Cast Into Darkness (28 page)

Damn her.
He swept a hand across her desk, scattering talismans, papers, her bone china cup, and the photo of the two of them with their mother on the beach at Mykonos across the expanse of her office. Melina had better tell him what she’d done with Kate. Had she healed her? Where was Dmitri? Far away from Kate, or he’d… He paced in front of the Sanctum door. Was Melina in there right now with the stone?

A temper tantrum did him no good. He couldn’t help Kate, or figure out what to do about the stone, if he was out of control. He slumped into Melina’s desk chair. She’d come out when she was ready.

How did he screw up so badly? Kate should be at home with her family, and he and Melina should have the stone in their safe house while Papa thought the Hamiltons had the damn thing. Shit. He could blame Dmitri all day but he’s not the only one who went off mission.

A
click
. The door opened. Melina. Her long brown hair fell over her face, and she motioned him inside the Sanctum.
About time.
He rose and went inside.

The Sanctum’s hum coursed through his body as he crossed the threshold. He soaked in the magical power as he attuned himself to his sister’s space, letting its energy permeate him as he closed the door.

Blue-green light glowed from the gems set in mosaic patterns along the floor, ceiling, and walls of the small room, bathing him in an ocean of color. Melina was already sitting inside the crystal circle, the stone open in its silver case in front of her.

Kristof watched as she picked it up carefully, her hands encased in silk gloves. It shone with a radiant green glow in the Sanctum’s low light, the colors playing across his sister’s face. Its dark depths drew Kristof in the longer he gazed at it. He snapped his eyes away.

“So. Here it is,” Melina said. “Not that it will do you and me any good.” She slid it back in its box. “Whatever possessed you to skip our rendezvous and chase after Kate? You’ve ruined everything.” She slammed down the lid of the box.

He stumbled through his explanation, running a hand through his hair as he leaned, exhausted, against the wall of the Sanctum.

“You didn’t need Dmitri.” Melina rose to her feet and picked up the box. “I saw how you handled Hamilton in London. You went after Dmitri because of Kate.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She was right. That’s exactly what he’d done. And he would do it again.

“You care more about Kate than you do about our goals. Do you want Papa to destroy this family?”

He looked at the silver box gripped tightly in her hand. When had his mission changed from overthrowing his father to protecting Kate? And why hadn’t he realized the shift when it had happened?

He’d made the fatal mistake too many operatives made: letting his emotions control his actions. Damn, he knew better than that. But now that he was aware of it, he could fix the problem. It should be simple: just change his priorities.

“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have kept to the plan.”

Melina gave him a long look. “Yes, you should have. But we can turn events to our advantage.”

“Really?”

“Tell me how Kate became a caster.”

He straightened. Everything he’d learned since Brian died began to make sense. The “accident” that killed Brian coinciding with her bringing home the stone. Her insistence that she stay and learn her father’s “business.” How her family seemed to be training her. Her miraculous escape from Dmitri, using what sounded to him suspiciously like a fire spell. He explained his theory to his sister and told her his conclusion.

“I think the stone changed her into a caster. When it killed her brother, it somehow transformed her.”

She held a finger up to her mouth, and her eyes stared into nothingness. Then something sparked behind them, and a smile flashed across her face so quickly that he thought he might have imagined it in the dim light of the Sanctum.

“The stone is the key to everything. It always was,” she said.

“So? We can’t use it now. Papa—”

“Keep Papa busy and leave Kate and the stone to me. I’ll make sure it does what I think it does.”

“Which is?”

She studied his face. “You’ll find out when I’m certain. But I have to know one thing: Are you going to leave me out in the cold again the next time your little girlfriend needs you? Or can I count on you?”

He met her gaze. Melina was the only real family he had left.

“You know you can.” The decision settled on him like a shield spell.

“Good. Now go and deal with the Hamiltons. After all, every good war needs two sides. We have to have someone to blame for Papa’s demise.”

