by Anise Rae
Claude continued, “We’re still friends. Stay with the band, and we’ll play more of your stuff.” His voice firmed up from a whine as he bargained. “I’ve got friends I can introduce you to. They already know who you are and wanna meet you. They can help you with all this stuff. They’ll, you know…get you more famous, help you play where the creeps perform. You’ll see. You don’t want to leave. They won’t like that.”
“Who won’t like that?” Her head was aching from this conversation.
“These people. You know, people who make things happen. You have to stay with my band.”
“And if I don’t stay? Then bad things are going to happen?” Her voice crept higher. She looked behind her to make sure no one was listening. “Claude, tell me that’s not what you’re saying.” He was the only kid who’d befriended her when she’d been thrown into a strange school. He’d grown into the man who’d helped her get on stage the first time.
Now he was silent.
“I have to go now.” She slowly placed the phone back in its cradle.
Claude’s voice shot out of it, faint, but adamant. “Wait! Don’t hang up. What time are you coming back?” He clicked into silence.
She put a hand to her mouth as if to try to contain the suspicions gnawing at her about Claude. She took two slow steps toward the doorway, her eyes on the detailed Persian rug beneath her.
She ran into a hard column of male.
4
“What was that about?” His tone was the wrong side of polite, but her whisper hid too much of her landline conversation. Pulling sound waves toward him was not one of his strengths. He was much more adept at pushing energy away. The few key words he’d caught had his gut sending up a warning flare.
“My friend is upset. He’ll have to scramble to replace me to avoid reneging on our contracts.” She bit at her lip. Worry lined her forehead. It wasn’t because of contracts. It was because of the guy on the other end of the connection. Claude Somebody.
If she wouldn’t tell him, then he’d put one of his team’s analysts on it as soon as he tucked her away, safe and comfortable. He tilted his head down to her. She stood a whole head shorter than him.
“Or bad things are going to happen? What the heck kind of friend is that?”
She narrowed her eyes. “None of your business.” She sidestepped around him and headed into the next room.
Everything about her had become his business the moment she’d stepped back onto Rallis property. She was lying to herself if she thought otherwise. She sensed the tie between them as much as he did. He waved a line of energy across her shoulders, as easy as touching her with his hand. His mage energy was like another appendage, only its shape and power took whatever form he chose.
Her syphon pulled his vibes in like a warm, soft hug. She sucked in a quick breath, proof that she sensed their link. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.” He followed her into the media room where his cousin stood watching the television. He had no patience for Allison right now. He rarely did. Edmund, on the other hand, tolerated her with a fondness and sympathy that Vincent never managed.
“Oooo! Lawry!” Allison spoke to the man on the show as if he could hear her. “That was sooo good!” Her squeal never failed to grate a few layers of tissue from his eardrums. The credits rolled. She spun around. “Vinny! Did you see any of the Dr. Lawrence Riley Show?” Her gaze landed on Bronte, and she scanned his syphon from head to foot. Her lips puckered in a frown. “Hmm. Who do we have here?”
Bronte gave Allison a polite smile. Her Mayflower breeding was tough stuff.
“Oh.” Allison’s tone drooped. “A Non.” At the sight of the deceptive N on Bronte’s sweater, Allison dismissed her with a careless wave.
“Allison, you will give her the respect—”
“Vincent, it’s alright.” Bronte glanced at him, her cheeks pink. “Let’s just go have lunch.”
He wanted to shake his cousin along with the rest of his world. Bronte had dealt with this her entire life. She deserved better. No one would treat her like a second-class citizen in this house.
He slid his arm around Bronte’s back. The heat of her skin soaked through her sweater and the sleeve of his shirt. “Bronte, may I introduce you to my cousin, Allison Rallis. Allison, this is Miss Bronte Casteel.” As a mage, Allison should have been introduced first, a social slap learned at his mother’s heel. His cousin’s indignant gasp let him know she’d felt the cut.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Rallis.”
His cousin gave a regal nod. “Bronte.” Her eyes flashed to the N again. “What brings you here?” Her sneer lifted half her nose.
