Sorcerer's Spin

by Anise Rae

  “Don’t offer them a seat. Make them stand,” Harry ordered. “This is your territory.”

  “Oh goody. I haven’t missed the party,” an old woman said behind her.

  Mara recognized the voice immediately. She closed her eyes for a brief second before turning to face the High Councilor. She scooted off the seat to stand. The rough surface tugged at her pants. She should upgrade the seats out here.

  “Yes,” Harry whispered in her ear, her voice shaky. “This one you can stand for. Equals.” The last word squeaked.

  “No limo for you?” Mara asked.

  The old crone’s white robes and hair shined in the moonlight though not as brightly as the wheel. The black thread that held her eyes closed seemed darker than ever. She lifted her staff. “Nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned broom.”

  Mara didn’t bother to point out that it wasn’t a broom. If the old crone could turn herself into a young vixen, then morphing a staff to a broom was child’s play.

  “Child’s play, indeed.” The crone smiled toothily, satisfaction gleaming through.

  By the lost girls, she had to figure out how to cloak her thoughts. Soon.

  “I hear you dance. It’s almost worth the risk of seeing. Your father danced too though I’m guessing your moves are a little different.”

  An insight came to Mara in a flash. The High Councilor’s closed eyes were an easy defense against a glister’s most powerful weapon. And yet her other personae looked at the world with open eyes.

  The High Councilor shrugged. “A trade-off. We ultra-powerful women need to have a little fun in our lives. Remember that, girl.”

  On the other side of the tables, the limos spewed out their passengers.

  “Oh look, carpool line!” the High Councilor cackled, and twelve senators eyed her warily.

  Senator Rallis stepped forward, buttoning his suit jacket as he moved. “The wheel sits in the east under the Rose Moon. Your doing, Miss Rand?”

  She looked at Gregor. “I had help.”

  “Why are these two not locked up?” Senator Standish marched forward, a sneer on his face.

  Harry stepped to the front of the table, blocking Mara from the hateful man. “Her Highness, Mara Rand, daughter of the glister king, princess of the glister, and Gregor Whitman, consort to the princess, are free citizens of the Republic, as are all wayward mages.”

  They’d argued for quite a while over the words her highness. Considering she was the princess, Mara still wasn’t sure why she hadn’t won that argument.

  “And who are they?” Senator Rallis pointed at the sorceresses behind her. “Not your court, I hope, Princess?”

  She tried not to blink at the title, to take it all in stride in front of these privileged men. “These women are the former prisoners of the Mad Prophet.” Mara watched their faces as she explained his plan to rule the West and the role of Power United.

  “A couple of things, Senators. From now on, waywards are known as glister mages, and they’re to be treated as equals in all areas of Republic society.” She smiled at Standish’s gasp of indignation. He looked as if he’d stepped in something questionable. “Accept it with open arms or prepare to cede your land to the glister inch by inch. That is what the founding families and the glister decided at the start of this country as documented in the Treaty of Plymouth Rock.”

  Gregor held it up, winding the scroll to show the scrawling signatures of the original leaders of the thirteen mage families and the glister king, Mara’s ancestor.

  “The glister forests will not stop growing until the conditions of the treaty are followed to the letter. The land claimed during the time of abstaining from the treaty will not be returned,” Mara explained.

  “I’ve lost four blocks of my capital city because of this foolishness,” Senator Rallis barked. “I voted against the internment camp.”

  “As did I,” another man said. “And I’ve lost far more than that. I’ve had miles of land overtaken by forest.”

  “Senator Bradford,” Harry whispered to her.

  “Perhaps if you’d stood up on behalf of the victims of your senate’s bill, you might have had a different outcome,” Mara said.

  “Prower has lost a few hundred square miles all along the border between his territory and Locke’s.” The High Councilor stepped forward. “No one can enter or exit Prower Territory without going through glister land.”

  “And, therefore, my territory is blocked from the rest of the Republic as well!” another senator shouted.

