Enchanter's Echo

by Anise Rae

  As she watched, the leaves began to shake on their branches like Claude’s angry fist. The gardener mage smiled at her beneath the fiery canopy’s shimmy. He was putting on a show. Though it was a distraction from Vincent’s invisible presence, she couldn’t afford to encourage any mage’s attention. She didn’t smile back. Instead she looked away, curled her fingers around the car key, and slipped it out of the Volvo’s ignition.

  She reached for the straw cloche hat resting on the passenger seat and placed it just so for its short ride to the entrance of the house. Her thin cardigan was next. Her brooch acted as a pretty version of the required letter N for Non. A constant reminder of her status, it pulled heavily on the knitted fabric. She buttoned the pink sweater to support it. Respectably attired, she stepped out of the car.

  The unusual September heat tried to force her back in. She would have preferred to comply, but her orders were not optional. She reached under her hat to check that her low chignon was still neat and then dropped her keys into her secondhand leather purse.

  Coiffed and composed. That was her life’s formula, her self-defense.

  She pulled the black violin case from the backseat. Subjecting it to the scorching temperature of a closed-up car was unthinkable. She never traveled without it. The instrument was an extension of herself. It would brave the Rallises with her.

  The car door gave an impolite groan as she pushed it closed. With the violin in one hand and her purse tucked under her arm, she set a fast pace to the grand entrance, making up for lost time in the car. Her low heels scuffed against the pebbles of the drive.

  She didn’t get far, halting as movement to her left drew her gaze. She looked up from under the brim of her hat. A solitary red leaf danced on invisible currents of heat. Bronte followed its pattern as it glided up and down, first by its tail end and then its tip. It drifted toward her. She couldn’t resist. Setting the violin case down on the stone, she held out her empty hand. The perfect red leaf landed there with a whispered grace.

  She glanced back at the mage. He stood beside his fat tree trunk and stared, daring her to do something. She opened the discreet latch on her purse and tucked the rebel leaf carefully inside. It was as daring as she could get. The leaf was now a companion to the cursed note she was to give to the senator, her identification papers, and her car keys, which she moved into the zippered interior pocket to better protect her delicate refugee. Picking up her violin case, she marched toward her task in the stone house.

  Had there been a moat, the steps could have been replaced with a drawbridge that angled up to the gray structure. The tall rectangular windows, over a dozen of them on the front, saved Rallis Hall from looking like a medieval fortress. The glass left a wavy impression, warped by generations of mage energy. There was a stark beauty to the manor’s straight lines. Rallis Hall hadn’t changed since she’d been here thirteen years ago for the Gathering ceremony.

  The two dark wooden doors, a story and a half tall, were punctuated by knobs in their middles like matching belly buttons—unusual since mages didn’t need door knobs to open a door. In a mage home, energy was the universal key.

  The twin doors opened before she’d climbed to the top of the stone steps. Bronte stumbled, expecting Vincent’s face. Instead, a gray-haired man in a dark suit and a gray silk cravat stood in the doorway. His hand fell to his side. He’d used the knobs instead of his mage power.

  “Miss Casteel.” He nodded once, a formal gesture accompanied by a smile. “I wish you a warm welcome to Rallis Hall.”

  She nodded back, though she wished to be most anywhere but here.

  “Thank you.” The automatic words were part of the coiffed and composed façade. She couldn’t remember his name but did recall his face. He’d been the one to open the door then, too, as her parents rushed her out for daring to socialize with a mage. They’d been blind to what had just happened to the girl they’d all thought powerless. Their ignorance was a blessing from the goddess. From the moment Vincent brought her power to life, Bronte knew she had to hide it forever if she wanted to survive.

  After that Gathering, her parents had banished her to the South. Another blessing. Though the Republic’s small population of Nons was scattered throughout the country, most lived in the three territories of the Southern Alliance. It was simple to hide her power among the Nons in her adopted city of Chattanooga in Locke Territory. From what she could tell, Vincent’s energy frequency was the only one she could influence. No one noticed she wasn’t really a Non.

  The grand front doors clicked shut behind her. She jumped. Vincent’s vibes flowed into her, stronger now as if the doors held his power inside the manor, that much closer to her syphon.

  The butler politely ignored her nervousness. “May I take your hat and your violin? I’ll see that it rests safely in our coat closet.”

  She lifted the case, handing over her livelihood as if she weren’t really trapped with a dark fate lurking somewhere in the shadows of this house. She repeated her thanks, her voice thin from too little air. Another of the Rallis staff hustled over, his footsteps silenced by his mage power. The servant took her things from the butler.

  “This way, please.” The butler held out his arm toward the double doors on the other side of the grand foyer and left her to follow him. She didn’t. Instead she kept her eyes on her violin until it was tucked in the massive closet. She needed to know its hiding spot in case she had to see herself out.

  “The senator is waiting, miss.” The mild reprimand was nothing compared to her need to keep her violin safe.

  Certain she knew its location, she paced to the butler, her heels clacking and echoing in the vast entryway. Her mother would be mortified. Manners dictated mages always silence their steps.

