Sorcerer's Spin

by Anise Rae

  The High Councilor had moved them.

  Mara looked green but kept her composure, unlike his first time. The acrid scent of sulfur burned through the air, the same as yesterday when she’d swooped him up from the east bank of the Mississippi and dropped him on Mara’s porch.

  He eyed the highbrow crowd around them. He and Mara hadn’t left danger behind when they’d left the West. His firefly, already a supposed threat to the purity of good mages everywhere, had come home daring to show her true colors. While he saw the beauty in her bright eyes, he also saw the fear in the men before him. He wanted to stand in front of her and shield her from this group who would not let such a thing pass without consequence.

  These men were powerful enough to smite them a thousand times over.

  Senator Rallis, seated on the couch, tilted his head, and the front windows slid up in their tracks as if they were brilliantly oiled and brand new. “I don’t know what that spell is, Madame Glender, but it stinks.”

  “Oh, Burr, stop it. You’re gonna make a girl blush.” The High Councilor waved away his comment.

  “She’s got the evil eye!” Senator Prower pointed at Mara. He stood in front of the fireplace, practically baring his teeth, and vibrating with power.

  Of all the senators present, Gregor knew Prower would be the one to cause trouble. He was an ass. Gregor had encountered all of the Republic’s senators on various missions.

  “Prower, watch where you point that,” the High Councilor snapped. “Behave. Or I’ll cast my misplace spell and send you home. Ask my monk mage how much fun that is.”

  It fucking sucked. He’d lost his lunch…all of them through at least last Tuesday.

  Senator Prower was a long way from home—his territory covered most of the southern peninsula of the Republic. A spell powerful enough to transport him that far away in a blink might kill him.

  “Not kill him,” the High Councilor said. “But it would cost him more than a few lunches.”

  Gregor took a fortifying breath. He needed to censor his thoughts.

  “The Rand woman is a freak.” Prower didn’t know when to stop. “No mistaking that. I make a motion to cease with this charade and go straight to the plan proposed earlier.”

  “I’ve already told you, senator.” The old crone’s voice cracked like ice on a thawing lake. “Your camping proposal is not on the agenda this afternoon.” She lifted her hands toward Mara and felt the air around her. “All this sweet, delicious power. Makes me want to take a bite out of you. Now fetch the scroll, Candy Girl, before I chomp down. Does it have any clues about what evil I’m up against?”

  Gregor could give her a clue. She’d sent them to the Wild West to find evil’s clutch, but the only ones with the resources to destroy the Republic’s borders were those who lived within it.

  Mara retrieved the scroll and his brave girl held it out with steady hands.

  The High Councilor tapped it against her cheek, a pensive move. She studied Mara and then pointed the scroll at Gregor. “I misplaced him as soon as he crossed the Mississippi. Bzzzzt. Right onto your porch. I thought you’d be with him. Where were you?”

  “I missed the train. And you tied him up with a leash spell!”

  Gregor put one foot in front of her, shielding her with his body. If the crone was going to take her down, she’d have to take him too.

  “I gave him your calling card.” Logic dripped through the comment. “I have every citizen’s calling card in my spell-o-dex,” she offered. “I thought you’d race home as soon as you heard I’d caught him. I figured you’d rescue him. I should have known better. You didn’t answer him.” She laughed. “There’s a reason I admire your style, sorceress. A man should sleep in the doghouse now and then. It’s good for him. Makes him appreciate what he’s got.” She shoved the scroll back to Mara. “Read to me. I don’t feel like seeing.”

  24

  Mara took the scroll as the crone’s words spun through her mind.

  I figured you’d rescue him.

  How many times had he rescued her? How many times had he tried to call her and she’d refused to answer? Guilt nibbled on her insides before she mentally reached out and grabbed it by the muzzle. Gregor was the one who’d put Power United between them, and it was a daunting task to reach around it to get to him.

  She unwound the top of the scroll. “Glister, fairy, gray, tomorrow or today—”

  “I spoke that one already. Next!” the High Councilor snapped.

