Sorcerer's Spin

by Anise Rae

  “The last sorceress I hosted in my office was removed by uninvited Black Skull members.” The man’s words carried a hard bite. “I wove your threads today as a courtesy to Fancy, one that I will not extend again.”

  Gregor could hear Mara suck in a hard breath. “I certainly do not want to bring any danger to you or your employees—”

  “You do that simply by being here.” His whisper was sharp like he was trying to conceal their conversation. “Hence my messenger asking for your yarn last night.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Really, Miss Rand. It wasn’t difficult.” Scorn lined his voice. “Sexiest sorceress in the West? One night only?”

  Gregor could imagine her blush.

  “You figured it out yet?” Daegan’s voice bounced against his ears and blurred out Mara’s response.

  Gregor jerked around, readied his vibes, seeking the man’s location.

  “Over here, you idiot.” Daegan’s boat drifted into view on the river, far away, though his voice sounded as if he were right next to him.

  Ice formed in Gregor’s veins. His teeth chattered in the sudden winter of his fear.

  Daegan shook his head. “You’ve got to stop being scared of us.”

  “I’m not fucking scared of you!” He sent the words in a wicked sound spell that smacked against the fairy’s chest as he stood on the deck of his shitty boat.

  Daegan stumbled back. “I’m trying to help.” The fairy held out his hands.

  “By giving away my hiding place?” The nausea that rose in his gut was not helpful. Nor was it necessary. The damn fairy was a long sprint away. There was no way Daegan could catch him if Gregor didn’t let him. “Go the fuck away.”

  “I’m not giving anything away. You’re the only one who can see me. Now, the weapon. The unsung song. Have you conquered a glister’s power? Have you listened to your heart and heard the song?”

  “Listened to my heart?” He floundered for a moment, unsure what to even say to that. “What kind of man actually asks that? I can’t hear songs, asshole. Why don’t you go sing it if it’s so damn important?”

  “I can’t.” Daegan’s tone might have held regret. “I don’t know what it sounds like. But I know it exists. And I know you have all the qualifications to hear it.”

  The fairy was full of shit.

  “I also know you will never be able to protect her until you do it.” Daegan shook his head. “Your mage power is not enough to save her. It will never be enough.”

  “Mage power is all I have.” By the Goddess, he hated fairies.

  Daegan’s raft pulled away. “Try, mage. Don’t let us all fall because of your stubborn fear. By the way, you’ve got trouble coming around the corner. Don’t know how you’re going to get her out of this one.” He drifted down the river without a glance back.

  “What kind of trouble?” He wrapped the furious question in a spell and tossed it like a mageball at the man’s head. Daegan ignored it.

  A knock on the door from somewhere inside the building yanked his attention back to Mara.

  “Sir, there’s a mage here,” a woman said. The secretary, probably.

  “Send him away.” The derision in the words was thick.

  “It’s a woman. And she’s not here for you. She’s here for the sorceress.”

  Fast footsteps tapped against the floor.

  “Sage?” Mara asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’re coming for you.”

  Gregor recognized the bartender’s voice.

  He focused his mage sense—listening, sensing, ready to defend. He wished his mage power had come with vision enhancement like ghostsight mages who could see through walls.

  Energy vibed into his sense. A half-dozen mages, each with his own frequency pinging against him, were marching down the side of the building, exactly where he’d ducked through the fence. Sure enough, six…no, seven men strode into the lot. Their black leather clothes and dangerous vibes were instantly familiar though they’d left behind their signature goggles. Gregor didn’t recognize any of them.

  They strode closer, no rush, just confidence. They ignored their surroundings, their false sense of superiority blinding them to threats as if no one would dare oppose them.

  They were wrong.

  From inside the building, Sage explained. “The Black Skulls.” Panic wracked her words. “They came back to talk to Fancy. They know you’re here. They’re coming around the back.” The words were rushed, tripping over each other.

  “Did you see Gregor out front?” Mara’s voice was as focused as he was. “He needs to know.”

