by Anise Rae
“Oh, I’ve seen her in newspapers and magazines touting her designer outfits and fancy parties, but that’s it. And that’s more than I want to see of her.”
He frowned hard, his eyebrows—nicely groomed and all around as perfect as his abs—clenched in a vee. “You hate her.”
“No. I don’t.” She paused to ensure that her statement had time to sink into his thick dragon rider skull. “Hate is a waste of energy. I moved on ages ago and doing that was hard work. I have no desire to see her, hear her, or smell her expensive perfumes.”
He took two steps backward as if her words had a physical force. “You’re telling the truth.”
“That’s right. Read my vibes. I’m telling the truth.”
Most mages could sense the chaotic energy of a lie. It made keeping secrets a challenge.
He straightened, his muscles clenching, his abs tightening like he was bracing to attack before she could. “Have you ever given Saxon an illegal potion or poison?”
“Are you kidding me?” Her mouth dropped. Such accusations were the bane of every independent potionness in existence. “I would say that I’m not going to lower myself to answer that, but it would probably just make you stick around. So here’s the truth, again. You’ll want to pay attention since truth seems like a novel experience for you. Ready?” She opened her eyes wide, nodding her head. “I do not deal in illegal potions. I do not deal in poisons. I do not make either one of them. I do not sell them. I do not give them away for free. And I have never ever given Saxon, or anyone else, any illegal potions or poisons. There. Have I covered everything?” A bubbling burn stirred through her like a potion boiling over a flame. “Happy now?”
His lips were tight. His glare hard and focused. He turned away from her, giving her his back. He clearly was not happy now, but there was no further reason for him to stay.
Instead of ordering him to leave, she paused at the uncomfortable push in her chest. She tried to tell herself it was simple curiosity. Professional curiosity, she corrected. That was it. “What did she take?”
“You tell me.”
She shook her head. Forget it. It was past time to make his marvelous physique and dangerous accusations poof out of her shop.
“And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me which rider mage gave you a stone?”
Keeper stones were originally a security system for dragon riders’ herds, but Thea would never have a herd to worry about. The stones were her security system for her sanity and her heart and her freedom. She’d never let another rider into her life. Nor would she let Saxon or anything to do with her come close. Too bad she didn’t have a warning system for that. She hadn’t thought it would be necessary.
“I answered your questions about IPs and Saxon.” She opened her shop door with a stream of vibes. Cool, autumn air crept in. “I’m all done with your interrogation.”
He pointed at the small bottle that housed her stone on the high shelf. “The key to riders’ perpetuity does not belong in the hands of a potionness.”
Perpetuity stones.
It was an ancient, archaic name for keeper stones. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard someone say it aloud. They certainly didn’t use the term in her family.
“I hardly think you can chalk up the survival of dragon rider mages to the existence of those stones,” she continued. “If they’re key to your type’s perpetuity, then they’re not doing a very good job.” Rider mages weren’t a thriving population.
He pivoted, slow and controlled. “We haven’t died out.”
“No, you’re just obsolete.” She couldn’t help but dig at the annoying man. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind”—she nodded at the door—“I have a busy morning.”
He didn’t move except to cross his arms over his puffed-up chest. Centuries ago that strength was often for hire by aristocratic mages who needed a defender. Nowadays, riders had no true vocation. They were throwback renegades, cowboys without a horse to ride across the land.
She tried again. “I would like you to leave.”
“I would like many things, like illegal potions and their dealers wiped from the face of the Republic.”
“A noble wish, but impossible....as impossible as dragons returning.”
“You don’t think dragons will return?”
She could almost hear the charm lurking below his tone, the stuff that lured beauty to his arm. He could keep it buried.
For the love of the Goddess, keep it buried.
She leaned against her opened doorframe and sighed. “I don’t think dragons will return. But everyone needs a pipe dream. Don’t you have a job to get to? A shirt to find?”
He frowned and strolled deeper into her shop, eyeing her shelves. “I’m doing my job.”
“Inspecting the competition? You’re a poor secret shopper.”
He leaned forward, studying the labels of the bottles on the side wall as a crisp breeze drifted through the door she still held propped open. “Hellhound potion?” He looked back at her with a hard frown. One side of his nose might have lifted in a subtle sneer. “What kind of person would give their dog something like this?”
She raised her hand. “I would. I know you find this hard to believe, but there are many people in this world who can’t summon a horde of bodyguards with a flick of their fingers or even summon a defensive spell, though they might thrust every vibe they have behind it. The kind of person who would give their dog something like this has no other defenses to employ against nosy bullies who won’t leave them alone.” She sighed with a flair of drama. “Too bad I don’t have a dog.”
