Mindsong (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 6) Page 2

  The line of candles lit with an audible spit, all but the single black one at the end. And just looking at that candle triggered a new wave of memories, from Lucian claiming he’d never light black candles again to him vowing he was out of the puppet business for good.

  And that’s all it took. There I was again, images of the puppet with the little black boots gnawing my gut.

  Thankfully, the rattling of the door distracted me, and I turned toward the newcomer.

  Tabitha stepped inside, moving quickly despite the form-fitting sheath dress shimmering on her petite frame like a set of scales. She’d styled her black hair in a long coil down her back that ended just past her waist. A wig or hair extensions? It hadn’t been that long since I’d accidentally shaved her head. Then again, maybe firedrake hair grew faster than human.

  I stepped warily out of her way as she approached. After all, I didn’t know exactly where we stood. She didn’t acknowledge me as she passed. Was that good? Bad? But I didn’t have time to ponder further. The barcode on my hand flared to life, announcing Strix was about to arrive. That didn’t surprise me. After all, it wouldn’t be much of a Resistance without Mr. High-and-Mighty involved.

  The door yanked open and he stalked inside, sporting gray sweatpants complete with a Godzilla T-shirt, an obvious effort to blend in with humanity. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t working. It just wasn’t that easy to hide over six feet of brawn and power.

  He paused when he saw me, and graced me with a surprised, curt nod before heading off to the coffee pot. I watched him go, a little miffed at his surprise. Really? I’d had my own resistance party—of one—living with Emilio in Salem. It hadn’t been a picnic. And I’d taken down more than one Marchesi Elite vampire.

  Before I’d goofed, that was.

  I scanned the room in the silence that followed, but everyone was lost in their own thoughts, me included, and at the sudden sound of a polite knock on the door, I wasn’t the only one to startle.

  This time, I didn’t recognize the newcomer slipping inside, a slim, petite young woman with her dark hair pulled up in a casual, sloppy bun. She was, in a word, delicate, but her mana announced her as anything but. One whiff and I began to drool.

  Such an intriguing mix, a unique blend of cinnamon, vanilla, and rose petals all rolled into one and then infused with living fire. My hunger roared back with a vengeance, only to come to a screeching halt the instant I caught the underlying familial aroma. A Beauchene? Strange. She was definitely not of the cat kind. Who knew the Beauchenes came in other flavors besides panthers, cheetahs, and lions?

  The young woman’s expressive brown eyes zeroed in on me and when she smiled, the action wrinkled her pert nose. “I’m Naz. You must be Cassidy?”

  I nodded searching for a fluff response and willing my fangs to recede before opening my mouth. But before I could reply, Strix walked behind her, and the way his smoky gaze trailed over her slim form erased all things fluff related straight from my mind. Wow. What a look. Deliberate. Possessive. A burning caress, all honey and heat, if I’d ever seen one.

  So…Strix wasn’t just all icy business, after all.

  Then, the door crashed back as if kicked and Dorian marched inside, his green kilt flaring around his massive calves. I snorted. Of course, the Scottish Highlander of a vampire would make a grand entrance. I guess he couldn’t help it. It was probably embedded in his DNA.

  All eyes locked on him as he stalked to the table and dropped what looked like a covered birdcage with a pronounced thud.

  The sound sent a jolt straight through me like nothing else could. Sweat broke on my forehead. Bile rose in my throat. I could almost hear the screams.

  The Hell Stone.

  Why? Why bring the accursed thing here?

  Dorian’s gaze snapped to me and he flashed a wide grin. “Lass, ’tis long past time we saw you here.”

  At that, everyone else turned in my direction, as if suddenly noticing my presence for the first time.

  I swallowed and yanked my gaze from the Hell Stone, but I didn’t speak. What was there to say? My journey ‘here’ had been a long, messy one, and the jury was out on exactly how useful I’d prove.

  Finally, Lucian murmured, “Shall we?”

  As he took his place at the table, everyone followed suit, except Dorian. He remained by the Hell Stone like a guard. When everyone had settled, he whisked off the black velvet cloth.