  He wanted to puff up his chest with pride at her calm readiness. His heart thumped at her concern for him.

  “And what about Valeska?” she continued.

  “Valeska?” Sage cried. “I have no idea where she is. And your man wasn’t out there either.”

  Behind the building, the Skulls moved into place, covering the back entrance like they were expecting a small army.

  “Get your cloth and get out,” Thompson demanded from inside the building.

  Gregor shuffled quietly to the edge of the shrubbery, casting a gentle don’t look as he went. The spell pushed away from him, crawling through the air as he made his way to the corner. His cast would tug the men’s vibes away from him, drawing their attention to the far side of the building, but it wasn’t foolproof. It was too weak for guarantees. He couldn’t risk a stronger spell. Any strong cast would attract the attention of experienced mage fighters even if it were designed to do the exact opposite.

  He broke out of the bushes and turned the corner. Out of sight, he sprinted to the front. It was a risk. If this had been his mission, he would have spotters around the entire perimeter of the building. But he’d plow through them to get to Mara.

  The street was crowded, more so than a few minutes ago. The train station sat at the end of the road, and a train had come in recently, spewing its passengers everywhere—the same train he and Mara were scheduled to leave on shortly.

  City-goers heaved luggage and travel bags up and down the street. Guns sat at most hips, a part of the Wild West uniform. Considering the number of Nons present, he didn’t dare cast another spell. He’d face a shower of bullets. He couldn’t defend against so many guns. This held every possibility of disaster.

  He would have to fight his way out with as few vibes as possible, or the Nons on this street would morph into an army of enemies.

  He made for the mill’s front door dodging one pedestrian after the other, caught in a stream of travelers heading toward the train. He fought the urge to blast them out of the way.

  One of Prophet’s men rounded the other side of the building and sprinted up the steps of the mill.

  Mara opened the door right into his arms.

  21

  A wide, evil grin greeted her. Mara stumbled to a stop along with every nerve in her body, but it was too late. Her speed thrust her straight into the man’s arms...and into his cruel anticipation and sinister joy. It wrapped around her as tightly as his muscled arms.

  “Gotcha, girl.” He laughed as if it were all so simple.

  A misplaced sense of bitterness rose in her. Just like that, she could be caught? He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Hadn’t Sage said they’d be out back? Mara’s confusion weakened her reaction, and the man moved to throw her over his shoulder. It was pure luck that she yanked in the opposite direction at the right time, throwing them both off balance. Her heavy backpack, strapped to both shoulders and full of cloth, helped her cause.

  Past her kidnapper’s shoulder, she could see the crowd on the street move in a noisy, blurry wave away from the building. None of them would help her, but where was Gregor?

  She struggled, her arms pinned to her sides. This time, the man pulled her hard into his chest and dragged her toward the street. Her spindle banged uselessly at her side.

  As she dug in the toes of her hiking boots, she punched the edge of
her fist into his thigh, but she couldn’t reach the target she really wanted. He didn’t even grunt at her efforts.

  “Take your hands off her!” Gregor. He stood at the corner of the building, gun raised.

  Shouts of fright erupted from the crowded street. Her assailant spun her around to face Gregor’s gun, but she made an awkward shield with her pack.

  He let go of her right arm, going for his own gun. She pulled the top of her spindle high enough in its sheath to freely move it. With all her might, she jammed it into the man’s shin.

  She instantly hit boot, but the force was enough to hurt. He screamed.

  Gregor was at her side before he shut up. Her would-be kidnapper fell back. His chin whipped high with Gregor’s swift punch and then he crumpled over with a knee to the groin. Two more blows and he fell to the side and didn’t get up.

  She was still staring at his prone form as Gregor yanked her away from the mill. Her lungs seemed to have shrunk in the scuffle and she panted for air.

  “We’re getting out of this, firefly, but we have to move.” He hustled her down the street. The buildings passed in a blur. “We get to the train and get the hell out of here.”

