Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) (16 page)

“No,” came his curt reply.

So much for the husky-voiced attempt at nicety. Apparently, he was the one straight male immune to it. Figured.

Irritated, I retorted, “But it’s time you deliver on your end. I found your Terzi vampires. I’ve done what you’ve asked of me—that spell-finder detection stuff or whatever you call it. What about 
my
 information? What of Emilio?”

Selecting a slim, tan-leather book, he faced me with his lip curled up on one side. “Why this obsession with Emilio?” he asked softly.

I hesitated, but then answered honestly enough, “Revenge.” Revenge was something he could understand.

The look he gave me was a long, calculating one. He advanced on me, slowly. Each step as measured as the look in his pale, piercing eyes. Upon reaching me, he tossed the book into my lap and, gripping the swing on either side of its round frame, effectively caged me in.

Attraction, pure and simple. It oozed from every cell of his handsome, lean body. There was only one thought racing through my mind. What would kissing him feel like?

My eyes lingered on his carved lips before dipping over his tantalizing jawline and up to his eyelashes, exceptionally long ones.

Slowly, I met his gaze.

Again, the sensual gleam in his eye. There was no doubting it.

Just what 
was
 it between us?

He hovered there, inches from me. It was all I could do to keep from running my hands over his torso.

And then, just as abruptly as before, the spell shattered.

With a twisting jerk of his body, he unexpectedly turned away from me.

“Out!” he thundered, pointing at the door and not even bothering to look over his shoulder at me.

Unhinged—that’s what he was. An unstable, unhinged, and most likely mad warlock.

Snagging the book, I clipped the words, “Good 
night
, Lord Lucian Rowle.”

I only left because I wanted to.

Imps 101

Once in the relative safety of my bedroom, I decided that Lucian was better dealt with in the morning. I still had a lot of unanswered questions. In addition to the subject of my contract and pay, I would like to know if he knew more about my-controlling-mana thing.

And what about what I’d overheard in the marionette room? The Chosen Ones ability to link minds, and how Dorian could link with mine. Not that I could ask Lucian about it without revealing I’d been there—that’s if Esmeralda hadn’t already spilled the beans.

But I didn’t want to press the matter. Not right now. Not with the way things tended to spiral into the sensual so quickly. It was odd. Unnatural, maybe. Was it some kind of spell?

With a scowl, I clenched my teeth and gave a growl of frustration.

The mysteries of the Charmed world only grew more each day.

Plopping down onto my bed with the tan-covered book, I read the title:
Imps 101 – A Beginner’s Guide to Handling Imps.

I drew a quick breath. So, Lucian
knew
I didn’t have a clue.

Curious, I skimmed the pages. The book was a treasure trove of imp trivia. They detested dogs, pined for human companionship, played with human emotions, held an insatiable taste for gossip, loved to play in fire, and considered peanuts a rare treat.

The part about fire really didn’t surprise me. Ricky was basically a miniature demon. He was only missing the pitchfork.

The section on addiction was by far the longest chapter in the book. Imps had a long list of weaknesses, everything from mental indulgences to the culinary. Turmeric was one of the worst addictions to break. Few imps were ever motivated to truly quit. Figured. Some of the mental addictions were surprising: Crossword Puzzles, Sudoku, and Poker. I made a mental note never to take Ricky on a plane bound for Las Vegas.

There was only one page devoted to imp skillsets. Actually, it was just a paragraph:

Imps possess a variety of skills that spell-finders find useful. They are accomplished escape artists and reconnaissance gatherers. (Quick Tip: Imps suffering addictions may be enticed to join opposing sides during relapses. Turmeric-addicted imps should never be trusted for this reason. See addiction section.)

I rolled my eyes. Of course, I was partnered with an imp I never should trust. Just what had Lucian been thinking? Expelling my breath, I read the remainder of the paragraph:

In addition, some more advanced imps can detect spells (providing the spell-finder knows how to coax this skill out of his or her imp), and there are rumors that some of the fabled imp Elite Class may be able to protect their masters from a foreseeable curse. But, there are no documented cases of this ever recorded in all the entire history of the Charmed world. There is only a single mention of a single imp doing this for his or her spell-finder, and that imp may, or may not have been, an Elite.

