by Anise Rae
Senator Rallis’s fingers came together in a thoughtful pyramid. “That’s a shame, Miss Casteel. Family is meant to stay close together and provide support for one another. That’s a lesson the Nons exemplify.”
Bronte cocked her head. “The Nons have to be diligent in sticking together, senator. There is safety in numbers. A large mass of living energy is harder for mages to manipulate than one single source. Or so I’m told.” She could have rolled her eyes at herself. What was she doing? Poking at the senator was not the way to ensure a safe escape. She bit her tongue to prevent anymore verbal prodding.
The senator’s half-smile was accompanied by a raised brow. “An enlightening point, Miss Casteel. Like the Nons, the Rallis family sticks together too.”
Bronte knew the Rallis senator usually voted for Nons’ rights, unlike the Casteels, who were famous for their anti-Non stance. The Casteels would prefer to round up all the Nons in the Republic and stick them in the South, much like they’d done to their daughter. Bronte’s family believed all Nons should be forced to work in the South’s numerous manufacturing plants. Their smokestacks towered over the region like industrial forests.
She swallowed against the knot of bitterness stuck in her throat. “Support of my family is what brings me here, sir. As you know, my grandfather recently passed on.”
The senator bowed his head briefly. “Yes, our condolences on your loss. Senator Casteel will be missed by a great many.”
But not the many Rallises. “Thank you. My father is, of course, stepping up to take his place at the Rushes.”
“When does he plan to do that, Miss Casteel? It’s been three weeks.” Edmund’s voice was perfect for taking over the family’s Senate seat someday. Clear, enunciated, and with just the right pitch. He looked enough like Vincent for one to recognize they were brothers, but not to guess they were twins. Edmund’s features blended into a handsome sophistication. His dark hair waved across his forehead over blue eyes. A perfect nose complimented his concerned, friendly smile, and his shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight and responsibilities of the medallion. She’d heard he was a mage of considerable power, like the rest of his family. She couldn’t sense it for herself, but it was common knowledge that Nons avoided the entire area surrounding the estate, unable to tolerate the Rallis clan’s collective vibes. The Nons’ ancient instincts recognized a greater power and, therefore, a danger to their lives. It was hard for Nons to resist the need to flee, or worse, to fight.
“Lord Casteel plans to take the Senate seat soon, but there is a problem.” Bronte faced the senator. “I’m here to ask for your help.”
“Help with what, Bronte?” His gruff, hoarse words came from behind her, accompanied by a flood of vibes.
She wouldn’t have recognized his voice except for that energy pouring into her. She wrenched around in her seat to see the lion prowl out of the shadows.
His gaze targeted her like she was prey that might escape. “Tell us how we can help you. And then you can explain why you ran away from me.”
Her mind recorded him like a pencil scratching away at paper to save his image—his dark hair clipped short, eyebrows that formed stark lines with a skeptical bent near their ends. A crease pulled between his brows that hadn’t been there before. His rugged face had weathered storms his brother had avoided. Those storms had chiseled away any softness.
She closed her eyes, stopping the mental sketching—a necessity to save her sanity. She turned her whole body back toward the senator and only opened her eyes when she knew Vincent wasn’t in her line of sight.
“Vin!” Happy surprise colored every note of the senator’s voice. “How long have you been standing back there? Your energy is so subdued I didn’t even sense you until now.”
“I didn’t either.” Edmund’s voice was equally surprised. “Miss Casteel, your beauty has distracted us.”
Bronte fought to keep her calm mask intact. Her heart boomed like the senator’s voice and threatened to shake that mask right off her face. She couldn’t let that happen. Diplomatic words and composure were her only weapons in this battle, a quick escape her only viable strategy. She stood, one move closer to getting to the door. At her cue, all the men stood as well.
The closer Vincent came, the more his energy reached out to her. It touched her, filled her in places she’d forgotten were empty. Dangerous memories spilled back. If she knew how, she’d dump his vibrations out of her hidden vessel, turn it over, and sit on it like a metal bucket until it sank into the dirt with the force of her weight. She’d seal her hollow spaces shut and keep him out forever. To do otherwise would only invite death to creep close.