  On cue, the train whistle blew.

  They dashed down the street, pressing into the crowd. There were so many faces and bodies her mind couldn’t process them all. Each was a threat. Panic clung to her skin.

  As Gregor shoved through, people hollered at their rudeness, leaving a clear signal for their pursuers. Her pack jostled on her shoulders. Sweat didn’t get a chance to drip before the pack smashed against the forming droplets, soaking them against her shirt. Their boots pounded against the brick road. The uneven surface grabbed at her footing every chance it got.

  Gregor dashed in front of her with a single step and turned to face the buildings on her left, almost running sideways. Outlaws rounded the corner, guns in hand. Gregor’s shots rang out before they could aim.

  She bit back a scream.

  He tugged on her hand. “Keep moving. All we have to do is get to that station.”

  One job. She could focus on that. She stared at the station as if it might move if she looked away, but then another line of thugs came at them from the right.

  She reached with a shaky hand and pulled her spindle free. The potion on the end was good for three uses or so the potionness had claimed. She’d already used it once. And there were five outlaws…no, six…heading her way. She sucked in as much of a breath as their sprint and her panic would let her.

  Gregor switched sides again, protecting her with his body. “Run, Mara. Cast a don’t look and sprint to the train.”

  “Can’t! Not my type of spell! Too many Nons around to risk it anyway.” The Nons in this town would not stand for mage battles in their streets.

  But he didn’t heed her warning. He hummed low in his throat. The essence of him surrounded her as his don’t look spell locked onto her. “Go!” he ordered.

  Another hum of his vibes, louder and more forceful, and he formed a shield. He was revealing his mage power and it was going to cost him in a city dominated by Nons. She’d seen mages gunned down for less and left to rot in the streets.

  “Get to the train, Mara.” His voice spoke in her ear, the words dashing at her, as he turned to face their attackers, tossing spells at them.

  “Come with me!” she cried.

  “Soon. Now go. I’ll find you.” He shoved his vibes at her, forcing her down the street.

  A sob choked her, lodging in her throat, as she left him behind.

  Gunshots cracked out, their noise muffled and echoing at the same time.

  She looked back. Gregor was surrounded. Light flashed with a spell. It glinted off the knife in his hand. One mage fell to the ground and then another.

  He backed down the street, drawing the men off her trail. She almost called out as he vanished around the corner.

  She swallowed a cry and ran on, promptly bumping into someone. The man squinted, unable to see her thanks to the don’t look. He fled, running in the opposite direction, and she made for the train station as fast as her pack would let her. The sound of her breath mixed with the sloshing of the pack and the pounding of her footsteps. Someone was going to hear her, but she didn’t have time to be quiet.

  Three more blocks. Every building seemed to stretch longer. She dodged right, missing another unsuspecting pedestrian by a thread.

  A horse with two riders ambled straight for her. Another dodge. The animal’s musky scent blew into her nose as she took a smack to her face with its tail.

  The train station awaited, now a block and a half away. Five columns held up the front of the stone building like a row of teeth ready to consume the coming passengers.

  All of a sudden, Sage appeared from between the last of the two buildings on the block. “Mara.”

  “You can see me?” Mara skidded to a stop. It was either that or run her over.

  “Don’t trust him.” She looked right and left, her eyes wide and desperate. “Your motorcycle guy…I saw him take a check from the Power United man.”

  “What Power United man?” Mara’s voice snapped with fright…and impatience. They had more urgent matters. “There’s a mage battle heading this way. Black Skulls. Get out of here!”

  “Listen to me. You can’t trust your lover.”

  “I do trust him.” The words were automatic. “Gregor used to work for Power United. But he doesn’t anymore.”

  “Then explain the check,” Sage demanded.

  A group of leather-clad outlaws raced at them. Mara froze. By the lost girls, she was caught. Her feet were ice. “Run, Sage!” She could barely talk through her frozen lips.

