by CD Coffelt
A pleasant, feminine voice answered. “Enter.”
The assistant opened the door and stood in the doorway, blocking his view.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Mr. Mathon is here.” Her voice was as lifeless as her face.
The assistant gave a short bow and motioned for Dayne to step through the entrance. Under her breath, she spoke one word to Dayne, and then she retreated, closing the door behind her. He felt his jaw tense as he turned to his new boss.
Tiarra, the highest Adept of the Imperium, was in the middle of her exercises, twisting slowly and extending one arm out away from her body while bending one knee. Her body, muscular and trim, was clad in skin-tight black material from her neck to her ankles, defining every curve and sinew. Dayne jerked his eyes away and instead looked at the equipment, the mat, treadmill, and weights of an exercise area. Like the outer room, a wall-sized window was on one side, allowing natural sunlight in. A thick black exercise mat covered half of the floor; an ivory carpet was on the other half. A small daybed was on that side, covered with a deep, royal blue spread. He swallowed and kept his eyes from straying to Tiarra, who was continuing her tai chi forms, moving from one languid position to another without pause.
Dayne kept his eyes from the daybed as well.
He cleared his throat noisily and shuffled his feet.
“Make your report, my new Imperator, and then we will determine if your status is deserved.”
Dayne felt his muscles tense and sucked in a deep, calming breath. He opened his mouth.
“Look at me while you are delivering your report, my new Imperator. I want to see your eyes.”
She sounded amused, but Dayne felt the lash of command in her voice and his resolve crumbled. He looked up.
She was in the middle of the warrior pose, stretching her shoulder muscles and thighs. As he stood frozen, compelled to keep his eyes on her, she bent backward, lithely touched her hands to the floor, and executed a handstand, her limbs flowing gracefully from her extension and then into a standing pose to face him.
A straight ponytail held her dark hair, scraped back from her face in slick lines. Her features were like fine, exquisite porcelain, a runway model’s body and face. But her eyes were…strange. And Dayne felt a sickness begin in his belly.
Tiarra had a trace of a smile on her face while she cocked her head, looking him up and down. A bead of sweat trailed down her neck and onto her breast. He jerked his eyes back to her face.
She laughed and said under her breath, “Oh my. A reluctant one.” Her eyes hardened. “Report.”
“The g-girl,” he stuttered and then stopped and took a breath. “The girl has stopped running for now, holed up. She has a job and seems to be settling in.”
“And your agents, they didn’t reveal themselves or give her a reason to run again?”
“They are giving her some breathing room, yes, and staying out of sight.”
Tiarra stroked her chin, seemingly lost in thought, and took slow steps closer to him, her body moving like black liquid. Dayne shivered, but otherwise held still.
“So she is feeling ‘safe’ and relaxed. That is good.”
“One more thing,” Dayne said. He sucked in a breath, forcing his quivering muscles to still.
“Yes?” she said, stepping closer. Her hands slowly traced down her ribcage, as if to smooth the already taut fabric. “There is more?”
She closed another step.
Dayne blew out another breath and tried to pull his eyes away again, but the compulsion held him. Hoarsely, he said, “A man, a young man is living there. The bar owner, I think. He has two helpers, an old couple. And a kid, a teenager.” He felt the trickle of sweat inch faster down his back, and he gulped.
Tiarra gave a short laugh. “Excellent. Maybe this will finally trap her and she will come into her potential.” She moved close enough that he could feel her breath and smell her body, a mixture of soap and sweat.
And heat.
“My,” she said, stroking his trembling arm, “you are quite fit, aren’t you?” Huskily, she laughed again as she smoothed a hand over his chest. “How tall are you, my Imperator?”
His throat closed and he was barely audible. “Six five.”
“Over there, Imperator,” she said, nodding to the daybed. Her voice hardened with command. “Take off your shirt.”
For a moment longer, a brief portion of a second, his mind screamed, No, and he resisted her. But in the Imperium, there was no argument when Tiarra issued a command. His struggle ended as quickly as it began, but the sickness in his belly remained.
