He paused before a small gray stone in the ground. Chanting, he flicked his wrist. She gasped as a dark, steep-peaked house glimmered into view. She had to catch her breath at the illusion—or maybe it was the other way around. The house’s invisibility was the illusion.
Caine opened a red door into a hall, warmly lit by candles. “My other home. The secret one.” He motioned for her to enter, and she followed him into an ivory-walled hall. “Right now, you’re the only person who knows this exists. Aurora will be only the second person. If you’re still going to insist on rejoining the mage Hunters, I’ll have to steal this particular memory from you before you leave. Or I’ll have to kill you. Your choice.”
Rosalind cocked her hip. “I don’t really like the idea of you rooting around in my brain.”
“What are you afraid I’ll see?”
She toyed with her ring. You’d slaughter me if you knew the terrible thing I did. She pushed the thought away. “It’s more that I don’t particularly want brain damage.”
“I’m an artist of dark magic. I’d leave all your computer science jibber-jabber intact.”
“Mmm. Sounds like you really know what you’re talking about.” She frowned. “When are we going to see the sybil? Where’s this nightclub?”
“We’ll go tonight, once Aurora gets here. Hopefully, none of Elysium’s patrons have heard about your little incident with Bileth.” He motioned for her to follow him into a high-ceilinged living room. “In the meantime, let me introduce you to my parlor.”
Parlor. It was a strangely old-fashioned New England word for a delicately beautiful place. Silvery wallpaper covered the walls, decorated with ethereal spider-web patterns. Midnight-blue curtains hung from bay windows overlooking the water, and candles burned in silver candelabra. The entire place was impeccably tidy. He probably had cleaning spells to do the work for him.
She sat on a deep blue sofa, smoothing out her tangled hair. She looked like a mess. At least the tattoos had faded from her skin, but her dress was hanging off her—probably shredded around the time she threw herself at Caine.
He sat next to her, and she glanced at him, trying not to stare at his beautiful features, his strong jawline and glacial eyes. “I think I might remember you. I remember glimpses from when we were kids. I remember someone like you on the beach. A young boy with gray eyes.”
He eyed her cautiously. “I’m older than you. My memories are a bit clearer.”
Curiosity bloomed in her mind. “What do you remember? What were my parents like?”
“Powerful.”
He wasn’t giving details, and she had the unsettling feeling they’d done something terrible to him.
A sigh slid from her. “I remember feeling loved. Even if my parents were witches, I felt safe then. But you weren’t safe. They threw you out.”
He gazed into the candle flames. “Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he said, so softly she barely heard him.
A lump rose in her throat. “You were just a kid.”
“Is that so?” A muscle feathered in his jaw. “You don’t think like a Hunter with all that empathy of yours.”
“Maybe the Brotherhood isn’t as bad as you think.” She thought of Mason, making a mental correction. “Some of them are awful. But most of the Brotherhood made me feel like I had a home again. I felt valued, and important. I had a place among them. They give me a purpose.”
“Is it worth your life?”
“They have to take me back. I don’t have anything else,” she said.
“That’s quite a lot of faith you put in them.”
“It’s not so much faith. It’s more like—”
“—A desire,” he said. It was the same phrasing Ambrose had used, but on an incubus’s lips, the word had an entirely different association. Her mind burned with the memory of his lips on hers, of her body pressed against his, fingers coiled into his hair.
But he’d put a stop to their kiss. It was stupid, but she almost felt the sting of rejection.
“You know when I kissed you earlier?” She flinched at her own question. Shut up, Rosalind.
His lips curled in a faint smile. “The image is fresh in my memory.”
“I was just wondering, since you’re an incubus…” Why in the gods’ names was she bringing this up? She’d lost all her impulse control since she started hanging out with demons. “Why did you stop me? I thought incubi fed off—” She cleared her throat. “You know.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You know. Is that what you call it in the Brotherhood?”
Her chest flushed. She had no idea why she’d gotten sidetracked by this conversation. She should be focusing on the sybil right now, and finding a way to piece her life back together. “You know what I mean.”
He ran a finger over his lower lip, studying her. “Why did I stop it? Because you weren’t in control. I can tell you it took a tremendous amount of restraint on my part.”
Rosalind stared at him, entranced by the flickering candlelight dancing over his skin.
“Hello?” Aurora’s voice broke the silence.
Rosalind let out a long breath, letting some of the tension uncoil inside her.
“Caine!” Aurora shouted from the doorway. “Am I invited in?”