by Anise Rae
“Somewhere in the Drainpipe. But no one goes to that neighborhood. Who would? It’s mostly dark mages there, and nobody likes the dark. I can’t believe you had to work with a necromancer yesterday.” Allison shivered and then waved a hand in the air. “The metallist is somewhere on the other side of the Scioto. Dell might know. The gardener. He knows everything.”
Bronte hustled back upstairs, picking up Gregor along the way, thankful he’d taken over from Dane. He stayed outside her designated bedroom as she tossed on the dress and boots she’d worn the night before, not bothering to look around for any new clothes, though she suspected her fairy clothes-mother had poofed in.
She dashed out of the room and back down the stairs without a word to Gregor.
“Big plans, senator?” Gregor asked as he slid in front of her.
“Yes.” She paused at the bottom of the staircase. “Which way is the front door?”
“You leaving?” Surprise and caution pulled his voice higher.
Bronte chose to go straight ahead. It dead-ended into a hallway with three doors. Backtracking, she tried the left and strode past a portrait of a Rallis ancestor in a military uniform so decorated he must have been commander of the entire army.
“Because we should go over the ground rules if you’re starting to feel adventurous.” Gregor marched along beside her with as determined a pace as hers. “Number one, you’re not leaving. Number two, don’t go within sight of the gates. Number three, don’t go anywhere on the estate without either Dane or I.”
Success this time. The gleam of the foyer appeared ahead. She rushed down the hallway to the open space. Gregor sprinted around her.
“Number four, Dane or I go in front of you. All this would be much simpler at the colonel’s house.”
“Then you should have voiced your opinion last night.” She stepped close to his heels all the way out the front door and down the broad stone stairs. As she circled the entire house, her brisk stride kept her warm in the cool fall air, despite her lack of coat. She walked around twice before she found her target.
“Dell.” She moved one step in front of Gregor.
The gardener looked up from stacking branches into a vertical bundle. The sticks all stood on their ends. He smiled, and with a wink of his eye, the sticks fanned into the air to create an arch. It was quite a trick, though it hurt her ears. She wondered if he pulled extra energy through the tuning spirals tattooed on his temples for such a fancy maneuver.
Dell stepped beneath his arch and bowed low. “Senator Casteel.” The dark-haired man was much taller and well-muscled than she remembered. He straightened from his bow as if he were standing at attention.
She turned to Gregor, who eyed the gardener as if he were a danger.
Dell eyed him back.
“Gregor, would you mind standing over there?” She pointed at the corner of the house in front of her. “Conforming with rule number three, you will be in front of me.”
Gregor squinted at Dell for a long moment. He complied with her wishes, but he walked backward to the corner. Dell never broke eye contact until Gregor stopped moving. Even then, the gardener shifted so that his back was not to her guard.
“I hear you know everything,” Bronte stated softly.
He lifted his eyebrow, a look of cautious amusement falling over him. “To which ‘everything’ do you refer?”
“The everything that includes where the junkyard is.” At his look of confusion, she continued, “My car was taken there by mistake. I would like it back.”
“I can make sure it is returned to you, senator.” He made the offer with a half-bow.
“No, thank you. I would like to search it out myself.” She realized she had no paper or pen. “I’ll be right back. Will you be here? I forgot something to write it down with.”
Dell lifted a hand toward a pocket.
“Hey!” Gregor shouted.
Bronte jumped, startled at his furious voice.
“No hands, gardener.”
“Of course.” Dell held both hands up as if he were harmless. “Just getting a piece of paper and pencil out of my pocket, if that meets with your approval.” He reached in slowly and calmly, as if he dealt with guards on a regular basis. He turned to Bronte. “I knew I would need these today. I just didn’t know why.” A simple map took shape on the paper as he narrated. “This road goes all the way into the city and eventually runs parallel to the Scioto River. Three left turns and you’re there. It’s on Whittier. Do you want me to call them so they save your car and don’t crush it?”
