by Anise Rae
Their black leather vests, goggles, and tattoos were a menacing sight. They spread out across the lobby, ducking beneath tangles of electrical wires that hung from the ceiling as if someone had removed the lights and dangled fire hazards as decorations.
She had to get past these men. She had to get to that door.
“Oh, look who it is,” Seth jeered, pushing his way to the front of the men. “You beat us to the white wheel, sorceress. How was it? And where’s your boyfriend? He stole my bike. If he ain’t dead yet, he’s gonna be.” He pulled his gun and spun it on his finger.
She didn’t waste time. Some instinct whispered that bare skin was best, more surface area for her power to emanate from. She grabbed what was left of her blouse and yanked. Her bra fell to shreds as if the only thing holding it up was the integrity of her blouse, and now that it was gone, it fell in despair.
“Well, alrighty,” an outlaw hollered.
The man behind her cracked a laugh. She looked over her shoulder. He rubbed his hands together in glee. A wide smile split his lips.
By the lost girls, she couldn’t believe she was doing this. She shimmied her hips. She grabbed the rhythm of her breathing as her music and moved her body in twists and turns, coaxing her power to the fore. It stuttered forward, her vibes teasing at the men, but not enough. For minutes she held them only with lust as she spun and twirled, her mage energy too tight, too scared.
She looked over her audience. A flash of movement through the window caught her eye.
Gregor. He was racing for the building. Her heart jumped to her throat.
He was coming.
She had to do this. She had to free her vibes because Seth was here and if she lost control of him, he’d kill Gregor.
At the thought, panic stole her breath. Her steps faltered. Her power shriveled tight.
Hands grabbed her from every direction. She lost her audience…if she’d ever had them in the first place. The prickly roughness of rope twisted and squeezed around her ankles and wrists.
Someone pulled a piece of cloth over her head. At first, she thought it was a hood, but a firm yank down freed her head. She lifted her face to see the glister man who’d had the job of hypnotizing her. He was bare-chested, sacrificing his shirt to cover her nakedness though her bound arms couldn’t go through the sleeves. The glister tossed her over his shoulder and ran out with the other outlaws. The familiar tingling power of a portal feathered around her and then the bright, hot sun burned against her skin.
She breathed in the dust and cigar smoke of the outlaws’ camp.
38
Gregor stood in the doorway of the three-story brick building that had nothing to recommend it from the outside. Five Power United workers stood around the lobby, eyeing the spot where the portal had been.
“What the hell do you want?” one demanded.
“The girl.” Gregor’s words vibrated with so much power that the dust motes floating in the sunshine shook.
But he was too late. Mara was gone, along with the Skulls and fairies.
He couldn’t hold back. His power burst free into a spell of pure sound. Furious thunder poured forth, silent to his ears but knocking the men down and shattering the windows and rumbling the walls. If he’d done that thirty seconds ago, he would have knocked her down too, but at least they wouldn’t have taken her.
He’d seen her through the window. The power in her eyes, too dim to start, had faded to nothing as she’d looked at him.
He was the reason she’d stopped dancing.
He yanked the nearest man up by the front of his Power United jumpsuit. “How the hell do you open the portal?”
“I don’t know, man! I don’t know nothing about a portal. We were supposed to transport the girl in a damn van. The piece of shit’s parked out back. But those freaks just disappeared into the wall with her!” His high voice trembled but the words rang true. “They ain’t like the zapper chief either. He travels through wires. Not walls.”
“Nils Lusman zaps himself through electrical wires?” Gregor asked through clenched teeth. How was that even possible? But it explained how he’d appeared from nowhere in Fancy’s bordello. And somehow, the fucker had grabbed Mara from the forest and taken her with him.
“Yeah,” the man gasped. “Chief can do that.”
Gregor didn’t need to hear more. He tossed the man away and left, racing down the street. He needed to get to the Wild West.
