Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) (23 page)

Lucian searched my face for a long time. At last, his carved lips parted. “Would you lure Dorian to the churchyard at the Witching Hour for her sake?” he asked.

Betray Dorian? At once, I felt conflicted. But why? What loyalty did I owe to someone who’d willingly staked me? I shook my head. No. I wouldn’t overthink this.

“Not sure he’d come if I asked him to,” I said, truthfully enough. He’d smell the trap. “But I’ll try, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Lucian leaned close then, placing his handsome face inches from mine. “Oh, he’ll come. You’re the perfect bait.”

His tone was final. Filled with conviction—a conviction that filled me with instant suspicion.

I drew back. “Did you rescue me for me … to help 
me
?” I asked. And then letting the bitterness run riot in my voice, I added, “Or did you rescue me just to use me as bait?”

Lucian’s eyes darkened dangerously, and there was more than a touch of malice in his smile. “Does it matter?” he asked.

Oh, it mattered.

He rose to his feet, signaling the conversation was over, but I refused to take his hint. As he swiftly strode away, I sprinted after him, catching his arm.

“So, I’m just bait?” I growled.

He ignored me.

I really don’t know what I expected him to say. Or why I wanted him to say it. Now that I was near him again, the sparks were starting to fly once more. Sparks quite unlike those I’d shared with Dorian. The vampire had willfully seduced me for information. Lucian … well. There had been sparks, and I know he’d felt them. But he’d never used them to his advantage.

In fact, he’d made a point to walk away.

I suddenly wanted to know why.

Especially since he was practically running from me now.

Breaking into a sprint, I dashed in front of him and planted my palms square on his chest, forcing him to stop.

He peered down at me, angrily. “What foolishness is this?” he asked in heated tones. “We’ve a trap to lay and precious little time to lay it.”

I had to know. What would it be like to kiss Lucian? Would it be like kissing Dorian? Better? Worse?

It happened quicker this time. Just as before, the energy swirling around us shifted.

There was a connection there, something between us—undoubtedly real.

I watched the play of emotions crossing his face. For a moment, he shed his controlled persona, revealing eyes burdened with a pain beyond bearing. The intensity caught my breath. Torment. An agony that lanced through my heart.

He was suffering.

How had I even wondered if there was anything behind Lucian’s many walls? There was so much there. So much that I wanted to share. Something welled up from the bottom of my heart. It was a something that understood him, on a soul level.

And then a stoic expression stole over his face and he drew back, deliberately breaking the bond building between us—again.

“Meet me at the villa,” he ordered coldly.

He left me there, standing in the crowded cobblestone street.

I could scarcely breathe.

He hadn’t kissed me. Our lips hadn’t met. Crud, he hadn’t even touched me. Yet, I’d felt a connection like no other with him. A connection of intimacy that I knew far exceeded anything else.

If only he’d let it.

Did it matter why he’d rescued me?

Yes, it mattered. Especially when he could matter so very much.

The Marionette

We set the trap for the Witching Hour. During the long, heated discussion raging between Lucian and Tabitha, I’d learned that the Witching Hour was really at 3:00am. Apparently, all the other times littered throughout various stories and legends were decoys, planted to confuse those attempting to interfere with real warlock and witch business.

Tabitha had seemed disappointed to see me again. I guess she’d finally made up her mind about me. She didn’t care for my existence. She certainly didn’t trust my willingness to act as bait.

“What are you hiding?” she’d asked without preamble.

No matter what I said, she didn’t believe it.

Lucian finally ordered her to be quiet.

She’d responded by poofing into a little pink lizard, one that perfectly matched the pink gown she’d been wearing. She’d skittered away to hang in the corner of the ceiling to pretend the rest of us didn’t exist.

Heath came back a short time later. It took him several minutes of playing the peacemaker before Tabitha finally agreed to morph back into her human form again so that the trap-planning could continue.

It was a very explosive process.

Tabitha raged about everything. She was convinced the entire thing would be the end of Lucian, from the Witching, to the churchyard, to having me involved. She was dead set against it all. She even cried—a single tear. I hadn’t known she was capable of that much emotion.

