Cast Into Darkness (3 page)

“Kate?” he whispered.

She didn’t stir.
Good. This will be so much easier with her asleep.

He rolled out of bed and stood, careful not to disturb her as he pulled on his jeans. Slipping from her bedroom, he walked down the hall, stopping once when the floorboards creaked.

Her clothes lay crumpled on the kitchen floor. But first things first. Her family’s security team kept her on a long lead, but he saw no reason to take chances. He hadn’t survived this long by being stupid.

Kristof blinked, and his eyes went to soft focus, engaging his magesight. He scanned the room, checking for the telltale symbols of monitor spells, tracers, and nanny charms that could only be seen with his magical vision. The bright, multi-pointed symbols floating in the air showed him spells her security team had set, waiting to be activated by a careless casting.
One mistake, and I’ll blow this whole op.

He picked up her cutoffs and brought them to the sofa.

Kristof reached into Kate’s pocket, then stopped. What had his sister drummed into him? Never handle a potential artifact barehanded. Melina had said silk provided the best insulation but anything would do in a pinch. He picked up a cloth napkin from the coffee table and wrapped his hand in the blue cotton before carefully drawing out the stone.

Even through the fabric he felt a faint buzz.
That…isn’t normal
. He held the smooth, black stone up to the glow from the streetlight coming in the front window. When he blinked to engage his magesight again, its thin, green streaks flared from mere hints to vivid bands.

An artifact—no question.
Now to find out what kind.

He called up a simple diagnostic spell—something he’d been taught as a boy back home in Greece, one he could do without interfering with the disguise spells woven into his silver ring, spells that hid him from Hamilton security. His eyes relaxed as he concentrated on the symbol—a twelve-pointed star—and he traced it out against the sofa cushion. Whispering the ancient incantation, he added a spell to cloak his actions and leave no evidence of the results. Weaving the two symbols together, their sapphire and scarlet energies twisting around each other, he let the magic rise and sent it spiraling into the stone. The faint scent of ozone rose from the violet tendrils of the combined spell. He braced himself as the aftereffects hit.

Glass crashed and broke outside. A dog barked. He rose, heart pounding, a shield spell at his fingertips.

It must be her security. They’re on to me. They’ve known about me all along; they were just waiting until they could catch me screwing up.

He took a breath, then another. His rampaging pulse slowed.

No. Nobody’s outside. I’m just spell-tweaked. Calm the hell down and focus.

He held the stone up and looked at the results of his spell. The stone glowed with a green fire that skipped along its edges and into its center. Kristof squinted, his magesight probing the stone’s deeper mysteries. Spell upon spell lay nested on the stone, one on top of the next.

He’d seen artifacts that held a spell or two but never this many, or this intricately. Maybe that’s why it had affected Kate. A regular artifact shouldn’t do anything to a Null.

He turned it around in his hand. He couldn’t identify any of the spells. Maybe a technician like his sister could. Her text earlier had made her wishes clear—intercept Brian Hamilton, take the stone from him, and bring it to her. Too bad the message had arrived too late. Brian had already given Kate the stone. Now taking it from her was Kristof’s only option.

He wrapped the stone in the napkin and stuffed it in his pocket. Down the hall, Kate turned over in bed, sighing loudly. The gleam of her hair against the pale pillowcase caught his eye as he turned to leave.

He hesitated. If he took the stone, he would destroy his cover with Kate, a cover he’d worked on for months. A mission his father insisted he undertake—breaking the Rules to get valuable intelligence on the inner workings of the Hamilton family from Kate, intel he couldn’t find any other way. If he took the stone and left, not only would he lose everything he’d worked for but his father would uncover his and his sister’s operation. His father would investigate, and he would find out about the stone. And when he found out… His father’s rages kept getting worse and lasting longer. Kristof rubbed the scar on his hand, the reminder of the last time his father decided to “discipline” him. He’d gotten off easy—Melina, forbidden to use healing spells, had to use makeup to cover the half-healed burn blazing down one arm.