  “The king’s forbidden land alight—”

  “Next!”

  Mara skipped on, and to her surprise, made it through a complete stanza. The crone didn’t stop her.

  “In the hand of royal’s heir,

  Three relics claim the regal chair.

  It sits in east and rules in west,

  Destiny shall manifest.”

  Mara eyed Gregor as she spoke. They both knew where it had come from…the stolen scrolls from the Rarified Library.

  The crone stroked her chin. “Oh now, that is new. Destiny shall manifest.” She clapped her hands and then bent over laughing. “Very funny.” She sucked in a big gulp of air, trying, only partially successful, to catch her breath and regain composure. She waved her hand in the air. “Keep going, sorceress.”

  “The needle sings for the stitcher’s dance—”

  “What?” Offense flashed through the High Councilor’s tone.

  “I said—”

  “I know what you said! Read!”

  Mara jerked her attention to her task.

  “But claims the songs of warrior chants.

  Guard the quest of the one who spins.

  Seek her truth and healing begins.”

  “Stanford said this? Well, crap on a trash tower. I thought I’d made up the thing.” The old woman shook her head. “Wait a minute! Her truth? That’s not what I said! I said the truth.” She tapped her temple. “Mind like a steel trap. It’s my favorite spell. Do you know it? I cast it every morning before my feet touch the floor. I remember everything.”

  “You made up a prophecy?” Mara gasped. Her sentiment was echoed in the open mouths and protests of the men in the room.

  “Lady, surely that is not the case!” Standish said.

  Senator Rallis was the only one who looked unperturbed and not a single vibe surprised.

  The High Councilor pointed at Gregor. “I had to motivate him somehow! Otherwise, he was all doom and gloom and I’m going to abandon my country because they don’t like me anymore and they were mean to me,” she whined. She glared at Gregor. “So what’s her truth, monkey?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Exactly what you see, Lady. Her truth is written in the air around her. It resonates with strength and courage and virtue.”

  “Pfft. You make her sound like Justice. That’s who I’m supposed to be.” She tossed up her hands and let them fall.

  Inky smoke drifted around her, morphing from nothing. “Where’s my scribe?” Her voice changed, dipping deeper. She looked around as if a scribe might be standing in the room somewhere unnoticed. “Oh, I don’t have one. Major Stanford Madding has a scribe and I don’t! That’s wrong. Just wrong.” She played her hand through the black strands of smoke building around her, lifting a cloudy strand and playing with it on her palm. She spoke.

  “Glow Eyes spins webs as Luck commands.

  Abandoned to the dance in the western lands.

  The relics await her touch. Their fate?”

  The words reverberated through the room and then faded away. The High Councilor stomped her foot. “Their fate?” she screamed, but no more words came.

  Mara backed away. Her head felt heavy and she swayed on her feet, but it wasn’t surprise or shock. It was more like utter doom. The relics awaited her touch. And yet to use them without royal glister blood was death.

  Gregor wrapped his arms around her. “Breathe, firefly. Just breathe.”

  The High Councilor’s frustrated screams flooded the room. Mara wanted to
flee, a primal instinct at the shriek.

  The inky blackness paused in the air as if winter tiptoed in and held it frozen. The oracle reached out and gripped the smoke in her fists, smashing the dark wisps. The rest of the smoke dropped as if it suddenly lost its power and landed on the floor like a deflated storm.

  “What the vibing hell is their fate?” the old crone shouted. “Raise your hands, gentlemen. Who knows their fate?” Anger vibrated around the room, squeezing as if it might shake the answers out of the house.

  She turned her blind eyes to Mara. “Glow Eyes! The relics await your touch! What have you done?”

  “Nothing! I’ve done nothing!” Her protests of innocence sounded weak even to her own ears, like a peasant begging for mercy. If she’d learned anything from her times with the High Councilor, it was never to show weakness. She pushed away Gregor’s arms and stood straight, chin lifted. “I have spun with the webs, but you don’t need a prophecy to tell you that. And I help the disabled mages you would discard with a swoop of your wand. That is all I have done.”