A pair of steady green eyes peered over the top of my book. I jerked, dryly hoping it was just a nightmare, but it wasn’t. Of course, it was Ricky.

“What are you searching for in that?” Ricky asked, adopting an innocent-eyed expression.

“I’m at the part that says you only look out for your own interests,” I lied. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. While the book hadn’t explicitly said it, it sure had implied it plenty of times.

He tried to look at the page.

I slammed the book shut, accidently catching his fingers.

“Ouch!” he started out yelling but ended in a whisper. He pinned his ears down. He looked lost. Forlorn.

I almost fell for it. “Oh, is this the 
playing with human emotions
 ploy?” I called him out.

He gave a long, loud sigh. “It seems like it was only yesterday that you trusted me…”

“It was,” I interrupted. “Guilt trips don’t work on me. Especially fake ones.”

He glared at me with burning, reproachful eyes.

Ignoring him, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, intending to search for flights home, but I was greeted by a message pointing out that I was almost all out of space and should clean up my Camera Roll.

I frowned, puzzled.

I wasn’t much of a photographer. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever having snapped a picture. Distracted, I touched the photos icon.

Pictures. Thousands of them. Ricky-selfies. Apparently, he’d spent his free time fascinated with his own reflection. The guide would have to be updated in the next version: Imps—may be addicted to taking selfies like a teenager.

“And I thought you were just sleeping all the time,” I said, shaking my head in annoyance.

He responded with a shrill, nervous giggle.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” I charged, swatting at him with a frown.

“But I’ve been useful!” he was quick to say. “And Esmeralda. I’ve handled her. She won’t tell Lucian about, well, you know.” He pointed a smoke-finger up at the ceiling, indicating the marionette room.

That made me perk up. I raised a questioning brow. “Is she an imp, like you?”

He let out a loud ‘
Pah’
 and rolled his eyes. “Really, love!”

So we were back to 
love
? So much for sadness and remorse.

“Esmeralda is a true demon,” he hissed in a conspiratorial tone.

I blinked and sat up on my elbow. “Really?” I gasped. Was Esmeralda the true key to Lucian’s power?

“Aye,” Ricky nodded up and down, clearly enjoying my rapt attention. “She’s a … 
cat
.”

I really did swat him then. I kept swatting him until he dispersed into a formless cloud of smoke with just two blinking green eyes and no mouth.

When I finally allowed him to gather himself back together, he looked suitably contrite. “Cats are evil,” he said in his own defense.

I had to grant him that—I wasn’t a cat-lover either—but I wasn’t about to let him know it.

Instead, I opened my mouth to order him to bed—and to 
never
 touch my phone again—when there was a sudden sharp rap on my window.

A Kilted Vampire

A prickle of foreboding raced up my spine as the rapping on the window continued.

Ricky dashed under the pillow. I pulled him out by his foot.

“Go check it out,” I directed as the rapping grew louder.

He was 
my
 imp, right? Shouldn’t he take a few orders here and there?

I wasn’t about to open the curtains. What if it was Dorian? I didn’t want to risk getting 
that
 close to him. He was too much of an unknown for me.

The rapping turned insistent.

“Hurry up!” I flicked Ricky’s butt—or where I thought it was, anyway—with my fingers in the effort to spur him on.

He folded his arms stubbornly. “That’s your job,” he countered. “
You’re
 the leader.”

“Yes, I am,” I grumbled. “And I’m telling you to make a move!”

But Ricky wasn’t one to cooperate so easily. “Lor’ love a duck, if it’s 
your
 job to lead, then why are you telling me to do it?” he protested, digging his heels into the bedspread.

“Because it’s 
your
 job to follow orders, Ricky.” And I brushed him off the bed and halfway across the room.

He tromped the rest of the way to the curtains like a surly three-year-old. Gripping the bottom of the curtain, he heaved it back—but not much. About an inch.

