by Anise Rae
He turned his hand so their palms met. Her slight inhale registered to his ears, every noise amplified with his mage sense fully open. Threading his fingers gently into hers, they held hands on the dusty ground, a light touch, a soft connection that he made sure she could pull free of easily…and she did.
“Your waywardness hasn’t broken you.” She stood and swiped at the dirt on her pants. “I hope you believe that someday soon.”
Until then, don’t bother holding my hand.
She didn’t say the words, but he heard them nonetheless. It was a logical sentiment…something he’d expect of her. Because if he didn’t accept his wayward power, then he couldn’t accept hers either.
The realization was like the sharp pop of a firecracker in his mind, followed by the stunned silence that always came after the noise. If he wanted a chance to hold her tighter, he knew what he had to do: accept his waywardness. He just didn’t know how.
She reached for her bag and he forced himself to move, standing and taking both of their packs.
“No.” She held out her hand for it, her chin high, her lips tight. “I carry my own bag.”
He recognized a threatened mage when he saw one. “We have a long walk. You’ll have more energy to go farther if I carry it.”
“It has my yarn in it,” she said as if that was reason enough for her refusal.
He held up his hands, palms in. “I won’t steal it. I vow—” He cut himself off, running into a chasm he didn’t know how to cross…he couldn’t fathom accepting his waywardness if it meant believing the Goddess had turned her back on him. “Explain. Please.” He snapped the words. He didn’t mean to, but the anger and the confusion busted out.
She didn’t flinch. “It’s written in the Book of Spells. I’m sure you know it. For the power lines birthed when she was betrayed, her heart’s love was quelled, her blessing withheld.”
She was right. He did know the story. But those lines used to be only vaguely familiar until he’d looked it up three months ago. Now he, too, knew it by heart. “That’s from the appendix, written by a questionable authority. And most likely written only two centuries ago. It’s not taught.” He’d reeled with the idea that waywards were unblessed. Ever since, he’d spent hours trying to prove that it couldn’t possibly be true.
Cadence mages had a special place in the Goddess’s holy court. They sang her songs, chanted her words, and vibrated in resonance with her voice. He’d never imagined something could take that away.
“How would I know about it if it wasn’t taught? I’ve not even read the book, and I know that much. Rest assured, it was read to me. The important parts.” Her voice drawled with sarcasm. She froze, a tight squint on her face.
“What’s the matter?”
She put a finger against her lips and nose as if she needed to silence herself so she could think. “I don’t remember hay fields being here the last time I was on the train. Wasn’t this all forest?”
“Why would you remember?” The vast clearing radiated with sunshine, leaving everything in varying colors of orange. Huge bales dotted the landscape. The nearest one sat twenty feet away. It would have made a good brake for their air bubble.
“Any sorceress would remember hay fields. I’m certain this used to be forest. Look.” She pointed straight ahead at the long, tall stack of cut tree trunks so far away he was surprised she could see it without her mage sight activated.
“Someone must have a helluva herd of livestock around here,” he said.
“Or someone’s planning to spin enough copper wire to string the entire length of the Mississippi.” She looked up at him. “That’s what hay is to a sorceress…and to Power United. This is like miles and miles of hell as far as the eye can see. Maybe Power United owns it.”
“No. Republic companies are forbidden from owning anything in the Wild West.” He went still, listening with his mage power. Somewhere from the west, vibes shimmered through the air. “Mage motors. Headed this way.”
Hope boiled in his chest with a dangerous burn…if this was who he thought. But Mara’s safety was at stake. “Go sit by the tracks. I’ll cast a don’t look on you. Stay put. If they take me, I vow—I promise I’ll come back for you.”
“If they take you? Who do you think is coming?” She sucked in a tight breath. “It’s the Black Skulls, isn’t it?”
He tilted his head. “They’re closer than they sound. They’re using a sound wall to keep their noise in, the better to sneak up on people.”