  “Howland,” Harry offered, but Mara hadn’t needed that explanation. She’d guessed who he was since his small territory was on the very tip of the southern peninsula, the rest of which was Prower Territory.

  “There are consequences for those ruled by fear,” the High Councilor said. “Unlike some of you though, Prower acted out of greed. I’m certain the purpose of his internment camp was to get his hands on one wayward in particular.” She wiggled her finger at Mara.

  “Where is Prower?” Senator Rallis asked.

  “Dead. Gobbled up by river maidens after Lady Prower nearly erased the Mississippi. That’s how close you came to losing your Republic. Destiny is manifest,” the High Councilor said softly.

  The crone moved in front of Luck’s Lady’s Wheel. She reached out a hand as if she might give it a spin, but she didn’t touch it. “The white wheel rests in the east and its glister mistress resides with it.” She pivoted toward the senators. “Come on. Perk up. Such a gloomy group. All you have to do is make nice with the fairy princess and her glister mages. If you don’t, you’ll lose your territory and no one can stop it. Not me. Not you. Not the princess. Forever and ever. So shall it be.” She shrugged. “It’s not so bad. The fairy princess lives in the Republic with all the rights and privileges of a visiting head of state.” She recited the last part with great exaggeration. That was one argument Mara had won against the old crone. “She is as close to a ruler of the West as any will ever get.”

  “To be clear, you don’t rule the West simply because I live here,” Mara said.

  The High Councilor pressed her lips together and shrugged, a thoughtful expression. “Well, one could look at it that way.”

  Maybe she hadn’t been as victorious as she’d thought. “Only if one didn’t know the truth. And the truth is that you have the glister and a glister mage to thank for the fact that your Republic still stands.”

  “Eh.” She shrugged again and changed the subject. “As requested, the Power United draft for weak-powered sorceress is now erased. Also, SWWM is now under the rule of a board of trustees and you are president of the board.” She pulled a box from her pocket and opened it. The scissors and the needle lay inside.

  “You carried those in your pocket?” Mara took them. “You certainly cut it close.” The full Rose Moon was in about five minutes, peaking in the daylight though it would still look full when nighttime fell. “I’m glad you didn’t hit traffic on your way over or the world would have ended.”

  “Well, I’ve been busy. I had to expand my dungeons to make room for all my enemies involved in this. Or so I thought. Turns out, all the bad guys got eaten.”

  Nils hadn’t been the only executive involved, but he had been their ambassador—of a sorts—to the West, the one who’d taken all the risks to make it happen.

  The High Councilor wagged her finger. “There’s a new Senator Prower, by the way. He’d like to meet you and apologize for the actions of his distant uncle.” She leaned closer to Mara. “I shifted their ascension plan a wee bit,” she whispered, as if the senators weren’t aware. “Those Manifesters will think twice about the consequences of their actions now.”

  “Speaking of consequences….” Mara pulled the receipt from her pocket and handed it to the crone. “$2,975 plus tax. You can send the check to the usual billing address.”

  “What’s this?” Her voice held high-pitched outrage.

  “The charge from Redcap and Sons Movers to move my spinning wh
eels—the ones you stole—back into their proper spots.”

  Gregor had arranged it the moment they’d arrived home.

  “Redcap and Sons.” The crone’s tone was sharp with disapproval. “They ought to call it Redcap and Daughter-Does-All-the-Moving. Cute little thing. All that hair and that tiny voice make you want to wrap her up and coo at her. Girl’s got power like a bull.”

  She drummed her fingers against her staff. “Now that high blood has Luck’s Lady’s three and the western border is safe, we can move on to other issues. I have a wee problem. Could you talk to your aunty for me? One of my portals has gone bad and I need a little fixy on it. I thought I was taking the door to my throne room and imagine my surprise when I walked into the locker room of the men’s wrestling team at Locke University. If I’d known that was going to happen, I would have worn my jeans.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You know, your aunty could make a portal for us to access each other, too. I have one with her, you know.” Her voice turned sly.