  And there it was. The Hell Stone. The accursed, carved, deadly testament to Emilio’s vileness. Not to mention, according to True, my heritage, my birthright. I still didn’t understand that one. How was a container of screaming minds considered a birthright?

  “Naz?” Lucian prompted.

  The petite shifter rose and approached the Hell Stone with an obvious reluctance and her mouth set in a line of overt distaste. For a time, she stood there, squinting at the Celtic symbols and the eight-pointed star, the Mindbreaker’s signature—and my own, of course.

  Finally, she straightened. “Yeah, you were right. Dragon Tongue.”

  I blinked. Had she just said…dragon?

  She ran a fingertip lightly over the swirls. “Here, the Mindbreaker states he is bound by Reach Law to announce his intentions,” she said and then tapped the very center. “Aaaaaand here, are his intentions.”

  When she didn’t continue, Lucian pressed, “And?”

  “With my power, I shall open this stone and tear down the veils between the Reaches.”

  Strix started. “Tearing the veils would destroy us all. If one ripped the fabric between the Reaches, the colliding energy would…” He paused and then added harshly, “Let’s just say if one were to detonate every nuclear bomb on the planet… Well, that’s only a birthday candle compared to what Emilio’s plan would do.”

  A shiver of foreboding marched down my spine.

  “He’s mad,” Dorian rasped.

  Mad. Consumed by revenge. Evil. Even that word sounded anemic when applied to Emilio. Most villains wouldn’t destroy the world upon which they lived themselves. Just what was Emilio’s game plan? Create hell and reign over the ruins?

  Strix jutted his jaw and folded his arms. “We absolutely must destroy him before he regains the last vestige of his power.”

  “But how?” Dorian pounded the table with his fist so hard the candles bounced. “We’ve tried for centuries and to no avail, lad. We walk as blind men. We dinna know where his power lurks, nor do we—”

  “Me,” I interrupted.

  I wasn’t aware I’d spoken aloud until all heads swiveled my way. Crud. The cat was not only out of the bag but walking on the table, now. But then, wasn’t it long past time I started talking, sharing what I knew?

  “The Fallen One, Lord Helm, gave me the last of Emilio’s power the first time I showed up in the Nether Reaches, during my birth. He’s bonded to me, not Emilio.” My first pitstop there on the road to dying, the original path I’d taken and had never meant to survive.

  The silence greeting this revelation only served to remind me just how many secrets I’d been keeping to myself. Knowledge they obviously needed if they were to win.

  “Then, that’s why you share his soul signature,” Strix said finally. “Not simply because you are his daughter.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe both, I don’t know. But he and I are tied at the hip because of what Lord Helm did.”

  Lucian didn’t look surprised. He knew, obviously.

  I drew a breath and focused back on the problem at hand. “You want to destroy Emilio? Well, there’s a simple solution to all of this, you know,” I said, and before I let myself think too much, I added with a rush, “Destroy me and you destroy him.”

  Yeah, they reacted like I’d thought they would. With shock. All except Tabitha.

  “We will, if it’s guaranteed to work,” she said, her face an emotionless mask.

  So much for our truce. Still, I’d asked for it.

  She followed up with the question, “Can you guarantee that pl
an would work?”

  I couldn’t. Not really. Emilio was the kind to always leave himself an out. “Probably.”

  She actually looked disappointed. “Probably isn’t good enough.”

  “But this gives us a chance,” Dorian said, his eyes lighting with excitement. As surprised faces turned his way, he amended with a rueful grin. “Nay, not slaying Cassidy, but her power. If she holds it, he canna bring about the doom he seeks to unleash. We win.”

  Strix didn’t look convinced. He drew his brows in a suspicious frown as he addressed me, “No doubt, he knows you have this power? Strange, isn’t it, that he hasn’t sent every Fallen One to drag you away and rip it from you, piece by piece?”

  I shook my head. Somehow, I didn’t think it worked like that. But then, up until a few days ago, Emilio had thought I was under his control. He’d been more focused on Lucian. For what? “Emilio needs Lucian right now, not me. He—”

  “The only reason he’d want Rowle is for his skill in puppetry. He’s been following them for centuries,” Dorian interrupted, pounding the table again. “The lad’s the only warlock who can wield power over the undead. A skill unto itself.”