Vincent strode toward her.
She held her ground and looked him in the eye. “I do not need your help. I am simply the messenger. Here on behalf of the Casteels.” She cleared her throat to try again and turned to the senator. “Senator Rallis, my family requests your assistance.”
The senator’s wise gaze locked on Vincent, his expression thoughtful and full of silent words Bronte lacked the power to hear. Curiosity lit the dark depths of his gaze as they landed back on her.
Vincent leaned toward her. “And they sent you as their messenger?” His voice was soft, a caress against her skin. “The most vulnerable and weakest of them all, to fight their battles.”
“I am not weak.” She risked a quick glance at him. “I have plenty of strength to fight whatever battles I need to.” She bit her tongue to stop her aggressive tone. Arguing would not help her cause.
“Vincent, you are making our guest uncomfortable.” The senator’s tone went quiet. Deadly. The boom was much safer, she realized.
“No, I’m not. At least not with my vibes, Granddad.” Vincent’s reply was matter-of-fact. He held all the power between them, and he was going to use it. Running for the door would not help her now.
“My mage vibes do not make her uncomfortable.”
Her hold on her tongue wasn’t tight enough to stop her gasp. She’d messed up. Goddess, but she’d messed up. She closed her eyes for a moment at the realization. Instead of drinking Vincent in, she should have faked a reaction to his power, imitated the jittery anxiousness Nons felt around a mage who wasn’t suppressing his energy. Maybe that would have saved her.
“Vincent. She’s a Non. Of course you’re making her uncomfortable.” The senator’s reprimand was deceptively soft.
Bronte stared at Vincent as desperation swirled inside her. “Please. Don’t.”
“She’s not a Non.” Vincent’s words shattered her hope of escape.
2
“Of course I’m a Non!” Her denial was automatic. “My parents wouldn’t have banished me to the South if I was a mage.” Betrayal ripped through her, but Vincent had done nothing more than what she’d expected from a mage. A sense of doom sat heavily on her shoulders. If she weren’t careful, it would sink her. She needed to shrug it off and fight back.
“Look at her, Granddad.” Vincent’s voice sounded rough. He, too, was preparing for a fight. “Is her aura grated? Does her energy seem agitated by mine?”
Bronte squirmed under their scrutiny.
“I can’t sense any energy from her,” the senator said. “But her aura doesn’t seem unpleasantly affected by your vibes. Why is that, Miss Casteel? I would expect a Non’s aura to be twitching from all the energy Vincent puts out.” His voice was quiet, but the force behind the words was clear.
She had no hope of fooling them with lies. She’d have to make the truth work for her.
“Mage vibrations don’t bother me.” She kept her admission soft and humble. “I grew up among one of the most powerful families in the Republic, after all.”
Truth.
Senator Rallis stared back, testing her. She knew what he was doing. Like opening a river’s dam, he released his mage energy. Though she couldn’t feel it, it was written in the quirk of his eyebrow. The urge to run flooded through her, but some fleck of age-old instinct warned her if she ran
, they would hunt her down.
“Can you feel my grandfather’s energy? Or Edmund’s?” A hard curiosity lurked beneath Vincent’s words.
She swallowed against her fear. “No.”
Vincent nodded as if she’d given him the answer he’d expected.
She closed her eyes for a moment. There was no truth that would save her from these questions. Nor was there any point in railing at fate and demanding to know why she’d been put on the path here. Why? was not a question the goddess answered.
“But you can feel Vincent?” Senator Rallis asked.
“She can,” Vincent spoke for her. “But I’m not hurting her.” A silent tension coiled around the room.
“Interesting. I’d like to hear how a woman who claims to be a Non can tolerate mage energy, yet she can only sense one of us. Should be an entertaining story. Let me get you a chair, Vin, and you can explain.” Edmund strode to the back of the room, grabbed a chair from a shadowed corner, and carried it over. Vincent scooted it next to her. The men waited; politeness demanded they stand until she took her seat.