“Cast the don’t look on both of us,” she ordered.
“I want to meet them, Mara.” He risked the honesty. He didn’t want to play this any other way with her. “Daegan said the High Councilor stabbed their leader with the needle, too. He might know something about living like this.”
“Gregor, no. The Skulls are dangerous. You won’t learn anything from them about being wayward. I’ll teach you whatever you want to know. We have to hide.”
He grabbed her arms. “You are hiding. Go. Now.”
“I’m not leaving you! Remember? I already left you twice. I don’t get to do it again.”
And then it was too late. A dark line spread out on the horizon, focusing into dozens of vehicles.
The West was sending its welcoming committee.
13
Mara could hardly catch her breath as the motorbikes closed in. Everyone in the Wild West knew the Black Skulls took what they wanted and left the rest to rot, including people. Their rallies were infamous for blowing through western settlements and scooping up every working-age man, drafting them on the spot.
“Do you know how they initiate people?” she asked, her voice shaking with fear. He shook his head and she continued, raising her voice over the growing noise. “However they do it, it’s quick, effective, and no one gets out.”
It reminded her of Power United.
“We’ll get out.” He clipped off each word.
The line of black motorbikes closed in on them, their roars ferocious and ugly. She’d seen them in action once, a couple of years ago, when her train stopped in a small town on the way to the city of Kansas. She’d watched from the train windows, along with the other passengers, as the outlaws gathered the men and boys of the town in the middle of the road. A minute later, they rode off with them, new gang members riding shotgun on the backs of the motorbikes. Not a single man protested, though a few women had chased after them to no avail. The train didn’t stop there anymore. Nothing was left of that town but ghosts and memories.
But the Black Skulls weren’t known to inhabit this part of the Wild West on a regular basis. Perhaps the threat of the Republic kept them away, or the city had some sort of agreement with them. She shivered at the thought of what kind of deal it would take to keep the outlaws away.
The motorbikes roared, their engines so loud it had to be partly for effect. Chills rose over her skin as if the noise was created to draw out goosebumps and shivers.
The riders circled them. The men stared, sizing them up, dooming them to trouble. Goggles squatted on their heads or hung around their necks by black leather straps. Tattoos lined every arm and were scattered over the chests of those who were shirtless. Others wore black vests. Muscles bulged from their arms as if they’d all used beefcake potion. Not the safest choice, but safety probably wasn’t an outlaw’s priority.
The motorbikes varied in size and style—some with two wheels, some with three or four. Some had sidecars with passengers.
Both bikes and riders emanated a mass of tough, violent vibes.
She spun around, watching all of them. Her pack bumped Gregor as she went.
He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Easy, firefly. We’ll bluff our way through this.”
“And if that doesn’t work?” she whispered, though there was no way a normal person could hear her over the growling engines. Some of the riders revved their bikes. She jumped, panting at the sight of the cruel smiles on the drivers’ faces.
He shrugged,
staring at the outlaw who was slightly in the lead. “I’ll fight our way out. And I swear to you I’m not leaving you behind.”
She believed him. “Do you think this is going to hurt my chances at making it to the city on time?” She managed to form the question with a hint of humor.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered.
How were they going to get out of this? She had one ability—one—that could act as a weapon, not including her long spindle. She’d used it once, but she’d been a different person then.
He surveyed the land. “We’ll be in the city today. Before sundown.”
She flung a hand over her eyes to search for signs of his insanity, squinting against the bright day. Before she could ask questions, the engines silenced at the signal of the leader’s hand. The motors clicked and chimed in the sudden quiet as they cooled.
Gregor stepped forward. “Morning, gentlemen.” It was a calm, clear greeting.
The pony-tailed leader gave them a leering grin, and Mara’s heart took it as permission to race away. “You’re on private property, folks.”
Gregor tilted his head. “I didn’t realize the West had gone private.”
She might have reached for his hand but moving would draw attention to her and she was as scared as a sheep quivering under the hot breath of a wolf.
