Sorcerer's Spin

by Anise Rae

  “Well, I’m here now,” Mara reasoned gently.

  Rosemary plopped her fist on her curvy hip. “I told Mara you had her room free.”

  “Free?” Fancy’s voice went high. “I’ve got nothing free for someone stupid enough to get caught by the Mad Prophet.”

  Mara raised an eyebrow. She was thankful Gregor wasn’t here for this. Fancy had a temper that got the better of her occasionally, but it didn’t disqualify her as a friend. “It’s rather unfair to lay the blame on me.” She’d always been able to calm Fancy.

  “You could have died! Or worse. Death and misery do not deal in fairness. And neither do I. You can have a room, but I expect you to work your way back into my good graces. Otherwise, don’t plan on me helping with Thompson Mill. Not if coming west is going to cost you your freedom or your life.”

  “Work? You want me to….”

  “No! I don’t want you selling your girl parts. I want you to dance.”

  Dance. The word struck fear in her…along with something else she didn’t want to identify. Mara flattened her hand on the bar. “No.” This was not negotiable. “I’ll give you the finest cloth on the continent. It will flow and drape and soothe your skin like nothing else. But I’m not dancing. I don’t dance for audiences.” She lowered her voice into a furious whisper. “You know what my dancing does to people!” She’d told Fancy her story the last time she was here. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

  “I don’t want cloth.” A stubborn note saturated Fancy’s tone. “I want you to dance with everything you’ve got. If my customers aren’t falling at your feet in awe and lust, you’re out on your ass. Dance with every joule of your power and you’ll have a bed…all alone if that’s what you want…for the duration of your trip.”

  Mara looked away. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “All or nothing.”

  “I can’t dance, Fancy. I’m sorry.”

  “Then that drink is ten golds. Only working girls get one on the house.”

  “Ten golds? That’s ridiculous.”

  But Fancy wasn’t done. “And you can kiss your appointment with Thompson goodbye.” The hard look turned colder.

  “What the hell, Fancy?” If it weren’t for her appointment, she’d leave.

  Rosemary tsked. “Told you she was in a bad mood.”

  Valeska slid close. “Want me to take it out of her skin, boss?” She pulled a joule stealer from the holster at her side. They were illegal in the Republic.

  Fancy leaned toward Mara. “I’ve watched you tiptoe around your power for years. You want to use it. I can see it in your eyes. How would it feel to let your power flow and not cut it off at the balls just before it gets to the good part? How long has it been since you’ve done it?”

  “I should never have told you.”

  “Too late. I want to see it for myself.”

  Mara shook her head. “You’ll regret it.” Part of her wanted to say yes just to show her friend exactly what she was asking for. She’d get what she deserved for making such a request.

  “I regret letting you walk through life with your potential clamped down tighter than a virgin’s ass. Don’t tell me the thought of spinning out all your power doesn’t sound enticing. One night to let it all flow, to let your energy brim forth and take what it desires.”

  Mara closed her eyes and sucked in a hard breath. Tomorrow was her date with Gregor. She tamped down the anger crackling against her vibes. But worse than the anger was the excitement. Goddess above and Luck below, she had no business being excited. She blamed the wild vibes of the West.

  Fancy laughed, tossing her head back. “You want to do it. Don’t bother denying it. Dance. Tomorrow night.”

  “Mages only!” Rosemary piped in. “Finally! Let’s get the cooling spells blowing, woman!”

  Fancy turned and swatted the woman’s ass. “Watch yourself. And no spells until tomorrow.”

  The sharp crack drew the attention of two customers. As if it were the catalyst he needed, the man at the nearest table stood and led the dancer to the far door, his arm around her waist.

  “One dance,” Fancy said. “No one touches you. No one approaches the stage. You have your room for as long as you need it.”

  Mara stared at her. “One dance.”

  The bouncer tucked her shooter away.

  The madame stood. “Get a good night’s sleep. I want you fully rested for tomorrow’s show.” She kissed Mara’s cheek. “This is for your own good. I can’t wait to applaud your power.”

