Sorcerer's Spin

by Anise Rae

  The vixen crone shrugged. “He had a job to do. He’s loyal to his country, and so he did it. Besides, he got to screw the girl, didn’t he?”

  Fancy smiled, and the High Councilor smiled back. It reminded Mara of an image spell she once saw of two sharks circling each other.

  Fancy held out the scissors again. “They were a gift to the Goddess, you know. And they are in your hands now.”

  “A gift from a philandering sicko wanna-be-god.” She pinched one of the handles with the tips of her fingers, touching them as little as possible.

  Fancy dusted off her hands and gave a relieved sigh. “The Republic now has the needle and the scissors. That only leaves the wheel. If you’re not smart enough to find that one on your own and keep your borders standing, then that’s on you.”

  “What would your brother say about that?” She stuck the scissors in her pocket. The white handles poked out, an uncomfortable accessory for the outfit.

  “My brother has been missing for thirty years. I can’t remember anything he said.”

  “I miss him. He was a worthy opponent.”

  Fancy shrugged. “Perhaps he still is. Who can say? Considering the prophecies, he’d want the relics in the Republic. No glister wants citizen mages in their land.”

  “Apparently there’s one citizen mage you like having in your land. About her, that sorceress, did you know she gets notes with prophecies written on them?”

  Mara stiffened. Why did the High Councilor want them to see this?

  “Notes? Like in the mail?” Fancy asked with a whisper of uncertainty.

  “Exactly so.” The High Councilor tilted her head. “Someone’s scribbling bad poems and shooting them through her mail slot.” The young woman stepped closer, something threatening about her posture. “You wouldn’t happen to know an oracle mage spouting prophecies about the end of the world?”

  Fancy stepped back.

  “I thought you were going to keep her quiet. I’ve foreseen what happens if there are two high-powered oracles in the Republic during my rule and it ain’t pretty.”

  Fancy rolled her eyes. “She’s not in the Republic.”

  The High Councilor reached out and trailed her fingertips over Fancy’s high, deep cleavage. “I can’t believe I had to let her live.”

  “Had to?” Fancy gave a bitter laugh. “You don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

  “Then you know nothing of ruling,” the young High Councilor snapped softly. “How did you meet my wayward sorceress?”

  “Yours? Oh, she’s not yours. Never mistake her for yours.” Fancy strode over to a large, wooden armoire and opened the doors. Crops and whips lined the interior. She pulled one out and tested it in her hand. “I met Mara during the seventh dark moon of the 274th year of the king’s reign.”

  “Pfft. Gray time.” She paced over to Fancy, slipped the crop from her hand, and snapped it in two. Tossing it to the floor, she skipped over to the huge bed and jumped on it, bouncing high and then landing, seated, against the fluffy pillows.

  “Glister,” Fancy corrected, her tone full of warning. “Years ago, Mara’s hotel in the city of Kansas caught fire. She was standing in the middle of the street in a crowd, staring up at the inferno. I met her by chance, of course. It was the middle of the night.” She shrugged. “She needed a bed. I had one.”

  “Your bed.” The words were flat.

  “By Luck’s ass, no. You’re the only mage girl I’ve ever fucked.” She lifted a bottle of champagne out of an ice bucket standing next to the couch. She filled the two glasses sitting on the low coffee table and strutted over to the bed. The High Councilor took it and sniffed, cautious.

  Fancy dipped her finger in hers and sucked it dry. “Besides, Glow Eyes is in bed with the deaf monk now. Isn’t it all going the way you planned?”

  The High Councilor laughed, high and pretty. “I wish.” She gestured with her glass. “How does it go again? Glow Eyes spins webs as Luck commands, abandoned to the dance…blah, blah blah. The relics await her touch. Their fate….” She was fishing for information as if the other woman might spill out the rest of the prophecy.

  The vixen crone cocked her head, her eyes high, a picture of innocence so ripe it was spoiled. “Hmm. No matter. She’s not spinning webs at the moment, you know. She’s run into a bit of a supply issue with the raw material. Banned.” She shrugged like these things happened.