  A Rallis sentry stood in front of the closed doors, his dark gray uniform embellished with a scarlet sash and the family’s crest. Like the butler, the stern sentry opened the office doors with his hands, a courtesy to her. Mage vibes bothered Nons and made them anxious and jittery.

  The butler stepped into the senator’s sanctum. “Miss Bronte Casteel.” He announced her name slowly, a pause between each word, drawing out the final syllable, and then stood aside.

  She passed him with three shaky steps into the dark entrance of the office. The doors latched shut. She clutched her purse to her chest. Its leaf, the only one to escape the doomed fate of the others, was a talisman of hope and freedom. Every nerve was alert to any sign of Vincent’s presence and his unstoppable vibes. She crept forward one foot at a time as if the floor might rot from beneath her, and ventured into the light shining through the tall windows at the end of the huge room. Two masculine silhouettes, black shadows against the bright light, waited motionless.

  She couldn’t sense any vibes from those two. Relief flooded through her. Vincent was not among them. With the exception of Vincent’s frequency, Bronte was blind to all mage energy, more so than a Non. She set her shoulders and headed toward them.

  Senator Rallis, Vincent’s grandfather, stood behind the desk and wore the Rallis medallion. The medallion linked the land, its energy and people to the goddess’s blessing. Whoever wore it controlled the territory and its mages and had a vote in the Senate. The medallion hung heavily against the senator’s barrel-sized chest and gleamed with a polished bronze stone in the center.

  Vincent’s brother, the other person her mother had told her to expect, stood to the side of the desk. Bronte’s mother had reviewed all the names and standings of the entire Rallis family, but she hadn’t needed it. Bronte remembered everything about these people. Anything connected to Vincent was too indelible to forget.

  “Miss Casteel.” Vincent’s brother, Lord Edmund Rallis, greeted her first. He reached out a hand for hers. She shook it quickly. She didn’t want to linger if he didn’t like touching Nons. Most mages didn’t.

  “Lord Rallis, it’s an honor to meet you.” She repeated the gesture with the senator. His right pinkie fi
nger was missing, a casualty from a famous battle at the Rushes where the Senate met. It was a dangerous place even for the most powerful mages. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Senator Rallis.”

  The senator inclined his gray head. “We are always pleased to meet with a fair-minded ambassador from the Casteel family.”

  Those were in short supply. In fact, she didn’t know one since she didn’t count herself a part of the family. She gave the senator a small smile, but couldn’t resist a glance behind her. Vincent lurked somewhere nearby. His energy was strong.

  She turned back, determined to focus on the senator. “How do you know I’m fair-minded?” She regretted the lighthearted words the moment they reached her lips.

  “I’ll tell you.” The older man leaned forward. “I can read your energy.”

  She froze. If he could read the energy around her, it might very well be Vincent’s. She hardly registered to any mage’s sense.

  “You’re the only Casteel who doesn’t have the energy of a donkey’s behind.” Senator Rallis’s voice took on a wry edge.

  Her laugh escaped from shock. She hoped no one heard the desperation behind it.

  “Please have a seat.” The senator gestured to a chair in front of his desk.

  She moved on shaky legs to the plush wingback and darted another glance to the back of the room. Those perfect vibes originated from that direction. Nothing there but shadows, though she didn’t trust her eyes. The Rallis men took their respective seats as she smoothed her skirt over her lap with a silent lecture to stop looking.

  “Just last week we had a visit from your brother,” Edmund said. “Fair-minded is not how I would describe him. Claimed he needed access to our land for some sort of research. He was lying.”

  Bronte blinked. Her options clarified with his warning. Some mages could sense lies. Apparently, he was one of them. Lying wouldn’t help her get out of this.

  “A visit from two Casteels in one week is extraordinary.” The senator’s voice carried through the entire room. Probably from practice at the Rushes, named for the various herbs scattered on the floor of the Senate to dampen the dangerous energy levels from so many powerful mages in such close proximity. “She won’t lie to us, Edmund. I can feel it.”

  “There are whispers of riots and growing discontent within the Casteel boundaries. Are the rumors true?” Edmund asked, his handsome face intent on hers.

  “I have heard no rumors.” She tried to keep her expression free from her shock. “I’m rather uninformed about the happenings within Casteel.” An honest answer.

  Senator Rallis’s fingers came together in a thoughtful pyramid. “That’s a shame, Miss Casteel. Family is meant to stay close together and provide support for one another. That’s a lesson the Nons exemplify.”

  Bronte cocked her head. “The Nons have to be diligent in sticking together, senator. There is safety in numbers. A large mass of living energy is harder for mages to manipulate than one single source. Or so I’m told.” She could have rolled her eyes at herself. What was she doing? Poking at the senator was not the way to ensure a safe escape. She bit her tongue to prevent anymore verbal prodding.

  The senator’s half-smile was accompanied by a raised brow. “An enlightening point, Miss Casteel. Like the Nons, the Rallis family sticks together too.”

