Cast into Darkness Page 2

  Something intrigued her about the stone’s hills and valleys, its gleams and shadows. They pulled her down into their darkness until spirals of verdant light pierced the blackness and consumed her vision. Their radiance awoke a long-suppressed yearning for the ethereal power she’d been denied. She wanted to stay in the stone’s ebony veil forever.

  A door slammed.

  “Kate?”

  Her fingers snapped closed around the stone. The room came back into focus. The makeup kits, the girls, the costumes—all gone. Except for Kris, leaning against the door, eyes intent on her.

  “It’s ten thirty,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for a half hour…. I was getting worried.”

  “You’re kidding.” Mouth dry, she glanced at her watch. He was right. For over thirty minutes, while everyone else dressed and left, she’d sat silent and still in the dressing room.

  Lost in the secrets of the stone.

  Chapter Two

  Kate remembered taking the stone out of her pocket. Then Kris opened the door, and… Everything in between stretched into a long, dark blank. Damn Brian for dumping some magical trinket on her like that. How was she supposed to figure out how to protect herself?

  “Where did you get that?” Kris pointed at the stone in her hand.

  “Um…” What am I supposed to say? From my brother, the Harvard poli-sci major who moonlights as a magical operative for my dad’s secret cartel? Yeah, right. “It’s a souvenir. From home. You know, just a beach rock.” She stared down at it, the deep black sheen of it threatening to draw her in again.

  His eyes narrowed. “What makes it so fascinating?”

  Good question. “Nothing. I think I’m really tired.” She stood and jammed the stone in her pocket. “Can we skip the party? Just go home?”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  He followed her as she jogged up the stairs and into the humid summer night. Kate steered the conversation back to the play and their finals as they walked across the Schwartz Center to her small apartment off campus. She slipped her hand into Kris’s larger one and shivered as he ran his thumb across the inside of her palm. They merged with the flow of students heading out to party, rushing to make it across Dryden Avenue before the light changed. At a bar across the street, a metal band played something loud and nihilistic, while half a block down, a girl in a pink leather mini threw up in the bushes. Just another Friday night.

  They turned down Linden and swung up the steps of Kate’s place, a one-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a gray, two-story house. Kris held the door while she collected her mail under the dim porch light, sorting through pizza delivery and ads for spray-on tanning parlors. An official Theatre Department envelope stuck out of the pile. Kate felt dizzy, lightheaded, like all the blood in her body was rushing into her ears. She steadied herself on the doorjamb as they walked inside, then threw the rest of the mail down on her battered desk as Kris turned on the light. Flipping the envelope over, she slid her finger along the seal, hand trembling. Please, let it be yes.

  Scanning the text, she moved past the description of the scholarship program. Tuition, fees, housing, books—everything paid for the next three years provided she kept her grades up and majored in theater. Then she reached the words that made her whole body feel like it was charged with the energy of a thousand suns. A smile burst across her face as she dropped the letter to the hardwood floor.

  “I got it!”

  Kris turned, startled, at her whoop of triumph. She threw herself into his arms.

  He squeezed her tight. “Now you have some real ammunition against your father.”

  “Maybe.” Her joy dissolved. Dad. He’d never let her accept. He’d still insist she major in premed or prelaw, something that served the Hamilton family.

  “Didn’t somebody leave a bottle of wine after your party last weekend?” Kris said. “We can celebrate. Make some pasta.”

  Kate joined Kris in the cozy white kitchen as he poured them each a glass of merlot. She started cooking the spaghetti on one of the two working burners while Kris chopped tomatoes on the cutting board, his hand wielding the sharp knife with precision.

  She wandered into the living room and picked up the letter, staring at it while Kris finished making dinner. The scholarship would create enough problems with her family. Now she’d have to keep the stone a secret from Dad, too. I don’t need this crap. I should call Brian. Get him to take the stone back.

  No. That would just prove what Dad always said: Can’t trust Kate with caster business.

