Mindbreaker (A Cassidy Edwards Novel Book 3) Page 2

  His eyes locked onto mine in challenge.

  And just like that, the fierce heat of our attraction flared up between us. What secret power did he hold over my heartstrings? I could tell by his expression he felt it too, despite all of the suspicion swirling around in his brain. Were we doomed to a fatal attraction no matter how hard we tried to avoid it?

  “Focus, Cass,” he had the nerve to lean closer and breathe on my neck. “Do your thing. See what’s down there.”

  It was at that precise moment the last voice I expected to hear echoed urgently in my mind, “Cassidy, my bonny wee glaistig, dinna do it. Dinna open that door!”

  A Venetian Surprise

  I tensed as Dorian Ramsey’s warning rippled through my thoughts. It sounded thin, weak, as if calling me from miles away. I whirled instinctively, searching the living room, half-expecting the Scottish vampire to be standing there.

  “What is it?” Lucian asked, alarmed.

  I barely noticed him and directed a mental question at Dorian instead. “Why? What’s behind the door?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Yeah, my mother was a vampire, but I was some weird mixture of human, vampire, and puppet-cursed specter. My vampire clan mind-meld didn’t function fully, just like my fangs. And while I could receive vampire communications, it sure didn’t seem like I could transmit—words, anyway. I knew I could send mental images. I’d done it before. Thinking of Dorian, I imagined a door with a big question mark painted on the front and sent that in lieu of words.

  Lucian’s strong fingers gripped my forearm, bringing my attention back to his concerned face. “What is it, Cassidy?” he asked again as the others fell into battle stance around us.

  “Not sure,” I answered truthfully.

  Dorian didn’t respond. He either hadn’t received the image or had chosen to remain silent.

  I shrugged. Whatever. I didn’t owe him anything. Nor did I trust him. He’d pinned me to a wall with a spear once. Most likely, the fact he didn’t want me discovering what lurked in the basement had more to do with his own interests than mine.

  Turning back to the door in the wall, I focused on the various strands of mana streaming towards me. “Definitely Terzi vampires around here somewhere, but they seem subdued, maybe they’re asleep or something. Probably half a dozen or so.”

  “Half a dozen,” Strix repeated, cracking his knuckles. “We have them outnumbered—that is, if we can trust what you say.”

  I sent him a sugary-sweet smile. “You’ll just have to, Mr. High-and-Mighty.”

  He didn’t appreciate the surname. He responded with his own, “Walk with care, Ms. Mindbreaker.”

  Ignoring both of us, Lucian reached over my shoulder and waved a long, elegant finger over the latch.

  The door sprang open.

  A fresh blast of mana drove all other thoughts away. Heaven. Literally, mana from heaven. My fangs extended—my version of drooling. I almost smacked my lips.

  “Go see what’s down there, spellfinder,” Lucian ordered.

  I eyed the inky darkness spreading out before me, and for the first time, I understood just why spellfinders kept imps as sidekicks. They were an excellent frontline defense. Very little could harm creatures made of smoke. They just reassembled.

  Too bad mine was burping curry in a coffee cup.

  A bright light flared into existence behind me, and from the corner of my eye, I spied Lucian stepping up beside me, a sphere of spitting blue light crackling in his hand.

  “Any day now, spellfinder,” he said, his voice dripping with impatience.

  “You’re such a jerk, Lucian,” I muttered, ducking inside.

  A narrow passage ran adjacent to the wall, and at the end, I peeked around the corner and saw a metal, spiral staircase winding down into the earth below. It was strangely reminiscent of the Night Terror’s domain hidden under the Rowle family crypt. It even smelled faintly similar. Mana wafted up from below, an earthy, forest-scented mist.

  I caught a sniff of a Chosen One … Dorian? Gloria? A few others? But the scents were faint. Maybe they’d just recently left.

  The others followed close behind as I began my descent, my shadow slipping before me as if running away from the blue ball of light Lucian held over his head. Part of the way down, I paused, sensing a trace of mana barely simmering under my feet. “Too weak to do anything,” I judged. “Most likely just leftovers of some spell.”

  What had happened here?

  Continuing down, I rounded the last spiral and arrived at the bottom step, the others keeping pace behind me.