“Lots of changes coming to the Wild West.” The leader got off his motorcycle. Strands of hair, a darker blond than Gregor’s, had come loose from his ponytail and framed his face. Goggles hung around his neck and his black leather jacket was opened to reveal a plain white T-shirt. Fingerless gloves covered his hands. His face was freshly shaven and showed off the tattoo of the black skull on the side of his neck.
He strode over and surveyed them. “What are you two? A mixed couple fleeing the Republic for their messed-up lives?”
A mixed couple. He thought she was a Non-mage because of her spectacles. Mixes were illegal in the Republic.
“Been awhile since I caught a new one coming through.” He turned to his men. “What we got here is a Romeo mage and his four-eyed Juliet.” He looked at Gregor. “She’s a pretty one. You oughta fix her eyes though. They can do that over here. Maybe we’ll even help you with that. The Black Skulls are benevolent.”
His men chuckled, obnoxious and loud.
“I like my girl the way she is.” Gregor pulled her closer. “I’m afraid you’ve pegged us wrong. We’re both mages. Just letting you know. Wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression or anything.”
“She’s a mage?” The biker to Mara’s right sneered. “What’s wrong with her then?” He spat on the ground. “She’s a freak, ain’t she?”
“Paulie, shut the fuck up.” The leader yelled but never took his gaze off Gregor. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s new to us. Fresh from the Republic and we haven’t quite cured him of its taint.” He flexed his fingers in his leather gloves. “Not a day goes by that I don’t thank the damn stars I was born here instead of there.” He turned to his gang. “Paulie seems to have forgotten who we work for.”
“I ain’t forgot nothing.”
“Shut up, Paulie,” another Skull said.
Some of the men shook their heads. None of them made eye contact with the newbie.
“You wouldn’t know where we can get some transportation to the city, would you?” Gregor asked.
The leader laughed. “Well, the train was headed in that direction. But we’ll see what we can do for you.” He pointed eastward. “Come with us, and we’ll get you fixed up right nice.”
“You’re heading east. We need to go west.”
“There’s only one direction around here, and that’s the one we tell you to go in.” He put the fingertips of both hands together in a pyramid and rubbed.
Mara recognized the habitual move. It was common in sensate mages to ready their vibes. They had to touch the source of their power as well as touch the object of their spell. Perfect for finding flaws in most anything. She had one on staff to inspect her fabric and clothing.
Paulie shifted on his seat and swung his leg over his four-wheeler, his stare grinding into her. He spat again, his vibes pulsing out. His spit hit the flattened weeds with a smack and then flew up in a dirty mass—a mud spell—heading straight toward her, but it splattered in mid-air and sank like a flat, drippy pancake. It never touched her.
She gasped, her fingers tingling from the sudden rush of fear.
The men jumped off their bikes, hands to guns. Tension shot to the moon.
She didn’t need her mage sense open to know that Gregor had cast a shield spell, protecting her from the muddy mess. When was he going to figure out that he wasn’t broken?
“You going to control your man?” Gregor asked, a sharp curiosity in his tone, one that implied that if the leader didn’t control him, then Gregor would. It was the same way he’d dealt with the bounty hunter on the train.
Paulie laughed. “I couldn’t resist, man. She’s such a freak with those things on.”
The leader rubbed his fingers. Mara could imagine the energy crackling beneath the sensate’s skin, ready to shoot out. Her heart pounded.
“What’s your name?” The leader stared at her.
The first thought that jumped into her head was to give him a fake name as if concealing her identity might save her from nefariousness, but it had already found her. She took a breath. “Mara.” She imitated Gregor’s calm tone with moderate success.
“Paulie, apologize to Mara.”
“What?” the spitter snapped back, disbelief in his squinted eyes.