  18

  “Sexiest sorceress in the West! Dancing tonight!” The teenaged boy’s voice cracked on the last word. He stood in front of The Green House, a pile of handbills resting in his arm. He tossed them to every man walking by. The black papers littered the road. Gregor picked one up.

  One night only! Hottest dance in the West! No Nons Permitted. The words surrounded the silhouette of a woman reclining sideways on a chair.

  The same words graced a banner draped across the entrance to the house. He was getting Mara out of here. Tonight was guaranteed to get rowdy.

  He took the stairs two at a time. A wooden sign hung on the door.

  No weapons of any kind.

  He had his weapon stuck inside his invisible pocket, along with the rest of his pack, and he sure as hell wasn’t giving them up. Lincoln had assured him the invisible pocket spell was undetectable. Gregor had stuffed his entire pack in it every time he’d ventured out of his hotel. He needed to ask Lincoln to teach him how to cast it.

  He strode inside, past the gaggle of whores greeting newcomers and a bouncer who looked qualified to guard the gates of hell.

  “Ooo. Motorcycle man is here.” A young woman, scantily clad in a barely-there dress, slipped her arm through his. She’d been lounging on the porch when he’d dropped Mara off yesterday.

  He stepped back. She stepped with him. “I’m here for—”

  “Oh, I know.” She gave him a coquettish smile. “You’re here for Mara. She can’t come out though…not until 9:30. She said she called and told you.”

  Gregor hadn’t believed her story about taking care of some business first. She’d acted like it had to do with her yarn, but he’d gotten the same feeling as when she’d said she’d wait for him after they were sprung from the dungeon. If she was about to pull another disappearing act, he wasn’t about to wait around and let it happen.

  “She figured you’d show up early. She asked me to meet you at the door and not let you in. But seeing as you’re already in….” She sang the words as she rubbed up against him. “I’m certainly not going to turn away the most handsome man here tonight. I’m Rosemary, by the way, but you can call me whatever you like.”

  “Rosemary, I’d like to see Mara.” Gregor had spent last night outside their back fence, patrolling the grounds every hour. Plus he’d knocked on the door yesterday evening but had been told Mara was asleep. The bouncer hadn’t let him through. He’d checked the tracking device Cecilia had given him to verify her location. He’d spent hours looking at it ever since.

  His escort pulled him deeper into the house. Her breast brushed his arm.

  “Patience, big guy. Let’s get you a drink.” She led him into a dark room big enough to house a couple hundred customers. A stage lined the front, its curtain drawn. Another banner hung over it in the air, fastened with a hover spell.

  Sorceress. Sensual. Sexy. No Nons Permitted.

  He gritted his teeth. He should have tied Mara to the motorcycle with a spell and locked her in his hotel room. That would have gone over really well.

  He eyed the room with one glance. Mara was nowhere to be seen. There was one exit behind him, two on either side of the stage. A short staircase rose along the stage’s right side. The room roared with the sounds of drunken men. If the proprietor was smart, she’d start watering down the drinks.

  Most of the tables were occupied with two men or more. A few singles and a few empties were scattered around the
room. The booths at the back and along the sides were full. Nearly-naked girls lounged against the men.

  “Now, don’t worry. Mara’s off-limits. Fancy has strict orders about that. Everyone knows.” She trailed a finger over his chest as she guided him to the bar. “Buy me a drink?”

  He frowned.

  She giggled. “I didn’t think so.” She escorted him to the last empty bar stool and snapped her fingers at the bartender. “Sage, this man needs a drink.” Leaning in, Rosemary kissed his cheek. “Enjoy the show, Mr. Motorcycle Man.” She sashayed away.

  As the kiss, almost chaste, settled into his skin, he studied the mage power that vibrated through the room. No electrical lights shined, just a plethora of bobbing mage lights strategically placed. A cooling spell pulsed throughout, but underneath was something else.

