Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) (11 page)

Whirling on his heel without waiting for my reply, he strode away, confident that I’d just trail behind him like some kind of yappy poodle.

I almost didn’t. But now that I’d eaten well, curiosity won out.

A little peeved and picturing myself as a curly-haired puppy on a leash, I followed him through the crowded piazzas, over the bridges arching the canals, down a side street, back into the abandoned alleys, and into an old church graveyard. Under the canopy of ancient trees, we wove through the crumbling tombstones to pause in front of a long-forsaken crypt. Lucian brushed his hand over the unintelligible script carved deep into the crypt’s stone-facing.

The ground beneath me moved.

Startled, I took a step back as the stone-facing split, exposing a circular staircase going deep into the ground.

Lucian didn’t hesitate. As his dark head disappeared down into the yawning maw below, I galvanized myself into action and followed him.

There was a decided lack of spider webs. Not enough oxygen, perhaps. Wherever we were going, it was clearly a well-travelled passageway. Darkness fell the farther we descended, and as the last glimmer of light fled, my foot caught on a stone and I pitched forward.

In a flash, Lucian was there, catching me by the belt of my pants. For a moment, I held still against him. I could feel his solid muscles under me and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Why was the man so distracting? Enthralling, even. His sheer physical presence held an intensity that I’d never encountered before. Was it some kind of magic, a spell?

As suspicion warred with attraction, I was the first one to move, stepping aside with the greatest of reluctance.

“A light,” he murmured softly.

A moment later, a candle sputtered into life in a sconce along the wall, and we silently continued our descent. After a few more loops, we arrived in a long room with a vaulted ceiling illuminated by candles. Hundreds of them. Pools of melted wax dripped down onto the flagstones. Arched entryways lined the walls, tons of them, reminding me of the Coliseum.

I smelled them coming then. Dozens of them. They arrived to hover in the archways, their tall forms shrouded by long, dark cloaks. I was relieved I’d eaten, or else the mana spilling from these beings would have driven me to the brink of madness. Already, from this distance, I could taste various exotic scents upon my lips.

Gripping Lucian’s arm, I asked, “What kind of creatures are they?” I had to know. I didn’t even care if I were revealing a level of ignorance better kept hidden.

“They are Night Terrors,” he responded without looking down at me.

Night Terrors. I recalled that he’d suspected me of being one. But I’d never heard of them before. Well, the beings, anyway.

Breaking out of my grasp, Lucian strode into the center of the chamber and called out, “I must speak with the Keeper at once!”

Voices floated on the air, hauntingly beautiful voices, calling back and forth in a murmur of haunting music. Then someone clapped their hands and silence fell.

“She has only one foot in the Earthly world. The other is in the spirit,” a rasping voice accused out of the darkness.

I had no doubt that 
she
 meant 
me
.

Lucian remained silent.

At the far end of the room, a door hitherto hidden cracked open enough to reveal a faint light glowing from within.

“Enter,” the rasping voice commanded.

Crooking a beckoning finger for me to follow, Lucian headed for the door.

I hesitated, but only for a moment. With my knives still faithfully hidden within my boots, I figured I could defend myself. Whatever these creatures were, judging by the mana they yielded, they were clearly alive. And that meant a blade could deter them, if the need arose.

Close on Lucian’s heels, I entered a room identical but smaller than the last. It was definitely brighter, though. I could actually see the Night Terrors this time, standing in the archways dotting the walls as if they were a honeycomb. The creatures were uncommonly tall, painfully skinny, thin-haired, and with sagging jowls. Their skin glowed from within, white, like alabaster, and their eyes lit with an inner-brilliance unseen on Earth.

A table with a large gray stone stood in the center of the room. The stone was unusual, vying for my attention as if it were alive, calling for me to touch its rough, unpolished surface.

The sound of a creaking door diverted my attention to the arrival of another Night Terror. He was just like the others. Sallow. Thin. Wearing a cowled homespun robe and holding a lantern in his hand. His glowing eyes were gold and extra bright.

“Greetings, Lucian Rowle,” the Night Terror intoned ominously, his sagging cheeks jiggling a little.

“Keeper of the Old Wisdom,” Lucian addressed him with a respectful bow.