  Lucian trained his light over my shoulder and then at various points along the ceiling.

  The place appeared empty, just your standard dark, dank, musty-smelling basement with cobweb-clothed cinderblock walls. But I knew that wasn’t true. I could almost hear the mana buzzing, crackling with energy in front of me.

  “There’s something here,” I said, staring at the blank space just an arm’s length away. “An invisible barrier of some kind.”

  Curious, I stretched a hand.

  I could feel the mana in the air, like strands of spider silk. I couldn’t resist. Suddenly, I was ravenous. I couldn’t stop from absorbing the thin filaments falling across my palm. They tasted incredible. Sweet, cool, and salty at the same time.

  All at once, the air shimmered and then dropped in front of me like a curtain, revealing the large, silver circular swing I’d sat on in Venice. Just days ago, I’d seen it depicted in Emilio’s sketchbook filled with drawings of Gloria and oddly marked with the Mindbreaker’s symbol on the back.

  “How did this get here?” Lucian asked in overt surprise, his dark brows forming a bristling line. “I left this, safe, in Emilio’s villa in Venice.”

  I shrugged. “Weird.” The coffee cup tucked in my jacket moved a little. I glanced down to see Ricky’s eyes poking out of my pocket. “Now you come out,” I muttered acidly. “Once it seems safe.”

  He yawned and slithered back inside. Yep. Useless.

  “The vampires?” Lucian asked curtly, still standing on the bottom step with the others waiting behind him on the various levels leading to the living room above.

  I concentrated on the vampires’ scent. “I’m not sure,” I said. “They’re either gone or spelled?”

  “I highly doubt they’re spelled,” Lucian scoffed. “The Chosen can’t generate mana that others can manipulate. The Rowle bloodline alone possesses the unique ability to curse them by spelling the life spark.”

  Interesting tidbit. It explained how his family had gotten so powerful. “Well, you aren’t the only Rowle to have ever walked the earth,” I said.

  He lifted a cool brow, ripe with disdain. “I’m the only one left. Upon a sorcerer’s death, their curses break.” He paused and then leveled me a frosty look. “All of the vampires I’ve cursed are accounted for.”

  Yeah? Well, I didn’t want to talk about that right now. I shrugged and turned away. “Maybe you have a few illegitimate relatives running around,” I said, attempting to close the subject. “Or maybe they’re incapacitated in a different way, or gone. Whatever it is, I don’t think they’re an imminent threat.”

  “Can you trust—” Strix began in a low voice, but Lucian silenced him by moving forward to join me.

  I couldn’t resist tossing the suspicious keeper a triumphant smile.

  Irritated, he joined the wolves who were fanning out to inspect the basement’s perimeters.

  “Odd that we’d find this here,” Lucian commented, tilting his head on an angle as he observed the swing.

  I turned back to the silver circle, hanging from the basement ceiling like a large, hollowed-out coin. I reached over and gave it a shove. It began to move, slowly, back and forth like the pendulum of a massive grandfather clock. Waves of mana swirled around me. Strange. I hadn’t noticed any mana on it in Venice. Had my sensitivity increased of late? Or had someone doused it with spells?

  “Just what is this thin
g?” I asked.

  “Emilio’s toy,” the dark-haired warlock standing beside me answered, his expression stony and his voice hard. “I never understood his fascination with it.”

  Ah, something unusual caressed my face. The distinctive scent of Anya’s spiders, barely discernable in the multilayered scents churning around me—or something very much like it. “Looks like Anya seemed fascinated with it herself,” I said. “She’s spelled it.”

  That surprised him. “Are you certain?”

  I caught the undulating swing and ran my hand lightly over its cold metal surface, absorbing the mana along the way. Strange. Had I been wrong? I didn’t see Anya’s eyes. In fact, I didn’t understand the images cascading in my brain. Darkness. Glowing eyes. The specter kindred? The Nether Reaches? I couldn’t tell.

  “I … no,” I said, puzzled. “I’m not sure anymore. It’s too jumbled. Just darkness.” I didn’t mention the glowing eyes.