  As everyone began to speak, I found myself stuck on Dorian’s words. Of course, Emilio needed Lucian for his ability to control. But the question was who? Not me. Emilio hadn’t even known he’d needed to control me until a few days ago. He’d thought his power ball tucked safe inside me until he needed to get it out. So, that meant, he needed Lucian for something else, perhaps someone he’d lost control of…like…

  I tensed. “Lord Helm,” I said. It had to be. There was no one else. “Lord Helm.”

  My voice seemed lost in the din that surrounded me, but Strix heard. He arched a brow my way. “Lord Helm? What of him?”

  Silence fell as again, all eyes returned to me.

  “Lord Helm,” I whispered as the pieces fell into place. “The Fallen One who gave me Emilio’s power. He’s not under Emilio’s control anymore. Emilio needs my power and who else can retrieve it other than the one who gave it in the first place?” Thinking of Lord Helm’s speech in the park, I added, “And Lord Helm is definitely up to something. He doesn’t act like the rest of his kind.”

  “Oh?” Dorian tossed his shaggy head with a snort. “Fallen Ones canna be trusted, wee beastie. They’ve aided the Mindbreaker in his quest to create this hellish nightmare from the very start.” He swept his arm in a broad, encompassing gesture that included the Hell Stone.

  “True,” Lucian agreed, turning his silver, empathetic gaze on me. “Do not trust Lord Helm, Cassidy. He’s as unholy as the rest, and he’s played a part in unspeakable horrors. Emilio could not have succeeded alone.”

  His words sounded logical, but my instinct disagreed. Judging from the way the Fallen Ones tracked me, and Emilio’s actions, his time with them was running out fast. They wanted their bodies. And Emilio wasn’t going to give them the kind they wanted. He was obviously banking on Lucian turning them into puppets.

  Then, a new idea flashed across my thoughts. “What is stopping us from getting ahead of this? Lucian could make puppets of them all, and if we controlled the Fallen Ones, instead of Emilio, then—”

  “That kind of control requires Black Magic,” Lucian cut me short. “We cannot win with black against black, Cassidy, and I will not make such puppets again.” He nodded stiffly at the black candle on the table. “Nor do I light those.”

  A look crossed his face, a look I saw as overt distaste that only begged the question of why creating a puppet of me qualified as the exception to his rule. Yet still…I couldn’t bear asking him. I’d rather fight a dozen vampires than hear the answer.

  “Fine,” I muttered.

  The scrutiny directed toward me turned back to the Hell Stone.

  “Then, where does that leave us?” Dorian boomed. “He needs this stone to destroy the veil, yet we canna destroy the stone without damning those minds trapped inside to an eternity of torture.”

  Of course, leave it to Emilio to concoct such a brilliant trap that would prevent the good guys from ever destroying the thing he needed to complete his evil plans. I stared at the Hell Stone, nauseated. Just how many minds screamed inside? How many powerful sorcerers, warlocks, witches, and who knew what other magical creatures? Elizabeth Rowle was one of those minds, still living in the Hell Stone, according to Esmerelda. From what I’d heard, she’d been a sorceress of the highest order. If even she had fallen, what chance did any of us have?

  What made Emilio so damn powerful? Surely, he had an Achilles’ heel. Somewhere.

  “We must find out why he needs the stone,” Lucian said. “And make it unusable.”

  Then, the conference room door blasted back on its hinges.

  Green dress.

  A wild mass of red hair.

  I recognized Mags’ freckled face just as the blast of fire hit me dead on.

  Everything went black, at once.

  Elizabeth Rowle: Darkness

  I open my eyes. Darkness surrounds me. I hear nothing. I stand and put out my hands before my face. I barely see my fingers, mere inches away. What had happened? My last clear thought had been following Esmeralda, the devilkin, into the Hell Stone. As the screaming minds had threatened to mire me into their horror, she’d created a bubble of silence. Of peace.

  I frown.

  Then, realization strikes.

  I stand in the Hell Stone. By the grace of the devilkin, I’d slept through the torment. But something must have changed for me to awaken now. What? Has the little creature died? Would I now live my existence in an eternity of darkness? Of horror?

