by Anise Rae
“No charges,” Vincent said.
Bronte spoke at the same time.
“Colonel, I accept your offer of lunch.” Her lush lips tipped into a frown. She stepped back from the handcuffs. “But I want my leaf back.”
He held out the fiery leaf. “I’d give you the whole tree.”
3
Bronte stuttered to a stop outside the manor doors. Her mental alarm squealed like an out-of-tune orchestra at the sight of the empty driveway. Her violin case swayed at her sudden halt and bumped against Vincent’s leg.
He stepped up beside her. “The back terrace is around to the left.”
She didn’t move.
“Is it too hot for you out here? We could have lunch inside, but you’re going to attract the rest of the family if we use the dining room.”
“Where is my car?” Her voice screeched in the quiet. Panic buzzed in her head like a bee trapped in a glass jar.
“One of the servants took it behind the house. Someone will drive it around when you’re ready to leave.”
“But my car keys are in my purse.” Her tone shot higher and headed toward a whine. “How did he move…” She took a breath. Her shoulders drooped. Real mages didn’t need keys. Or doorknobs. They didn’t need to hide or to have sponsors. They didn’t need to fear arrest for stealing a stupid leaf.
A soft pressure landed on her head and her hat flew off. She turned her head and glared at the thief.
“I can’t see your face in this thing.” He held the hat by the crown, delicately clasped in his palm. He shrugged one shoulder and tilted his head. “I can barely read your vibes.” The great and powerful colonel wrinkled his brow at her, confused.
“No one can read my vibes. Let me help you out and simply tell you how I’m feeling right now.” She planted her feet to face him head-on. Her violin case banged between them and came perilously close to parts he wouldn’t want in contact with the hard case.
He slipped his fingers around the handle and took it from her grasp, adding it to his hand that now held her hat by its brim.
She allowed it, but only because she needed both hands for this. Finger by finger, she ticked off her thoughts, pointer finger first. “Number one, I want my car back. Number two, I want to get home before my pass expires, before I have to deal with another Chief Masset arresting me. Three, I want to get there without falling asleep behind the wheel. Four, I want people—no, I want mages—to stop telling me where I can and cannot go.” She ticked off her last finger. “And I…” She paused. She had one more finger. She needed to use it for something. “I want my violin back. Please.” She held out her hand.
He gave a firm nod. His wrinkles smoothed. “I’ll take care of all that for you.” He did not hand over her instrument.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She took a breath for three slow counts and then lowered her chin. “No.” The word was a long note filled with exasperation. “That was me telling you how I feel. I’m not asking you to fix my problems with a wave of your mage wand. You can’t poof it all away like your gardener did with your leaves.” She flung a hand behind her to the naked branches. They stood stark against the blue sky.
How long had she been inside? Forty-five minutes? In that short amount of time the gardener mage had erased that beautiful, bright canopy. No evidence remained of the leaves’ existence anywhere. Not on the ground. Not on the branches. They’d been shaken off and obliterated. Deemed no longer worthy. Like her, they’d been banished. There were no survivors…except one. She clutched her purse against her chest.
Something hot and angry wrapped around her gut like a lasso. “You know, this season is called fall because the leaves are supposed to fall.”
He squinted at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking another language. “They did fall.”
“They are supposed to fall one by one. Or two by two. However they choose. Not because a mage forces them to. They’re supposed to scatter down to the ground all on their own.”
He studied her. “One fell right into your hand.” Uncertainty drenched his tone.
“Yes, guided by mage power.”
“A mage who was flirting with you. I saw it from the window.”
“Mages don’t flirt with me. I’m a Non.” She pointed at the left side of her cardigan, bringing his attention to her N.
“Your N is a lie, though the reason you wear it is exactly the reason we control the leaves. Appearances matter. Rallis would lose respect if our enemies thought we’re too weak to regulate the mages around here, much less the trees or the grass.” He brushed the underneath of her chin with a finger. “Project the image you want seen. That’s something you of all people should understand. You’re a master at manipulating people to see what you want them to. They are completely deceived by your façade and don’t look any deeper.”
The brief physical touch increased the connection between his vibes and her syphon. The flow of his energy quickened.
“It’s not a façade. I can’t conceal my ability. People just don’t notice. They assume I’m a Non.”
“And you play along.”
“Of course I do. I want to live. What you think I am…” She shook her head. “It’s not what all those fairy tales say. I’m not the witch in Hansel and Gretel capturing lost children to feast on their energy.” She pressed a hand to the bare skin beneath her throat. “I never sensed mage energy before I met you. I never have since. All those accounts in the history books of burning…syphons.” There. She’d said it. The word flung from her like it had been straining at its tether, yearning for freedom. “Those poor women. They were turned over to the inquisitions by other mages.”
His intent focus did nothing to stop her ramble. Instead it seemed to be the catalyst for the spill of her plea.
She continued, “Some coward of a mage was accused of witchcraft, and he pointed the finger at a syphon to save his own skin. Those historical accounts all read the same. No one else in the village or the castle knew the syphon even had a mage power. And there’s a reason no one ever suspected anything! There’s nothing bad about syphons.” She held her hands in front of her as if pleading with him to believe her. Those words had existed inside her for years. They were finally free.