  “Strange,” he murmured, joining me to inspect it. “Even stranger why the Terzi would steal this and bring it here. Not to mention we weren’t informed of its disappearance.”

  I could hear Heath and the other werewolves snuffling behind me. “Well, time to check out the rest of the place,” I said. But as I moved to do so, my finger caught on something rough embedded in the swing’s smooth surface. Mana. A spell? Curious, I leaned closer, taking a deep whiff. The sharp tangy odor of rust greeted me, carrying with it a heavier fragrance hiding underneath. A heavily masked spell. I’d almost missed it. The second hidden lock of the day, and a cleverly crafted one.

  This mana was unusual. It wasn’t gummy, but hard and brittle. Carefully, I pried it with my fingernail. On the third try, it broke free, melting right into my skin.

  I gasped.

  I’d never tasted anything so potent or powerful. Nor had I witnessed as vivid an image rising to greet my mind’s eye: an unusual, striking woman with strong cheekbones, a long straight nose, and dark brown hair. Elizabeth Rowle? In some ways, she reminded me of the portrait lady I’d spoken to in Venice, the one that had helped me escape, but she was much younger and far more compelling. She simply stood there, as if staring straight into my eyes, waiting for me to speak. I found it unnerving. A green plaid rescued me, cutting across the image, and a woman screamed. It wasn’t just any plaid. Dorian’s. Just as I recognized it, the vision melted away.

  I blinked, dimly aware of Lucian’s fingers gripping my shoulders, shaking me. Hard. “What happened? Cassidy, what is it?” he was asking, alarm rife in his blue eyes.

  The guy really had odd eyes. Yeah, I’d noticed his light blue irises threaded with silver before, but for the first time, I understood just what those silver threads were. Mana. He clearly generated vast amounts of the stuff. It was a good thing he’d activated his wards so I couldn’t smell him. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself until I’d consumed every last drop of him.

  His fingers dug deeper into my forearms. “Cassidy, speak to me!” he demanded.

  “Chill,” I said, regaining control all at once and wrenching out of his grasp.

  The others circled around us, watching me uneasily.

  “You’ve been silent for almost a minute, not responding,” Lucian explained, his eyes narrowing as he nodded at the swing. “What happened?”

  I turned back and pointed to the newly exposed lock: a blackened, delicate clasp protecting a small compartment whittled into the swing’s silver frame. “That,” I said.

  Lucian peered over my shoulder. He caught such a sharp breath that I turned to look at him. Utter astonishment suffused his face, his lips parted in disbelief. “That’s a Rowle lock,” he gasped.

  Yeah, I should probably have mentioned what I’d seen. In fact, I think I was going to—but a few things happened all at once.

  As Lucian reached for the lock, the compartment sprang open and a bolt of pure energy leapt towards him, meeting him halfway. A startling blaze of blue fire arced right through him as he gave a choked, strangled cry.

  At the same moment, Heath’s wolf-ears perked up. “Vampires,” he snarled. “Dorian!”

  As one of Strix’s lightning arrows arced across the dimly lit basement to bury itself into the ceiling like a caged comet, a whirlwind appeared in front of Lucian. Of course, Tabitha, the Rowle-House drake would be there to protect Lucian, the last warlock of his line. She opened her mouth, showcasing an impressive set of viper fangs I didn’t know she had.

  Something moved on the staircase above then, and I glanced up just in time to see a figure flinging themselves over the spiral banister, dropping down to land in a half-crouch beside us.

  There was no mistaking that strong profile, square jaw, and piercing green eyes under a crown of wild, brown hair.

  Nor was there any mistaking that distinct green plaid.

  Crud. So I had smelled the Terzi clan mana. He’d been there the entire time, just watching us.

  It was Dorian. Dorian Ramsey.

  A Blast from the Past

  Adrenaline surged through my veins. Unsheathing my knives, I stood battle-ready, a blade in each hand and faced the ancient, powerful vampire crouched before me. Yeah, I’d moved with near vampire-like speed, faster than the human eye could detect, but I was dealing with Dorian Ramsey, a Night Hunter, and the defender of his kind. If he’d wanted, he could have disarmed and speared me against the basement wall before I’d even handled my first blade.

  Obviously, he wasn’t interested in me.