  “What a shame,” Fancy retorted, drawing out the words. The madame leaned over the bed and stroked her hand over the High Councilor’s thigh. “White is such a pretty color on you. So pure. So sweet. And these jeans…perfection encasing perfection. You sent Mara across the continent like a Manifester on a pilgrimage to make them so you could look pretty for me.”

  The High Councilor leaned in. She sniffed. “You smell like smoke.”

  “I’m aflame for you.” Fancy sealed her lips to the other woman’s. It was a gentle kiss.

  “What have you done?” the High Councilor demanded softly when Fancy pulled away.

  “I’ve given my favorite sorceress what her heart most desires. That’s what I’ve done. Now, you, on the other hand…you’re allowing your Senate to break the rules. Your land shall pay a steep price if this internment is enacted.”

  The High Councilor frowned. “The Senate is full of fools.”

  “They think to put roadblocks on Mara’s destiny. I shall burn them away.”

  The young High Councilor gave her a slow blink and got up on her knees, tugging at the ties that held together Fancy’s leather corset. “You started a fire.”

  “It’s what I do.” Fancy’s tone was heavy and sensual.

  The young woman tilted her head, studying her lover. “This time your fire might burn your favorite sorceress to a crisp.” She loosened the corset’s laces.

  Mara looked away before Fancy’s breasts spilled out, but it was a close thing. From the corner of her eye, she saw the tapestry lose its transparency spell. Fibers and threads dangled in front of their noses instead of the bedroom scene. Thank the stars for modesty. She had no desire to see anything more.

  “Show’s over.” Gregor tugged her out and they retraced their steps, through the corridors, the exquisite rooms, and down the stairs.

  She still hadn’t gotten paid.

  Mara stood at the entrance of the capital city’s portal waiting to cross back into Rallis Territory. They were fleeing westward the moment they returned. They’d reach Daegan’s ferry before nightfall. Or at least, that had been the plan. She was about to change it.

  Linc gestured for her to enter the portal.

  Like the one that stood in Rallis Territory, the portal in the Republic’s capital was in the base of a tall bronze statue. In her home city, it was a statue of Christopher Columbus. Here it was a statue of the first High Councilor, his lips in a firm line, hiding his wooden teeth, his proud nose arching gracefully above it. Mara had always thought he had an arresting face.

  She stepped in, Gregor behind her. The stone walls were rough and cave-like, glowing with a soft light. The door to Rallis Territory awaited a dozen strides ahead. Some trick of the portal made the inside of the statue longer than the outside.

  A shatter of power flickered around her. She paused. That had never happened before.

  The light faded, darkness falling like a smothering cloth. Her heart pounded. “Gregor?” she tested. She couldn’t see a thing. A hard push at her back sent her crashing into the wall. She cried out.

  “Don’t hurt her,” someone hissed, a man, behind her. An impossibility since the wall was right there…and then it wasn’t. She nearly fell into the newly empty space. She spun away, too hard, and fell to the floor. Power flooded around her. It was another portal.

  “Mara!” Gregor shouted.

  “Get ‘er guards!” the man ordered.

  “She wasn’t supposed to have fucking guards!” Another mumble of words sounded, but she couldn’t make them out.

  Someone grabbed underneath
her arms and yanked her back. Her head jerked, straining her neck. She dug her heels into the ground. “Gregor!” she screamed. The sound bounced. A punch, a thud against the wall…she couldn’t see anything.

  She reached high behind her, the only way left to her with the strong man’s arms under hers. She yanked at his hair, threw an elbow into his ear.

  It all happened so fast. There was no time to make sense of it. No time to do anything but flail with everything she had.

  His hand struck her in the face and she cried out, gripping his hair harder.

  “Shit! Outta here! Retreat!” The man yanked away, her hand tearing something from his head.

  The door at the other end of the portal opened. Light flooded in. Gregor scooped her up and sprinted. The jostle addled what was left of her mind.

