by Anise Rae
And when he couldn’t persuade, he just took a mage’s voice and silenced his objections. She’d never imagined such a thing was possible. He was a valuable ally. And a damn good kisser.
“He can persuade me, that’s for sure.” Rosemary patted the porch swing again. “Sit. Trust me. You don’t want to go in there if you don’t have to.”
She had to. Gregor wouldn’t leave until she was inside.
Two men walked by on the street. Rosemary shimmied. The negligee sagged down until only her nipple caught the fabric. She winked, and they tripped over each other as they stared.
Mara headed for the door, getting out of the way of any business that might come Rosemary’s way. “I need to talk to Fancy.”
Rosie gave the men a come-hither stare as she replied to Mara. “Fancy’s on a tear. A damn sweaty one at that. It smells in there. She’s sprayed a half-dozen bottles of perfume to mask the odor of the few customers we have.” She fanned herself, looking over at Mara as the men moved on. “Hard to catch a breath. She should cast a cooling spell. I told her we should go mages only tonight, but she threw a fit. Maybe you can convince her.” She gave her a teasing smile. “Fancy got your room all freshened up for you. I hope you’re staying for a while this time. Madame is in a better mood when you’re here.”
Valeska, guard and bouncer extraordinaire, opened the door. “You.” It was her standard greeting. The single word exposed her accent, which came from far overseas and lent a stiff slur to her speech.
Her hard voice matched her appearance. She wore a black sleeveless T-shirt with a long cut down the center as if the strength of her cleavage had ripped the shirt right down the middle. Her bared arms bulged with muscles. She had long straight hair with bangs cut in a sharp line. She looked like an ancient Egyptian princess who’d won her throne through fistfights.
No one messed with Valeska. “Bag check,” she snapped.
Mara slipped off her pack and opened it. She shrugged off her vest as Valeska rifled through it.
While the woman worked, two more girls slipped out the door.
“Mara!” Lavender kissed her on the cheek.
Marigold walked right past, not even looking her way. “Don’t go in there, spinner girl.”
Both of them plopped down next to Rosemary on the swing. “I’ve tried to explain, but she’s on a mission.”
They had no idea how true Rosemary’s words were. Mara shrugged away the advice and pulled at the back of her sweaty shirt. She’d cast a gentle keep cool spell through the weave of the shirt, weak enough that it wouldn’t bother the Nons even if they’d sat beside her on the train. Not that she’d actually gotten to sit down. But the weak spell hadn’t been enough to fight off sweaty nerves from an encounter with the Black Skulls. The shirt was damp and sticky.
“Yarn.” Valeska spat the word like a curse as she looked up from the contents of the pack. “Again. You are predictable, Miss Rand.” Something about her accent made that sound like a bigger insult than it might have been. She nodded at Gregor still leaning against his bike, legs extended, arms crossed as he stared at her. The line of his mouth conveyed his disapproval.
“The wild men of Prophet like a woman who keeps them guessing,” Valeska continued. “You’ll never keep him if you always lead him on a straight path. He is glister-marked.”
“You can see that?”
She shrugged and tapped her temple next to her eye. “New potion is better than ever.” Valeska dosed her eyes with see-all potion on a daily basis, a fact that everyone in the bordello knew. The dangerous, costly potion made her an all-seeing threat to rule breakers inside. She nodded at Gregor. “If you can’t find a natural one of your own kind, make one.”
Mara squinted. “Does being glister-marked make every mage a wayward?”
Valeska slapped her on the shoulder. “You are a stupid woman.” Her voice sounded matter-of-fact as if the answer to her question—whatever it was—was common sense. The West knew more about glister than the east.
“This is not a good time for visiting.” The bouncer shook her head as if she wanted to add stupid woman to the end of that sentence as well. “But Fancy is at the bar.”
Mara shouldered her pack and then turned to Gregor, still watching across the street. She waved. He lifted his hand in a two-fingered salute. Passersby on the street gave him and his Black Skull bike a wide berth.