But Lucian refused to be dissuaded. Finally, his deep voice rang through the villa. “I will meet Dorian Ramsey at the Witching Hour. Nothing will dissuade me! And I will vanquish him, have no fear.”

“Your arrogance blinds you!” Tabitha nearly spat. “Your curses are useless against his kind. Why would you succeed where every other warlock has failed? Even attempting the curse at that hour won’t help. Even
that
extra boost of power won’t be enough!”

But Lucian was really done with her dire warnings. With a curt, “thank you for your vote of confidence,” he got up to leave.

“You give me no choice!” Tabitha’s voice rose to stop him. “I’ll be forced to call 
him here right this very instant
. 
He
 will stop this madness!”

Lucian tensed. And then turning his head just enough so that I could see the profile of his hard jaw and lips, he replied, “Do so, if it pleases you.”

Turns out, it was just an empty threat. I wasn’t certain who 
him
 was, but no one was instantly summoned.

In the end, Tabitha backed down. She even turned back into the pink lizard and skulked off to hang on the ceiling again, but it only lasted a few minutes this time. She came back of her own accord the moment Heath and Lucian began to openly muse if I should go it alone at first, or if I would need supplementary protection.

Seeming to find that a particularly pleasing subject, she reappeared to suggest, “Cassidy should go alone, without escort. He won’t come if it’s an obvious trap.”

“Thanks,” I snapped.

Her eyes zeroed in on mine. “He’s fond of you, isn’t he?” she asked. “Vampires and seduction go hand-in-hand.”

Was this some twisted way of prying, or had she been spying? I abruptly switched subjects. “He simply wants Lord Rowle’s voodoo dolls,” I said.

Everyone froze.

“Voodoo dolls?” Lucian repeated in a genuinely puzzled tone.

I found his response perplexing. “The suitcase,” I said, wondering what game he was playing yet again. “The suitcase of marionettes. And the bones. He wants his clan back.”

Something flashed in Lucian’s eyes. I couldn’t tell what it was. “Ah yes, the suitcase of marionettes,” he agreed hastily. “Fine then. We’ll bring them along as an additional lure.”

That was it. No pushing back of any kind.

Tabitha exchanged several long looks with him afterwards, but the conversation shifted to other details.

I left them then, feeling like I was the only one who didn’t know what was really going on. It was aggravating.

Stomping off to the kitchen, I caught Ricky red-handed, sniffing through the spice drawer. There wasn’t any turmeric that I could see, but I didn’t know if it was the only spice that had alcoholic effects on imps. I chastised him anyway and carried him to my room.

His ears drooped until he caught sight of my phone on the bed. Deciding that an obsession with selfies was, at least, a healthier addiction, I left him there and finally took a long, hot shower.

Time fled.

Night fell.

Soon enough, the appointed hour arrived and I joined the others to wait for Lucian at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t know all the details. I knew my own role. And I knew that I’d be safe. Well, I knew I had an escort. Lucian had tossed out Tabitha’s idea that I should go it alone. They’d decided to use the Night Terrors in Lucian’s employ to secure the villa and the path leading to the churchyard.

But once there, I had to place my trust in Lucian.

We all had to.

For the first time, I wondered exactly what he was going to do, and if he was truly strong enough to do it. I’d been so exhausted, drained, and caught up in anger before, that I hadn’t really objectively considered Tabitha’s point-of-view.

Now, as I waited, I wondered if she was right. 
Was
 Lucian strong enough to defeat Dorian?

Footsteps. I heard his footsteps then, coming downstairs, and I glanced up.

He was stunning. He certainly looked the part of a powerful warlock. Tall. Intimidating. Wearing a voluminous black cloak over a dark, tailored tuxedo and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he was an odd mixture of casual elegance. But it wasn’t his physical attributes that gave him such a commanding air. It was his confidence. His poise. One look into his mesmerizing blue eyes and all doubts fled.

He wasn’t going to fail.

He was going to accomplish what no other warlock had ever been able to before, regardless of what Tabitha had said.

And if it was all some kind of spell over me, I didn’t care. It only proved that his mad scheme—whatever it was, was going to work.

He waved a hand, pointing over my shoulder at the door.

I squinted back to see the suitcase. The one filled with the dolls Dorian wanted so badly.

