Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) (9 page)

Whirling on my heel, I collided directly into Lucian.

I choked back an expletive.

He’d followed me.

I hit his sculpted chest hard, and he grunted, unprepared for the impact. Instinctively, his hands lifted to grip my shoulders.

There it was again—the crackle of energy leaping up between us in a fraction of a second. The rush of heat. Pressed against him, I dimly noted his sudden, rapid breath even as I wondered what he did to get such rock-hard abs.

The intense moment hung between us before we both stepped back at the same time.

Lucian muttered an oath of his own and, peering down at me, his silvery pale eyes blazed. “What are you doing? Did you lose him?” he asked, getting directly to the point.

He was obviously a volcano on the verge of exploding. Tell him that Ricky was sneaking around with his own agenda? Not going there.

Instead, I rolled my eyes.

“Please!” I protested in mock annoyance, shrugging out of his grasp. I pointed towards the back of the villa. “He’s over there.”

Shoving him aside—and enjoying it just a little too much—I shook my head to clear it and refocus on Ricky’s scent. Suddenly, I was downright eager to have a few choice words with my assigned puff-of-smoke as soon as I caught him.

I quickly followed Ricky’s trail with Lucian hot on my heels, and of all places, I ended up in the kitchen. As I burst through the door, I mentally crossed my fingers that he wouldn’t be too hard to find.

Apparently, simply imagining to cross your fingers works, because the elusive imp was the first thing I saw. Splayed out with his feet comfortably propped up on a banana, the pesky puff was snoring on the kitchen island, right in the very center of the room.

“He’s drunk.” Lucian’s baritone breathed down my neck. He sounded angry. “Is this the technique you use to control an imp?”

Sweeping past me, he strode up to the island and picked up an empty spice bottle near Ricky’s head.

“Turmeric, of course,” Lucian cursed, slamming the bottle down with a thud. It was lucky that it didn’t break.

Apparently, turmeric and imps spelled trouble.

I eyed a bit of plastic curled up next to the banana. It looked like the remnants of a seal. Evidently, the turmeric bottle had been unopened before Ricky had gotten his little smoke-fingers on it. Well, it was empty now and clean as a whistle. I didn’t know how potent turmeric was for an imp, but judging by his rolling eyes and the yellow drool dribbling out of his mouth, he’d consumed a staggering amount for a creature of his size.

“He’ll be drunk for days,” Lucian rounded on me, furious.

So, my imp was a turmeric addict. How was I supposed to know 
that
?

“Hey, it’s 
his
 lack of control, not mine,” I said in my defense.

Lucian clenched his jaw. “As a spell-finder, it’s your responsibility to control your imp. And now, when we have the greatest need of him, he is useless, and it’s your fault.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he continued, “I don’t know if it’s ineptitude or your 
willful
 intent, but I do know that you’ve practically breached our contract already!”

It was unfair and I wasn’t one to take it. Facing the irate warlock, I retorted, “If we want to talk about fault, then look at yourself, buddy. 
You’re
 the one who saddled me with this pest of an imp to begin with. Not 
my
 fault you’re operating on a shoestring budget.”

Lucian’s eyes flashed. He moved closer, planting his face practically in mine. For a moment, I wasn’t really sure if he was going to yell at me or kiss me.

Maybe he wasn’t sure himself.

After a moment, he expelled an exasperated breath out of his nose, and drawing back sharply, spoke in a somewhat calmer tone. “Bottle him up and bring him along. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

As he retreated to the kitchen door and braced himself against the doorjamb to watch me, I turned to survey my 
problema del minuto
.

Just how was I to pick up a drunk wisp of smoke and put it in a bottle? It was a daunting prospect, especially with a glowering warlock criticizing my every move.

Gingerly, I picked Ricky up by the foot.

It was a tricky business. I had to use the most delicate of touches or I’d pinch right through him and he’d slide right back onto the island. After a few tries, I managed to lift him up, still in one piece.

He swung back and forth, burping. “Tad trolleyed, I am. Wishpers, love,” he crooned with crossed eyes. “It wishpers … sweet nothings … love. Top qual … quality, that.”

A second later, he burst into song, singing the chorus of the Korean pop song that had taken the world by a storm a few years back: 
Oppa Gangnam Style
. Where had the imp learned 
that
?