Her knees simply gave way. Her chair met her body.
The Rallises took their seats once again.
Vincent looked at her, waiting for her to speak, but this story would never form on her lips. He broke the silence. “Bronte is a syphon mage.”
The senator and Bronte protested at the same time.
“Vincent! Syphons do not exist. Not in today’s world.”
“I am not a…” She couldn’t even say the word.
“Let’s hope not,” Edmund chimed in. “We can’t let such a lovely face burn at the stake.”
A horrified gasp flew out of her mouth.
Edmund flinched back in his seat as if an invisible hand shoved him. “Vin! Chill!” Exasperation drenched the words. “Sorry. My apologies, Miss Casteel, for my thoughtless words. I certainly don’t feel you syphoning anything from me.” His voice trailed off as if he had second thoughts about that. From his expression, the senator reconsidered as well.
Bronte’s stomach roiled. Every school history book told the story of syphon mages. Long ago in the Old World, most of the witches burned at the stake were syphons, women who could supposedly steal the power of other mages. Magekind had been happy to turn syphons over to the inquisitions. It kept the focus off the rest of them and got rid of a feared problem. Nowadays, most mages believed syphons were mere myths, untruths that mages had invented to justify handing over their own people to a horrible death in order to save themselves.
“Bronte, no one is going to hurt you,” Vincent said. The pressure of his words pounded against her ears despite his low volume. There was power in his words. The senator and Edmund must have felt it in their sixth senses. They all shifted in their seats. “I would never let that happen.”
She lifted her chin and glared. “I do not need, nor do I want, your protection. I can take care of myself. Thank you very much, though.” Manners took over out of habit.
“Vincent, are you sure about this?” The senator studied him. “Is it possible you’re not quite as recovered as you thought? Your sense was fried less than twelve hours ago.”
Vincent’s arm brushed against her. His heat seared right through her sweater. His sky blue gaze cut to her soul. “What do you think, Bronte? Am I making this up? Am I crazy?”
Yes, you’re crazy.
Lie.
I don’t know you well enough to say.
Lie.
Her syphon knew him. The sharp bite of truth gnawed against her with inescapable teeth. She took a breath, her own shoulders doing the rubbing this time with her inhale. “I’m sure you’re not crazy.” She sounded like a peasant appeasing an all-powerful lord.
Vincent narrowed his eyes. She could feel him changing tactics as if he were shifting gears in a car. “Granddad, how do you feel? Edmund? What’s your power sensing?”
Bronte tried to swallow under their silence, but her dry, dusty mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
“Comfortable,” Senator Rallis finally answered. “Dare I say…almost peaceful.”
“When was the last time that happened? I’m not the only one whose sixth sense aches from the power.” Vincent’s words were directed at his family, but his gaze was on her.
This had to stop before it was too late. If it wasn’t already. But she still had to deliver the cursed message.
Bronte cleared her throat. “If we could get back to the reason for my visit, senator…” She opened her purse and extracted the letter a Casteel servant had hand-delivered to Bronte’s trailer home. She set the envelope on the gleaming desk with a glance at the senator.
He didn’t reach for the letter but gave her a small smile, indulging her. His pleasant humor wouldn’t last long.
Edmund spoke before she could begin her spiel. “After last night’s bomb, Mother was ready to call General Wilen to tender your resignation on your behalf, Vin. Despite the promotion you have coming. And that’s saying something.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve never seen you so sense-sick. Quite a recovery.” He glanced toward Bronte.
“I’m not resigning. Lifetime commitment,” Vincent said, his gaze still on her.
She’d had enough. “It’s not polite to stare.”
“If I look away, you might disappear again. Now what’s in your letter?” He surprised her, handing her control of the conversation.
She took a fortifying breath and dove into her message while she had the chance. “A servant found this letter in the laying-out room where the late Senator Casteel’s body had been. The body was missing.”
“So you’re missing the medallion,” Vincent stated. He went straight to the heart of the problem.