Three blocks away, the forbidden forest stood in the road like an invading army, staking fresh territory inch by inch. He fought not to roar at it, to knock it down too, and send it back where it belonged. Nothing was as it was meant to be. Nothing was in its proper place. Not the forest. Not Mara. Not even him. He was supposed to be with her.
The thunder built in his throat again, clamoring for release. Thunder spells were dangerous. Just one could drain some cadence mages for days. Even he could only afford a few at a time.
Control.
Outside the forest’s edge, a small crowd of people stood, peering into the towering trees. Their conversation reached his ears with ease. Cadence mages were excellent eavesdroppers.
“Have you ever seen a forest so dark?” a woman asked.
“I think the more pertinent question is how did the forest cross into the road like this?” the man next to her replied.
Fairy power.
And his own mix of it rumbled inside him. How much of this had the High Councilor already known? Guard her quest. That was the mission she’d given him. And Mara’s? She was to find the white wheel. But not for the reasons the High Councilor had led them to believe. He hadn’t questioned any of it, too distracted by the promise of healing if he sought the truth.
As he headed into the forest, the man nearest him held out a hand. “You shouldn’t go in there. There’s some arbor mage going nuts in there. Better wait for the enforcers. They’re coming.”
The enforcers would do nothing but arrest him and send him to the internment camp. He sped past, sprinting through the trees. Silence encased the white towering oaks, a stillness that called out to be filled with the power of sound. He ignored it and charged toward the river that ran through the forbidden forest and into the city. It should have been about two miles, but the forest’s growth had lengthened that.
Daegan waited there, leaning against the railing of his crumbling ferry. The vessel was docked on the bank. He straightened when he saw Gregor. “Well?” The word was sharp.
“She’s gone. The Skulls and their fairy allies took her through a portal.” His voice heaved with rage. “Your people helped take her!”
“Yeah? So what? Luck’s balls, grow up! Some fairies are dipshits. Just like some mages are.”
“Take me to her. Make a portal. She’s in the West. Old Fort Prower.” He was almost certain.
“I can’t. The best I can do is take you to the border.” He shook his head. “I guard the river. My power is water. I’ve been trying to reach her,” he whispered, as if he suddenly didn’t have the strength to speak any louder. “Wherever she is, there is too little water. Others could do it. My sister, for one.” He dropped his head. “Mara doesn’t know. She doesn’t know she’s the king’s daughter.”
The king’s daughter. He hadn’t been sure. He’d thought that maybe Daegan was her father or Fancy her mother. “Why didn’t you tell her?” Another roar of his power built inside him. “Why isn’t the truth about waywards known? They’re not broken mages. They just have two types of power running through them.”
“So you’ve finally had a change of heart.” Daegan sneered. “What good does it do to make the truth known? With the way you witches look at us now, any child born between glister and mage would have been locked up forever or worse. We have too few children to let that happen. The king dictated that no glister who lay with a mage in the east would reveal his true nature, even if a child came of that union.”
Linc’s father had not obeyed that.
“His edict sta
nds today though Mara could overturn it if she chose. I suppose you can blame him for all of this,” the glister said.
“You’re a bunch of cowards, not protecting your own children. Mara grew up in hell.”
Daegan shook his head. “The treaty says they must be cared for. Wayward mages are free citizens of the Republic. Or at least they were until the stupid internment camps. But a glister mage? For the past two centuries, they would all have been thrown on the trash towers.”
“Your treaty is worthless. No mage knows about it. And you people hide away in holes. You left Mara to fend for herself…to fend for everyone.” And he had failed to keep her safe.
Daegan looked away for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about the glister who took your mind for three days when you were a boy. Did he have markings? A necklace?”
“A necklace?” The memory was as clear as the water of the stream where he’d found it. The tuning circle that was his good luck charm had been on a leather cord.