His father was the very last person who should have an artifact this powerful.

No, I have my own ideas for the stone.
It was something he and Melina had been planning for awhile. The stone, if it held the power it promised, might finally give him the opportunity he’d been waiting for—the chance to challenge his father for leadership of the Makris family. He might be young for it, but he’d been an operative for six years, since he’d turned fourteen. Childhood ended early for a Makris kid. But had he meant what he’d said to Kate about standing up to his father?

He took the stone out of his pocket, the napkin falling open around it. Its darkness flashed with an emerald brilliance that sparked an answering hunger deep in Kristof’s soul.

There was only one solution to the threat of his father finding out: to stay one step ahead of him. Yet, maybe he could keep his cover and still get the stone.

Kristof stared at the gleams of green fire playing across its surface. With the monitor spells all around him, it would be tricky. He reached back into his memory for a spell his sister had once taught him.

Visualizing the intricate, looping curves of the symbol, he traced them out in the air as he muttered the ancient words that accompanied the motion. With a quick exhalation, he cast the spell into the stone, nestling its green fire on top of the dozens of flares already present. Before the monitor spells could go off, he sent a quick cloaking spell after it. The subtle silver glow of the cloak shimmered over the stone for a moment, then faded.

There. It’s done.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. If he screwed this up, the Hamiltons might detect his work. They’d find him.

My cloaking spell might fail. The monitor spells might be going off right now, somewhere I can’t see them.

Shoulders tight, he clenched his hand into a fist. He just needed to wait it out.

When his racing heart slowed, he slid the stone back into the pocket of Kate’s shorts and dropped her clothes on the floor. He returned the napkin to the coffee table.

He walked down the hallway to Kate’s bedroom. She lay in the stillness of sleep, eyes closed, hair falling over her face. He could still smell the faint traces of her perfume, like rose petals. Still remember the feel of her skin on his, her urgent need as she pulled him close. Maybe he had another reason for not destroying his cover.

He brushed the hair out of her eyes, took off his jeans, and slipped back into bed beside her.

The next morning,
after Kris had left, Kate packed up her small suitcase. She tossed on her favorite blue batik shirt over a pair of shorts. The suitcase went in the trunk of her battered red sedan, the stone in her pocket.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, staring at the speed dial for Hamilton security. The procedure was simple—report your trips and an escort will be provided for you.

But really, an escort? She didn’t need an escort. Especially not the caster her dad would surely send. She jammed her phone back into her shorts.

Kate fought her way onto the entrance of the I-88, competing with ten thousand other students driving home. After the traffic evened out, she tuned to the only alt-rock station her car stereo picked up and settled down for the long drive to the Hamptons.

A few hours in, the road and the trees and the other cars all began to blur together. As she lost herself in the music, her hand crept from the steering wheel to the outside of her pocket, smoothing the fabric where the stone bulged out.

What the heck did the stone do to her in the dressing room last night? Was it dangerous just having the damn thing in her pocket?
Brian better be home when she got there. And tell me what it is and what it does.
Taking this thing from him wasn’t the brightest decision she’d ever—

A sharp bang came from the right side of the car. Kate veered out of her lane and partway into the next, so close to a black SUV that she could see the little dings in its paint job.

Kate’s heart gave a huge thump against her ribs.
Shit, oh shit. I’m going to hit…

She jerked the wheel the other way. The steering column shook under her hands. Her car shuddered, swerving across the freeway, tires squealing. It skidded onto the shoulder, careening over the gravel, then slid to a stop inches from the barrier.

Kate sat behind the wheel, her pulse racing faster than the cars whizzing by. None of them stopped to check on her.
Jerks
.

Her hands trembled as she unbuckled her seat belt. She pulled the keys from the ignition and walked around the car on unsteady legs. The wind did nothing to cool the heat of the noonday sun, and the sweat began to bead on her skin. The car’s front tilted down, the tread on its right tire torn into ragged black pieces. The faint smell of burned rubber rose from the sedan.