Kate came awake,
her eyelids fluttering. The sheets and pillows of her bed were soft and white, sunshine streamed in from the window above. For a moment, she thought she had awoken back home, in her own bed, her own room. But this bed was much bigger, and the room… No striped wallpaper and old bookcases here. A carved, blue cabinet and a yellow armchair were propped against whitewashed walls. Rich Turkish carpets covered the hardwood floors. The air smelled of perfume. Sandalwood?

On the other side of the room, a girl wearing a red-and-gold caftan, black ponytail trailing down her back, huddled on a wide bench, her head down. Seeing Kate stir, she leaped to her feet and ran from the room, closing the door behind her. Kate heard the
click
of a lock turning.

This must be the Makris estate.

She sat up. Memories rushed back and cleared the sleep from her mind. Kristof grabbing her, the ocean-clean scent of him exactly like Kris, their argument on the rocky shore, her aborted attempt to escape.
Kristof. Shit.

Someone had undressed her, put her in a white gauze nightgown, gotten her into bed, and healed her wounds. No more pain in her head, no more broken arm. Instead, strips of silver covered her hands, winding from her wrists around her fingers like a bracelet gone wild. The silver strands joined together on the backs of her hands under a glowing, green stone. A peridot. Maybe a green tourmaline.

Her clothes sat on a wooden chair next to her bed, all folded in a neat bundle. No sign of Dylan’s jacket with all his talismans. Or her earrings, or Brian’s journal. No surprise there.

But it wasn’t as if a bolted door could keep her here. She was a caster, right? She could teleport herself back home. If a regular spell didn’t work then by willing herself there. It was risky, but she could do it. And the sooner the better. She kept feeling Dmitri’s hands on her, could still hear the tearing sound her shirt made when he’d ripped it. Dmitri’s home base was the last place she wanted to be. His home—and Kristof’s.

No. She wasn’t going to think about Kristof.

She had to concentrate now. Try to remember the spell she’d see cast a dozen times in the last few days and duplicate it, even without having had the official lesson. Hands under the covers, she tapped out the complex spirals that would teleport her home while she visualized the foyer of her house, its cool marble floor under her feet, the smell of fresh bread baking.

Burning pain shot up her arms and into her shoulders. A relentless agony that intensified until she stopped trying to cast and curled up in a ball, whimpering. Her hands felt like she’d dipped them into a lake of fire.

After a moment the burning subsided. Her hands throbbed, red and sore, but she could make a fist, move each finger. They didn’t seem injured. She could use them for anything, apparently, except casting.

When her heart calmed down and the pain had dulled to an ache, she pulled at the wires binding her hands. They wound around every finger—too snug to slip off. She slid out of bed.

First things first. Clothes, then figure a way out.

But Dad must be trying to rescue her. Negotiating for her release, sending Victor and a team of operatives here. To get her and the stone back. She was probably supposed to sit tight.

She pulled her clothes on. Someone had washed them, gotten all the dirt, river water, and blood out. New buttons had been sewn onto her shirt, as well. Her fingers flashed as she got dressed, the silver filigree of her bonds catching the sunlight as she moved. Clearly they meant to keep her captive. At least until they got whatever it was they wanted. Some concession from Dad? After all, what could she give them? Kristof had already gotten the stone.

Kristof.
How could she have been so stupid? Kris Stevens had seemed like the perfect guy when she’d met him at an audition at the beginning of spring semester. Funny, charming, cute, from a family of shopkeepers in Florida who never would have believed in casters or the Game. All that time he’d been milking her for information about her family, data he’d fed straight back to his father. The fire in his eyes when he kissed her, the heat burning in his touch, the words he whispered to her in the dark. All lies.

She couldn’t stay in Kristof’s house one moment more. She needed to find a way out of here and back home.

She sat on the bed and closed her eyes. Then she stepped down the staircase she’d constructed in her mind, down to where the magic lived. Opening the wide metal doors, she touched the sea of ebony that roiled and swirled around her, drawing up a swirl of power. The dark energy swarmed over her, sliding into her soul, permeating her being.

No teleport spell to reactivate here, as there had been at the shack and in Africa. She’d have to try it from scratch.
Home
, she willed.