His last thoughts were a mental outcry to his Macy, a silent apology. Before he bent his mouth down to Tiarra’s, his body responding to her will, the single word uttered by the secretary as she had closed the door before leaving came back to him and he understood.
“Sorry,” she had said.
Later, he clenched his teeth as Tiarra languidly said goodbye and then laughed as he pulled on his trousers without speaking. She stretched out on the daybed as he left the room before buttoning his shirt, his jacket over his arm.
The outside room, with the now stomach-churning smells of coffee and food, was empty. He buttoned his shirt, put on his jacket, then tried to smooth his hair. Taking a deep breath, he willed his terrible emotions into a calmer state; the guilt of betrayal—and the knowledge that he could have done nothing to stop her—was at war inside him. Distantly, he noticed his hands shaking and fisted them, his nails cutting into his palms.
He sucked in another breath, shuddered, and opened the door into the lobby by the elevator. The assistant was there, her face appearing sick. As soon as he stepped into the room, she looked up at him and her features changed, smoothed away into an emotionless visage.
Dayne walked quickly to the elevator without speaking, hit the button, and waited, his heart keeping time with his racing nerves.
Just as the doors opened, the assistant spoke, her voice low and careful. “If it helps you to know, she doesn’t just take men.”
The elevator doors closed behind him, leaving Dayne with his guilt and the feeling he would never be clean again.
Chapter Four
“Justus Aubre,” Maggie said in answer to Sable’s shy question after breakfast the next day. “And Bert Reese was the kid. He’s seventeen and a little shy with girls.” She laughed at some joke. “Your new boss isn’t exactly gifted with gab, so it’s no wonder you didn’t get his name.”
The older woman continued. “He owns the bar and the antique shop. Emmett cooks on Friday and Saturday. Bert helps sometimes, and I help with the accounts.”
Maggie’s nonstop chatter streamed over her as Sable washed the dishes from breakfast. Unlike her taciturn boss, Maggie barely allowed Sable to slip a word in edgewise into the one-sided conversation.
She asked if Sable liked her sleeping quarters and how she slept. After assured of Sable’s comfort, Maggie began talking about the weather, the job, and life in general. Then she began a history of the large Victorian house and past owner’s hideous taste in decorating the walnut-paneled dining room in pea-green wallpaper.
Maggie paused for a swallow of her coffee. “We don’t have any pets, but we do keep a couple of horses. Pasture pets, we call ’em, both in their twenties. They aren’t much good for anything, but you know how pretty horses are, so we keep ’em for their looks.”
The older woman laughed. “Emmett says that’s why I keep him around too, for his looks.”
Maggie gestured vaguely to the window, and Sable saw a brick walkway that led to a well-worn path through the trees and a pasture. “We have a shed stocked with bales of brome hay and feed them every night.”
She allowed the words to flow over her like a warm bath, comforting and soothing. Her nods, short comments, and smiles kept Maggie going. She finished the dishes and began wiping the enameled counter and table.
“Ah, well, you see what happens,” Maggie said. “I just keep right onna going if you don’t
stop me, just keep yappin’ along.”
At the sink window, Sable caught sight of furtive movement outside, something fluttering the leafy branches of a lilac bush.
“Um, Maggie,” she said as gleaming azure eyes winked at her from under the bush.
Maggie was in the middle of some story about the neighbor’s influx of tent worms. She stopped when Sable turned to her.
“Do you or Emmett have allergies? Like allergic to cats?” She turned back to the window.
Maggie silently joined her, standing shoulder to shoulder as they both looked at the patient, waiting eyes.
“No,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “No, we don’t.”
“Do you…like…cats?”
Maggie grinned. “We like cats,” she said slowly. “Like dogs, too.” She harrumphed. “Draw the line with rodents, though. Don’t care for rats or white mice.”
Sable laughed, the first happy sound she could remember making in a very long time.
Maggie looked at her speculatively. “Don’t we have some scrambled eggs left? Maybe some bits of toast?”
The young woman grinned at her, unaware of her brilliant smile. “Come on. Let me introduce you to my little buddy out there. We met a couple of nights ago under an overpass.”