  Fancy.

  Mara had yet to forgive the woman. She’d kept secrets, and she’d used them against her in the worst way. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”

  Gregor threaded his fingers through hers in comfort.

  “Oh, fine. Tootles, princess!” The High Councilor waved her fingers and spun away with appropriate billowing robes and trumpeting spells. The senators piled back into their cars and drove away with no fanfare.

  By the time Mara and Gregor were able to slip away from the business of the mill, the noon sun lit up the sky and her employees were back at their wheels and looms. The women took the new arrivals under their wing.

  Mara settled the white wheel in her spinning room in her home, and Gregor paced the perimeter of the yard and then the block, checking in with the team of guards he and Linc had hastily arranged.

  She was waiting for him in the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and looked out the window over the sink, fingering the tiny piece of lace she’d made for him from the webs. It was designed to go over the top of his earlobe, but he’d left it behind. She bit her lip, wondering, and then he opened the backyard’s gate. His gaze found hers the moment he stepped through. A smile stretched at his lips…the smile he saved for her. Her breath caught in her throat. Everything around her seemed to lighten.

  Would it always be like this?

  He came inside and took the web from her, putting it in place. She could tell when his songs sounded in his ears again. His eyes sparked with life.

  She loved that look. “You didn’t take it with you. I was afraid it didn’t fit.”

  “It’s perfect. But I haven’t figured out how to hear the unsung song over the sound of my mage vibes.” He brushed his knuckles against her chin. “I don’t want to be without that weapon when it comes to keeping you safe, but I love hearing your sweet power, Mara Rand. You know it resonates in perfect harmony with mine.”

  Her smile grew. “I was hoping it would.”

  He cupped her cheek. “I heard your song in my soul before I could hear it with my ears. That day you cast that ritual behind your mill…my heart heard you. With or without the webs, I’ll always hear you, firefly.”

  He put his arms on either side of her and leaned down to kiss her. As their lips met, she felt his vibes stream out toward the back door as he locked it with a spell, closing out the rest of the world.

  “Do you remember”—he pressed a kiss against the corner of her lips—"when I told you that if it were just us, I’d spend all day kissing you?”

  She tilted her head as he kissed her jaw and then her neck, having a hard time remembering anything beneath the sensual assault. “Did you say that?” She placed her hand against the muscles of his chest, so strong and hard beneath her touch. “All day? We might get hungry.” The words were breathless.

  “We’ll order in food.” He nibbled at her skin and a shiver passed through her. “Anything you want, firefly. So long as you’ll have me.”

  “Always. Just us.”

  Read on for a glimpse of the next Mayflower Mages book

  * * *

  PASSION’S POTION

  * * *

  Coming December 2018

  Chapter 1

  The thief who had invaded Thea Redding’s potions shop had left behind a footprint in the fairy dust that now coated the shop’s floor. The shards of the broken glass bottle that had previously housed the dust pockmarked the mess. Thea pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow down. She was alone, the shop empty of anyone else’s mage vibes. The culprit had fled. Otherwise, he—or she—would have gotten a serious dose of her repel potion. She touched the potion’s vial, holstered at her waist. She’d grabbed it during her mad dash out her apartment door, summoned here by her alarm spell.

  She studied the large footprint. Wide and long and prickled with the shoe’s traction marks, she guessed it was from a work boot. She also guessed that her would-be-thief had been curious at the unlabeled bottle hidden under her shop’s counter. That curiosity had saved Thea from disaster.

  Apparently, the fairy dust in the now-broken bottle was impure, cut with the silver pollen of the winger flower, which made many mages sneeze so violently that they might as well have taken flight on invisible wings. The intruder’s deep, ear-shattering sneeze had woken her from a sound sleep in her apartment one floor up, and then it had set off her alarm spell. Though she’d silenced it the moment she was certain the person had fled, its screech still vibrated through her bones.