  “I beg your pardon! I haven’t swooped a wand since way before your unwed mother was born. And I don’t discard mages! I exist only to protect them.”

  Mara kept her chin high. “If you say so.”

  At least one of the senators gasped at her scorn, but the High Councilor ignored him. She held out her arms, her long, full sleeves flowing out beneath. “Those relics will kill you, girl.” Her voice softened with a hopelessness that Mara had already accepted.

  “I haven’t used the relics.”

  “Yet. It’s a slippery path, my dear. Don’t you feel it? First the webs, then the relics,” the High Councilor whispered. And then her voice turned sharp. “Besides, you know the prophecies.” Vibes released with a taut snap and dozens of cards came into view on the coffee table. The crone had been shielding them with an illusion spell, one Mara was quite skilled at, too. She used it to hide the mess in her office every time she hosted meetings there.

  She stared down at the crisp white cards, free of their envelopes. She’d known this day was coming. She’d imagined it a thousand times. People like her weren’t permitted to know prophecies. Perhaps she should have destroyed the cards as they’d arrived, but if she’d ever decided to solve the mystery, she needed them.

  There was no dodging this. She eyed the old woman. “I’ve known the prophecies for years.” She picked up one of the thick squares of paper neatly arranged on her table. “I received the first when I was still at SWWM, the day I turned seventeen. Usually I would get one or two a year. Lately it’s been much more frequent. Most are prophecies—it took me a while to figure out that’s what they were. Some are old nursery tales.” She tapped the corner of the card against another square of paper on the table and read aloud.

  “A white glister oak wheel

  And a silver spindle’s prick,

  Twelve moonbeam spokes whirl

  And endless threads twirl.”

  “Endless threads would be quite a boon to my business.” Mara shrugged. “But I’ve never been interested in the wheel. It defies logic that it’s even real. Someone’s been trying to warn me, but they’ve done a poor job conveying the specifics. I thought I knew who, but he denied it.”

  The High Councilor took the card from her. “They’re from an oracle, a sage who is trying to influence the way all this turns out. The fool.”

  “A sage.” Mara took a slow breath. Sage had been hiding in plain sight, tending bar and pouring drinks. She probably smoked tobacco sticks to cover up her inky prophecy smoke. Stupid not to have figured it out. She glanced at Gregor. “Why, I wonder?”

  “Perhaps someone cares what happens to you,” he said. The words dripped with meaning. He cared.

  Senator Rallis picked up a card from the coffee table. “You’ve quite a collection here, sorceress. He read aloud.

  “When evil’s clutch shares the relic’s touch,

  All joy the wheel will steal.

  Then West devours the mages’ powers.

  The Lady’s cry, her land to die.”

  The High Councilor stepped forward. “Which brings us to the point of this meeting. I now call to order session 59A-3 of the Republic year 314, a hearing regarding the possible evil inherent in Blue Light Mill’s owner Mara Rand, resident of the family seat of Rallis Territory,” she proclaimed.

  Mara gasped, but the oracle continued, “If I had a scribe, I’d look so much more official.” Exasperation lined her face as she heaved a sigh.

  “You’re accusing me of evil.” Mara laughed though no humor graced the noise.

  The High Councilor shrugged. “What else are we supposed to do?” She ticked off the facts on her fingers. “You know about the prophecies. You’re mentioned in them. You have a personal collection of them. You know about the wheel. You spin with so much power you could be a senator. Don’t think I don’t know that. And worst of all, you spin with silk that carries glister power. This does not look good for you, girl! I even banned you from spinning the silk, but you did it anyway.” She looked pointedly at Gregor. “Uh huh. That’s right. He’s a snitch.”

  She turned to Gregor.

  He held her gaze for a moment and then looked away with a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  He was a danger to her, and she’d made him so, letting him get close, showing him her secrets. She had complicated her life when she’d let him in her bed. She pulled in a slow breath. Let him? No, she’d enticed him with such force that he could never have refused. Since then, the complications had multiplied.