Bronte looked away. “Sure. Thank you.” That was a logical action if she were really going to save her car. “Would that be the metallist that you would call?”
He nodded. “He does the crushing.”
“That would be wonderful.” She smiled. “By the way, thank you for the leaf.” She took one step toward Gregor and stopped. “Do you happen to know my sis…Selene Glender?”
Dell paused. “I spoke to Miss Glender last night as she was leaving. She is a solemn lady.” He drew himself up straight again, shoulders back. Power radiated from his frame. “Senator, if there is anything else I can do for you, anything, you need only call out to me. I will hear you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and tucked the paper in the tiny pocket on the outside of her boot. She’d had no idea what one would put in a boot pocket, never having seen one until this pair, but now she knew—covert directions to secret places where one would undertake daring action to solve deadly problems. “Actually, there is one thing.” She lowered her voice as much as possible but still have him hear. “Do you have a vehicle on the estate?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Of course, senator.”
“Would you pick me up at the road in front of the gyre at five minutes to three-quarters morning?” She said the words slowly as she calculated in her head. “That would be nine fifty-five standard Non time?”
“Ten twenty-five.” The corrected time rolled off his tongue easily. “And yes, I can pick you up and take you…”
“To the front of the big house.”
He opened his mouth as if surprised. “Is this a dangerous idea, senator?”
“Are you a dangerous driver?”
He shook his head.
“Then, no. Lady Rallis has ordered a new car for me. I want to see it the moment it arrives.”
He crooked an eyebrow.
“Um, that is, so I can make sure I still want my old car instead.” She donned her most convincing smile and prayed he couldn’t sense her lie.
“I’ll have you there by the time the gates open.”
* * * *
Her plan hinged on a half-dozen factors. Almost all of them were beyond her control. If this idea failed as badly as the butter, then she’d figure out something else. For now, Bronte focused on her current strategy. She wandered the stones of the gyre as if it were a labyrinth, and she was deep within a meditation, though a trickle of nervous sweat ran down her back. This was the only place where she had a chance of shaking off her guards.
Dane and Gregor stood guard at opposite points around the circular space. Gregor rubbed his forehead, pain written in his expression. She felt a little guilty about that.
Standing at the edge, the men followed her with their gazes, but there were two places where she was hidden from both. She’d make her exit at the blind spot closest to the road and run to meet Dell.
She peeked down at the hourglass she’d stolen from the kitchen’s smallest stove. It measured one hour. She’d started the countdown at nine twenty. The last few grains slipped through. Though it wasn’t as accurate as a watch, it was the best she had. She had five minutes to run through the forest to the road where Dell would be waiting. Hustling to the spot where neither man could see her, she broke into a sprint and fled straight to the road as fast as she could. Her legs burned, but she pushed on as if powerful senators were flinging life-threatening spells at her back. Dashing around a huge tree, she leape
d over a fallen branch just in time to keep from tripping over it. Her breath was so loud in her ears she could not hear Dane and Gregor behind her, but if they weren’t in pursuit already, they would be soon.
The woods went on and on, longer than ever before. Every tree looked the same. How did people ever find their way around in the woods? The best she could do was run in the straightest line possible. She thought she heard a shout behind her. She ran faster. Her legs were on the verge of tripping over themselves. Finally, the break in the trees glimmered just ahead. She shot through it.
Dell waited on a vehicle with four wheels and a bench seat.
“Hi,” she huffed and ran around to the other side.
He sped off the moment she sat down. “I’m going to get fired for this, you know.”
“Oh, no!” she panted. Worry tightened her face. Everything else was already tight from muscle strain and stress. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I don’t want that. I shouldn’t have involved you in this.”
“It’s alright. I’m not needed here anymore,” Dell shouted over the sound of the wind blowing past them. “But I’ll see this through.” He looked at her as he floored the pedal. “Your people need you, senator. We’ll get you out. I can drive you right up to the gates. You can slip out when your new car arrives. William Ansel, the Casteel sentry, is on the other side of the gate. He’s a friend. You can trust him.”