  It wasn’t until he sat down that he recognized it. A heat spell mingled beneath all the cool air, a line that drifted just at his lap. A keen but devious business practice for a whorehouse, the spell was almost unnoticeable. It slipped through the fabric of his cargos. He hummed his power into his throat and sent a wall of vibes around his lap, pushing the spell away.

  “What do you want?” the bartender asked.

  He recognized her. She’d joined Mara and Rosemary on the porch yesterday.

  She poured a shot for another customer with one hand and readied more glasses with the other. Farther down, the bouncer stood at the edge of the bar and glared at him. Her dark jacket reminded him of the dress uniforms of the Old World military organizations. A gold braid looped around one shoulder. Gold buttons lined the front to hold together the thick, dark fabric. They were buttoned halfway, exposing a deep slice of ample cleavage. Her straight, dark hair added to her harshness and her arms were ready at her sides.

  She sneered. “You are a bad man.” She had a strong accent that sharpened the words. Her comment drew the attention of the men at the bar. They looked at him but not for long. They had better things to anticipate than action from the bouncer.

  “Valeska, git.” The bartender shooed her away, but the battleship didn’t budge. “You’re scaring my customers, and I get an extra half-percent tonight from our generous endower. Now move it.”

  To his surprise, the battleship exited the harbor with an indifferent shrug. “Whatever you wish, Sage,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Bourbon. Neat. If you please,” he ordered.

  “I don’t please.” She plopped down drinks in front of other customers and then returned. She pulled out two shot glasses and poured a long stream of clear liquid from a green bottle into each, full to the brim. Not a drop splashed over.

  Putting the bottle back under the bar, she stuck her finger into one drink and sucked it dry. Her gaze stayed glued to his. She lifted her glass and waited from him to do the same. “To you, Mara’s chauffeur. May you live long enough to take another drive.”

  He lifted his shot glass and, keeping pace with her, tipped the liquid back. The kick nearly chopped his gut in half. He sucked in the little air he could manage. “What is this?”

  “Native’s Piss.”

  He nodded. “Sounds about right.” He gazed around the room waiting for the burn to die down. “Where is Mara?”

  “Busy.”

  “With what? Helping a wayward mage? Teaching someone to spin yarn?” He didn’t like the shrug he got as an answer. “Is she in trouble? Because I wouldn’t like it if she was and someone kept it from me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “This place is trouble. I really doubt anyone kept that from you. You let her waltz right in. You have the muscles to stop her. I bet you have handcuffs too. Not sure why you didn’t use them.” She shrugged again. “But she’s safe enough right now. She likes you.” She looked to her right and then dropped her gaze, nervously fingering her empty glass.

  “I like her too, but I don’t think she’d appreciate handcuffs.” Gregor turned to see what had caused the nervous expression.

  Just beyond the bar, a woman sat at a plush velvet booth, the nicest in the room. She met his eyes over the glow of a flame that she played with, dancing it from finger to finger. Her face was perfection, smooth cheeks, and eyes heavy with the experience of a rich life and ready for more, lips full and plump. Her red hair was piled high on her head tempting a man to free it down her back. Lust rolled off her in waves like it was a type of power.

  His vibes shuddered. It wasn’t entirely comfortable. He couldn’t quite figure out what she was—not that he could identify mage type easily. Few mages could.

  Despite the flame, he was certain she was no fire mage. Her vibes seemed to send out conflicting messages on purpose.

  He leaned toward the bartender, nodding at the woman. “How does she manage that?”

  “The flame? Or do you mean how does the madame look like she’s waiting for the fuck of her life?”

  Neither, he thought. But there was no denying the madame projected that image.

  The bartender tucked away her empty glass. “She’s a professional.”

  “And I am a professional torturer.” Valeska’s words popped in his ear. She cast her voice from her position in the doorway. “I will fuck you up if you cause trouble. Unlike the sorceress, I don’t like you.” Her sound spell traveled with ease across the room. “You left Mara at a whorehouse with no money. Only thread. Spools and spools of thread.” She sneered again, the expression clear despite the distance and the dim light. “How do you think a penniless girl survives in the Wild West? There is a reason she ended up here.”