“Vincent invited me to lunch.” The sarcastic tone was clear.
“Oh dear.” Cynicism etched through Allison’s pitying smile. “Let me explain something. Girl to girl. If you think he actually spends any time with a woman outside the bedroom, you’re terribly deluded. He’s not that type.”
He went to step in front of Bronte, to block her from Allison’s disdain, but this time, Bronte anticipated his move. She grabbed his hand, still at her waist, and squeezed hard. He held his position, but only because reinforcements had arrived. His mother’s vibes fanned toward him.
“Allison, that’s enough.” His mother’s strong voice carried through the room as she stepped in from the terrace. “Bronte is our honored guest, and she will be treated as such.”
Bronte tugged him toward the terrace, a silent command to retreat.
“Aunt Helen, it’s not nice to let them get ideas. Nons just don’t understand.” Allison caught up to Bronte. “Vincent doesn’t have an emotional relationship with anyone.”
Bronte tipped her pert little nose high. “That’s not true. I’ve only been here for an hour, but even that’s been long enough to see he loves his mother and brother.”
Allison frowned, her mouth pinched tightly. “Just don’t expect anything from him.”
Bronte laughed softly. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you I have low expectations.” She stepped outside.
He needed a chance to prove his worth. She wouldn’t willingly give it to him. He would have to take it anyway. It was his most urgent mission. He followed Bronte onto the terrace and left his mother to deal with Allison.
“Bronte is…different,” his mother explained.
“Yes, she’s a Non,” Allison replied. “I see that. Don’t you think we would have figured out already if Nons could help him? They can’t. They didn’t help Daddy, and they won’t help Vinny.”
He shut the door on his female family members, but it didn’t stay closed. They followed right out.
“Althea!” Allison called. “Attend me on the terrace! I’m lunching out here.”
Vincent clenched his jaw.
His mother gestured for everyone to be seated after Jasper brought another chair for Allison. “Did you clear your calendar, Bronte?” She beamed a smile at Bronte’s curt nod. “Good. Then you’re all ours.”
Displeasure scribbled lightly across his syphon’s face.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised with a whisper.
He couldn’t charm or flirt like Edmund. Hell, even the gardener mage had better instincts for charming her. Who knew she’d be charmed by a floating leaf? Vincent could float her every tree in the yard. Would she find that charming? Unlikely. No matter. He had something no one else could offer her, besides his own vibes. He had knowledge. He knew more about syphons than anyone. He’d use it to his benefit. To keep her, he’d use every weapon in his arsenal.
However, he worked best in private. His strategy hadn’t included company. He gave his mother a narrowed glare. Apparently her faith in his ability to snag his girl equaled Edmund’s. Why else would she invite herself?
Bronte met his gaze with a bemused smile as if she could guess his thoughts. She sat silently as two of his mother’s maids set their lunch on the table.
The two women were recent hires. He’d rea
d over their security profiles last month before approving them. Neither profile raised any flags. But he’d check again. With terrorists dumping bodies on their land, everyone was suspect. This included Allison’s potionness, Althea. The tall, slender woman stood behind Allison, swirling two flasks of dark liquids. Her face was carefully blank, a useful expression for someone whose boss was a potion addict…or for a terrorist’s agent.
Allison gave an absent wave over her shoulder without looking at the potionness. The woman moved discreetly against the wall, still swirling.
Allison clapped her hands with glee as she studied her plate. “Ooo! Non-mage food! I adore eating Nons’ cuisine every now and then.” She examined her food with a wrinkled nose. “But I need meat. This will not do. Take it away.” As the maid complied, Allison looked at Bronte. “Vinny’s a vegetarian. I’m sure you didn’t know.” She waved a finger back and forth over his mother’s plate. “What is that anyway?”
Thank the goddess he had Bronte safely seated between him and his mother.
His mother took the question in stride. “Quinoa with roasted sweet potatoes and a touch of onion. Salad greens.”
