Mindsong (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 6) Read online

  Mindsong

  Cassidy Edwards

  Carmen Caine

  Book Title Copyright © 2019 by Carmen Caine. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Lind

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Carmen Caine

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: Dec 2019

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Mindsong

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Justice

  Elizabeth Rowle: Pain

  Lips Don’t Lie

  The Resistance

  Elizabeth Rowle: Darkness

  Sleeping Beauty

  Mythical Beasts

  The Fine-Toothed Comb

  Elizabeth Rowle: A Candle in the Dark

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  Unforgiven

  Elizabeth Rowle: Voices

  Too Late

  Inside

  Dead to Me

  Jackpot

  Charmed Justice

  Whole

  First Strike

  Blood to Blood

  The Point of No Return

  Counterpoint

  Elizabeth Rowle: Finale

  Hell

  The Balance of Life

  Eternity

  Strings and Bonds

  Family Ties

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Carmen’s Other Books

  Justice

  Revenge.

  It’s all I’d lived for.

  Revenge against those who’d turned my mother into a vampire, causing her to give birth to me–the first of my kind. Revenge against Emilio. I didn’t know then the path that this revenge would lead me down, the Monster it would bring out of me.

  But I was wrong. Revenge is a bottomless pit that keeps on taking every shred of morality from your soul until you lose track of who or what you’re fighting for.

  And I refuse to let that happen to me ever again.

  Now, I don’t want revenge.

  Now, I want justice.

  Justice for all the lives that have been taken. Justice for Blair. For Heath. For True, and all the night terrors.

  Justice for all the lives broken. Justice for Lady Elizabeth, for Lord Helm, for Esmerelda, for Mags, for the little witchling, for Gloria, for Dorian, for Tabitha, and for so many more I don’t even know about.

  Justice for Lucian.

  Justice…for me.

  Elizabeth Rowle: Pain

  Pain. Even in the depths of this hell hole, I feel her pain. Her anguish haunts me, waking me from my slumber to cut my heart like a knife. If only I could hold her, let her know that such pain brings wisdom. Such pain brings a way of desiring the greater good.

  Such pain brings forgiveness.

  Then, peace.

  A strange wind blows me to her, across time, to the path where our fates cross.

  I carry so many pains of my own. First among them is my wish to see my Lucian, and the pain that, now, it may never be.

  But from the deepest depths of my soul, I know I shall meet her, this curious creature.

  Face to face.

  Our destinies connect.

  Soon.

  Lips Don’t Lie

  I stood outside the study door; my gaze riveted on the puppet hanging limp in Lucian’s hands. Auburn hair. Tight black leather clothes. Tiny knives strapped to small dangling legs, complete with high-heeled boots.

  Me.

  Sooooo, why the marionette? But even as I asked myself, I already knew the answer. It tore my heart, as much as I didn’t want to admit I had one.

  Lucian was afraid. Of me. Oh, he’d claimed he was out of the puppet business. ‘The stuff of black warlocks,’ he’d said… He’d told me he’d turned white… But that was all before…

  Before he’d realized just how linked I was to Emilio.

  Before I’d gone off the deep end and mucked up everything.

  Before I’d captured Mags…

  Before Heath had…

  Hex it all, there were too many ‘befores’ now.

  Tears I didn’t even know I had left pricked the back of my eyes, but I refused to shed them. I’d never been much of a crying sort before. but now, after everything that had happened, I was even less of one. Crying wouldn’t help me restore Lucian’s trust, providing it was even salvageable anymore. Our relationship had changed so much since the day I’d met him in the mall and dubbed him Mr. Delicious. Another lifetime. Another Cassidy. I didn’t even think the same anymore. Now, I felt so old inside, shriveled like a petrified raisin.

  I let my eyes trail over Lucian’s lean jaw, his broad shoulders. His biceps. He looked the same as when I’d met him, but on the inside, he’d changed more than I had. I’d caught him at the beginning of a journey, and from the moment we’d met, he’d tried to guide me away from revenge. We’d taken different paths. It was so clear now. I’d strayed to the dark while he’d journeyed to the light…

  “Cassidy.” Lucian’s soft voice startled me into looking straight into his gorgeous eyes. He rose to his feet, a smile creasing his cheeks as he oh-so casually dropped the marionette face down onto the table and held out his hands.

  I stepped forward as he met me, halfway.

  “What are you up to?” I asked, his palms sliding around my waist.

  “I rather think I’m going to kiss you,” his baritone rumbled in that butter smooth English accent I’d never tire of hearing.

  Then, he caught my mouth with his, gently. Lips don’t lie. The message in that kiss was loud and clear. He loved me. Completely. Still. Somehow, after everything. He still loved me…

  Yet, the puppet? Why create such a thing unless you plan on using it? But, that was the question. Just how would he? Would he—

  Lucian’s lips left mine. “A penny for your thoughts?”

  I jerked out of his arms. “That—” I began, pointing at the marionette.

