Sorcerer's Spin

by Anise Rae

  Gregor straightened at the word, and a sense of possessiveness crashed through him.

  Nils fiddled with his bottle, rolling it around on his desk. “She’s a pretty girl. And on that stage at The Green House …Goddess almighty. She was something. I’ve never seen anything like that. You’re a damn lucky man to have that rolling around on you.”

  Possessiveness erupted to rage like a flame to dry kindling. It whooshed to the top of his head, painting his vision. “Nils, you don’t want to talk about that.” He spoke behind clenched teeth.

  “Right, right.” He sat back in his chair. “I guess she probably told you she was one of ours about fifteen years ago.” He shook his head. “Not ours. Theirs. I want nothing to do with it. That closet you found…there’s a door at the back of it and a tunnel that leads”—he shrugged with one shoulder—“out. I help them out when I can.”

  “You help them? As in, help them escape?” Gregor continued as Nils nodded. “Where are the sorceresses around here?”

  The other man frowned. “Haven’t you seen the spinning rooms? I assumed you’d given yourself a thorough tour.”

  “I did, and I’ve found three floors.”

  “Well, there you go. You have seen them.”

  Gregor tested the man’s vibes. Steady. Normal flow. Truth. “There are no others?”

  “Some big cavernous one with girls shackled to their wheels?” Nils asked. “Cecilia shut it down as soon as she became a VP. It was well after Mara left here.”

  He nodded. Mara had said the other woman had moved through P.U.’s ranks. “Were you here then?”

  “Nah. I was still in secondary school.”

  Gregor wanted to ask about the scroll room, but he kept his snooping to himself. “So you disapprove of the way the sorceresses are handled?”

  “Poor girls…low-powered things that are little more than Nons.” His voice vibed with scorn. “Glad it’s not me, but if I can help them get to a better place, then that’s what I do. I want to make this world better. Mara helps too, when she can. That’s what I was doing on the train.”

  Gregor kept his expression steady at the gut-churning news that Mara helped government-conscripted sorceresses escape. Goddess, his girl was brave and sneaky and risking her precious life. “Why not put a stop to it instead? Better the lives of the sorceresses?”

  He cracked a laugh. “Have you seen the men who are on our board? A senator, two heirs, and three of the richest men in the Republic. All of them own a considerable amount of stock in this company and wield clout that I can’t hold a single vibe to. They don’t want to spend their beloved profit on those weaklings. And I can’t afford to stir up controversy. I have to keep a low profile. Cecilia knows I’m up to something. I need her off my back. That’s part of the reason I hired you, army man, with your reputation beyond reproach.” He cocked his finger at him. “You make me look like an upstanding citizen to the higher-ups.”

  Nils ran his hand down his face. “I believe in helping these sorceresses live life to their true potential. But the best I can do is work within Power United’s rules. Mara and I go way back doing just that.” He smiled softly. “I had no idea she could dance like that. I’m glad she hid her eyes away though.” He winked at Gregor. “That girl needs me. I’m her inside guy.”

  28

  Mara fumbled with the lock on her front door. The key refused to turn. Though she’d locked her back door with a spell, she rarely used her front door and hadn’t bothered changing from deadbolt to vibes.

  Gregor waited at her side. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining the impatience waving off him. She’d guessed…hoped…that he’d show up tonight, but she hadn’t expected to find him waiting on her front porch. Linc had driven her home and then left after the two men had exchanged nods.

  “Linc said he has someplace to hide from the internment camp.” Mara continued jiggling the stuck lock. She’d offered Linc the chance to come with them, but he’d declined. “He didn’t say where.”

  “I’d expect no less from him.”

  “Right. Because that’s how you soldier people are?” Finally the key turned and she opened the door.

  Gregor picked up the paper bags sitting on the porch and led the way into her quiet house. With a hum of his power, he cast his own lock spell on the door.

  “Am I going to be able to undo that?” she asked.

  He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Sing this tone with me.” He hummed a note.

  “I don’t sing in front of people.” It was a hard and fast rule of hers.