The Keeper held his lantern aloft, allowing the light to fall over my face. “And who is this?” he asked in a deep voice.

“My spell-finder,” Lucian replied as he looked at me with his fine brows furrowed. “Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards.”

The Keeper glided to hover before me and extended his hand as if to touch my forehead with his palm, but I wanted none of it. Instinctively, my hand shot up to knock his away.

“No,” I said.

It wasn’t going to happen. Be he a Night Terror or not.

Slowly, the Night Terror smiled. “Join us,” he whispered, his voice holding a promise. “You could become a Night Terror like the world has never seen.”

I blinked at the unexpected invitation.

“Pretty certain I already am one,” I answered dryly, thinking of my few lame attempts at relationships in the past. One of my hands on their chest too long, and they’d run screaming from me as fast as they could. Who could blame them?

The Keeper merely smiled. “There is still time to decide,” he promised. “Much time.”

He turned to Lucian then, and moving to one side of the table, they put their heads together and began to whisper. I could hear scattered fragments of their conversation: 
Dorian. Chosen Ones. Digging. Only a few hours left.

I glanced up at the archways studding the walls, each with a Night Terror standing in the threshold. With their cowled hoods pulled back, they looked like big glow sticks in the dark.

Bored, I sidled closer to the stone on the table. It was some kind of stone pillar, almost two feet tall and about a foot in circumference. At the head, I could see a series of intricate Celtic circles, but they were faded. The stone seemed very old.

I reached out to touch it, and my hand was only a couple of inches away when I felt the mana. It was incredible. Pure. Somehow, it was bathing the stone. I simply had to touch it. But as my finger brushed the small pillar with the lightest of touches, the stone fell back with a loud crash.

Quickly, I tipped it upright again, surprised to discover it weighed no more than a feather. How had the dang thing made such a racket?

I knit my brows into a frown.

“The stone is heavy for some and light for others,” the Keeper’s voice whispered by my side.

He stood next to me then, his thin face split into an eerie grin. Behind him, Lucian watched me with his feet splayed wide apart and his arms crossed. I couldn’t interpret the expression in his piercing eyes.

The Keeper waved his hand in front of my face to capture my attention. “Put your ear to the stone, Cassidy,” he invited, pointing to the Celtic carvings with his long, skinny finger. “Listen.”

I didn’t hesitate. Curiosity propelled me forward. Bending down, I placed my ear against the stone’s rough surface. But no sooner had my ear touched it then I had to jerk away.

Screams. Weeping, hideous screams.

“Lost souls,” the Night Terror drew his lips into a chilling smile. “Only true Night Terrors can hear the cries encapsulated in the Hell Stone.”

“Hell Stone?” I repeated. Sending the stone a wary look, I hastily stepped away.

“There are places where darkness rules,” the Keeper intoned. And then turning to the Night Terrors still standing in their archways, he added, “And we mustn’t allow additional darkness to ascend. We must assist this warlock. Come down, my brethren. We must leave, immediately.”

I moved to join Lucian as the cloaked figures lit lanterns and floated down from above. It was creepy; they seemed weightless.

Lucian wasn’t as fascinated by the whole scene as I was. Pivoting on his heel, he strode out of the chamber with an obvious purpose as the Night Terrors followed, chanting strange words.

I trailed behind, distracted by the lanterns drifting before me through the chambers toward the exit. In just a few short minutes, there must have been over a hundred of the cloaked figures filing up the steps after Lucian.

I trailed behind them, wondering what they had planned. What would the tourists think upon seeing a hundred dark-cowled Night Terrors carrying lanterns in the streets of Venice? It wasn’t Carnival, and it wasn’t exactly flying under the radar.

I’d lost track of Lucian. I guessed he’d already ascended up the stone stairs, and as I placed my foot upon the first step, the Night Terrors suddenly stopped.

I didn’t wait to see if I was in danger. I just acted. With knife in hand, I dashed past the strange creatures and up the stairs with vampirical speed, slipping past the waiting Night Terrors in such a rush that their robes flurried about their long, skinny legs and their lanterns flickered.

I arrived at the top to see Lucian standing on the top step.