She could have stayed all day in his arms…enjoying him touching every inch of her. Those words of his replayed through her head and she had to take a deep breath. But falling for him was a heartbreak in the making.
Gregor came with ties and not just the satin ones that threatened her heart. His connections reached to the High Councilor, the army, and Power United, connections that could strangle her. They were easy to forget when he smiled much less kissed her.
She turned and entered the dark house. The crystal chandelier was off. She couldn’t remember it ever being completely off, though Valeska always kept the entryway dim. It made the customers stepping in from the sunshine partially blinded, giving her the advantage.
Although she’d been warned about the heat, it still caught her by surprise. It was hotter inside than out. Mara strode past the parlor and the grand staircase and paused at the small table in the hallway that held a landline. She looked around. The only light was from the windows, but from what she could see, Valeska had moved on, and no one else was around. It wasn’t that she’d be prohibited from using it, but all the better if she could complete this task with no one the wiser…or curious.
She picked up the receiver.
“Operator,” the woman on the other end said.
“Collect call.” Mara rattled off the landline number and waited for Nils to pick up and accept the charge. He had his number forwarded wherever he went in case the underground needed him, though he told everyone it was in case of work emergencies.
“Mara, what’s the matter?” The words were sharp with urgency.
She’d called him before, and he never appreciated it, but this was too important not to call. “The Black Skulls are kidnapping sorceresses in the Wild West. How many have we sent here? Did you know—”
“Yes, I already know.” His voice was full of impatience. “Why do you think I risked the trip to the West? Do you think it was a coincidence that I was on the train? I’m in the city. I’m not leaving until I’ve contacted all the transportees and warned them. I know where they are…or at least where I sent them.”
“How are you managing that with Cecilia and the bounty hunters right there with you?” Her whisper vibrated against the receiver.
“I can handle them. I do it all the time.”
“Have you talked to Fancy? She might know where our sorceresses are.” She’d put Nils and Fancy in touch a few years ago when the underground had contemplated sending the liberated sorceresses to the West.
“I’ll take care of it. Trust me to handle this. You’re too high profile to get wrapped up in it. You attract attention like a flower to a bee. You always have. It’s why you stepped back from the Trail of Strings in the first place.”
The gentle reminders irritated, mostly because he was right.
Nils continued, “Let me play my role. I have to go.” He disconnected with a click.
She hung up. She always felt like a fool next to Nils. He was suave and polished, and she was an outcast. But she’d had to make that call. She couldn’t let their sorceress refugees fall victim to Prophet’s plan.
She strode into the courtroom. Fancy called it that because it was where she judged the size of every man’s purse, where customers courted her girls and vice versa, and where everyone present was guilty of something. The courtroom consisted of the old mansion’s former dining room and ballroom, the walls removed between the two. It was almost as dim as the foyer, lit by candles and lanterns, two of which sat on the edge of the stage.
The bar lined the majority of the wall to Mara’s right. Tables and chairs lined the floor i
n front of her, and booths and couches lined the remaining walls. A violinist sat in the corner of the room playing a slow, sultry tune while a woman lounged on a divan at the front of the stage. The lanterns provided just enough light to see by. Her long legs, topped with high heeled, laced-up boots, were slung over the back of the couch, and partly covered in old-fashioned bloomers. Her corset was open, her breasts bare. She circled a finger around one nipple. Not much of a dance, but it captured her audience of two.
A sudden smack against the wooden bar yanked Mara’s attention.
“Mara!” Fancy stood up, her arms wide and hugged her. “Oh, this backpack! Threads and yarn. You never stop. All work and no play, darling!” She kissed both of her cheeks. “The train came in hours ago. Where have you been?” She patted her cheek. “I had a feeling you’d be late.”
“How did you know that? You have your own oracle mage locked up in a cage out back?” Mara teased.
“What do you think?” Fancy winked. “Bartender!” Her holler echoed through the room.
“Here, madame,” Sage’s sarcasm came from behind the bar.