The power washed over her like a tsunami.
What the hell? No, no…too much. Too…
She grasped for a handhold, a life preserver, anything, but the magic tumbled over her, its hunger ravenous. Finger by metaphorical finger gave way until she slid down and down into the vastness within her.

Light shone from high above the dark, rolling waves. Its cleansing rays burned the blackness from her like an ice cube melting in the sun. Inch by inch, the power crept back until she felt herself lifted high above its inky ocean, no longer its captive, free from its hunger. She basked in the warmth of the light.

She opened her eyes, and she slumped against the foot of the bed. The willowy brunette from the beach yesterday—Kristof’s sister—crouched before her. White light poured forth from her upraised hands and played over Kate’s body. As Kate’s eyes focused on her, she clasped her hands and the light disappeared.

“Well.” Melina arched an eyebrow. “You’re a surprise a minute, aren’t you?”

Kristof gazed out
the conference room’s floor-to-ceiling windows at the Piazza del Popolo below. The sun shone down on the usual summer crowd of Rome’s pasty-faced tourists toting cameras, local girls in oversized sunglasses, and businessmen stopping for a quick lunch at a sidewalk café. The day-to-day life of the Normals of this embattled city, fought over by so many families it might as well be considered neutral territory, wasn’t that interesting. But staring outside gave him a moment to gather his thoughts before sitting down at the negotiating table with the Hamiltons.

He ran his hands along the lapel of his navy blazer. His father had been blunt last night. Melina needed time to examine the stone, to understand what it had done to Kate, before she could find out how to use it for him. Kristof had to get the Hamiltons to stop their attacks. The bombardments, the probes, were all too much of a strain on Melina, who managed the complex magical infrastructure of the Makrises’ estate, despite all Kristof did to shore up the security grid.

He rubbed his eyes. The attacks had taken their toll on him, as well. Despite having Anton relieve him, responding to the Hamiltons’ intermittent attacks had drained both his magical and physical energy.

His father had appointed Kristof lead negotiator—another one of his father’s tests. Prove his worth by protecting the estate. Stay away from Kate. And win concessions from the Hamiltons. It wasn’t like casters his age never handled the talking end of the Game, but they were generally more valuable throwing spells around than words. He glanced over at the long walnut table, the middle seat on one side reserved for him. Today would be one hell of an initiation.

His father would ensure he’d see Kristof’s success himself—or his failure. Papa sat at the table, chair pushed back, a dark jacket trying and failing to hide his heavy middle. Behind him, Dmitri lounged against the marble-covered wall, his smirk already firmly in place.

The tall wooden doors of the large conference room opened. The Hamilton delegation was ushered in by their host, Stephano DiOrsini. The Independent, all dandied up in an Italian suit with a red pocket handkerchief way too loud for Kristof’s taste, gave Kristof a nod. Maybe he’d keep his vow to witness the temporary truce. Maybe not. Kristof had never completely trusted Independents, but he’d rather rely on a powerful rogue like Stephano to make sure both sides kept their word than count on the Hamiltons to just keep it.

Grayson Hamilton took the main seat on the Hamiltons’ side of the table.

So Grayson’s going to lead the negotiation. Interesting.

Kristof hadn’t reported Grayson’s encroaching paranoia to his father, but the Hamiltons had to assume he knew about it and had passed the information along. Grayson’s role as lead negotiator could be seen as either foolhardy or a show of confidence.

Kate’s father, black hair slicked back, tie perfectly knotted, sat next to Grayson and studied Kristof’s family. His sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing. When they landed on Dmitri, they went as intense as a hawk after his prey. Kristof felt Hamilton’s eyes laser in on him, as well. Fair enough. He could take the heat.

Hamilton’s reaction wasn’t lost on Kristof’s father, who watched from the other side of the table, toying with his pocket watch. His eyes took in the whole room in but always came back to Cooper Hamilton.

Hamilton acknowledged Kristof’s father with a nod and a sharp “Nico.” His greeting might sound polite, but the steel in his eyes said something else.

Victor stood like a soldier at parade rest behind Hamilton, his sharp-eyed gaze steady on Kristof. Kristof gave him a brief nod, one hunter to another.