“I’m familiar with the stories.” His tone reflected a scholarly expertise. “It’s worse than you know. Most of the history books don’t tell you that the coward who betrayed her was the only mage the syphon could sense, the only mage whose vibes sang to the syphon’s soul. They handed their syphons over to a horrible death to deflect attention from themselves.”
She took a step back.
“Without exception, the men who accused the syphons were very powerful mages.” He stepped forward. “But their courage didn’t match their power.”
He bent down until his nose was mere inches from hers. “I’m not a coward.” The colonel no longer sounded like a professor. “I’m not scared. Not of anyone, including you and your direct line to my vibes. You need me. Just as much as I need you. And I’ll stand up to anyone who tries to sever that link.”
She leaned forward an inch, refusing to give anymore ground. “Your energy might sing to my syphon, but I’ve survived without it just fine.” She closed the gap another inch and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t need you. And I don’t trust you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You will.”
Edmund strode out the front door. “Good news, Bronte.” He strode over, putting an arm around each of them as if she were family. “You don’t need to rush off today. I got your pass extended.” He smiled down at her. “You get to stay.”
* * * *
She’d never seen a pass like this one. She’d spent years playing with musicians from all over the country, Nons with generous passes from their sponsors to come and go as needed. Never had any been required to stay in a territory that was not their home. Her parents had invented a new way to jerk her around.
Vincent read over her shoulder as she
scanned the words again. “Non-mage Bronte Casteel shall remain within Rallis Territory until noon on Sunday, September 18. At 12:01PM the aforementioned Non-mage shall cross the Ohio River into Bradford Territory under the auspices of Casteel and enter Locke Territory by 8:00PM that day.” She supposed she should be grateful they’d allotted her a whole eight hours to drive home to Chattanooga.
Bronte tucked the pass into her purse. Deliberate and careful, she slid it next to her identification papers. A fiery tip of the leaf poked up. She wanted to yank it out and get rid of it, but then it would flutter around the yard. Completely alone. Vulnerable. Subject to the whims of mages.
She gently tucked it in and snapped her purse closed. She wasn’t the only one unhappy about the pass. Vincent’s dark eyebrows squeezed together. His nose flared above clenched teeth and he glared at his brother.
It’s a start. Edmund mouthed the words to Vincent. She guessed he silenced the sound waves, but she’d read his lips.
“A start to what?” Bronte refused to let them exclude her.
Edmund’s eyes jumped to hers. They matched Vincent’s.
She glared. “It’s quite rude to talk about me when I’m standing right here.”
“Yes, it is rude, Edmund.”
Bronte turned to face the source of the smooth voice. A tall, regal woman glided out the front door. “Maybe you’ll finally take it to heart coming from this lovely soul.”
“You’re right, Mother.” He tipped his head toward Bronte. A strand of wavy hair jumped to his forehead. It was longer than Vincent’s short, military look but still this side of appropriate for a future senator. “I’m sorry, Bronte.”
Bronte nodded in acknowledgement but not forgiveness. She was too powerless here to pretend everything was alright.
Vincent stepped between the two women. “Bronte, may I introduce my mother, Helen Rallis.”
There wasn’t much resemblance between the mother and sons, though at second glance Edmund had his mother’s smile. True joy beamed from it. As his twin, Vincent ought to have inherited it too, but she’d yet to see it.
“Lady Rallis, it’s an honor to meet you.” Bronte nodded again.
“Oh please, do call me Helen.” She walked two steps in her gleaming high heels, stooped slightly to accommodate Bronte’s shorter stature, and hugged her. “May I call you Bronte?”
“Of course.” How could she say no?
“Would you mind terribly if I join you for lunch?”
“Please do join us.” Lady Rallis was a powerful mage, but Vincent was the dangerous one. At least to Bronte. She welcomed the buffer.
Lady Rallis took Bronte’s arm. Vincent and Edmund followed behind as they made their way around to the back terrace.
“I understand you live in Chattanooga. I’ve never been there.”
Naturally.
Chattanooga was poor and full of Nons with scarcely enough mages to oversee it. A lady of a founding family would never lower herself to venture there. But the city was the heart of the music scene for Nons. So much that even mages performed there occasionally. Other than Bronte.
“Lady Rallis—”
“Helen.”
“Right. Helen. Do you have a landline I could use? Since my pass has been changed, I’m going to miss the next few performances my band has scheduled. I need to call them and let them know.”
Helen’s elegant brow wrinkled briefly. “Oh, how unfortunate. I hope they’re understanding people.”
Bronte heard the meaning behind the words. Sorry you’re not going to make it, but not sorry you’re required to stay here. Lady Rallis gave her a long look. Her classically beautiful face held the fierceness—the ruthlessness—of a queen.
Bronte held her gaze. “Understanding doesn’t mean they’ll forget.”
Lady Rallis’s small smile provided little clue to her thoughts. She silently gestured to the left, indicating they needed to pass beneath the arch of the east wing. The groomed pea-gravel path to the back of the manor matched the driveway that her old car had managed to limp down. The gardener had gone overboard on the gravel on this section of the path. Bronte sank with each step.