“Sweet potatoes! I adore them!” She turned her head toward the house. “Keep the sweet potatoes!” she hollered in the direction the maid had disappeared. “The Dr. Lawrence Riley Show was all about sweet potatoes today! Dr. Riley concocted a potion from its leaves. But you really have to know what you’re doing when you use it,” she cautioned. “Too much and it could kill you. Get it just right and it will open your heart and let love and peace for all burst out.” Allison touched her chest and then lifted her hands as if to embrace the world.
“Sounds painful. Better avoid that one.” Vincent snapped his napkin to his lap.
The maid returned with the plate, ham added.
Allison circled her finger over the orange pile on her plate. “Dr. Lawrence Riley said sweet potatoes grown by Nons are superior to those grown by mage farmers. It’s something they actually do better than the rest of us! Non farmers have such dull energy they vibrate their growth less. Therefore, their sugars grow undisturbed, and they make sweeter sweet potatoes.” She flashed her brown eyes to Bronte. “You like Dr. Riley, don’t you? He’s all for Nons’ rights and how useful you all are to mages.”
Bronte smiled tightly. A drip of sweat trailed down her temple. He’d forgotten she suffered from the heat. He glanced at his mother in her suit and Allison in her black turtleneck, both as cool and comfortable as if it were a breezy, cloudy sixty-eight degrees. Allison caught sight of Bronte’s bead of sweat as well. His cousin preened, pulling the neck of her shirt higher. It was a sign of power for mages to dress in opposition of the weather and regulate their body temperatures with vibes.
Bronte tipped her head to Allison. “It’s good to know we Nons have our uses.”
“Oh, you do! But, really, we could import all the sweet potatoes we need. I mean, how many sweet potatoes could the Republic eat? We don’t need to grow them here.”
Bronte sank back against her seat, resigned to let Allison win her thoughtless, intolerant games. Streaks of pale blue lined the skin beneath her eyes.
“You drove all night to get here.” Vincent pushed a tendril of cool air over Bronte.
She leaned into it. “How did you know that?”
“You said your mother called you late last night ordering you here. You live in Locke Territory. You arrived here at eleven. It’s the obvious conclusion.”
“You must be exhausted!” His mother laid a hand on Bronte’s arm. “Eat quickly and then Vincent can find you a place to rest. But do tell us about your music, will you?” She turned toward the wall where the butler waited. “Jasper, would you put Bronte’s violin back inside the house? It’s too hot for such an instrument.”
Jasper obliged and took the damn hat as well.
Vincent directed another push of air toward Bronte’s neck, where little strands of her dark, shiny hair were damp.
She met his eyes and straightened. Alarm tightened the muscles of her face as she realized the source of the breeze.
He waited for her rebuke. But it didn’t come. He pushed another soft breeze at her, an example of the aid he could render her if she’d allow it.
Allison inhaled with an annoying tsk. “You’re a musician, are you? That’s so cute. Aunt Helen supports the musical arts. In fact, the Rallises are the benefactors of many music scholarships and two outreach programs. It’s even given a few Nons the chance to watch the mage children perform. Isn’t that sweet?”
Vincent gripped the table, his fingers like claws on the fine white tablecloth. “By the goddess, Allison,” he began, his tone slow and deadly.
Bronte nudged his shoe under the table. “I’m sure the musicians in the area are grateful for your support, Lady Rallis.”
“Helen.”
“Right, Helen. The Rallis Symphony is known to be the best in the nation. Obviously, you are one of the reasons behind that. I love classical music.”
“Too bad you’re not allowed to play it,” Allison quipped.
“You’re mistaken, Miss Rallis. I am allowed to play it.” Bronte’s sharp retort drew an approving smile from his mother. “You’re referring to the law prohibiting Nons from joining symphonies or having their own. Mages reserve that privilege, like so many others, for themselves.”
“Hmm, Europe has some decent symphonies.” Allison tapped a long manicured finger against her lips. “Aren’t there some Nons who left and played there? Although I doubt your training in the South was sufficient for that.”
“It was quite sufficient.” A small smile accompanied Bronte’s glare, a lady’s screw you expression.
Mother beamed in approval.