  “I can’t hear it. Come on. Match the tone.” He hummed again. She sighed with displeasure and then hummed his note. His vibes sang out and the spell formed. “Now all you need to do is touch the door and hum. Any note. Doesn’t have to be that one. The spell will recognize you. No more pesky keys.” An edge lined his tone.

  “Bad day at the office, dear?” she asked, one eyebrow raised as he strode into the dining room and began to unpack the food at a brisk speed.

  “Something like that.”

  She lagged behind him. “This is a new mood. I haven’t encountered this one in our…fling.” Uncertainty tugged at her. She had no experience with this. Maybe this wasn’t a fling.

  Angry lines stretched across his forehead. “This is not a fling.”

  That answered that. But what were they? She took a breath, studying his frown. Now wasn’t the time for that conversation. “What’s the matter? I mean, other than the entries filling up our calendar of doom?”

  “I hate Nils Lusman. That’s what’s the matter.”

  There were times when she wasn’t happy with Nils either…impatient, guilt-ridden days when she wished he’d hurry up and find a way to free another sorceress. “Sometimes he can be a little hard to take.” She glanced down at the white takeout boxes. Despite the tension, her mouth watered at their spicy, rich scent. She opened a box. A huge piece of chocolate cake sat inside.

  He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Ah, hell, Mara. I messed up.”

  She waited in that bad news stillness to hear which way the scale would tip—to the easily fixable side or the someone was dead side.

  “He saw you dance.”

  For a few seconds, the words refused to make sense. It was a blissful moment, one her mind clung to for as long as it could, denying the meaning of such a simple sentence. It wasn’t nearly long enough. A cascade of hot and cold poured over her. She clutched her hands to her cheeks. No one was dead, but by the stars, she almost wished she was. “Nils was at Fancy’s?”

  “I should have cast a fog spell over his eyes…over everyone’s eyes.”

  “That’s…embarrassing.” But she could still feel the vibes of her dance playing on her skin.

  When the curtain rose, she’d known in her heart that she needed to wring every moment of pleasure from that experience for herself. It hadn’t been about the audience or Fancy but about her power, her connection to it, and her acceptance of it. It’s why she’d covered her eyes. It wasn’t about letting other people see them…or so she’d told herself at the time. Now she realized she’d been fooling herself, still partly in hiding.

  She dropped her hands from her cheeks. “No, you couldn’t have hidden me away. Fancy would have booted you to the Pacific if you’d ruined the show. And, besides, I don’t want to hide anymore.” She offered him a small smile. “Although if I still wore my specs, Prower might not have pushed for interning the wayward.” She bit her lip.

  He closed the distance between them and cupped her cheek. “This is not your fault. You can’t think that.”

  But she did. She looked away from him.

  “Nils told me how you help sorceresses escape Power United. That’s dangerous work, Mara.”

  “It’s worth the risk,” she said, as solemn as he was. She hadn’t thought to tell him that secret. And now that he knew, all she could wonder was whether or not he’d help them get sorceresses out. Some part of her mind noted
the depth of her trust and pondered at it.

  He nodded. “How does he know Fancy?”

  “I think she helps him move the sorceresses in the West. I hope she doesn’t put them in brothels.” She shrugged like she was helpless, but she wasn’t. She needed to question more. “I don’t know. Nils doesn’t like it when I ask.”

  She walked into the kitchen and pulled out two wine glasses and a bottle of red. Setting them on the dining room table, she sent a sharp stream of vibes along the foil of the wine bottle. With a needle-thin thread of power, she pushed her vibes into the cork, secured it with a knot at its bottom, and pulled. Her very own corkscrew spell.

  He nodded at the bottle. “Impressive spell, sorceress. With a stream of vibes that thin, you could slit a man’s throat.”

  “At the rate I’m going, that might come in handy.” For an unwitting moment, she tried to picture it and couldn’t. Not that she wanted to. But experience had taught her she was capable of things that were unpleasant to think about.

  “Goddess, I hope it doesn’t come in handy.”