  Behind us, Heath and the others growled, long and low, sounds capable of striking fear in the hearts of any—me included, and I was on their side.

  But Dorian didn’t notice them, nor did he even acknowledge Strix or Tabitha’s presence.

  He saw only Lucian.

  “How?” the Scottish highlander of a vampire thundered in a mix of outrage and shock. His jaw jutted fiercely. “You canna touch that!”

  At first, it seemed Lucian didn’t even hear. He simply stood there, gasping in apparent pain and clutching his hand to his heart, apparently oblivious to the fact that his family nemesis stood there, furious and ready to attack.

  “Leave before I destroy you, vampire,” Tabitha ordered in her snakelike, multilayered voice.

  There was something particularly creepy about such deep sounds reverberating from a petite Asian woman with smoky eyeliner and jet-black hair pulled back in a tight ballerina knot. A clear liquid dripped from the tips of her viper fangs. Venom? Ricky was right. She was more snake than human.

  Dorian arched an unruffled brow. “I knew your father well,” he said, locking gazes with her. “Search your house knowledge, drake.” His gaze returned to Lucian, raking him from head to toe before he added, “’Tis the warlock who should leave if he desires to walk the earth a wee bit longer, aye? He’s meddling in matters that dinna concern him.”

  A dangerous smile lit Lucian’s ice-blue eyes. Looking straight ahead and still clutching his hand, he whispered through white lips, “Evidently, I’ve more of a right than you to this … ring, Ramsey.”

  “I dinna speak of the ring,” Dorian retorted, locking his brow into a deep scowl. His gaze flicked to the delicate lock lying broken on the basement floor. “You’ve no right to what you’ve just taken. Ach, you’re a fool. Do you know what you’ve done?”

  Lucian’s head snapped back and for the first time, he looked directly at the Scottish vampire but didn’t speak. Words failed him. He just stood there, fingers clenched in pain and his mouth opening and closing.

  I heard the sound of footsteps overhead. More Terzi were arriving. I could smell vampires among them. We were trapped and now vastly outnumbered.

  It shook Lucian into action. “Call them off, Ramsey,” he said hoarsely, finding his voice.

  The vampire tossed his head. “Nay, I’m of a mind to have your head for what you’ve done,” he answered in menacing tones. “You—”

  “What I’ve done?” Lucian interrupted. Clenching his jaw, he slid his injured hand into his pocket
as he scooped the lock off the floor with the other. He suspended the delicate, twisted lump of metal in the air, against the backdrop of Strix’s lightning bolt still burning on the ceiling and functioning as a fixture. “Honor. Justice. Forever,” Lucian said slowly. Softly. Reverently. “Never fading throughout the long march of time.”

  I blinked, puzzled, wondering if Lucian was all right, but Dorian’s response confused me even more.

  The effect those words had on him was nothing short of astounding. My jaw dropped as Dorian Ramsey, one of the fiercest vampires of his kind, choked and fell to his knees as if Lucian had just driven a wooden stake through his heart.

  “Nay,” the vampire gasped, his face a mask of disbelief. “It canna be. You’re a Marchesi puppet, a warlock of the blackest persuasion. Not you. Nay, never—after what happened in Venice! ‘Tis … impossible.”

  Lucian winced. The color of his face now matching his marble-white lips. “In this, at least, we agree,” he whispered, following the words with a long, wicked-sounding laugh.

  What the heck?

  I glanced uneasily at Tabitha. Why wasn’t she attacking? She’d taken great pains to inform me that Lucian was hers to protect, and the last of his line. But she wasn’t making any move to do so. Strangely, she just stood there, her face impassive. But then, I never could tell what she was thinking. This occasion certainly wasn’t any different.

  Behind me, Heath growled again, moving closer to Lucian and drawing his lips back to expose a row of sharp, nasty teeth with massive canines looking more like saber-toothed tiger incisors than anything else. At least he seemed ready to pounce.

  We stood there, wary, uneasy, as slowly, Dorian rose to his feet.

  “Nay, ‘tis nothing more than lies and trickery,” the vampire announced. “A score of grand witches spelled that ring. You, of all warlocks, should never have seen it, and most certainly never have heard it.”