Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) by Carmen Caine

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    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