Lucian snorted in disgust.

I did myself as I tossed Ricky into the empty turmeric bottle and screwed the lid back on. He mumbled something about needing careful handling—I think---but he was plastered out of his mind and couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

Satisfied, I turned to Lucian. “Ready, shall we go?”

Looking almost feverish with impatience, he whirled on his heel and headed down the hall.

I followed.

Obviously, thoughts of this bricked, kilted vampire threatened to consume the man. I wondered who this Ramsey was, but the imp singing in the turmeric bottle obviously wasn’t going to answer any of my questions for a while.

I was going to have to answer them the hard way.

Too Late to the Party

I trudged after Lucian as he threaded his way through the back alleys of historic Venice. I was growing hungrier by the moment. Just a few streets away, I could smell hordes of tourists ripe for the plucking—or siphoning as it were, but I knew I couldn’t afford to skip away for a wee nip. I was going to have to skip another meal, and that meant I was going to be a royal pain to all around me.

I scowled at the back of Lucian’s head.

Well, he’d asked for it.

Huffing in annoyance, I followed as he swept down an alleyway so narrow that only one person could walk along it at a time. He moved swiftly, his boots ringing loudly on the cracked cobblestones. It was hot; the odors wafting up from the canals smacked my nostrils.

The turmeric bottle in my pocket shifted. No doubt, Ricky was trying to escape. He was probably uncomfortable, crammed into that tiny spice bottle. But then the little louse deserved it. It would probably do him some good.

Distracted by Ricky, I hadn’t noticed that Lucian had abruptly stopped, and I nearly ran into him. Only my lightning reflexes saved me.

He’d noticed, though, and made a point of turning around to grace me with a distinct frown of disapproval.

“Chill,” I growled at him. “I didn’t touch a hair on Your Highness’ head.”

He leveled me another dark look before glancing back to survey the sprawling house blocking the end of the alley and the afternoon sun as well. A stone-and-timber house. Old. Maybe medieval. Most likely abandoned. A weatherworn sign hung under the large balcony with rusty, wrought-iron railings. To one side, the branches of a wizened tree drooped over a small padlocked gate buried in a crumbling stone wall.

Lucian just stood there.

I waited for about two seconds. Waiting was never my strong suit—especially when starving.

“Dead end,” I said, stating the obvious. “It’s locked. We’re not getting in this way.”

The words were scarcely out of my mouth before Lucian waved a finger over the lock, and it sprang open as if inviting us in of its own accord.

Of course.

He stood aside and waved me to precede him, his dark brow lifting in bemusement.

Fine. I guess padlocks didn’t stop warlocks. Whatever. I paused next to him and, leaning close, sent him a disarming smile accompanied by a lofty look of my own just to confuse him.

Irritation flashed across his eyes.

Good. At least I’d elicited a reaction; I didn’t stop to analyze why that pleased me so much.

Stepping into a garden that hadn’t seen a human hand in at least half a century, I glanced around quickly, all senses on high alert.

The place was old. Intriguing. I wanted to peek inside the stone house. Instinct told me that there was something in there. I felt it like a beckoning finger. Animal? Human? I wasn’t sure. But then sounds of hammering on the other side of the garden wall distracted my attention.

I hurried to join Lucian as he disappeared around the side of the house. Rounding the corner, I pushed my way through overgrown thickets to where the warlock stood by the back wall. And as I approached, I saw that he was peering through a hole in the wall, half-covered with vines.

“Hand me that crowbar,” a man’s gruff voice drifted through from the other side. “And give me a hand.”

“Did you find another?” a woman asked excitedly, in a thick Italian accent.

“Maybe,” the man grunted in reply.

Again, a sixth sense informed me that something was in the house, listening. Curious, I actually took a step back, but this time, I was interrupted by a dark blur of fur bursting out of the thicket.

Heath.

Shifting quickly into his human form, he shrugged at Lucian. “Gone,” he murmured, hunching his shoulders. “He’s not in there.”

Lucian tensed, every inch of him taut. “And?” he prompted.

Heath squirmed a little. “They might have moved him somewhere else…”

A whirlwind of smoke suddenly appeared and Tabitha stepped out of it, still wearing her red cloak. “We must assume he is free, Lucian,” she announced in dire warning.