  And then they were in the middle of the sidewalk in Columbus. Linc slammed the portal door shut.

  As sunshine flooded around them, she stared at the black goggles in her hand.

  31

  Clutching Mara, Gregor paced as fast as he could without running across the wide expanse of concrete that spread out before the statue. Running would have drawn too much attention, even considering the powerful don’t look spell that surrounded the portal. Linc was just in front of him, navigating their way through the downtown streets and sidewalks. They were crowded. The sounds of a festival near the river filled the air.

  “Put me down,” Mara whispered.

  “No. Don’t.” Linc’s voice was clipped. “You’ll slow us down.” The car was a block away.

  She wiggled. “I want to walk. This is ridiculous.”

  Gregor let her go, even knowing Linc was right. She’d been tossed around in the damn portal and her mage energy was clamped down tight. She wouldn’t be able to see. He kept his hand around her elbow.

  She held up the goggles.

  Goddess above, they’d nearly had her. His fingers itched to clutch her to his chest and never let go.

  “It was the Black Skulls,” she whispered, squinting up at him. Her glow was gone, and her pace was too slow by far.

  He nodded. “One outlaw. Two glister.” He pulled her down the sidewalk.

  She shook her head. “All sent for me? That’s a lot of work for one spinner. Guess that’s what I get for bragging to him that I’m the finest. Remind me to be humble.” Her words were breathy.

  He scanned their surroundings with his vibes but refocused on Mara when she stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. “Do you have your specs?” he whispered.

  “They’re in the Mississippi.”

  He nodded, taking that in stride. “You need to unwind your power so you can see.”

  Their speed slowed to a crawl as she sought her vibes. Linc alternated between glaring at the portal, alert for the enemy to emerge, and rolling his eyes at Gregor appeasing Mara. It took her over a minute to unwind her vibes, as if she struggled to find them. Finally, her vibes puffed around her. Her eyes glowed.

  “Nicely done,” he said. Someday they’d work on her mage sense’s reaction time. He was certain she could improve despite SWWM’s teachings. After all, Linc had managed to overcome their strict instruction to tuck away his power. The man wouldn’t be chief of the High Councilor’s security if he hadn’t.

  He pulled her faster toward her car, Linc taking point again as they made their way through the meandering crowd here for the simple pleasure of having fun. How many of them were wayward? How many would be locked up when the decree came down?

  “Gregor,” she whispered, “when my hotel burned down in the city of Kansas, the night that I met Fancy, do you think…is it too farfetched that she started it?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

  “That’s quite an undertaking for a mere introduction.” Her voice wobbled. “She told the High Councilor she set a fire. I think I know where she set it. The forbidden forest. The gray repose spiders build their webs on glister land. Nowhere else.”

  Gregor frowned. “The forest belongs to the Republic.” They stepped off the curb and crossed the street to her car.

  “No. Daegan told me once. The forbidden forests are glister land. I need to go there. Now. If there are webs, I want them.”

  “We don’t have time for that. We’re leaving here, remember? Internment?” Linc said, opening the car’s back door for Mara. Gregor slid in beside her.

  “I need them to heal Stella. I’m not going to miss another opportunity to help her. She’s lost so much.”

  Linc got behind the wheel. Mara leaned forward on the seat toward him. “Linc, you’ve seen her for yourself. I will not turn my back on this.”

  “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.

  Gregor agreed, but he was too smart to argue. He laid his hand flat on the middle seat and she put hers in his. Simply touching her eased him.

  “How did the Black Skulls know I would be in the portal? It couldn’t have been Fancy. If she set the forbidden forest on fire, then she wants me to go there.”

  Linc glanced in the mirror at her as he guided the car into the street. “Every woman in the receiving room knew you were delivering the jeans on….”

  “On Saturday,” Mara finished for him. “It’s Friday. The delivery was moved up because of the impending internment.”

  “Sponsored by Prower,” Gregor added. He replayed the scene in his mind, flipping through the words that had been spoken by all of the ladies-in-waiting. “His wife was the one who talked about her trips to the Wild West. Maybe Lady Prower knows Prophet.”

