by Anise Rae
“And I can’t find my Non-mage insignia. Where’s my N?” The frustrated whine in her voice bounced around the room. The letter had been on her cardigan but she must have lost it in the gyre. “I could be arrested for that alone.”
“They won’t dare kick you out. And no one is going to arrest you,” Vincent refuted. Calm and reasonable. “Not when you have an army of Rallises at your back, your front and your sides.”
“No offense, but I think you’re overestimating your influence.”
“No offense, but I think you’re out of touch with mage politics.”
She pressed her fingers against her forehead. “What if someone recognizes my power? If Allison saw it at lunch, surely someone else will too.” Her stomach rolled at the thought.
“Allison’s power is unusual. Plus she’s an addict and a damn guinea pig for that doctor. He experiments on her. She walks around drugged up most days.” He stepped around the table. “You’ll be safe, Bronte. I promise. I’d give my life to keep you safe.”
“Please don’t do that.” His dissertation, still laying on the coffee table, caught her gaze. Even if it hasn’t been seven days yet, she thought. “If someone is going to have to die for me to do this, then I’m absolutely not going.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed gently. He wasn’t letting her walk away from this argument. His vibes drifted inside her, an invisible caress. Her formerly dormant powers sighed in blissful contentment. She swallowed hard and ignored it. Sort of.
“We wouldn’t go if I wasn’t confident you’d be safe. Don’t you want to hear the music? When was the last time you heard mage musicians? Other than yourself, that is.”
She opened her mouth to deny that she was a mage. It was a reflex, but this time she stopped. She shifted her eyes to him. He was waiting for that denial. It was apparent in the quirk of his lips.
“A long time.” She couldn’t erase the longing from her voice. Mage music resonated like no other. The energy of the sound waves penetrated a body as if skin was blessed with the ability to hear. She was starved for it, yearned to hear it, to be a part of it.
He slid his hand up her arm until his palm rested on her bare elbow. He crooked a smile at her. “Let’s go. Besides, you’re too dolled up to stay home tonight. My mother has this whole thing planned down to the minute. We shouldn’t be late.” He tugged her toward the door.
She let herself be dragged, picking up her borrowed clutch from the kitchen table as she passed. Outside in the slight breeze, her wrap fluttered. It matched the silk chiffon of the dress. The black beading around the shift’s neckline and down the sides was a work of art. But her favorite part was the two long ruffles attached just beneath the waist, one on each side, like low wings dancing in the air. The shift was fitted but not overly so. Despite its loveliness, she felt exposed in the sleeveless dress. On the other hand, she could cover herself from head to toe and still lack sufficient armor to face this night.
She tried to ignore the fear racing up and down her skin…tried to forget she was about to invade forbidden territory. She needed a distraction from the nerves swirling through her. She chose the first topic that came to her mind. “Why do you drive a petrol truck and not a mage engine?” She stepped up into his black truck as he held open the door.
“Mage engines give off too many vibes for me on some days. It’s easier to use petrol power.” He closed the door, leaving her shut in with her nerves.
It took him six seconds to walk around the truck and get in. It only took three seconds for fear to claw its way clear through her.
She thought to ask where he got the petrol, the stations being hard to find, but the sharp edge of panic severed her thin hold on the conversation.
She gripped the beaded clutch too hard. Her fingers wouldn’t stay still on its threaded glass jewels as Vincent drove back to the big house. He took her left hand into his and set them on the middle console. Even within his grip, her fingers trembled.
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Have you ever been to the Palace Theatre?”
She shook her head and listened to him describe its ornate beauty, distracting her with details she was surprised he knew. She should have tugged away, but she couldn’t handle this alone. Though accepting his strength came with tight ties, for a few hours, she would take what he offered.
Just for tonight.
Accompanied by his low voice, the dark, cool night gathered around her and insulated them both from the rest of the world. The ride smoothed as they exited his meadow. Vincent leveled out the truck with his mage sense as it went over the bumps. Her syphon power absorbed the hiccups in his power each time they drifted over a pothole.