  They sat down together. Over their dinner, she told him about her second encounter with the river maiden’s queen and how she made it out of the City of Kansas…more unpleasantness. He didn’t smile once during their dinner. Of course, her story wasn’t humorous, but there was something more there.

  Something heavy.

  She tried not to make it about her…about them. She didn’t want to be that insecure, but she’d never done this not-a-fling thing before.

  “Thank you for this.” She nodded at the empty boxes. The wine bottle had nary a drop left. “When are you going to tell me whatever still has your eyes tight? It’s not just Nils.”

  He rubbed at the telltale wrinkles. “I was trying to hide it until we were done.”

  “Well, we’re done.” The words were tighter than she wanted.

  He took a breath. “I found a file with your name on it at Power United. Yours and Stella’s.”

  He should have given her some warning instead of dropping the topic on her. Gregor watched her as she stared at the empty bottle of wine, her eyes bronze and glowing…and far away. He wanted to protect her from this, not lay it out before her. But he didn’t have a choice.

  She was silent for a long time.

  “What do you think happened to the AWOL sorceress on the train?” she finally asked.

  He knew she wasn’t changing the subject. She was working her way up to it, preparing herself. He reached out, offering his hand to her, and when she took it, he helped her up and then led her deeper into her house without an offer from his hostess. He pulled her next to him on her soft couch in her den.

  “Do you think she jumped?” Mara asked. “If she did, then she probably didn’t make it. She was so skinny and frail. I wouldn’t have made it without you.” She shivered.

  He pulled the blanket that was draped along the back corner of the couch over her and then pulled the four scrolls out of his invisible pocket.

  “Where did those come from?” she asked. To her eyes, it had to look as if he’d pulled them from thin air. He explained about the invisible pocket.

  “Could you teach me how to cast that spell?” she asked.

  He instantly frowned. “It’s not mine. It’s Lincoln’s.” He nearly growled the man’s name.

  “Oh. Would you mind if I asked him?”

  “No.” But he gritted his teeth.

  Mara laughed. “Gregor, are you jealous of Linc?”

  “No.” He couldn’t disguise the lie in such a blunt question.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek and then his lips.

  The gentle touch almost made him smile.

  “You have no reason to be. I would never kiss him.” She put her hand on his arm and studied him, but her gaze held a vulnerability that he wanted to cherish as much as soothe.

  “You like me better than him?”

  “I do.”

  “I like you better than him too.” He appreciated the oddly honest moment, but knew his tone still held a grudge.

  “Have you ever had a conversation like this before?”

  “No.” But then he’d never needed to. He’d never been with a woman whose answers to those questions would have mattered.

  She gave him a small smile and after a moment, nodded at the scrolls. “Did you steal those?”

  “I’m not sure I like this reputation I have with you as a thief, but, yes, I did.”

  “Looks like you stole a few extra.” She picked up the first. “Veronica Guyson. Know her?” She glanced over at him, and he shook his head. “Me either.” She unrolled it. He read over her shoulder.

  Guyson, Veronica

  FJ: 3.01

  Lottery year: 233

  Ticket: 19

  Born: 215/12/01

  Training: Intro – 233/6/1

  SWW: 1597 days

  Total: 0.34 tons

  Released: 237/10/15

  Deceased: 237/11/21

  Cause: Suicide

  Most of it didn’t make sense to him. But he understood the second line. FJ stood for Frederick-Johnson, the last names of the two mages who had created a scale to measure mage strength. Every mage was tested and officially categorized as a light or dark mage and their specific power named at sixteen years old.

  “Poor Veronica should have missed Power United’s cutoff based on her FJ score. A sorceress has to be 3.0 or lower to be put in the lottery,” Mara explained.

  “That’s one thing I don’t understand. How did they get away with taking you? You must have a nearly perfect FJ score.”

  “They don’t test waywards. They just assume we’re all weak.”

  “That’s not right.”

  She shrugged. “It’s the way it is.”