Gregor pulled it from his pocket and held it out. “I found it at his feet. It was in a shallow creek. That’s where he caught me. I picked it up and I held it the entire time he dissected my mind. It cut into my palm. I used it to channel power, to save my sanity.”
Daegan sucked in a breath as if he could smell the thing. “Luck above and below. That is the mark of the glister king.” Shock softened his voice. “Tuning circles, as the mages call it, are used for pulling on the gods’ power. They originated with the glister. If he was so clumsy with your mind, then he is truly weakened.”
“That was seventeen years ago.”
But Daegan didn’t seem to register his comment. “You, guard to the glister princess, are the last known person to see the king alive. The king must have seen your destiny for what it was. He never would have hurt his daughter’s guard. Not on purpose.
“The glister mages were never meant to be cast-off. They were supposed to be treasured, a gift between allies,” Daegan said. “Powerful in unique ways.”
“Did the needle give me spells that I didn’t have before? The misplace spell? Portals? Anything?” Something he could use to save her.
“You have the power of the unsung song. But you never bothered to learn it.” Daegan heaved a sigh. “I don’t know if you can port yourself there, glister mage. Maybe. Perhaps the needle lent you such powers. But she is far away and it might kill you to travel such a distance your first time. At best it will drain you completely.”
“I won’t let it.” His power rose in him like a stubborn beast.
Daegan shrugged. “Very well, then. It is a simple spell. Use that glister eye to see your destination. Let it shine. Let your power flow through the vision and it will pull your body with it. It will hurt like hell.”
Before he tried, he reached out to the webs and pinched two small sections and stuffed them in his pocket. He pictured old Fort Prower, the shadows of the building Mara had stood in as he’d unloaded spinning wheels from Houston’s cart. He let his power flow into his sight and the world around him disappeared.
39
Mara sat in a tall-backed wooden chair, her hands fastened behind her, this time with metal cuffs. She’d revealed her skill with rope and knots too soon, and the outlaws had learned from their mistakes. Her legs were bound with chains to the chair. Complete overkill.
The chair’s wicker seat pressed sharply against the backs of her legs. The short bloomers one of the sorceresses had offered her were better than being naked, but they offered little protection or modesty.
It was the least of her problems.
Her chair sat in a shadowed corner in the saloon of the Black Skulls’ hideout. The saloon’s tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls to make way for one large table in the middle of the room. A crisp white tablecloth, fine silver, and porcelain plates lined the surface, elegance among decay. The highest-ranking members of the Black Skulls sat around it, including three fairies and Seth. He’d made her life hell here as much as Prophet allowed it.
Nils and Lord and Lady Prower also sat at the table, as well as six other wealthy Republic citizens, but she didn’t recognize them. A few seemed friendly with Nils though, and she guessed they worked for Power United.
“We should wait,” Nils said. “Two more days until the Rose Moon. Let’s do this right. By the book.”
Mara dropped her gaze. She couldn’t stand to look at him. His betrayal turned her stomach. He’d used the Trail of Strings organization to send sorceresses to the west to be gathered up by Prophet. She’d tried to think back to the women she’d helped. Had she helped anyone get to the West? Nausea rolled through her at the thought.
“No. The sooner, the better.” Seth always disagreed with Nils. “We destroy the Republic’s strength now. Let’s get started on our destiny.”
The conversation went in circles. After three nights of this, she could predict exactly how it would go.
“Oh, boys. So ambitious. Both of you,” Lady Prower said. Based on the secret touches and glances that Mara had spied, Lady Prower was sleeping with both of them as well as her husband’s glister servant, who stood behind his master.
Someone needed to step up and lead, to quit tiptoeing around and decide. If she ran her mill this way, she’d be bankrupt in a month.
She’d spent the past two days spinning copper for Prophet and helping the other sorceresses reach their ridiculous quota. They’d all been forced to use Luck’s Lady’s wheel. It sat in the opposite corner from her and was the only reason she was still sane. The wheel provided her a sense of peace and a boost of energy. Who would have thought that would be the case? Mara bit her lip at the realization that Sage had known. She’d sent all those notes through some spell or power.