The sensate grabbed the leather whip at his side and tossed it out with a spell. It flashed through the air, lengthening, and smacked the man in the face with precision. The black strip recoiled as quickly as it had arrived, spinning back into its coil and returning to its master. A thick, bloody line streaked Paulie’s cheek.
She shuddered. This was how the Black Skulls lived.
“Sorry,” Paulie croaked.
The other men shook their heads. Their frowns conveyed disapproval, but she didn’t put much stock in their code of honor.
“Miss Mara, your man has a speedy touch with his spells.” The leader fastened his whip at his belt without looking. “Is he that fast on the draw everywhere?” He winked. “Bet you inspire him.” He ogled her form. This was veering into dangerous territory.
“She inspires me on many levels, Mr….” Gregor’s last word faded into a question as he stepped slightly in front of her.
“Seth Kenner.” He nodded at Mara. “You’ll ride with me, little lady. And you,” he squinted at Gregor. “You’ll be riding in Rickie’s sidecar. He’ll drive in front of me. Try anything and my whip will break your neck, right, Rickie?”
The man to his left, spiked hair spread over his skull, pulled his gun, spun it around his finger, and pointed it at Gregor. Then he holstered it with a grin. “You got it, boss.”
“Seth, do you know you’ve got visitors coming in behind you?” Gregor nodded toward the west. “They friends of yours?”
“As a matter of fact, they are.” He looked over his shoulder as a half-dozen machines came into view, each with four legs, a swishing tail, and a bobbing neck. Five of the six were headless. The mechanical horses were in two lines, and they vibed with power as they pulled a wide wagon. Its load towered high and was covered with a tarp.
The driver, seated on the bench at the front of the wagon, held up his hand. He had dark, curly hair and suntanned skin and the requisite goggles on his head.
“Hold!” he shouted. Power ricocheted through the word.
The engines of the motorized horses softened. The man jumped down from his seat. He patted each mechanical horse, working up the line to the one in front, the only one with a head. He offered it extra attention, touching his forehead to the beast.
Its wings were tucked tightly against its body, the mechanized muscles protruding in subtle ridges along its sides.
Mara met Gregor’s eyes. U
nless the Wild West had become home to a herd of flying horses, this was the Pegasus they’d spotted out the broken window of the Rarefied Library. They just hadn’t realized it was a machine running on mage power and not an animal.
The horse master glared at Seth. “Thanks for the protection, dumbass!” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder toward the wagon. “This shit is weighing down my horses. I’m straining them till they’re sick. You’re fucking with my engines with all these racing shenanigans. I can’t believe you left us.”
“Us?” Seth laughed. “You and your headless horses, Ichabod?”
“You left me stranded with no guns, no blaster mages, no nothing!” He noticed her and Gregor for the first time and jumped back. “Who the hell are these people?” He shoved on his goggles, looked left and right, jerking his head around to see out of the corners of his eyes since the goggles’ glass had a black circle in the middle. They covered the spot where a wearer’s direct line of sight was. He couldn’t see through it.
“Houston, you gotta relax.” Seth crossed his arms over his chest. “Your fucking head is going to start pouring out steam like one of your precious prototypes, and we don’t have another engine mage around to address it. You owe it to Prophet and to your horses to vibe out and cool down.” He reached out to pull the man’s goggles off.
Houston slapped him away.
Seth rolled his eyes. “You gotta trust somebody, Hous. Sometime. Someplace.” He gestured toward the two of them. “Meet Mara…and her man.” He pointed at Gregor. “He just cast a shield spell that was so fast even Prophet couldn’t top it. We’re gonna have to acquire this guy. No question about it.”
Acquire. The word sent a sick lurch through her.
Houston shoved Seth’s shoulder. “I don’t give a flying vibe what your new little friends can do. Leave ‘em and let’s roll.” He spun back to his vehicle.
“Nope. They’re coming.” He pointed at them. “Move it, new little friends.”
She could get them out of this. She had to. No matter what Gregor might think of her afterwards. Her panic must have shown on her face because he squeezed her hand.