  Yet, as I stand in the dark, I do not yet hear the screams even though I sense the souls living in torment, trapped in the spell that never ends.

  So, Esmeralda is protecting me, still.

  And that means there is another force at play.

  Emilio? I sense his evil, so close. He thrives, seeks to choke out the life of every living thing.

  Visions flash through my mind, and I wait, letting the memories come into focus.

  Lucian?

  I remember now. I awoke at his birth. I felt his pain upon the death of his parents. Lucian, my Latchling. The warlock given the power of centuries, one strong enough to accomplish what I could not.

  But now, is even the power of the centuries enough?

  Emilio has grown stronger. Much stronger.

  I close my eyes and reach out, praying that somehow, I may connect with Lucian by Esmeralda’s grace.

  I smile. I sense him. He has grown very strong and so very white. Soon, he will come into his full power. Perhaps, there is a chance. Perhaps. I seize on the thought. For, what else is there to do? Give up all hope?

  And the girl? Cassidy? Again, I search in the shadows.

  There. I feel her. A connection.

  And in that connection, I know the answer. I know, now, why I have awakened.

  The end is here, for better or worse.

  The end is here at last.

  Sleeping Beauty

  I heard the waves first, the gentle slap of water hitting stone. I didn’t move. Every cell in my body felt like an anchor, weighing me down onto the soft mattress, so I just stayed there, eyes closed, listening.

  I wasn’t aware I’d fallen asleep until I gained consciousness again.

  This time, I squinted at my surroundings. Blue lime-washed walls. Three arched windows, at least fifteen feet high. Gold, velvet drapes. Expensive marble-tiled floor. The room was huge, at least ten times larger than the average bedroom but with even less furniture. Just a bed and a dresser, both antique, mahogany, and adorned with fancy scrollwork.

  Somehow, the atmosphere reminded me of Emilio’s Venetian villa. I frowned and rolled onto my back—and gaped at the real splendor of the room: the ceiling. With such an intricately painted, filigreed masterpiece of gilded gold, who needed anything else in the decoration or furniture department?

  Still… where was I?


  The view through the windows offered few clues, only a patch of bright blue sky framed with a few fluttering leaves. I swung my feet off the bed for a better look, but when I tried to stand, I nearly collapsed. Crud. I must have really hurt myself. How long had I been out this time?

  With knees quivering like jelly, I leaned on the wall for support and inched my way to the windows. It was a stunning view. A vista of red-tiled roofs fanned out in all directions, and between them, here and there, I caught a glimpse of canals.

  So, I was back in Venice. And judging from the greenery and the stench of the water, Venice in the height of summer.

  But… how? Hadn’t we just finished Halloween only a few days ago?

  Had I been spelled? For…how long? Months? Who? Why? A vision of Lucian hunched over my puppet pierced my confused thoughts. Had…Lucian…? Even half that thought brought a dark, sick feeling.

  Then, a fresh image flashed over all the others: a wild mass of red hair, furious eyes, and a freckled face.

  Mags. She’d attacked me… Anger surged…along with a hefty dose of guilt. Mags. After what I’d put her through, I couldn’t deny I deserved a spell or two. Even one of the months variety.

  Shrugging it all aside, I decided to focus on the first order of business instead: I needed food. Badly. I had the strength of a worm. I needed to eat, and fast if I planned on being battle-ready for who knew what could march through the door.

  But in order to eat, I needed to find something socially acceptable to wear. I couldn’t very well traipse around Venice wearing an oversized t-shirt and nothing else. I had to get close to my prey, not have them run in the opposite direction, calling the cops that a madwoman with a rat’s nest of hair in a t-shirt was trying to chase them down to brush her palm against their chest.

  Feeling like I wasn’t quite inside my body and operating my legs via remote control, I headed toward the dresser, using the wall and then the bed to steady myself along the way. The top drawer opened on a pair of black pants and a leather jacket. I grinned. The bottom drawer held my boots and knives. I paused. If Heath were still alive, he’d have stuffed the dresser with piles of shopping bags, all crammed with the most fashionable clothing money could buy.