy.

  “Although Brian is…was, my nephew, I feel today that I have lost a son. The accident that took his life robbed us of the most promising caster of his generation. Brian was the kind of young man who put others first. I remember the time he…”

  She zoned out as Grayson went on about what a great guy Brian had been. Had he? That wasn
’t the Brian she’d heard about last night.

  Kate couldn’t focus on any of it. All she could think about was the Sanctum and Brian screaming. And how it all would have been different if she had just told her father or Grayson or somebody about the damned stone.

  The pain and grief inside built up to a roiling despair. A tear started. Then another.

  No. I’m not going to cry. Not in front of all these stupid people.

  She wiped the wetness away, then sought her father’s hand. He took hers and gave it a tight squeeze. His thumb rubbed the inside of her palm gently until she stopped thinking everything was her fault.

  Afterward, she stood at the side of the gathering, gripping a glass of iced tea already wet with condensation, and looked for someone safe to talk to. She might be a caster now, but her earrings made her look the same as ever. A Null.

  Grayson had briefed her on the caster families who’d planned to attend. Every family had sent someone as a representative—following the caster custom to pay their respects at funerals, weddings, and other major events. Looking around at the little groups gathered together, sipping their drinks, voices low, something else became clear—it served as an opportunity to scheme and politic.

  Over by the fountain, Justine Delacroix, her blond hair in a perfect French twist, silver necklace dangling, smiled up at Jaime de la Vega as she brushed some imaginary lint off the fawning man’s tacky double-breasted suit. Nicodemus Makris, pig-eyed, with his brown hair beginning to thin and his heavyset body sheathed in dark pinstripes, leaned in and punctuated his words with his big hands as he spoke to her father under the tall oak tree, their bodyguards hovering. Kate doubted they were discussing Grayson’s eulogy.

  Hayley and Missy sat at the end of a row of chairs and traded phone numbers with some of the younger de la Vega boys, who hovered a little too close to them in Kate’s opinion. Hayley stifled a giggle.

  So maybe they weren’t talking politics.

  Dylan leaned against a tall tree and talked with a couple of her uncle’s other assistants. Maybe she should wander over, see if Dylan could break free from his conversation and tell her if he’s found out anything about the stone.