The rest of the Rallis family waited on the front steps as Vincent drew up to the house. A group of sentries lined the stairs as well, their dark gray dress blending with the night. Another man stood off to the side. He’d been at the gyre with Edmund, but Bronte couldn’t remember his name. A shiny black limo sat in the driveway sandwiched between two Land Rovers. Their mage engines cast a soft glow on the ground.
Lady Rallis glided down the steps with a smile at Bronte. “Into the car, family. Quickly now. We’re on a schedule. Vincent, Gerald will follow us in your truck. You’ll have a quick escape home if you need to get out. Are you alright with this? Bronte’s syphon can get you through, yes?”
Bronte glanced up at him. She hadn’t even considered how hard this might be for him.
Lady Rallis didn’t wait for an answer but continued to parse out instructions. “We are killing two birds with one spell on this expedition. While we’re there, be on the lookout for a wife for Edmund. Scan the crowd.” She looked at Senator Rallis. “Burr, we need someone liberal. Open-minded. One who doesn’t mind a syphon in the family. Keep watch for that type of energy.”
The senator gave his daughter-in-law a small bow, pressing the Rallis Medallion against his chest.
Edmund cleared his throat. “If I may, she does need to be at least a little bit pretty. More importantly, she needs to be big in the breasts and on the backside.” He cupped his hands in the air, outlining his preferred shape. “I like a good, juicy squeeze in both directions.”
“Edmund.” Helen’s voice pitched high as she admonished her younger son with a swat on his arm with her purse. “Do not be crude.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “You need to know the details of my order if you’re going to get it right.” He rolled his eyes as his mother stepped into the car. “Which she’s not,” he said under his breath toward Vincent.
Edmund motioned for Bronte to get into the car. She climbed in and took a seat against the wall along the driver’s side. Vincent sat next to her; Edmund sat across from them, all alone. Vincent’s father and the senator sat with Helen, facing forward. Two sentries got in the front. A chorus of slamming doors echoed as the remaining sentries piled into the other vehicles.
“Maybe you should let me handle my own wife shopping, Mother.”
“Absolutely not. Look at Vincent. Did you know he and Bronte met thirteen years ago? Thirteen years! Maybe I need to dig into your past and see who you’ve met and if anyone has any potential.”
Edmund’s eyes slid sideways. “Dig into my past and all you’ll get is an empty hole.” He smiled with tight lips and gestured to Bronte. “Let’s focus on Vincent and Bronte for now. Now there’s a match with the goddess’s blessing.”
“Wait.” Bronte took a breath and set her shoulders. “I am here for the next sixteen hours. Only. That’s it. There’s no match here. After that, I am going to be outside the Rallis Territory border, complying with my pass. I’m not staying.”
Her pronouncement rang out. Silence filled the large interior of the car. The Rallises, except Vincent, glanced around at each other. Finally Lady Rallis spoke with a placating smile. “No need to decide anything in haste, Bronte.”
“It is my decision. I hope you honor it.”
Lady Rallis just smiled.
&nb
sp; Bronte sighed. Even if she had the official status of a mage, she’d still never win against this family. “All your Mayflower friends are going to think you’re crazy to let your son be seen with a Non, much less the whole family.”
“We’ve got tonight covered. We’ve got it all covered.” Helen reached out to pat Bronte on the knee.
“You stay with me at all times.” Vincent’s voice filled with authority. “Please don’t have to go to the bathroom.”
“If anyone approaches us, we do the talking, Bronte. We know what to say,” Lady Rallis chimed in. “By the end of the evening, five hundred mages will have spent two hours in the company of a syphon and have no damage to complain about. Someday we’ll be riding in this car to go hear Bronte play on stage.”
Five hundred mages.
Good goddess. Five hundred mages.