“What? Who are you?” Had she just climbed into a vehicle with an enemy? Vincent’s warning about Double-Wide being on the estate whispered through her mind. She glanced down at the ground. It whipped by in a blur, too quickly to jump out, not that she had any idea how to go about such a stunt.
“I’m just the gardener.” He looked at her, briefly taking his eyes from the bumpy road. The set of his grim lips was somber and determined.
“Take me to the front. Not the gates.” She used her closest imitation of a senator’s commanding voice.
It must have worked. He responded with a, “Yes, ma’am.” They took the circle around the front of the house with such speed she had to hang on to the seat or risk being thrown off. She stopped him. “Here. This is good.” She could just make out the tall, black gates far down the drive. They glided open, and a sleek, white car turned in with an older sedan right behind. The two cars passed under the stately gatehouse.
She looked at the gardener. “Thank you. You should go now. Maybe they didn’t see you.” Though truth was, she didn’t care much about the security of his employment. A friend of the Casteels was no friend of the Rallises. But whoever he was, she needed him gone to carry out the rest of her plan without interference. As he obeyed, she dashed behind the first tree lining the driveway to hide from whichever Rallis servant would greet the delivery service. A horrible thought occurred to her that they would deliver the car to the back of the house.
But luck was with her. The two cars pulled up to the circle in front of the big house and stopped. Bronte snuck out of the trees and climbed into the back seat of the older car, the one that would take the other driver back.
The driver wrenched around. His eyes widened at the sight of her crouched in his backseat.
“Hello.” She waved to him. The medallion twinkled on her right arm. “I’m Senator Casteel.” She sunk down below the car’s windows.
“Uh, uh, Sss…senator.” Beads of sweat popped up around the bald spot on the front of his head. He bowed—a seated, twisted version.
“Thank you so much for delivering the new car.” Bronte tried to sound pleasant and calm instead of breathless with stress. She pushed her wind blown hair into order as she spoke. “What’s your name?”
“Frank Ritzman, Lady.”
“Mr. Ritzman, you are to be commended for your promptness. Excellent service. Since you and the other driver are leaving, would you mind taking me with you and dropping me off around the Scioto River? I have a map.” She twisted around to get the slip of paper out of her boot’s pocket.
“Uh, of course, Lady. Senator.” His eyes hadn’t yet shrunk to normal size. Bronte watched as Jasper came down the steps and took the keys from the driver of her new car. The gray-haired deliveryman nodded to the butler, walked toward Mr. Ritzman’s car and climbed into the passenger seat in front of her. He, too, acquired wide eyes at the sight of her crouched down in the backseat.
“Uh,” the driver began, “we’re going to take Senator Casteel to the Scioto River somewhere.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Bronte kept her voice calm and poised despite her awkward crouch below the windows. “I’ll give you the specifics as soon as we get on the other side of the gates. Quickly now. Let’s keep up your record of promptness.” Bronte peeked out the back windshield as they pulled down the drive. Dell stood with his hands cupped around his mouth, his stare intent on the gate. He wasn’t yelling. No, he was too still to be forcing much air through his vocal cords. He was throwing his voice to someone. She could guess his target—the Casteel sentry on the other side of the gates.
Just then Dane and Gregor sprinted around the house and jumped over a row of hedges in their way. Dell’s hands dropped immediately as they came over the hedge. He spun around to face them. Guilt heated through her. Vincent would be furious. But what choice was there? No one here would help her get rid of this thing.
The driver turned out of the driveway. The tall, black gates closed behind. She sat up and took a breath. Her hands were shaking, but she was free. She needed her luck to continue so this medallion would let her free as well.
In lieu of polite conversation, Bronte sent up a steady stream of prayers as the car passed through the countryside. A mix of small farms and woods dotted the land until they entered the city. Block after block of shops and offices lined the streets, city mages at work. The atmosphere deteriorated with a surprising abruptness as they crossed a bridge. The river ran beside them and then disappeared into a thick forest too dense for human eyes to penetrate.