Lucian’s jaw tightened so much so that I thought it would snap. He looked at Heath through half-closed eyes. “And the scent? Whoever freed him must have left a trail. Where did they take him?”

Heath shook his head, and the shell necklace around his neck rattled bit. “No trace. Dead, man. Can’t pick anything up.”

Lucian closed the distance between them, and Heath ducked.

I wondered if the warlock was going to hit him, but he only asked another question, his voice barely above a whisper. “Have the humans unleashed others?”

“If he’s indeed loose, we should assume that he’s set traps around the place,” interrupted Tabitha.

I looked at Lucian and waited for his response, but then all three of them suddenly shifted their gaze to stare at 
me
.

Great, what was I supposed to do? Find the traps? Find the vampire? Both?

“I’ve got to get closer,” I said, stalling for time. “Can’t tell from here.”

It worked. And it was true, anyway. I couldn’t smell a thing.

Lucian turned on Tabitha and ordered curtly, “Help her inside, please.”

As Tabitha changed back into a red lizard, I took a moment to step aside and yank the spice bottle out of my pocket. Giving it a frantic shake, I gritted through my teeth, “Wake up, Ricky!”

Of course, he didn’t. He just slid up and down inside the bottle like a jellyfish—a burping jellyfish. I was half-tempted to toss him into the nearest canal. Jamming him back into my pocket, I strode to where Lucian and Heath crouched near the hole.

Cautiously, I squinted over their shoulders to see a small, terraced dirt plot. It was a bona-fide archeological dig. Brushes. Pickaxes. Small orange flags fluttered at various locations. Piles of broken red clay bricks littered the entire place. A couple of white tents protecting a few cardboard boxes perched on each side of the plot.

Two men and a woman dug in the dirt a short distance away. They were grimy. T-shirts and khakis covered in mud. They looked hot. Tired. Excited. A gust of wind swept over the dig, ruffling the female archeologist’s hair. She seemed younger than the others. A student, most likely.

Suddenly, Tabitha’s whirlwind spun into existence in the very center of the plot. For some bewitching reason, no one noticed the slim Asian in a bright red cloak standing in their midst with hands stretched towards the sky and eyes rolled back in her head—so far back that I could only see the whites of her eyes. In the dig, it was just business as usual.

Evidently, firedrakes possessed some talent in invisibility.

“Nah, it’s a dead end,” one of the male archeologists said with a yawn and sat back on his heels. “Nothing’s here.”

Tabitha was—she stood just three feet away from him.

“Maybe there are no more,” the woman said, standing up to stretch before gathering a handful of brushes and moving to a different spot of the dig.

She would have walked right into Tabitha, but somehow, even with her eyes rolled back, Tabitha knew she was about to collide and moved. Just enough. The archaeologist missed her by inches.

I subjected Tabitha to a closer inspection. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but then I spied what looked like heat waves emanating from her. It had to be mana. A ton. It was a good thing I couldn’t smell it. In my ravenous state, I’d have jumped the wall and pounced on her no holds barred. I was tempted to anyway.

I bit my lip at the thought, but of course, Lucian chose that moment to clamp his strong hand down on my shoulder.

“Be quick, spell-finder,” he whispered tersely in my ear. “She can’t maintain it for long. She’ll keep you cloaked for only a minute, so don’t waste it.”

I frowned at him, but I could tell he was on the edge. Whatever was happening here meant the world to him. Not really the best moment for a rejoinder—or to admit I didn’t know what the heck he wanted me to do.

It was time to wing it.

Sending an extra little curse Ricky’s way for abandoning me at the most critical second, I climbed over the wall and stepped out into the dig to take a deep whiff.

It was overwhelming.

The woman digging next to Tabitha was young, healthy, and vibrant.

Crud. I couldn’t concentrate with her mana swirling around the place. I couldn’t stop myself. Before I knew it, I’d used my semi-vampire speed to rush over and crouch beside her as she brushed a skeleton with a large paintbrush. In a flash, my hand found her heart chakra. Milliseconds. It was just a tad. I didn’t have a choice, really. I didn’t care what Lucian or the others thought I was doing—if they could even see me. I had to eat. Besides, I was quick.