The car was suddenly too small for her. “I thought you were going to act like I’m a charity case. Taking the unprivileged Non to the symphony.” Her head spun. Her heart beat too fast for her to sit still. She needed to be outside sprinting for the rest of her body to keep time with the vital organ.
Vincent took her hand. “No one is going to announce that you’re a syphon.”
Lady Rallis’s smile narrowed. The expression fit with the tough, sophisticated veneer of her fitted leather jacket topping her dark dress and lipstick.
“I would hope not. I’d like to continue living!”
“You mean living the half-life you’ve created for yourself?” Lady Rallis criticized as if she had every right. “You know that’s not good enough. Otherwise you wouldn’t have auditioned for the Rallis Symphony. Yes, I asked around after our lunch.” She raised her eyebrows at Bronte. “Half a life is what Vincent has too. That’s not good enough for him either.”
The car glided to a halt and the door opened before she was done talking. Lady Rallis tossed the last words over her shoulder as she exited the car. Her husband and the senator followed.
Cool air rushed in, bringing shivers of fear tingling through her body. “I don’t think I can do this, Vincent.” Fearful tears gathered behind Bronte’s eyes.
Edmund scooted to the edge of his seat and winked at her as he got out, leaving her and Vincent in the car.
Bronte struggled to find enough air to make her plea. “If your truck is here, then take me home. Please, Vincent.”
His face softened in sympathy. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she dashed out of the car to run to his truck.
Enough with being the good, obedient Non. She might long for mage music, but she wasn’t going to die for it.
The gleaming black truck sat against the curb across the street. She jogged around the limo and fled toward it. The wide city street was filled with limos and expensive cars. Mages in formal dress lined the sidewalk. An orderly row of mage lights floating above the street held the dark of night at bay. Flashes of blue suddenly disturbed their soft, steady glow.
Everyone halted. The blue lights flickered off the windows of the neighboring buildings as a half-dozen enforcer cruisers hurtled down the crowded street. A single siren pierced the air ensuring everyone noted their approach. The pack of cruisers skidded to a halt in front of her.
She was surrounded.
Masset jumped out of the closest car.
Bronte took a step backward, and then another. Vincent’s hand closed on her bare arm. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders and tucked her in beside him.
“Bronte Casteel, I have a warrant for your arrest.” Masset’s vicious smile gleamed in the dark night. “Approved and signed by your sponsor, Phyllis Casteel.” He unfolded the paper and held it up with a shake.
A crush of Rallis sentries pressed around them.
“Hmm.” Edmund appeared on her other side. “Let’s see that, chief.” He waited for the other man to hand it over and then scanned it. “Problem. Miss Casteel is currently sponsored by Rallis.” He reached for Bronte’s purse, and she let it go without a protest. He opened it and pulled out her new papers.
“Your warrant is invalid.” Vincent looked at the man with hard, dead eyes.
“Consider yourself yet another victim of Lord and Lady Casteel’s unethical schemes,” Edmund stated. “Though a man of your caliber should see through such tactics. You must be aware of their reputation.”
Masset glared at both brothers and jerked the papers from Edmund’s hand. “Let me see that.” He paced closer to Bronte.
She wobbled on her feet but stood her ground. Not that Vincent gave her any other option. “I’ve done nothing wrong, Chief Masset. I’ve merely followed the orders of my temporary sponsors.” The words came out of her mouth with such steadiness she couldn’t believe she’d spoken them.
The enforcer sneered. He shifted his gaze to her papers and flipped them front and back. “Chapman! Get over here!”
Another enforcer stepped forward. His eyes were wide with trepidation. He glanced back and forth among the sentries and the Rallises.
“Yes, sir?” He stuttered.
“Read this!” Masset shoved the papers into Chapman’s hand. The pass bent with his force.
“Uh, sir, uh, I’m sure the Rallis word is truth, sir.” The young man stammered around the words.
“Check!”
The younger enforcer took the papers with a shaky hand. He closed his eyes for a quick moment. “Truth, sir. No hint of any aberration, sir.”