I only caught a glimpse, but a glimpse was enough.

My lips parted in surprise.

My mother, Blair, twice in a month. Unusual, to say the least. Had she 
actually
 followed me to Venice? Why?

Or most likely, who was using her and why?

I could only think of two possibilities.

Emilio or Dorian.

Still, I was at the window in an instant, pointing to my phone. “What do you want?” I mouthed. “What is it? Why didn’t you just call me?”

She shook her head and pointed to the dim streetlight next to the canal. The next moment, she stood there, beckoning me with a crooked finger.

I frowned. Had she lost her phone?

I didn’t think she was really working for the Terzi. After all, she’d warned me of them to save her precious Emilio. And he wasn’t a Terzi. Putting me completely out of the picture, I didn’t think she was going to do anything that risked her relationship with him.

Maybe Lucian had spelled the place and she couldn’t knock on the door like a normal person.

I stood there, weighing my options, but in the end, she was my mother. I owed her a conversation, at least.

“I’ll be back,” I growled at Ricky.

He was mad at me; it was obvious. He sat in the middle of the bed with his long ears flat and his eyes narrowed into slits. He’d get over it. I’d find him some peanuts.

The cobblestones appeared blue in the moonlight as I cautiously eased out of the villa’s front door. My mother waited a little ways off, huddling under the streetlight.

“What is it?” I rasped at her in a hoarse whisper.

She shook her head and waved for me to join her. She couldn’t have been more than fifty feet away. I knew very well that she could hear me.

Exercising caution, I took a deep breath, searching for the slightest hint of mana.

Only Blair’s unique combination filled my nostrils.

It gave me enough confidence to skip down to the bottom porch step. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to come closer to 
me
,” I whisper-shouted.

She cupped an ear to her hand.

I rolled my eyes. So much for playing hardball with my mom. Stomping off the porch, I crossed to where she stood at the canal’s edge.

She looked gorgeous, as usual, in a fashionable cream-colored suit. Plunging neckline. White leather ankle-boots.

“Just what is it?” I demanded in hushed tones. “It’s very dangerous here.”

“I know,” she said quietly, her bronzer and sheer lip gloss reflected the moonlight with every subtle move of her face.

Her voice trembled a little and I peered closer. Despite all her makeup, I could tell her face was paler than usual. Strained. Unhappy. But it was the shadow of sadness in her eyes that caught my attention.

A fatal mistake.

Before I even saw her hands move, she’d lashed out and pushed me into the canal.

I landed in the foul-smelling water with a loud splash. I could swim, but it wasn’t my favorite ‘to-do’ thing. And going swimming at night in a Venetian canal was most definitely 
not
 on my bucket list.

Outraged, I sputtered and bobbed to the surface of the reeking canal.

Almost at once, hands reached into the water, pulling me up and out in a single, swift motion.

Strong hands. Many strong hands.

I could smell them 
all
 now. Chosen Ones. At least a dozen different scents.

I knew now why Blair hadn’t just called me on the phone. She’d never really wanted to talk. She’d just wanted to entice me out to be caught like some kind of fish.

It was a new low for her, and it hurt.

The instant my feet hit dry ground, someone tossed a dark hood over my head and whisked me away.

It had all happened so quickly that there was no way even Lucian could have saved me.

In seconds, I’d been kidnapped—taken by the Terzi.

The hood covering my head was spelled. I could smell the mana infused into the weave of the cloth. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even open my mouth. Apparently, the hood was designed to keep its victims from crying out for help.

I don’t know how far they carried me. By the force of the wind blowing against my hood, I could tell they moved with incredible speed. Less than a minute later, I was lowered onto my feet and the hood yanked off my head.

A half dozen cloaked figures surrounded me. Chosen Ones. But before I could speak a word, they melted into the surrounding shadows to leave me alone with my mother.

Blair stepped forward to catch my face between her hands.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see that I now stood in a small courtyard ringed with dark trees and a crumbling stone wall. Dark branches obscured the view of the sky, but here and there, I caught patches of stars. It was strangely silent. No sounds of tourists. Not even a cricket.