Still, Mara was no Goddess at the white wheel. Even she had physical limits as to how much she could spin. Her fingertips were sliced with cuts. They were cold and wet, dripping blood, but her hands were tied behind her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her corset was so tight she could barely breathe.
She was tired. If she closed her eyes and fell asleep, she could go back to dreaming of when Gregor’s eyes held wonder and lust and kindness, back when the thoughtful charm of a man who packed a picnic on a forced march west was still hers to revel in. Where was he now?
Safe. Please be safe.
The pressure of a sob in her chest caught her by surprise and suddenly she couldn’t get a breath. By the lost girls, she needed this corset off.
She closed her eyes, reaching for her power. It quivered deep inside her like a lost lamb. She coaxed it forward, trying to convince herself to relax. All she needed was a thread of vibes, but it was usually an all-or-nothing game for her. Control was not her forte.
Finally, her vibes puffed out like a stuffed toy busting its seams and exploding with cotton fluff.
She worked quickly. The bow tie of the corset strings was a simple endeavor and she had it loosened before the glister servant could whisper a word of warning to his master. He glared at her. Lady Prower caught the glance. She looked at Mara. “What are you up to now, sorceress?”
The conversation around the table died as Mara sucked in lungs full of air, making sure she got her money’s worth from that spell before it was too late.
“Fairy princess,” Prophet corrected.
She wasn’t sure how he’d figured that out.
“And I have just the thing for her.” Lady Prower stood.
Everything inside Mara recoiled, retracted, but she had no shelter, no hiding place. No way to turn her back on the taunts and jeers and pain, all of which was promised in the other woman’s eyes.
Lady Prower lifted a wreath of sticks and sauntered forward, placing it on Mara’s head. She pressed down. Mara bit back a cry as sharp thorns pierced her skin.
“A crown for our royal guest.” She laughed and turned back to the party. “Doesn’t it look nice?”
Mara locked eyes with Prophet at the far end of the table. He was chaos on a rampage
. His plan, which had seemed so impossible days ago, was on the verge of tipping half a continent into destruction all so he could claim dominion over it.
“The Republic will fight back,” she said to Prophet. “The glister will go to war to save their freedom. The Nons of the West will be swept up in the power struggle and their bullets will fly into everyone around them. Don’t do this.”
Prophet laughed and held out his arms. “Princess, it’s as good as done.” He looked around the table. “Lady and gentlemen. Enough debate. The Rose Moon is in two nights. The wheel sits in the West.” He lifted his glass of champagne in a mock toast to her. “And its mistress with it. The West is about to devour the mage’s land and if the Goddess cries, then all the better. Come on, sorceress, you have to admit that last part is satisfying. That bitch in the sky has done nothing for you or me or Willy here.” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder to where the beaten glister lay.
Willy was the one who’d pretended to hypnotize her when she and Gregor had arrived here the first time, the one who’d covered her with his shirt when she was naked.
He’d paid a high price.
Prophet raised his glass of champagne again. Its golden liquid sparkled beneath the mage lights floating above. “Here’s to healing the gaping slash down this great land and bringing it together at last. To one nation.”
His guests drank to the toast. Mara wanted to close her ears against the celebration.
“I’ve been looking forward to this day for years, gentlemen.” Lady Prower’s cold smile pulled at her lips. “I am anxious to start.”
Prophet stood and helped the woman scoot back in her chair. “Then we go.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Destiny shall wait no longer.”
40
Gregor lay on the ground behind a line of dilapidated buildings in old Fort Prower. The spot was too dry and dusty and hopeless for even the bugs. A small stand of raggedy bushes—their determination to survive was a lesson in stubbornness—hid him from discovery. This was the second time he’d hidden behind bushes to find her. It was becoming an odd habit.