  Bronte knew the Rallis senator usually voted for Nons’ rights, unlike the Casteels, who were famous for their anti-Non stance. The Casteels would prefer to round up all the Nons in the Republic and stick them in the South, much like they’d done to their daughter. Bronte’s family believed all Nons should be forced to work in the South’s numerous manufacturing plants. Their smokestacks towered over the region like industrial forests.

  She swallowed against the knot of bitterness stuck in her throat. “Support of my family is what brings me here, sir. As you know, my grandfather recently passed on.”

  The senator bowed his head briefly. “Yes, our condolences on your loss. Senator Casteel will be missed by a great many.”

  But not the many Rallises. “Thank you. My father is, of course, stepping up to take his place at the Rushes.”

  “When does he plan to do that, Miss Casteel? It’s been three weeks.” Edmund’s voice was perfect for taking over the family’s Senate seat someday. Clear, enunciated, and with just the right pitch. He looked enough like Vincent for one to recognize they were brothers, but not to guess they were twins. Edmund’s features blended into a handsome sophistication. His dark hair waved across his forehead over blue eyes. A perfect nose complimented his concerned, friendly smile, and his shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight and responsibilities of the medallion. She’d heard he was a mage of considerable power, like the rest of his family. She couldn’t sense it for herself, but it was common knowledge that Nons avoided the entire area surrounding the estate, unable to tolerate the Rallis clan’s collective vibes. The Nons’ ancient instincts recognized a greater power and, therefore, a danger to their lives. It was hard for Nons to resist the need to flee, or worse, to fight.

  “Lord Casteel plans to take the Senate seat soon, but there is a problem.” Bronte faced the senator. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

  “Help with what, Bronte?” His gruff, hoarse words came from behind her, accompanied by a flood of vibes.

  She wouldn’t have recognized his voice except for that energy pouring into her. She wrenched around in her seat to see the lion prowl out of the shadows.

  His gaze targeted her like she was prey that might escape. “Tell us how we can help you. And then you can explain why you ran away from me.”

  Her mind recorded him like a pencil scratching away at paper to save his image—his dark hair clipped short, eyebrows that formed stark lines with a skeptical bent near their ends. A crease pulled between his brows that hadn’t been there before. His rugged face had weathered storms his brother had avoided. Those storms had chiseled away any softness.

  She closed her eyes, stopping the mental sketching—a necessity to save her sanity. She turned her whole body back toward the senator and only opened her eyes when she knew Vincent wasn’t in her line of sight.

  “Vin!” Happy surprise colored every note of the senator’s voice. “How long have you been standing back there? Your energy is so subdued I didn’t even sense you until now.”

  “I didn’t either.” Edmund’s voice was equally surprised. “Miss Casteel, your beauty has distracted us.”

  Bronte fought to keep her calm mask intact. Her heart boomed like the senator’s voice and threatened to shake that mask right off her face. She couldn’t let that happen. Diplomatic words and composure were her only weapons in this battle, a quick escape her only viable strategy. She stood, one move closer to getting to the door. At her cue, all the men stood as well.

  The closer Vincent came, the more his energy reached out to her. It touched her, filled her in places she’d forgotten were empty. Dangerous memories spilled back. If she knew how, she’d dump his vibrations out of her hidden vessel, turn it over, and sit on it like a metal bucket until it sank into the dirt with the force of her weight. She’d seal her hollow spaces shut and keep him out forever. To do otherwise would only invite death to creep close.

  Vincent strode toward her.

  She held her ground and looked him in the eye. “I do not need your help. I am simply the messenger. Here on behalf of the Casteels.” She cleared her throat to try again and turned to the senator. “Senator Rallis, my family requests your assistance.”

  The senator’s wise gaze locked on Vincent, his expression thoughtful and full of silent words Bronte lacked the power to hear. Curiosity lit the dark depths of his gaze as they landed back on her.

  Vincent leaned toward her. “And they sent you as their messenger?” His voice was soft, a caress against her skin. “The most vulnerable and weakest of them all, to fight their battles.”

  “I am not weak.” She risked a quick glance
at him. “I have plenty of strength to fight whatever battles I need to.” She bit her tongue to stop her aggressive tone. Arguing would not help her cause.

  “Vincent, you are making our guest uncomfortable.” The senator’s tone went quiet. Deadly. The boom was much safer, she realized.

  “No, I’m not. At least not with my vibes, Granddad.” Vincent’s reply was matter-of-fact. He held all the power between them, and he was going to use it. Running for the door would not help her now.

  “My mage vibes do not make her uncomfortable.”

  Her hold on her tongue wasn’t tight enough to stop her gasp. She’d messed up. Goddess, but she’d messed up. She closed her eyes for a moment at the realization. Instead of drinking Vincent in, she should have faked a reaction to his power, imitated the jittery anxiousness Nons felt around a mage who wasn’t suppressing his energy. Maybe that would have saved her.

  “Vincent. She’s a Non. Of course you’re making her uncomfortable.” The senator’s reprimand was deceptively soft.

  Bronte stared at Vincent as desperation swirled inside her. “Please. Don’t.”

  “She’s not a Non.” Vincent’s words shattered her hope of escape.