“Cousin, shut up,” he bit off. “Or leave. Clear?”
“What? What have I done?” Allison’s eyes were wide with confusion.
“She’s correct. I can’t think of one Southern school anywhere near as good as the music schools in the North. I was lucky. My school happened to have an exchange program set up with another school in Dublin.”
“Dublin?” Allison’s mouth made a circle of surprise. “Our Dublin here?”
“No,” Bronte gently corrected. “Ireland.” Then her eyes fired with a dangerous light. “I did play for a mage orchestra once.” She lifted her gaze to him, peeking through her dark bangs.
Vincent hummed in the back of his throat, a low vibrating growl.
“What?” Allison choked on her food.
Bronte shrugged. “It was an audition. I lied on the application and said I was a mage.”
The potionness gasped at Bronte’s confession.
“Risky.” His mother’s eyes were wide with alarm.
A dozen horrible outcomes flickered through his mind. “Do you know what happens to a Non who gets caught claiming mage status? Jail. Exile.” Worse.
Her eyes dimmed like a curtain drawn across a window. “I did get caught. But I had to know if anyone would give me a chance. I found out the answer.” She shrugged again. “I survived. Now I play mostly folk music. Country and bluegrass. They’re good too. Just different.”
His mother put down her fork. “Tonight is the twentieth anniversary performance for Peter Leggert. He’s the conductor of the Rallis Symphony. They’re performing a mishmash of his favorite pieces. Since your pass has been extended, you and Vincent should both come.”
Bronte laughed and shook her head.
Allison butted in. “Well, I’m not going.” She picked up the tall, skinny glass at the edge of her plate and held it out to her side.
The potionness stepped forward with a sigh of relief and tipped her flasks into the glass. Two streams of dull green liquids poured out.
Bronte shrank back in her seat as if she wanted as far away from it as possible.
Allison downed it, lifting the glass and tipping her head back until her nose pointed at the ceiling of the porch. As the potion soaked through her system, she shuddered and then ga
ve a pleased smile. “Chrislia is one of my favorites. It makes every bit of energy so clear.”
Allison stroked the air around his mother. “Such a lovely aura, Aunt Helen.”
Damn that Riley guy for hooking her on these concoctions.
“I respect Aunt Helen’s love of music, but I don’t share it.” Allison sighed in bliss from the effects of the potion, then blinked at Bronte. Her mouth formed an exaggerated circle. “Oh, Bronte, I’m probably making you uncomfortable with my power. It slipped my mind to block my energy. Vincent forgot too, I see.”
Allison leaned back toward the potionness. “That’s a good one. It brings everyone’s aura into such sharp resolution. We need to tell Lawry again how fantastic this is. I can see energy everywhere.” She focused her eyes on Vincent with a tip of her head. “Vinny.” Her voice was soft and dreamy. “Your energy. I’ve never seen it so relaxed. Did you finally try that potion Lawry gave you?” She squinted as if she were nearsighted and missing her glasses. “Vinny, your vibes are flowing into that Non by the megajoule!” Allison’s voice reached higher as she stood up. Her chair crashed to the ground. “She’s…she’s stealing your power!” Allison looked down at herself, extending her arms to inspect them as well. “Is she doing it to me too?”
“Calm down, Allison,” his mother began.
Allison’s hands went to her hips. “Is she the reason you can sit here? You never lunch with us. For a while I thought she was just good in bed. But no. She’s helping you with your power. If she can help you, then she can help my father!”
“Bronte is mine.” Vincent’s words trembled with power.
Allison twitched under the force.
“I beg your pardon. I do not belong to anyone.” Bronte’s crisp words dropped flat and powerless among them, a glaring example of her vulnerability, of her need for a protector. She would survive only if she belonged to someone.
Allison ignored her. “You are so selfish! Father has nothing. He doesn’t even have me because he can’t tolerate other mages’ vibes! You have everything. Riches. Fame. People think you’re a hero. But you stampede over anyone who dares inconvenience you. Well, I’m done with that! I’m buying her sponsorship for my father, and he won’t share with you!”