  He didn’t believe her easy acceptance, but they had enough problems to conquer right now. “What’s SWW?” He pointed at the initials on the scroll.

  “Standish Walking Wheel. It’s a type of spinning wheel. They’re one of the largest wheels. It’s an old method of spinning. The spinner walks back and forth next to the wheel as her thread or yarn or wire grows longer and then she stops the wheel, winds the thread on the bobbin, and starts the process over again. This particular wheel is made in Standish Territory.”

  She tapped against the bottom line. “Veronica spun less than half a ton of copper over four years on it.”

  He calculated the days that were listed. “Longer than four years. 137 days past to be exact. She killed herself a little over a month after she was released.”

  “That’s not unusual,” Mara rolled up the scroll and reached for her own. Her hands shook. She almost dropped it.

  He took it from her and unrolled it.

  Mara Rand—RELEASED

  FJ – unknown.

  Wayward.

  SWW – 27 days.

  Some parts were blacked out with a spell. He cast an erase spell toward it, humming deep in his throat, but the black ink didn’t budge.

  “Short and sweet.” Her words were clipped. “It was a long time before I could bring myself to spin on a walking wheel again.” She tossed it across the room.

  He wanted to tug her close, but she unrolled Stella’s scroll. He leaned closer to see.

  Stella Greer

  FJ: 74.3

  Lottery: 239

  Ticket #1

  Born: 223/5/6

  Orphan

  SVW – 701 days

  LSIIW – 27 days

  LLW – 13 hours, 42 min.

  Deceased. 241/5/6

  “By the stars, I knew they’d gotten her when she was sixteen, which is illegal, but Stella was far too powerful to be conscripted. 74.3. That puts her…what…in the top five percent of mages? She’s not up there anymore.”

  Top two percent, he thought. But he didn’t share. “It lists her as deceased.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was quiet. “Stella’s rescue was different from the others. Power United believed she was dead. They took her
body to the morgue. P.U. has their own.” She delivered the facts gently. “Their morgue attendant realized she was still alive. My guess is that the attendant has seen enough sorceress bodies that she joined Nils’s organization. But she came directly to me. I don’t know why. I could hardly ask her as she dropped Stella in my arms. I have no idea what happened to the poor girl there. She doesn’t remember much of her time at P.U. at all.”

  She refocused on the scroll, pointing to the abbreviations. “SVW is Standish Victorian Wheel. LSIIW is Lashford Sorceress II Wheel. The Standish Spinning Wheel Company and the Lashford Company are the two big manufacturers. The LLW is the Lashford Lourne Wheel. It’s the one you saw in my window upstairs, remember?

  “Julia Lourne was the most well-known craftswoman in the business…an enormously powerful mechanic mage. Her wheels channel incredible power. If a sorceress isn’t skilled enough, a Lourne wheel could drain her dry. If she was spinning copper on it”—she shrugged—“perhaps it could kill her.

  “Julia collaborated with Lashford on one wheel. But they only made a few. I didn’t know P.U. had one. She wouldn’t have liked that.”

  “Would she know where the white wheel is?”

  “She’s dead.” Rolling up the scroll, she stared down at it. “From how sick Stella was, I knew she had more power than a 3.0, but 74.3? That’s a lot of vibes to drain.” Her anger and dismay pulsed through her energy, pushing against him. “I need more gray repose silk. It would give her back her vibes. But I used up my supply of webs on a Rallis…like they aren’t privileged enough. And then I gave that scarf to the river maiden queen.”

  She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it and then leaned against his shoulder. A protective urge rushed forth. He took the scroll and laid it on the table, bringing her into his arms.

  The energy between them changed with the simple movement, sparking something unexpected. She looked up at him and stroked the side of his whiskered cheek. That was all the encouragement he needed.

  “Come on, firefly.” Bending to put an arm around her legs, he scooped her up and strode through her living room and upstairs, following her residual vibes to her bedroom. He lay down with her on her bed, face to face. Her eyes glowed with everything he wanted—heart, home, and a heady sense of lust powerful enough to make him dizzy.