  But the doll was no longer there. Only a white beeswax candle and a weathered, leather-bound manuscript lay where the puppet had been.

  “What game are you playing?” I choked.

  “Game?” Lucian peered down at me from under hooded eyes. “I assure you, sweetheart, I play no games.”

  I met his gaze, steadily. His silver-laced eyes glittered from under his dark lashes, watchful and wary, and so at odds from his claim of ‘no games.’ I could shatter his story with a simple inspection. After all, I was a spellfinder, and if he’d spelled the puppet into a book, I’d know. But did I really want that kind of proof? Did I really want confirmation that his fear of me had driven him not only to lies, but back to the dark side of witchcraft?

  Confusion and anger bubbled alongside the host of other emotions I’d harbored the past few days. Anger. Shock. Pain. Sorrow. Shame. Fear. The depressing list went on and on, a list that could pull me down into a bottomless abyss of misery.

  I drew a breath. Right, then. This time, I was better off going with the candle and manuscript version of reality. Yep, I’d just thought I’d seen the tiny knives and boots. Definitely a trick of the light.

  “Never mind,” I whispered. “It’s nothing.”

  He didn’t believe me. He
caught my fingers and squeezed them. “Talk to me.”

  About what? I didn’t think I could stomach his explanation. Instead, I just drowned in his eyes, letting the silver swirling streaks of mana pull me in as I battled to forget the puppet I’d seen.

  “Cassidy?” Lucian pressed, drawing his brows into a slight frown.

  A knock on the door saved me from answering.

  A pink-haired vampire with a pixie nose popped into view. “Lord Rowle, they’re ready.”

  Lucian’s shoulders sagged a little. “A moment, sweetheart,” he murmured in apology as he gave my fingers another squeeze. Then, he was off, crossing the room to converse with the newcomer.

  For a time, I watched them talk, straining to hear and though the rich timbre of Lucian’s voice vibrated through the room, it was just low and soft enough that I couldn’t make out his words. Not until the vampire bowed to leave, anyway. Then, I heard him as clear as a bell.

  “Have Naz meet us there. Mags can stay.”

  Mags. At her name, my throat constricted, and the weight of my sins returned, settling fully on my shoulders. Mags. Her daughter. I grimaced. So, this would be how I lived now. On a roller coaster. One minute, numb. The other, eaten alive with regret.

  Then, Lucian was back, standing so close, his mana radiating off his sinfully distracting body in waves.

  “The fire witch—” I began.

  He gently cupped my cheek. “Cassidy, you’re not responsible for Emilio’s actions. He’s evil—”

  I twisted away from him. “No, you don’t understand.”

  Yes, Emilio was evil incarnate, the kind who wouldn’t think twice about removing a finger from a child. After all, evil dictated such things. Yet, I couldn’t ignore my own role. I’d cleared the mother from the playing field, allowing the Mindbreaker to succeed in his sick deed. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, I had a hand in the horrid affair.

  “It was my fault, Lucian,” I insisted. “Mine.”

  “You didn’t know—”

  “Does it matter?” I challenged fiercely. “I set everything in motion.”

  Lucian recognized a losing battle when he saw one. He switched tactics. “The child is now unharmed. I saw her finger restored myself and the memories completely erased. She’ll never recall the event. I promise you.”

  The relief his words summoned faded in less than a second. Of course, I was happy the little girl wouldn’t remember a thing…but her mother would. I would.

  Lucian dropped a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes, Cassidy, life is messy no matter how hard you try,” he said, his tone raw. “Believe me, I carry my share of regrets. We all do. The only thing left to do, now, is move forward to set things right. Nothing is fixed by regret alone.”

  I wanted to look away, but his pained expression held my gaze. He understood. I could see that, but it didn’t really help me. He’d set things right by freeing the puppets he’d created and stayed around to deal with the consequences. Unlike him, I didn’t have as clear a path to take.

  A movement at the door drew my gaze. The pink-haired vampire still stood there, tension radiating from every line in her body. “Forgive the intrusion, but we must hurry.”

  Lucian exhaled a silent sigh. With his silver gaze never leaving my face, he trailed his fingers down my arm to cover my hand with his. “Come, Cassidy. It’s time to meet the Resistance.”

  The Resistance

  The Resistance? The words summoned images of French-speaking freedom fighters with berets perched sideways on their heads. But as we followed the pink-haired vampire out of the room and through the kitchen, the thoughts faded as the regret and unease churning inside me rose again to choke out everything else.

  Of late, I’d complicated every relationship in my life and had only succeeded in bringing down more problems upon my head. I’d made a bitter enemy in Mags. Gloria…I didn’t even know where I stood with her anymore. And Tabitha? She’d hated me from the beginning. I’d only made things worse.

  And now… Lucian? The puppet I so desperately tried to forget signaled our relationship was in trouble, despite his gallant show of affection.

  My thoughts jumping from problem to problem, I followed, focusing on Lucian’s feet, his expensive Italian leather shoes illuminated by the pink-haired vampire’s flashlight as she led us through the darkness.