“Bare Witches Whiskey for my favorite citizen and another for me.” Fancy’s shiny red hair was piled on her head in a loose knot. Her black corset pushed her breasts high and left her arms bare. Four-inch heels gleamed sharply beneath the wide legs of her black trousers. She returned to her barstool.
Mara took the next one over.
“Business must be good if you’re back already,” Fancy said. “I saw your image spell in the paper. Sorceress dares new fabric with spider silk.” She held up her hands as she recited the headline. “Bravo for you.” Fancy touched her hand to her chest. “You make a mama proud, spinner girl.”
Mara definitely hadn’t done that. Her mother had left her as soon as she was old enough to be shipped to SWWM. Her father was unknown.
Fancy had taken her under her wing after Mara’s cheap, rundown motel had caught fire, displacing all the guests, on Mara’s first trip to the Wild West. The two had stood in the street gawking at the towering flames. An instant kinship had ignited. That had been years ago. Ever since, Fancy had done everything she could to help Mara sell her wares, including finding weavers for her fabric. Mara owed Fancy a lot.
Sage set two whiskeys in front of them. The ball of ice in Mara’s glass sparkled beneath the candlelight like it had been slipped off one of the chandeliers. Fancy lifted her drink, and Mara tapped hers against it.
“To the wild place,” Fancy said. It was the first half of the traditional Wild West toast.
“And freedom’s grace,” Mara finished. She lifted the drink to her lips. The spicy scent burst against her nose. She swallowed and washed away the dust of the road, the insanity of Prophet’s plan, and a kiss that melted her bones.
“You find a supplier for your spider silk yet?” Fancy asked. “If you haven’t, I can help.”
The day after they’d first met, Fancy had suggested she spin with the webs that had coated the burned remains of her motel. The madame had even collected them for her. It had taken Mara years to dare to attempt it, though the webs had been waiting, packed between sheets of waxed paper. Once she’d tried it, she’d wished she hadn’t waited so long.
“I don’t need a supplier anymore. I’ve been banned from spinning it.”
“What?” Fancy snapped.
Sage took her polishing rag and headed for the other end of the bar as if avoiding the madame’s temper.
“That made the newspaper, too,” Mara said. “I’m sure that issue is on its way to the land of Kansas as we speak. I’m willing to push society’s boundaries, but I can’t disobey the High Councilor.”
“That bitch!” Fancy set her glass down with a bang against the dark wooden bar. “How dare she?”
“She dares what she wants. It’s her country.”
“That’s why I live here. You should, too.” She finished her drink and slammed it down again, snapping her fingers for another. Sage obliged.
“Luck’s balls, Mara! You can’t stop. A grand breakthrough is your destiny. You’ve told me what enormous potential it has. I’ve been excited for you.” Fancy had listened to her drone on about the gray repose fabric during her last few visits.
Mara shrugged. “Politics and prejudice. The two pillars of life in the Republic. There’s not much I can do to get around them.”
Fancy stabbed her finger at her. “That’s vibe shite. You’ve got to make it happen. This is your moment to shine.”
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “I don’t want to shine. It would do no good to my employees or my customers.”
On the stage, the reclining woman rolled off her sofa and stood. Mara recognized her now. Ginger. All of Fancy’s girls were named after herbs, spices, and flowers, appropriate for The Green House.
Ginger leaped off the stage and strutted over to a customer’s table. She laid back on it, arching up, her fingers traveling over her nipples. The man picked up his drink and wiped it across his forehead.
Fancy turned away from the show. “Don’t tell me this is because you’re wayward.” She slipped her hand under Mara’s chin. “You deserve to shine as bright as anyone else in that fucked up country of yours. I don’t care how crippled or lame you think your power is. I’m telling you that you’re perfectly normal. You should move here.”
Sometimes Fancy really was as proud as a mama and as blind as one, too.