“Right then,” Lucian said, clapping his hands together once. “Game begin.”

All eyes turned to me.

I took a deep breath. My part. This was my part.

Lifting my chin, I picked up the suitcase. I hefted it once or twice. I could hear the dolls rattle inside, and I caught the trace of their delicate scent. Mana-infused voodoo dolls. Right then. I really had what Dorian wanted. Maybe he’d really come.

Ignoring a sudden stab of guilt, I gripped the suitcase and, opening the door, headed out into the chill night air.

The moon was out in a star-studded sky. It was abnormally bright, revealing a deserted street and canal. For a moment, I wondered if Tabitha had gotten her way after all and I was alone. But then a small breeze stirred the air, and I caught their scent. Mana.

The Night Terrors. I recognized them at once.

I wasn’t alone.

With my head held high, I stepped out onto the street and began to walk.

Soon, I’d be done. Tomorrow, I’d be sitting on a plane next to my mother, leaving both Dorian and Lucian to whatever battle they wanted to engage in. My contract would be over. I’d be paid. I could find another apartment. And Emilio. Well, I’d get my information, but I’d already learned that I needed to learn more.

The whole Charmed world was a bit messier than I’d ever imagined it to be.

Soon enough, the proscribed church loomed ahead of me. It was a small place, clay tiles on the roof and surrounded by a reddish limestone wall. The iron gate was open. I stepped inside to find the stone courtyard illuminated by several old-fashioned street lamps, the really old kind that took only candles. I wondered if the Night Terrors had lit them.

I scanned the premises. The place looked more like an old stable than a church. Made of blocked stone. Just a couple of barred windows. Not a plant in sight. And, come to think of it, not one single tombstone.

All in all, a strange place.

The sooner I was out of it, the better. It was time to set our plan in motion. Pulling my phone out, I dialed the number.

My mother answered instantly.

In less than a minute, I saw her shadow slip over the church wall. She’d avoided the gate. I have to admit, it was a bit unnerving to see a vampire slide into a holy churchyard so easily. Even if the vampire was my mother. Part of me thought that vampires should shrivel or at least squirm a little with discomfort when entering a holy place, but she only looked really ticked off.

“Tell Dorian to meet me here,” I told her, taking note of her new designer suit—a blue one this time. Bright blue. Where did she get the money for these? “I have what he wants—the suitcase. I will give it to him personally, in exchange for the information I want.”

“Never,” my mother hissed.

I expelled a long breath through my nose. Were we really going to fight about Emilio right now?

“Just give him the message, Blair,” I said.

“Never!” she vowed. “It’s a mistake.”

“It’s mine to make,” I retorted.

“Never!” she repeated, letting her dark eyes flash.

This was going to degenerate quickly. Using my mother as the go-between was a bad idea. The worst.

But then, I caught a distinctive whiff of a scent.

Dorian.

He was already here, and too early. He must have picked up on the fact that I’d detected him because only a moment later, I saw a movement by the gate. I turned just in time to see him step out of the shadows and into the dim circle of candlelight, resplendent in his bright green plaid clasped over his shoulder by an ancient brooch.

My mother abandoned me at once, leaving me with him in the empty church courtyard. So much for motherly support.

“The Witching Hour is nigh, lass,” he greeted me with a glint of mischief in his eye. “I take it that you’re now in yon warlock’s service?”

Of course. Dorian wouldn’t be fooled so easily. I glanced down at my phone. It was 2:35am. Twenty-five minutes. I had to stall for twenty-five minutes. Could I? My mind raced quickly. “The Witching Hour?” I bluffed. “It’s almost 3:00am. It’s over already, everyone knows that.”

Of course, Dorian knew better than I, and he didn’t fall for my diversionary tactic for a split second. He got right to the heart of the matter. “Stalling are you? Ach, so your wee warlock needs a nip of extra help, does he, no? Surely, you’ll not be angry if I deny the lad that unsportsmanlike advantage, now, will you?”

Adopting a stern expression, I extended my hand and rattled the suitcase. “I brought what you wanted. But you’ll have to make me a few promises first,” I blundered ahead, deciding to make it up as I went along. I just had to last for twenty-five—now twenty-four—minutes.