  The other woman disappeared between two buildings. Mara braced herself for their hit. If the bartender could see her, then they could too. Instead, they looked right through her and sprinted on. The wind from their speed blew her hair. Gregor’s spell still held.

  She’d been given a second chance. She couldn’t waste it.

  She forced her feet to move, tiptoeing at first, as if a full stride was too bold a move and would attract the gaze of fate. But gentleness wouldn’t save her. She took a breath and ran.

  One block remained before the station. It was an abandoned lot, and she steered clear of its edge. The lot, heavily wooded with thin, tall trees, was haunted by a lost tribe of river maidens and the ghosts of the mages who’d tried to trap them two centuries ago. The legend was common knowledge in the city.

  Posts stood at each corner sporting No Trespassing signs.

  As she readied to cross the busy street to the station, a flicker of white waved along the side of the small, forbidden woods.

  She turned.

  Lacy silk gleamed in the sunshine. Its picot-point ends fluttered in a non-existent breeze. She blinked. She’d made that scarf two days ago. Had it only been two days? She stepped over and caught it, the cool silk slipping through her hands. What was this doing here?

  Footsteps shuffled behind her. Dropping the scarf, she spun around. Her pack bumped against the thin trees.

  An outlaw stood six feet away, blocking her path to the station. A Black Skull tattoo was drawn in stark lines on his neck, the same spot where Gregor bore the needle’s scars.

  Closing his eyes, he sniffed and held out his hands, scenting her out. A howl rumbled from his throat as he lifted his head.

  A wolfman.

  Her legs went weak.

  The legends about them were almost as bad as the woods that stood at her back. In all her trips west, she’d never encountered one. Suddenly, she longed for the safety of the Republic. But truly, there was no safety there either. Not for her.

  She was lost. Lost to the train and its path to freedom. Lost to Gregor and his promise to find her.

  Soon, he’d said.

  Not anymore. She felt their chance at a future slip away from her like silk threads blowing on the wind.

  The wolfman paced forward. His nostrils flared. He sna
pped his teeth in her direction. “Found you, bitch.” The words were a growl.

  She did the only thing she could.

  Pinned between a wolfman and the forbidden land, she turned and stepped into the woods.

  A thousand slim, green trees stretched out wide and long as if space expanded inside the block’s borders. It held a different world. The sun’s light danced among the sparse canopies, lending a bright yellow to the hue surrounding her. The color gave the impression of saplings in spring. It was all false. They’d been standing for over two hundred years.

  Mara pivoted to face the street. The outlaw stood on the other side of the trees. Only a few layers of thin, pale green trunks separated them. “I see you,” he taunted.

  Gregor’s don’t look had worn off.

  Baring his teeth, almost a smile, he howled again. Victory echoed in the sound. “I got her!”

  “Then grab her already!” Another man approached. He had curly red hair and a beard and mustache to match. He slowed his sprint at her imminent capture.

  The outlaw reached in with a dirty hand. She scrambled back, a desperate moan gurgling in her throat as she moved deeper into the deadly territory. The stories about this place rarely included people coming out alive.

  He followed her inside the tree line, the leer on his face encircled by long stringy hair that hadn’t seen enough shampoo potion. His teeth were yellow and sharpened to points. The wolfmen in the High Councilor’s tapestry looked much more well-kept.

  “Hey, Stephens! You find her in there?” the red-haired man called from the street, squinting like he couldn’t see them.

  As if the world whispered some signal to the forest, the leaves and branches shivered and rustled. The sound was like a thousand ghosts hushing the mournful and forlorn. Goosebumps prickled along her spine as the trees seemed to creep closer, stepping forth on legs and reaching with hands. A solid mass of green stood all around her. Like the red-haired man on the other side of the trees, she could see nothing else. She was surrounded.

  A low muffle of protest and a shout of pain sounded in front of her and then silence. With another shiver, the mass of green disappeared. The trees once again stood in their proper places. The street was just beyond, the train station on its other side. She might have imagined it all.