There had been no cause for alarm. The Night Terrors were simply waiting their turn. They shuffled past Lucian, each one pausing in front of the warlock to hand him an amulet from their pocket, from a chain around their neck, or in a ring.

Lucian fixed his attention on each amulet and touched it to his forehead before returning it to its owner.

One moment, a cloaked Night Terror stood there. The next, a stout policeman. A grizzled archeologist. Two dewy-faced schoolgirls. A boisterous tourist with a Louis Vuitton handbag.

Spelled.

I saw it in action.

Somehow, Lucian used the mana trapped in their amulet to cast a spell to hide them. No wonder humans had no awareness of the Charmed amongst them—they were simply cast into obscurity.

Relieved, I slid my knife back into my boot and inserted myself into the line.

“And your amulet?” Lucian asked with an air of professionalism as I arrived.

I gave an inward scoff. Oh yeah—the Goldfish cracker-sized snack of mana. Was he joking with me?

“I don’t really need a disguise,” I asserted with a playful wink. “Been doing just fine without one so far, haven’t I?” I waved a hand over myself suggestively.

He tilted his head to the side and lifted a brow. And then to my surprise, he gripped my arm and pulled me close to him.

“You’re hiding something from me, Cass.” He breathed on my lips. A muscle ticked on his jaw.

I couldn’t stop the shiver raging through me. I knew he felt it, too. Something entered his eyes, a kind of hunger.

Cripes. I was going to have to find his weak spot soon. If I didn’t, I would lose this game to him.

Mustering every ounce of strength I possessed, I pushed myself away from the warlock and lifted my chin. “Everyone is hiding something, Lucian,” I retorted with a nonchalant shrug. “And you, more than most.”

And with that, I headed after the loud tourist with the overpriced handbag.

The Devil’s Lips

It didn’t take the Night Terrors very long. I didn’t know exactly what Night Terrors did for a living, but they were sure handy with pickaxes. They descended on the plague gravesite like a swarm of bees, and in minutes, skeletons were lifted from the ground—bricked and staked skeletons, clad in tattered medieval clothing.

Chosen Ones.

I couldn’t suppress a shudder and cast an anxious eye at the house behind the wall. I knew Dorian was in there. I could sense him standing in the attic, well away from any direct sunlight. I felt his eyes shift to me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

“What’s wrong?” Heath asked from my side as he picked up a freshly excavated shoe and gave it a once-over with his nose. Frowning, he tossed the shoe over his shoulder.

I jerked a little, surprised I hadn’t noticed he was there. I still wasn’t used to the fact that I couldn’t smell his mana.

Reluctance—or maybe something more—prevented me from announcing that Lucian’s nemesis watched our doings from just yards away. Yeah, I didn’t want to reveal the extent of my mana-smelling ability, but it was more than that. It almost felt akin to a betrayal, even though I owed this Dorian nothing.

“Are you sensing something?” Heath pressed, picking up the tattered remains of a wimple this time.

“No. It’s nothing,” I lied, shaking my head.

Apparently, my discovery of the Chosen Ones lurking right under his werewolf nose had given Heath a newfound respect for my abilities. “He’s in the house, isn’t he,” he said, following my perplexed gaze to the grime-covered window. After sniffing the wimple and shaking his head solemnly, he laid it down with care upon the disturbed stones of the crypt.

I didn’t answer. I guess I didn’t need to. Heath instantly shifted into his wolf form and with a low growl, disappeared over the garden wall.

Ah well. It looked like Dorian had been discovered, after all.

I shrugged. Re-staked again soon, no doubt.

A distinctly deep, male laugh flitted across my mind followed by a low voice holding a distinct Scottish burr. “Hardly, lass.”

I drew back sharply.

There was no doubting the source. Dorian. And it was the last straw; I’d had enough for one day. I wasn’t about to stand there and let him taunt me via telepathy or anything else.

Piqued, I pushed through the line of Night Terrors carrying the bones of the Chosen Ones over to where Lucian waited in one of the white tents. They walked with the greatest of care, clearly not wanting to dislodge the stakes or the bricks. I wondered what Lucian planned to do with all the remains, but weariness was winning over my curiosity.

I only had desire now for a bath and then a soft comfortable bed.