  “That should be the most baffling sentence any mage has ever spoken,” Linc drawled.

  Gregor remembered the motorcycle ride into the Black Skulls’ hideout. “Prophet is holed up in old Fort Prower.”

  “From a hundred years ago?” Linc asked. “Isn’t that a coincidence. Shit. How badly do you need those webs, Mara? I say we just go straight into hiding. Now. Prower is a damn powerful bastard.”

  “I have a chance to help Stella and I’m taking it.” Her voice was firm. There’d be no talking her out of this.

  He might not have lost his vibes, but he’d lost his songs. And he would do anything to change that.

  She looked up at him. “You understand,” she said softly. “I’m not turning my back on this. I’m getting those webs.”

  Mara sent a spin of vibes at her high heels, spreading a spell along their soles so they wouldn’t sink in the dirt or get caught in the brush. With her vibes waving around her, she walked into the forest, Gregor a pace ahead of her.

  She’d never been in here before. Thick silence swirled around her and the ancient beauty took her breath, her mage power seeing the forest for what it really was...a land of white glister oak.

  “By the Goddess,” Gregor gasped. “The trees look different. They’re white. How did they change? They never looked like this before.”

  “You can see it, too?” she asked. “This is what the forest looked like in the City of Kansas.” She’d told him about it over their take-out dinner. “Is it a wayward thing then?”

  “They’re not white. They’re green,” Linc corrected, his voice hard, his eyes squinted in confusion.

  “Look with your mage sense,” Gregor said.

  The other man gasped. “How did that happen?”

  She looked up at the white canopies, so regal and untouchable…untainted.

  “Waywards resonate with a glister’s power,” Gregor said.

  “What? How do you know that?” She sure as starry vibes hadn’t, and she’d been wayward all her life, not mere weeks or months.

  “I just figured it out.” He bit off the words and reached for her hand. “Let’s get what we came for and get out of here.” He guided her deeper into the forest, the land swallowing them up and claiming them as its own, tempting her to forget what waited outside. And then he stopped.

  “Shit,” Linc hissed. He scrambled back a step.

  “They know we’re here.” Gregor’s voice was tight and low.<
br />
  “Six of them. Two are off the charts. The others….”

  “Sentries,” Gregor finished.

  She looked around the white trees and saw no one. “Where?” Her hand shook inside Gregor’s.

  “By order of Lord Rallis, come forward and show yourselves!” The order popped around them with an ear-blasting roar.

  “Great,” Linc muttered.

  Mara let the remorse wash over her and then packed it away for later. She should have insisted she walk in here alone. She’d just gotten them all in trouble. She straightened her shoulders as Gregor guided her around a maze of trees. Lincoln stayed at her back. Both men’s vibes circled around her.

  Fancy had indeed set a fire. The damage spread out before them. It had consumed a small section of trees—about the size of her front parlor—down to the ground.

  Smoke still lingered in the air like steam from a cauldron bubbling with a potent brew. From the odor, the forest ought to have been black and craggily with burned tree trunks. Instead, it was covered with spider silk so thick it might have been long strands of snow instead of strings of webs.

  Lord Edmund Rallis, heir to the territory, and his wife, Lady Aurora, were across the wide pool of white. Her face was pale, her eyes watery. He looked as hard as stone. They sat on tree trunks cut to the size of stools. Four Rallis sentries stood around them wearing gray uniforms with scarlet sashes.

  “Four sentries. And one fairy.” Linc’s whisper was just loud enough for Mara to hear.

  Daegan sat alone at the top end of the pool of white webs. He stared at her. “Lord Rallis has no authority here. You didn’t have to show yourselves, but I am glad you joined us.”

  She glanced around again, uncertain what to make of this. It looked like they were interrupting a meeting.

  “You were expecting us,” Gregor said, his hand on her elbow as he drew her closer. Two more logs, at seat height, stood empty directly in front of them.