  At first glance, nothing else was damaged or missing, though she needed to inventory her shop to be certain. A shiver danced across her shoulders as if this invasion crept cold fingers over her skin. It threatened to yank away her confidence and sense of security. Both were too precious to let some faceless mage steal. She straightened her spine. She wouldn’t allow that. But she shook her head at the mess, her dismay and regret reserved more for herself than her intruder. She’d purchased the fairy dust last weekend at the neighborhood’s farmers market without examining the contents of the bottle.

  A newbie mistake. And she was no newbie.

  She’d been trying to shop local, wanting to fit in, to show goodwill to her new neighbors and hopefully receive their goodwill in return as well as some local customers of her own.

  “You’ve got to be smarter than this, Redding,” she whispered.

  She pulled a scarf from her emergency spill kit, attached to the wall at the back of her shop, and tied it over her mouth and nose. Reaching out with her mage vibes, she activated the broom in the back closet. It wobbled forward, ready to attack the mess at her command. Side by side, Thea and the broom approached the dusty spill.

  This wasn't her first encounter with criminals, be it thieves or otherwise, and it was unlikely to be her last. Independent potionnesses were often the target of criminals and, almost worse, they were the favored suspects of the enforcers for crimes related to illegal potions. She would not be calling the authorities to report the break-in. In fact, if they found out, they’d probably find a way to turn her into the guilty party.

  The quicker she got rid of the evidence, the better. And as soon as she had time, she’d rework her alarm spell to only sound inside her apartment and store. If the Goddess were smiling on her, then her neighbors would have slept through the piercing sound.

  She cast a dash of mage energy at the broom, and it got to work, swishing back and forth as if invisible hands clutched it, gathering the dust and guiding it toward the door.

  It reached the smashed bottle’s small cork stopper, but the tiny cylinder rolled away, disappearing beneath her counter. She crouched to retrieve it only to find a dozen slim shards of glass twinkling at her under the counter. Striding down the length of her potion shop's shelves, she selected a bottle of Shard Searcher. It was her own invention. With one pull of the spray bottle's trigger, a fine mist showered out. A tiny storm of liquid spheres rolled around the floor, coalescing as they went, gathering the glass and encasin
g the sharp slivers inside growing bubbles of liquid that merged, one by one, until it formed a single sphere. One squirt had a range of six feet. When the potion had gathered all the shards, Thea tipped the empty trash can to the floor and the shards rolled in.

  Glass begone.

  She tossed the cork in, too, and then paced to the door, opening it just in time for the broom to shepherd its dirt out onto the old brick sidewalk of the historic neighborhood.

  She looked down the street, left and right. The block was quiet, its residents still asleep, nestled safely in their old homes. The houses were well cared for, the wood trim and doors on the all-brick buildings painted with committee-approved colors. The small plots of flowers and bushes that dotted the curb held onto their summer colors thanks to their owners’ preservation spells, but the trees glowed in their autumn prime, lush with reds and oranges. They wouldn't fall until the powers-that-be deemed it appropriate to release the spells that anchored the leaves artificially, a date that would coincide with the scheduled citywide cleanup. That date was next Tuesday—directly after the Dragon Harvest Festival that would take place in the park at the end of the block.

  Thea paced after her broom as it pushed its cloudy pile off the curb and into the gutter of the brick street, taking a few leaves on the lam with it. With its work complete, she grabbed the broom and scurried back to the open doorway of her shop and waited, yanking the scarf off her face.

  The fairy dust particles lingered in a low cloud, swirling in the pale sunshine of the autumn morning. Such a waste of money. Fairy dust made a superb binding agent and also had amplification effects for many potions. She was hoping it would help with her anti-gravity potion that she'd been working on for years. A pipe dream. But, by the stars, what she'd give to fly.

  She tapped an impatient finger on top of the broom handle, gazing down the street. She couldn’t leave the powder in the gutter and risk the morning’s passersby tracking it to their work or homes. There’d be a sneezing epidemic, and with her luck, the enforcers would trace it back to her.