  A red sheen descended over his vision though he knew the woman was goading him. Mara would never sell herself. Power vibed in his throat.

  “Oh my. That scarred throat can growl.” She strode away.

  He reached into his pocket and yanked out the palm-sized tracker, keeping it below the bar and out of sight.

  Mara was thirty feet away and off to his left, which put her on the other side of the wall. He put the device away. He should have cast a tracker spell on her, but they were hard to stick to clothes. Skin or hair was better, but he’d miss his chance, too distracted by that kiss.

  The bartender leaned her arms on the bar and opened her mouth, but whatever she’d planned to say was wiped away by the crackle and zap of a serious electrical charge. Sparks rained out and showered over his head. The mirror above the bar reflected their image. He ducked, casting a shield over him and the bartender. The crowd rumbled, uneasy, and one man dumped his beer on his sleeve to put out the spark that had caught there.

  “Stupid power lines,” she muttered. She glanced up at him. “You’re a quick caster.”

  The electrical lights over the bar flickered to life and then off again. Behind him, glass shattered.

  He spun around on his barstool. Above, a small chandelier with one broken bulb swayed as if a hard wind had blown past. It attracted little attention from the patrons except for one.

  Nils Lusman looked up at the crystal structure with a frown and stepped away from it as if worried it would fall. “The power lines around here are shit,” he muttered, scooting onto the newly vacated stool next to him. He blinked in surprise at Gregor and then held out his hand. “Captain? How are you?”

  Gregor tried to recover his shock at seeing the man. He shook his hand. Static electricity popped between them, but neither complained. “Former captain,” Gregor said.

  “Once a warrior, always a warrior.”

  Gregor tipped his head at that truth, still stumbling through utter surprise. “Never thought to meet you here,” he finally said.

  Nils laughed. “I was about to say the same.” He took the drink the bartender poured him without asking—water with a hefty shake of what looked like salt in it—and downed it in one gulp. He shrugged. “I get so damned dehydrated out here.”

  He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I guess you’re a regular?”

  Nils laughed again. “When in the West, one should always make time to appreciate its charms.” He eyed th
e woman at the nearest table. Her breasts sat above her corset. Her nipples were pierced. “And The Green House has charm galore.”

  Rosemary walked up to Nils. It was his turn to have her breasts pressed against him. Gregor turned away while the two talked. If they were transacting business, he didn’t want to know.

  A moment later, Nils tapped him. “Listen, about that job offer….” He was missing his tie and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. A lipstick print of a kiss marred his cheek.

  Gregor swiped at his own cheek hoping he didn’t sport such evidence.

  “I really need someone with your skills and your reputation,” Nils said. “If one of the Republic’s finest army officers headed up our security, it might polish away these unfortunate rumors of poorly treated sorceresses. Mara Rand means well, but what she claims is simply not true. If you were on board, it would free up my time to focus on more pressing needs. Power United is a good company and it’s vital to the future of our country. I know we talked about it once, but I thought you might reconsider. Hell, you should talk to Mara about it. Her answer might surprise you.”

  Gregor shook his head. “Not interested.” He could guess what Mara would say, and he wouldn’t strain the little trust between them for Power United. Plus, he hadn’t liked what he’d seen of their workers.

  “I’m not taking no for an answer, at least not tonight.” Nils slapped him on the back. “The pay is superb. The hours suck. Think about it.” He nodded to someone across the room. “Pardon me for leaving you, but I see my friend.” He patted his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve been carrying this around, though I sure as hell didn’t think I’d give it to you here. Your paycheck. Power United is appreciative of your services leading our team of men, and we look forward to a long, productive relationship.” He handed it over and walked away.

  “What took you so long?” The madame’s whine was a whisper that no one else but Nils was meant to hear. Gregor pulled her voice to him with a hum of power. He didn’t make a habit of this, but Mara was here. He wasn’t going to risk missing something that might affect her.