Bronte glanced back toward the theater. A crowd of mages stood along the stairs and gawked. Bronte felt like she was spotlighted on the floor of the Coliseum, fighting lions while Roman senators watched from the safety of their seats. Lord and Lady Rallis, as well as the senator, stood a few feet away. They studied the faces of every enforcer as if memorizing them. Masset’s men withered under their glares.
The chief yanked the papers away from Chapman and tossed them to the ground.
“Pick. It. Up.” The order came from the senator himself. His voice powered through the air.
Masset obeyed like a puppet on strings.
Bronte reached out with a shaky hand to take her pass back.
“You will pay for this,” Masset whispered to her. “You Nons are all trash. This isn’t over.” Masset stomped back to his car, threw himself in and slammed the door. Other enforcers followed suit. The cars streamed away.
Adrenaline swirled through her, leaving nausea in its wake. She’d yet to make inside the building, and already the calm veneer she always wore to protect herself had been ripped to shreds. Masset had won in that respect. She tried to mentally gather the pieces of her composure around herself.
“Well, nothing to do but brazen it out now,” Edmund said.
She was enough of a Mayflower daughter to know that.
“Too many people saw Masset’s little show.” Edmund’s words were as sharp as she’d ever heard them. “If we left, we’d look guilty or scared. For now, smile.” His voice converted back to normal. “It’s a lovely night. You’re a lovely lady. I hear you like this kind of music. I don’t, but I’ll smile anyway. Now you join in, too, for our audience.”
Bronte’s eyes lingered on Edmund’s smile. “You are all crazy.”
On the building’s grand steps, their audience had shrunk by half. Only a few mages remained outside, a small enough group to perform for, she supposed. She pulled her lips up, not sure if the action resembled a smile, but she was too stiff with fear to form a real one.
“You have to do better than that. Lesson number one: always assume there are intuiters around. Always. You can’t hide from them. So be the smile, Bronte. Feel it.”
There was no smile big enough to hide her fear. So she focused on her anger, whether it was rational or not. “If I live long enough, I’m going to get you all back for this.”
“That’s the spirit!” Lady Rallis called out.
* * * *
The entryway of the theater opened into a gleaming lobby, empty with the exception of a few stragglers. Ahead, the static drone of
a crowd radiated from three sets of open doors. Everyone else was already seated. They were almost late.
Bronte cast her gaze upward in a silent plea to the goddess for survival. Her eye caught on the domed ceiling, gilded and etched with thousands of tuning circles—enough to channel power for every mage here to pull on. This was an old building to house so many circles. They’d gone out of style since the average mage’s power had escalated over the last few generations.
This place was probably torture for Vincent. He already carried too much energy of his own. He placed her hand, which was still shaky from the encounter with Masset, in the crook of his elbow and covered it with his. His energy flooded into her like he’d been drowning until he’d touched her.
All of a sudden, Helen turned back to them with a rigid smile on her face. A trickle of alarm vibrated through Bronte. Something was wrong again.
Edmund grabbed Bronte’s empty hand. He held out a bouquet of red roses obviously stolen from the towering arrangement next to him.
The velvety bunch of buds bloomed into full flower before her eyes. A spell’s pressure pushed at her ears.
“Bronte, you’re the first pretty girl to show up on our doorstep since you last left it. But you ended up with the wrong brother. Vincent’s a nice guy, but he’s too serious. Come over to my arm, and I’ll worship ever step you take.” Edmund’s voice was too loud to be talking to someone right next to him.
What in the universal blazes was he doing? He moved the flowers closer to her with an adoring smile.
Bronte lifted a hand to take the lush blossoms. It was the only possible response. Before she touched them, they exploded. A shower of petals rained down. Her syphon absorbed a gentle burst of energy. That meant Vincent was responsible for the eruption. Patches of red velvet continued to drift down slowly over the entire lobby. Vincent controlled their descent. Delighted gasps sounded from two women lingering by the theater doors. One reached out and caught a petal.