  I didn’t care where we were going. I could only think of Lucian… Just why had he created that marionette. For what? I couldn’t blame him. But, still… a puppet? A puppet, perhaps, destined for some suitcase on a shelf? Could we really go there? Could he betray me that deeply?

  We kept walking and with each step, I kept trying to distract myself, but questions of the marionette kept popping back in my head, again and again like Whack-a-Mole. Always the puppet.

  Finally, somewhere in the storm of my thoughts, a particularly piquant wave of Charmed mana jolted me straight to the present.

  I squinted at my surroundings, surprised I had no recollection of arriving there. The low rock ceiling overhead announced we’d ventured underground, and the mana-charged air told me we’d returned to the Fringe, but a vastly different version from what I’d seen before in New York. This one seemed straight out of a Gothic horror movie.

  I stood on a cobblestoned road under a row of vintage iron streetlamps. They were unique, made of twisted black metal and at the very top, a gargoyle perched. Beeswax candles flickered in their wide, grinning mouths, and the way the light danced through their eye slits made me feel they were alive, waiting to pounce.

  A quick survey revealed we were alone, Lucian and I, with only a long line of lights parading behind us, gradually winking out in the darkness. Strange. I hadn’t realized the Fringe was so huge.

  Even stranger, somewhere along the way, we’d lost the pink-haired vampire. Just how much had I phased out? It wasn’t like me, to be so oblivious to my surroundings. It was downright dangerous.

  “We’re here,” Lucian suddenly declared, his voice sounding unnaturally loud.

  I turned again as he stepped out of the shadows a few yards away, the streetlamps casting a ghoulish glow over his broad shoulders and lighting only half of his face. He looked downright wicked, not a shred of him looking like a white warlock should appear. “This way, sweetheart,” he said, taking the time to touch my cheek before continuing on to stop before the bedrock on my right and wave his fingers in an intricate spell.

  Chalk lines appeared, running over the face of the rock and shifting into shapes of fanciful creatures ranging from unicorns to sea monsters. With each passing moment, they grew in detail until finally, they sprang to life and hopped down from the rock wall, fully formed. Working in concert, they pushed open the door.

  The giant slabs of rock groaned ominously as the chalk creatures struggled and strained. When the new passage was fully formed, the creatures jumped back to the wall and faded into chalk, vanishing without a trace.

  Lucian strode forward, waving for me to follow. “This way.”

  I kept close to his heels as we strode down a long, narrow passageway which opened out into a maze. Lucian didn’t hesitate to navigate the turns with ease, and minutes later, we emerged into a large, spacious courtyard. If it hadn’t been for the dark rock above, I’d have almost thought we’d stepped onto the streets of Paris. It was beautiful. Magical. Lights twinkled in the cavern ceiling, simulating stars in a Paris night sky over a line of outdoor cafés, each separated by potted trees with their own sets of multi-colored lights entwined around their branches.

  Charmed mana bombarded me from all directions. Perimancers, witches, warlocks. And tons of vampires, all sitting at their tables, chatting, perusing menus, and sipping goblets of red blood like fine wine. I could only stare in wonder. Really, with such a variety of blood sources and safety from the sun, why they even risked roaming the ground above was a mystery.

  Then, Lucian commandeered my elbow. “This way,” he murmured, guiding me toward the café on our left.
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  The hostess standing at her station watched us approach with an obvious interest. I didn’t even have to smell her mana to know she was a Beauchene shifter. I’d have recognized that wise, predatorial look in those bright green eyes anywhere. She stepped around the hostess station to greet us, looking every inch the panther she was with the way her muscles slid sensuously beneath her green silk dress.

  “Rowle,” Lucian announced with a nod.

  She tensed like a hungry cat who’d just spotted a bird. “Lord Rowle, we’ve been waiting, my lord,” she simpered with a smile, waving us forward.

  As I passed her, I could have sworn I heard her purr.

  She led us inside the restaurant and to a dark, walnut-paneled door tucked at the end of an equally dark hallway.

  “My lord.” This time, there was a bit of extra eyelash fluttering as she bowed.

  Lucian didn’t even notice. With a gracious nod of thanks, he stepped through the door and vanished into the dimly lit room.

  The hostess was gone before I even stepped up to the threshold.

  Amused, I headed inside and entered a surprisingly modern conference room, like something you’d expect to see on a spaceship. Recessed lighting. A large, oval metallic table that would seat at least fifty in stylishly curved black plastic chairs. A line of unlit candles ran down the center of the table, all white, except the single black one at the very end. I paused, wondering at the significance before continuing my inspection, taking in the glass whiteboards, the black ruffled pastry cart overflowing with tiered platters and a coffee machine.

  Lucian headed for the coffee first, but after pouring himself a cup, he simply stood there a good three minutes before absently setting the drink down, untouched, in favor of running his hands through his hair.

  Something clearly bothered him, but I didn’t ask. I wasn’t ready to hear what he might say.

  After a good few minutes, he heaved a sigh and twitched a finger at the table.