Mara smiled. “Life isn’t so different on this side of the Mississippi. Freedom doesn’t really grace everyone here. People live in fear of the outlaws and anyone else who’s strong enough to take them over. If you’re powerful and capable, then you can fight for your freedom. If you’re weak or lame, you either go with the flow or hide. It’s the same in the Republic.” She didn’t want to shine…here or there. She couldn’t afford anyone looking into her background or examining her power closely. She didn’t want to imagine what they’d find.
“You’re just scared.”
Yes. Exactly. “Speaking of scared, did you know that the Mad Prophet has it out for bordellos and their girls? And I think he might have it in for you in particular.”
Fancy tsked. “Of course he does. This town is mine. The man’s tried, failed, and knows what will happen to him if he attempts to force me. He thinks he can intimidate everyone into bowing down before him. I’m not giving in.”
“What does he want you to do?”
“Hook up to his new power supply lines.” She rolled her eyes. “Like I’m going to unhook from what I already have, even if it is shit and sparks rain down all the time.”
“It doesn’t seem to be working at the moment,” Mara said.
“I’ll get it back on. Don’t you worry. Prophet doesn’t have a tenth of the wire he needs to string around this city.” She shrugged. “Don’t know where he’s going to get it. He’s sure as hell not taking my sorceresses to do it. But Janie and Kate have already signed up.”
Janie and Kate ran the bordellos down the street. Mara had never met either woman.
“They’ve given him ten sorceresses each,” Fancy continued. “They have a fucking quota of women to provide for him. And we’re not talking about a quota of little fucky-fucks.
“What do those girls know about spinning wire? Even if they are sorceresses?” Fancy rolled her eyes. “I fear for the West if he’s gonna use wire spun by whores to light us up.
“The girls who are left at Janie and Kate’s are about to riot. The only way those two bitches keep them around is with lock spells on the doors. Both of ‘em have confiscated their girls’ clothes. They’re forcing them to work if they want them back, along with food, water, and liquor. Can you believe it? Janie and Kate have turned downright evil on their girls. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Sage gave her boss a hard look from the other end of the bar and pointed at Mara. “She shouldn’t be here. It’s too damn dangerous.”
“I’ve heard that one too many times to
day.” Mara glanced between the two of them.
“How’d you hear about Prophet?” Fancy asked.
“I was at the Black Skulls’ hideout or whatever they’re calling it.”
Fancy’s eyes went wide. “Luck be with us all!” Luck was a much more popular god in the West than he was in the East thanks to the glister population. “What the still-hells were you doing there?” she shouted, grabbing the attention of the two customers at the tables.
Mara explained her capture.
“I cannot believe you.” Again, the madame smacked her hand against the bar.
“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Mara protested.
Anger rolled over Fancy’s face as if she was personally offended that Mara had associated with the crazy man. “Prophet’s path is not yours.”
Mara had never been able to determine what kind of mage Fancy was. She talked about destiny as if she were an oracle mage, but Mara had seen her dance and had been certain she had sorceress power. A charisma mage also seemed a possibility since she could charm anyone into doing what she wanted.
“He has glister on his side,” Mara continued. “Prophet made one hypnotize us...or try to.”
Fancy stared at her, eyes hard, the look she turned on her girls when they disobeyed. “Those fuckers. Traitors to their own kind.” She stabbed her finger toward her. “I know you, Mara Kathryn Rand. Don’t think for a minute that you’re gonna go rescue that bunch of sorceresses. They’re worthless. I know every house he took them from, and there’s not a quality mage among them.”
Rosemary sauntered in. She stuck her face between Fancy and Mara. Her grin stretched to mischievous proportions. “She got a ride into the city from a man on a Black Skull bike.” The woman stirred up trouble between the girls on a regular basis, but this was the first time she’d ever done it to Mara.
Mara hastened to explain. “Because taking one of their vehicles was the only viable option to escape. Gregor is not a Black Skull.”
Fancy’s eyes darkened. “You leave my sight for three weeks and look what kind of trouble you get into. You’re lucky you made it out!”