It was an easy adjustment for everyone, the adoption of the small, buff-colored kitten that had followed her from the overpass that night after the concert. The McIntyres fell in love immediately, and Zephyr, the azure-eyed kitten, moved in as if it was her idea, her right. The kitten regarded the house and its occupants as hers. During her initial inspection, the kitten held her tail high with a slight curve at the tip, like a walking cane, and took over operations of the household.
Sable felt relieved knowing that at least Zephyr had found a permanent home. Good things did happen sometimes. At least it beat sleeping under a bridge together. She shivered, thinking of the hard concrete.
Sable left the kitten curled up on the sofa cushion in her room, her fur clumped slightly from an impromptu bath.
“Bye, Zephyr. I’ll be back later,” Sable said. The blue eyes opened languidly, and the kitten trilled softly, as if to say, “Okay, see you later.”
She didn’t meow like other cats. Instead, she “trilled,” a soft rumble like a cross between a purr and a normal meow. The kitten made it her catchall sound for every need or emotion.
Emmett drove Sable to the shop, promised to introduce her properly to Mr. Aubre, and then pick up supplies for their newest resident. He talked and laughed all the way to her new job, obviously the other bookend to a matched set in the couple’s marriage.
She sighed, looked without interest at the passing traffic, and held herself from getting too close. Later, it would only hurt more when she had to leave.
“Okey, dokey, here we are,” Emmett said cheerfully. “Now, don’t let Justus intimidate you. He ain’t much of a talker, heaven knows, but he has a good heart. Likes to keep to himself, not much of a busybody, if you know what I mean. Doesn’t get out much.”
Sable got out of the car and stood looking at the storefront. No broken glass remained; the sidewalk had been swept clean. Even the cracks in the pavement bore no evidence of dirt.
“So, he’s some kind of an introvert? Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah, that would be it. Laidback.” Emmett glanced at his watch. “I’ll pick you up in two, maybe three hours then, and we’ll have lunch. Sound okay?”
Sable nodded and grinned at him as he pulled away and then raised her hand as if to get his attention. She lowered her arm when he didn’t look back. Crap. He had forgotten to introduce her to the new boss. She sucked in a calming breath, opened the door to the shop, and stepped in.
She paused, struck by the difference in the shop’s now spotless floor and shelves. Like the outside walk, she saw nothing of broken glass. It was even clean of dust.
Her new boss, seemingly waiting, stood at the bar, watching her expression. All the courage she had drummed up evaporated as his black eyes focused on her and narrowed.
“I, uh, I was here y-y-yesterday,” she stuttered. “Sable. I’m Sable. Here to help, uh…”
His face was hard, his eyes almost angry. But as she nervously waited for some kind of response, his features smoothed.
“Miss Rounds, yes. We didn’t have a chance for introductions yesterday.” His voice, a moderately deep baritone, sounded husky, as if sometime in his past, he had sustained an injury to his throat. “I am Justus Aubre.” He held out his hand.
Sable took his large hand, feeling the calluses and the warmth. But the warmth was at odds with his eyes. They remained cold and intent, as if searching for her reaction. Then he dropped her hand and backed away, his cheek muscle rippling as he clenched his jaw.
His ivory skin contrasted with his blue-black hair and eyes, heavily fringed with the same black lashes. They seemed to look through her to the other side. Unwavering, he waited for her response.
“Um, looks like you’ve been busy,” she said, waving her hand around the shop. “It sure looks different.”
“Yes, I stayed up late cleaning.”
She nodded and dithered, wondered what he had left her to do. Unless, of course, that was the idea. He didn’t want her as an employee, she suddenly realized. With that thought, anger roiled inside her and she felt the touch of her magic briefly sizzle on her hands as she allowed it to manifest with the emotions.
“So,” she said briskly. “Where do you want me to start? I don’t see much cleaning to be done, but maybe you have another room to do?”
His eyes narrowed. “Organize some stuff, I guess. Clean the front windows. Sundays, we don’t do much until noon.” He turned away, went into a small room off to one side of the bar, and slammed the door behind him.