  Kris came up behind her, rubbing her stiff neck. “Something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I’m just… I have to go home tomorrow, and I don’t want to.”

  “Then don’t. Stay here for summer session. With me. What can your father do about it?”

  “You don’t understand. He can do plenty.” She stared at the dark, red wine in her glass.

  “Maybe. But I’ve got some experience with controlling fathers.” Kris’s voice grew hard. “Sometimes you just have to decide where to draw the line and stay on your side.”

  “Easy to say. Hard to do.” Kris’s father might be tough, but he didn’t pull the strings of half the world’s power brokers. Escaping Dad’s control would be close to impossible.

  His hand dropped from her neck, and he took a step back. “If you want your independence, you should try. You’ve always said you want to stand up for yourself.”

  She spun around. “I do. If you knew Dad—”

  “How many nights do we end up talking about you and your dad? What about us?”

  “This isn’t about us. If it was, I would—”

  “What? Introduce me to your family? We both know that’s not going to happen.” He stalked back to the kitchen.

  She followed. “The last thing I want is for them to interfere in our lives.”

  “They already do. Every time you do what your father wants instead of what you want.”

  She braced herself against the tile counter, tapping her foot on the kitchen floor. Kris had no idea what levers Dad knew how to turn. But maybe Kris had a point. If she didn’t act now, she never would. She took a long drink of her wine.

  “You’re right. I’ll go back long enough to tell him I’m taking the scholarship and deal with the fallout. But then I’m coming back here for summer session. He’ll just have to deal.”

  “Good. We can have the summer all to ourselves.”

  The timer went off. Kate checked the spaghetti. “Still a little underdone.”

  Kris turned down the heat under the sauce to a slow boil. “Give it more time.”

  He moved to stand behind her, his voice near her ear. “I know it’s tough, with your family. I don’t mean to be such a jerk.”

  “You’re not. You’re just…intense.” She leaned back into him. “You know, this was our first fight.”

  “Not much of one.”

  “Maybe not. But it means we can make up.” She smiled as she turned to face him.

  He slid his hand down her side, sending a quiver of yearning through her.

  “You always come up with good ideas,” he said.

  She tilted her head to his as he leaned down to kiss her. He tasted of merlot and a warm sweetness that made her blood pound. His skin smelled like sunlight glinting off the ocean, like some faraway tropical island she wished she could escape to with him. Like freedom.

  The timer dinged again, and she turned toward the stove.

  “Leave it.” Kris switched off the burner, then drew her back. He touched the base of her neck, leaving her trembling. Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugged it off. She let him pull hers overhead, his hands trailing up her body. They wandered to her cutoffs, and gently tugged the zipper down. The cutoffs fell to her feet, and Kate looked up at him, hoping he’d see a thousand promises in her eyes. She shivered as Kris slid his fingers under the elastic of her panties, then around and down to touch her so intimately she lost her breath.

  She swayed ag
ainst him. “God, Kris.”

  “Bedroom?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “Living room? Dining room table? The floor would be fine.”

  “Bedroom. Now.”

  He smiled. “Whatever you want.”

  In Kate’s small bed, on top of her paisley coverlet, she pulled him close and felt his solid form, his muscles against her skin, the heat of him in the summer evening. Answering heat rose deep in her belly.

  “Kris,” she said, and he kissed her. All the things she wanted to say to him rushed from her mind. He whispered her name and ran his lips down her neck, her collarbone, and then her breasts. That heat flared into a raging inferno.

  She pulled his head up to hers and kissed him again, her mouth giving him everything she wished she could say but didn’t dare. The more she thought about how little time they had left together, the more she wanted him.

  They made love, their dinner cold on the stove, and she forgot about everything else. Nothing existed but her and Kris. Before the morning and home.

  Kristof Makris ran his finger down Kate’s cheek, gently sliding her hair away from her face. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest under the sheet.

  “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.

  Chapter Three

  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.