He tucked his hand into his pants pockets, his arms framing his trimmed torso. It was almost hard to look at, as if it were a mirage that wavered before her. “A woman like you has plenty of defenses.”
“Why, thank you,” she replied, though he certainly hadn’t sounded as if he was paying her a compliment.
She turned her attention away as a blonde woman with copious amounts of shiny curls burst through the open door.
“Oh, good, you’re open,” she squealed, clapping her hands in applause. “I was afraid you’d still be closed.” She pointed at the half-naked Tavis heir. “You do sell beefcake potion! Yours works absolutely beautifully! Look at him. A work of art. Those abs…like they’d been sculpted by Michelangelo.” She circled her hands in the air. “Those marvelous pecs.”
Marcus Tavis’s sneer grew, consuming his face.
“I need it so bad.” Her tiny waist and rounded hips and breasts screamed plastic potion, but she certainly wasn’t a beefcake user. She was too slender. “Is he your model?” She stuck her hand in her very expensive purse and pulled out a wad of money. “I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
Thea blinked at the big denominations fluttering past on those bills. That was a loan payment. Maybe two. She heaved a hard sigh. Life always seemed to work this way. She walked a straight and narrow path, but shortcuts and dark alleys jutted along the way in the most unexpected places. Thea had learned a long time ago that if she didn’t stay focused on her path, she could fall off it in a single step. Getting back on was tougher than a witch’s backside.
She gave an apologetic shrug. “I don’t sell beefcake. It’s a very dangerous potion. It has numerous side effects. And you shouldn’t buy it from any potionness who doesn’t insist on examining the vibes of the person who will be taking it.”
“It’s for my husband.” She jerked her hands down to her sides. Her breasts jiggled beneath her tight dress. “He’s old! Much too old to have to worry about side effects. I wouldn’t have married some boy!”
Beefcake could be deadly if taken by those who were still growing.
“Ah, of course. But, again, I don’t sell it.”
“Then do you know someone who does? I’ll pay you for the information.” She thrust out the money again.
“I do not. It is a questionable type of potionness who makes such a formula.”
The woman gave a rough scream of frustratio
n and rushed out, nearly colliding with Thea’s neighbor. Luella Sanders was nearly bent in half. Her light brown hair—a color potion that hid the gray—bobbed across her face, hiding her expression. Her beau, Mr. Fielding, held her arm, his eyes wide with alarm.
“Miss Luella!” Thea rushed out and wrapped her arms around the older, ailing woman who normally vibed with good health.
Another emergency. Stars above, have mercy.
Thea’s blood pounded in her ears, muffling her hearing. The world went staticky. Panting against her panic, Thea fought for calm as she steered her inside, guiding her to the wingback chairs that sat between the windows on the other wall. She took a deep breath and then another. “I knew this was going to happen,” she huffed. “You ran out of your potion, didn’t you? Your refill has been sitting on my shelf for a week.”
Luella gave a desperate nod.
“I’ll be right back.” Thea hustled away to grab the tincture in the backroom but paused, tripping over her feet as she halted. She gave Tavis a warning look over her shoulder. “Don’t touch anything.”
About the Author
Anise Rae is the author of the Mayflower Mages series. She lives in a suburb of Atlanta with her husband—nicest guy ever, two kids who are far smarter than she is, and a Golden Retriever who can never get enough attention. She has degrees in chemistry and library science and spent a few forgettable years in the cubicles of the corporate world. Now she writes romances in an unfinished closet filled with ductwork, wrapping paper, long-forgotten toys, and all those dishes that only get pulled out once a year. It’s a very nice place because it has a door that closes, leaving her alone with her characters and her deadlines.
To stay up-to-date on her next releases, sign up for her newsletter at www.aniserae.com
Acknowledgments
Some books are harder to write than others. In this case, Sorcerer’s Spin didn’t truly click for me until I spent a weekend learning to spin yarn with an expert spinner. I was the only person who signed up for the session and I will be forever thankful that my teacher, Annie, chose to continue with the class instead of canceling it, making me the lucky recipient of a one-on-one workshop with an amazing woman.
All mistakes regarding the technical aspects of spinning are mine.
Many thanks are also due to my husband, kids, and mom who were encouraging at every turn, and to my writer friends, especially Kimberly, for reading the whole thing when it wasn’t quite polished.
Finally, this book is dedicated to the memory of Gunner, without whom the Mayflower Mages might never have found their home.
Copyright 2018 by Anise Rae
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
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ISBN 9781732906716 (ebook)
ISBN 9781732906709 (paperback)
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either pulled from the author’s cavernous imagination or are used in a fictitious manner unrelated to our current reality.