“The medallion was still around his neck.” She recited the message as instructed. “Lord and Lady Casteel ask for your assistance in retrieving the medallion. Lady Casteel awaits your communiqué.” Done. She could say her goodbyes and leave. Before she was an inch out of her chair, the senator held up his hand. She sat back down. He ruled here. She could not disobey.
The elder Rallis pulled out the letter.
Edmund gave a disbelieving chuckle. “So that’s why your father has yet to take the Casteel Senate seat.” He looked at his grandfather, who was still focused on the letter. “This is our chance to get that school bill passed. No Casteel to stop it.”
The letter suddenly hit the desk with a crack, flattened by an angry current of wind that glued it to the shiny surface. Senator Rallis shot up from the desk. His chair rolled away behind him. He leaned forward on arms as thick as a young man’s. “The body is on Rallis property? In our gyre?” His voice boomed around the room. “How long ago did you receive this?”
Bronte’s heart pounded like a runner racing for the finish line. “The letter was found two weeks ago.”
“Where were you?” Vincent’s voice snapped like a whip.
An outraged gasp exploded from her throat. “Me? You think I did this? I’ll tell you where I was! I was in Chattanooga. Where I have been for the past thirteen years! Except for once. A year ago.” She only added that part because she didn’t want them to think she was lying.
“I’m not accusing you of stealing a body. I know you didn’t do this. Just tell me you have witnesses to back up your alibi.” His blue eyes morphed to steel even as his tone softened.
“We’ll find some if she doesn’t, Vin,” Edmund said.
She looked away, ignoring them both. Her mind was too clouded to think back two weeks. She faced the angry patriarch seething behind his desk. “The Casteels did not feel there was a threat to you, sir, so they chose to keep the information to themselves.”
“No threat?” His roar echoed.
His angry words pierced right through her skin. Her ears popped with the pressure of his energy cast. Power arced sharply into her chest. His finger jabbed in the air as if he would strike at her stuttering heart. “How long have you known about this?”
She struggled for breath.
The force of his angry spell hovered, suffocating her. Bronte put a hand over her heart to shield it. Unlike other mages, she had no way to defend herself against a mage spell. Her power didn’t work like that. She was going to die. Right here. Fretting about burning at the stake had been misplaced worry.
Vincent laid his hand on her shoulder. The pain from the senator’s vibes eased in an instant, but her head still spun with nauseating speed from the aftereffects.
“Breathe,” Vincent ordered, his face intent on hers. He stood, breaking the contact between them. He turned to his grandfather, his fingers pressing like claws into the desk. “Back down, senator.” His whispered voice ruffled the hair on the back of her neck. “Syphons cannot shield themselves from spells. She is helpless against a mage. You don’t want to hurt her.”
Air pressure built until she thought her ears would implode. And just like that, it was gone. Silence rained down around them. It took a while before she had the courage to break it, but she spoke up, claiming the innocence that was hers.
“My mother informed me about the missing body late last night. She sent the thief’s letter by messenger. It arrived at the same time as her landline call. She instructed me not to read it. I don’t know anymore than I’ve told you.” The words rushed out.
The senator’s red face glowed as he read the letter aloud. “The body of Walter Casteel lies in the Rallis gyre, along with the Casteel Medallion. We will no longer tolerate being ignored. Use the power to better our land for all mages and Normals. It’s unsigned.” Senator Rallis looked up from the letter, anger shining from his eyes. “Only one group refers to Nons as Normals. Double-Wide.”
Double-Wide…terrorists…it resonated through her mind. Bronte swallowed hard and clutched at her purse. The leaf was a lousy talisman. Her mother had neglected to mention anything about the horrific anti-mage group. How was it possible that Double-Wide, named after the trailers so many poor Nons lived in, including Bronte, had targeted a founding family?
“Put the letter down, Granddad.” Vincent gave the order softly. “Goddess knows it’s been handled so much the vibes are all blurry, but maybe there’s something left for the energy readers.”