She’s seen the films in Driver’s Ed—she’d been lucky. She could have flipped the car. Kate wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d never fixed a car before; Dad had mechanics for this stuff.

She should call him, or Victor.

No, screw Security. I don’t want Victor’s babysitting. I mean, his
escort
, and I don’t need him now
.

It was her car—bought and paid for with money she earned in Scene Shop. There had to be one of those jack things in the trunk. How hard could it be?

A few minutes later, she stood by the road, car jacked up, body drenched in perspiration, and the tire still not off. Time to give up. Changing a tire was a lot tougher than it looked.

She stomped to the trunk and tossed the tire iron back inside.

“Turn around, Kate. Hand over the stone, and I’ll let you walk away.”

She tried to swallow, tried to speak, but she couldn’t get a word past her tight throat.
This isn’t supposed to happen. Not to me.
Hand shaking, she grabbed the tire iron and concealed it behind her as she spun around.

Brooke stood by the side of the freeway, a smirk on her fire-engine-red lips. A shiny silver pin fastened to her too-tight gold tank top reflected the sun into Kate’s eyes. Long orange flames—the visible manifestation of a fire spell—flickered around her outstretched hand, leaving her stacks of jangly silver bracelets untouched.

“You’re a caster?” Kate said. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
And how does she know about the stone?

“The stone, Kate. Now.”

“I called my security team when my tire blew out,” Kate bluffed, keeping a tight grip on the tire iron. “They’re on their way. So I’d leave if I were you.”

“Oh, what a load of crap. I blocked your cell. No one’s riding to your rescue. And none of these so-called concerned motorists will help, either.” Brooke jerked her head at the cars going by. “
They
can’t see through the illusion spell I cast.”

“You’re not supposed to attack me. I don’t work for my father. Didn’t anybody tell you I’m not a caster?”

“I know what you are.” Brooke played with the fireball in her hand, tossing the ethereal sphere of flame up and down. “Maybe you should have remembered that you’re just a supporting player before you tried out for the lead. I’m the real thing. I’m a
star
.”

I should have let Brooke tumble over that balcony last night when I’d had the chance.

Kate edged behind the car. Brooke flicked out her hand. A blast of flame hit the roof of the sedan, inches from Kate’s face. A slug of metal shot off and spun past her head, close enough that the heat of the burning steel sent her stomach lurching.

“Stop the bullshit, and give me the stone. I’m done playing nice.”

“Fine. Fine.” With the tire iron still behind her back, Kate reached into her pocket. As she pulled out the stone, Brooke’s eyes softened. Her flaming hand relaxed a little.

Now
.

Kate threw the tire iron, a hard overhand pitch aimed straight at Brooke’s head, then dove to the ground.

Brooke screamed as the metal smacked into her with a loud crack against bone. Kate squirmed under the car, desperate for whatever small cover it could provide. Gravel dug into her bare knees, and her shirt tore on the underside of the chassis. Pain burst through her head when she hit it on the engine block.

She jerked her phone out of her pocket, scraping her hand on the rough ground. Her finger stabbed at the emergency button. If she’d knocked Brooke out with that throw, or at least distracted her enough, her illusion spell might have broken down.

C’mon, c’mon. Victor—if I’ve ever needed you, it’s now
.

“I don’t care what the boss said,” Brooke yelled. “I’m going to make you pay for that, bitch.”

So much for knocking her out.

Kate sneaked a look from the scant cover of the car. Brooke ran for her, one arm limp at her side. She shot her good hand out and flames poured from it—aimed straight at Kate.

Flinching at the oncoming heat, Kate scrambled farther under the car. Fire roared around her, the heat intense. Her heart pounded in her ears.
I’m going to die, and all because of this
stupid
stone.
Then the flames stopped, a few inches short of her, as if they hit a wall of air.

She let out her breath in a whoosh of relief. The fire licked at the barrier of wavy air surrounding her, eager to find a way in and burn her to ashes. Kate felt no heat from the flames, no scorching, nothing at all. After a moment of futile flickering, they winked out.