She gritted her teeth, stifling the magic that stroked her skin with the surge of anger. Her emotions would get the best of her if she didn’t control herself.
Magic, the curse of her life, and after the discovery of her small talents, it had given her nothing but trouble since she was a teen. The memory of her parents and their cold faces as they explained her “gift” chafed the familiar sore spot in her heart. Finding she was little more than a product of selective breeding had turned her life into a farce.
To humans, magic didn’t exist except in books and fables. The secret society of wizards laughed at the fairy tales, but the basics of the stories revealed the secret world of magic. The harsh politics of the Imperium functioned in similar ways to humankind, with its power struggles and cruelties. It ran in the background of human history, unknown and quiet.
The realm of magic operated and functioned without human interference, run by the strongest mage. Their goal was to gather potential wizards into the fold to keep their power base.
Sable was one of their targets, tagged by the Imperium as a child.
Bonded, her parents said. The leftovers from that nightmarish event never left her.
An aloof woman appeared without warning that day, a visitor who made her cold parents look warm and inviting by comparison. She had studied Sable with a humorless smile, as if eyeing a lab experiment. Sable’s parents bragged to the taciturn woman of the successful result of their mating.
At first, she didn’t understand what her parents were talking about, when the shock hit her. The normally distant people she knew as mother and father spoke of her as if she were a prize, not a daughter.
“Look at her,” they said to the woman. “Isn’t she exactly what you want?”
The strange woman had nodded and stroked Sable’s neck. She shivered, remembering cool fingers, her bones turning to liquid, and then the sensation of her body falling to the floor. And after…
Her parents clapped and said she was now bonded, but the words made no sense to her as she struggled to lever herself into a sitting position.
The woman ignored her parents’ revelry and showed no emotion as she looked down at Sable. In a swirl of perfume, she turned to leave and spo
ke over her shoulder to Sable’s parents. “She will be very strong in all elements when she is brought into her full potential.”
Before the strange woman vanished, she heard the low words the woman spoke to herself. “Then she will be mine.”
Her parents congratulated each other, expressing no concern as she stared at them dumbly. They treated it as if it were fait accompli. As if there was nothing she could do.
As if she was helpless.
But she had options and a strong will. The cold woman couldn’t control her until she achieved her potential and became a full wizard. Until then, she remained free.
She huffed. Hardly free when the hunters dictated her actions and she had to keep moving.
The strongest wizards could release vast energies with little effect on their metabolism, but using her minuscule talent left her exhausted.
Sable laughed humorlessly. What a choice, but between dancing to the Imperium’s tune or total collapse, she’d pick the latter.
She found a broom in a corner and swept the already clean floor. The grooves in the solid floor planks testified to its age and sturdy character. Deep mahogany-colored whorls curled in some places, amber-colored in others, and the varnished surface shone as if wet. The shelving was of the same wood, a timeless example of a century past, when people used natural resources instead of manufactured plastics. The bare window seats under the multi-paned windows faded in the strong sunlight into variegated patterns of dark and tan. The window glass held small imperfections, causing blurs in the panes, signs of glass manufactured at the turn of the century.
The sparkle of a prism caught her eye as it shimmered on a nearby shelf. She turned it to catch the rainbows of colors in the sunlight. It was a piece from a chandelier, an oval teardrop of clear glass. Other crystals and prisms were scattered among the different shelves, and she began to gather them. Crystal spears, pear-shaped prisms, small beads, and balls were scattered among the china teacups or brass figurines. Some were similar, as if from the same chandelier, and others were obviously different, in color or quality, subtle blues, pinks, and lavenders. In her hunt, Sable found several strings of crystal chains connected by brass-colored ties. Other pieces, almond-shaped and octagons, turned up in a box on the back of a shelf. That held the biggest pieces, ovals sparkling as if alive. Several crystals were smooth and translucent, with fissures running through them, crazed with spider-web cracks and cloudy centers. Sable held one large almond-shaped crystal to the light, feeling it emit warmth like the sunlight streaming through the window.