  “Let’s be honest, freak,” the crone began. “Considering the facts, how could I proclaim you innocent?”

  Mara held out her hands. “Because I’m not the evil that’s trying to destroy the country’s borders.”

  “Her waywardness meets the very definition of evil.” Prower spoke as if he’d been waiting for that cue. “Cursed to evilness by the fallen consort! Those were the exact words in the descriptions of the waywards. The evidence of evil is clear. She touches the webs of the fairies’ creatures—”

  “Glister,” the oracle corrected, speaking over him.

  “Making a fabric that taints this Republic with the gray. We cannot stand for that. She is a threat to the sanctity of this land. She has already corrupted a lady of Casteel.” He lifted his hands. “May the Goddess be merciful and grant a cleansing of the syphon’s soul.”

  Senator Rallis laughed. “I’ll have to tell Bronte you said that. Vinny too.”

  Prower might have paled at that, but he didn’t get a chance to backtrack. The High Councilor spoke, “The fabric balances the power of the over-burdened, those born with too much mage energy for their bodies to carry easily.”

  Mara hadn’t expected such a defense.

  “Power a burden? Then that mage is weak,” Prower retorted.

  “Oh, stuff that,” the crone said, her tone scathing. “Having too many vibes is like having big boobs. Your back hurts and they weigh so much you might fall over and smash them to pieces.”

  The room fell silent for a moment.

  Prower cleared his throat. “The Rand woman needs to die before she does irreparable damage and the Republic falls. All those in favor of death?”

  Standish raised his hand, as did Senator Alden, Harry’s grandfather, and Senator Howland.

  “Death?” Mara cried. She looked at the High Councilor.

  The old crone’s hand was high in the air too. She shrugged at Mara’s gasp. “Just keeping it interesting.” A gavel’s knock resonated through the room. “By vote of committee, Mara Rand is deemed evil. Such mages are sentenced to death by dragon fire until nothing is left but a pile of ashes.” She pointed a finger, bobbing it around and encompassing everyone in its swoop. “We will execute her as soon as a dragon can be found.” She studied the tips of her fingernails as if she could see them. “Might be awhile. In the meantime, Whitman, guard the dead mage walking as she finishes my jeans. Keep her alive.”


  Gregor bowed slightly. “I apologize, Lady, but I am unavailable. While I was on the back porch, I accepted an official job offer from Power United. I start today.”

  Though she already knew, Mara couldn’t breathe at the words. Fate was playing a game with her. How many hits could she take and stay standing?

  “Alrighty, then,” the old crone said lightly. “I’ll assign another man to guard my mage-to-be-smote.” The oracle turned to face the members of the Senate. “Let me be clear, boys. The execution is delayed. We need her. For now. The relics await her touch. Relics. Plural. We only have one of them. If we’re going to find the relics, we need her. They will come to her by the Rose Moon. Poor wayward girl.”

  The oracle shook her head. “I’ll keep you alive for as long as I can, but you’re like Sleeping Beauty. Every spinning wheel has been confiscated, but you’re still doomed to prick your finger and die.”

  Her house had emptied of all but one guest. The High Councilor puttered around her kitchen, but Mara paid no attention. She sat at the kitchen table waiting for the icy cold hole in her chest to fill in again.

  The High Councilor slid a cup and saucer down the table. Sloshing with tea, it stopped in front of her. “Drink up.”

  Spicy fumes drifted out and Mara flinched back, surprised. “You spiked it.”

  “How could I resist? Fifty-year-old Bare Witches Whiskey?”

  Her mouth fell open. “You opened it?”

  “That’s what it’s for, sister! Seize the moment now or regret it as wasted forever…if you believe in regret, that is. I don’t. I believe in drinking.”

  A knock on the back door sounded, and the High Councilor spelled it open. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, thank you, Lady, I see.” Lincoln Sinclair stepped into the kitchen.

  “Commander, I hereby command you to vow to protect sorceress Mara Rand with your life.”

  “My life?” Lincoln raised his eyebrows.