Bronte sat up straighter even as she shivered. “Turn here.” They were close.
“This is the Drainpipe. We can’t take a lady here.” The gray-haired deliveryman whispered the words to the driver with an alarmed glance at Bronte. She caught sight of the driver’s wide eyes in the rearview mirror. He hissed something back to the other man, too soft for her to hear.
Mr. Ritzman decelerated as they approached an old dingy shop on the right. Beyond, stacks of crumpled metal were compacted into rows and rows of towering walls, a looming labyrinth she never wanted to roam.
The driver cleared his throat. “Uh, Lady Senator, ma’am. Are you sure this where you want to go?”
“Yes, Mr. Ritzman. I am.” She needed to project confidence. It was up to her to get the medallion off.
“No offense, senator, but it looks a little rough. See those mages there? I think they’re about to fight.” He pointed toward the building. In front of it, a group of men crept closer together, aggression written in every stance.
They drove by.
“I do believe you are correct, Mr. Ritzman. But this is the place. I need the metallist’s office. Or shop. Or whatever it’s called.”
Mr. Ritzman looked around. “That must be it—that shack—back where those men are.” His words fell slowly.
“Then back we go.” She studied the building behind them. The second half of this plan looked a bit more dangerous than the first. Vincent would throw a fit.
The driver stuck out his chin with a harsh swallow. “Yes, ma’am.” He spun the car around in the middle of the road. The vehicle behind them screeched to a halt. The driver stared at her through the window. The gray of his uniform was visible through the glass. She hadn’t factored the Casteel sentry in her plan.
“You can drop me off in front. Quickly. I’ll hop out and you can be on your way. Thank you, gentlemen. I do appreciate it. Casteel is in your debt.” The car slid into the parking lot. Mr. Ritzman pulled the car so close to the metallist’s office he only left her a few feet to open the car door. Sh
e climbed out among broken bits of concrete sidewalk and slipped inside the dingy building.
The interior was a smaller scale of the junkyard outside. Metal hunks of various sizes sat on shelves and tables and spilled onto the floor. Larger slabs of metal engines and tools swayed in the air, hanging from chains and hooks screwed into the ceiling, like a butcher shop with metal carcasses instead of meaty ones. Oil scented the air, heavy and sticky against her nose.
A crash echoed from deep within the building. The noise morphed into a groan, as if the metallist altered the very essence of the metal he was working. The spell crept toward her. Her ears ached. She fingered the medallion as the sound filled the building without end, wringing out the suffering of the material. She wanted to plea for it to stop, but there was no one to ask. She put her hands over her ears. Goose bumps rose along her skin.
She should leave. This was a mistake. The thought pounded in her head so hard she nodded with it. But her life depended on this. The medallion had to come off.
She took a breath and bravely stepped along the single path that trailed through the crowded room and led into the next. She needed to talk to the metallist before the Casteel sentry walked in, although for all she knew, maybe he didn’t find her a suitable senator. Maybe he wanted her to remove the medallion.
The miserable sound stopped before her slow pace brought her halfway along the path. In the doorway to the next room, a man wobbled out, big and lopsided. By the light of the dirty windows, she could see he had one blue eye and one made of solid, shiny metal. She bit back her gasp. If his metal eye allowed him to see, it violated the Law of Natural Physique. Even Nons knew it was forbidden to use mage power to augment or replace body parts. His teeth were capped and shined just as bright as his eye, but each tooth was too small, as if they’d been shrunk before being coated with silver. His nose was bumpy with scar tissue.
She took a step back and ran into a sharp, heavy metal slab on the floor. He looked her up and down, taking in her dress and her form beneath. She shivered.
“Good day to you, sir.” Her voice wavered. She took a breath to flatten it out. “I am in need of some metal work. I have a bracelet wrapped around my wrist. It’s spelled shut. I was wondering if you could remove it?”