“Mother, you need to tell the gardener to ease up on the rocks.” Edmund’s wry tone made it clear he struggled too.
“One doesn’t question Dell. The man knows everything.”
Bronte’s next footstep stayed on the surface of the path, as if the pebbles decided to stick together and support her instead of drowning her heels among them. The rush of Vincent’s energy into her syphon increased.
Helen gasped. She stopped, studied Vincent and then turned to Bronte. “I can hardly believe what you do for him.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Her hackles rose as high as the other woman’s gratitude, recognizing it as a trap.
Hope softened Lady Rallis’s honed look. “You’re letting Vincent deflect the power of our footsteps without any repercussions for him. Vincent never wastes his mage vibes on something as trivial as walking.” Her voice bordered on a whisper. “You are a true gift to all of us.”
“I’m not a gift to be passed from one hand to the next.”
Lady Rallis’s eyes flashed. “Then be more.”
“Fight back.” Vincent stared down at her.
“Fight back? Now you’re talking crazy. Have you forgotten your history already? I’m here for the next twenty-four hours. That’s not enough time for a revolution.” She glared back at the mighty colonel. She walked on, wanting only to get this lunch over with.
“As interesting as this conversation is, I’m afraid I must take my leave.” Edmund interrupted. “I have work that won’t wait.” He patted Bronte on the shoulder as they came in sight of the terrace set with an elegant table. “I’ll show you to the landline on my way.”
She followed him inside, leaving Lady Rallis and Vincent behind. The coolness of the house enveloped her. They passed through a room with the chatter of a talk show on the television and into another sitting room with the landline. Edmund left her to it.
She dialed Claude’s number.
Her old friend had changed over the last year. She hardly knew him anymore. And what she did know, she didn’t much like. Maybe luck’s grace would favor her and his answering machine would click on. Morning time came around four in the afternoon for him. Noon was the middle of his night.
He answered on the first ring. “Bronte?” The word shot through the phone. He was wide awake.
“Yes, it’s me.” She fired back at his abrupt greeting, but she needed to get this over with before someone walked into the room. She dispensed with the pleasantries. “I’m sorry to do this, but I’m not going to be able—”
He cut her off. “You didn’t play the damn song like I told you! You needed to follow the notes exactly as I wrote them. How many times have you changed my songs? I know it was you who did it!”
Bronte wrenched the phone from her ear at his vicious yell. This conversation had been a long time coming. The middle of the Rallis house wasn’t the place for it, but she was too exhausted and stressed to tiptoe around him like usual. “What has gotten in to you, Claude? I’ve tried to hold on to our friendship, but you’ve not made it easy. No one in the band wants to deal with you anymore.”
“If you would just do as I tell you, then I wouldn’t need to be unpleasant and rude!” Claude roared.
“I’m not even going to discuss that insane statement. I’m calling to let you know I won’t be available until Monday.”
“Monday?” he shrieked. “You’re gonna miss two more gigs?”
“Yes.” Bronte gave a curt nod even though he couldn’t see it. “You have to take my place.”
“I don’t play in public anymore, Bronte!”
“Well, that needs to change. You need to shake off whatever made you crawl into a cave and refuse to play. If you want the group to be successful, you’re going to have to deliver on this contract. I’m still not clear why you agreed to do a wedding in the first place. I
’m sorry I can’t be there, but it’s out of my hands.”
“It’s because of your asshole family, isn’t it? They’re not letting you leave. You’re their goddamn slave. Don’t you see how these people treat us Normals like we’re not even human? Fight back. You should be the one leading the charge against the tyranny the mages hold over the Normals.”
“Quite a speech, Claude.” His words were an eerie echo of Vincent’s. She peeked over her shoulder. Vincent was gone, but she knew he couldn’t be too far away. “But I’m not going to rehash this again.”
“Blasted vibes, Bronte. They have you completely brainwashed. When you’re ready to rise up and lead your people to a better life, let me know. I’ll be right behind you singing your theme song. I’ll compose it for you. You’re practically a household name around the South. You could join up with Double-Wide.”
Her whisper was fast and furious. “I will never support Double-Wide. They are terrorists who kill innocent people. Nons and mages.” Time to end this. She took a deep breath. “We both know your songs haven’t resonated with me in a long while. The band has been great, but it’s not working for me anymore. I’m done.”
“Done? As in quitting the band?”
Bronte yanked the phone away from her ear at his shout.
“No! I’m not letting you quit. I need you.”
Was that a threat? For the first time since embarking on this forced journey, she was glad to be so far from home and out of Claude’s reach. “It’s not your choice. It’s mine and I’ve decided. I’m going out on my own.” There. She was fighting for herself—in a safe, rational manner. A thrill tickled through her. “Maybe I’ll give Europe a try. The best Nons are there anyway.”
She couldn’t believe her own words. She’d never planned to leave, never wanted to. Now that Vincent had exposed her power, she’d be safer if she left. The world was bigger than just here. More importantly, the rest of the world was mostly sans mage.
“Bronnie, come on.”
She hated that nickname.
