Sorcerer's Spin Page 2

  Lie.

  Most mages could sense them. To Gregor, they prickled against his ear.

  “Just get the hell out of there,” Gregor said with another push of energy.

  Two minutes passed. He almost headed inside when he sensed vibes approaching. Five of his men filed past him, exiting the building with spinning wheels. He bit back a dozen admonitions. They’d do no good. He’d never encountered such an ill-disciplined lot. They wouldn’t last sixty seconds in the army.

  The men headed toward the third van—the first two were already full—and crammed the wheels in. Instead of rushing back to the mill, they lingered, poking their fingers into his silence spell that stretched over the entire place. It seemed to be a game to them, stabbing at the spell like it was a giant upside-down bowl full of jelly, as if they could pop it and watch as its power flooded out. None was strong enough to damage it, but their constant pokes were annoying.

  Gregor cast his vibes, readying them to capture his next words. “Break it and it’ll burst your eardrums.” With an easy spell, he pushed his warning to whisper in their ears, isolating the noise. “You don’t want that.”

  “Screw you,” one of them muttered in a quiet voice.

  The others laughed. They thought he couldn’t hear them.

  Dane, his best friend, strode out the mill’s door. He wasn’t really a part of the team, more like a specialist tacked on at the last minute. He was one of the army’s best tracker mages and he was dressed in uniform.

  Shortly after the incident that had damaged his power, Gregor had stuffed his uniform in his fireplace. It was still waiting for a flame spell.

  Dane shook his head at the men. “These are the biggest bunch of assholes I’ve seen since we deported those trolls. There are ten more wheels on the upper floor. Then we’re outta here.” His job was to track the vibes that emanated from the sorceresses’ spinning wheels and ensure the team located them all. But tracking wasn’t his only ability. He, too, could pull the men’s sound waves to him and eavesdrop, though not as easily as Gregor.

  Mages were like that.

  Most were born with specialties, but even average-powered ones could cast a wide gamut of spells across many areas.

  Neither Gregor nor Dane were average…which had made Gregor’s deceit upstairs much more difficult.

  Gregor had known that if he’d refused to participate in this mission, the government would still confiscate these wheels. His refusal wouldn’t have stopped the mission. So he’d done what he could to right it and to ease his conscience.

  If his deception was discovered, he’d be branded a traitor to the Republic. But he’d be long gone by then.

  Besides, the Republic had betrayed him first.

  Three months ago, the High Councilor had requested that he undergo an inoculation to make him immune to a fairy’s hypnotic power, a trait that would keep him safer should he encounter the creatures in the line of duty. He’d agreed, of course…Goddess and country above all.

  A thick gray cloud of pain shrouded his memory of the event, but he remembered his certainty that something was wrong the moment a fairy had walked in.

  No matter what the medical officer had claimed afterwards, Gregor didn’t believe that the fairy—or any of the fucked-up creatures—was an ally to the Republic. He couldn’t remember what that fairy had looked like, but the memory of the needle glowed with clarity. It had vibed with an ancient wickedness that still turned his stomach, as did the memory of the searing pain when the fairy, with the Republic’s blessing, had pricked him.

  When Gregor woke three days later, his mage power was permanently damaged. His life was ruined. And no one had any idea if the procedure had actually done what it was supposed to.

  The men sauntered back to the building. The burliest of the men pointed at it. “Did you guys see those sorceresses out back?” He pulled out a dollar and waved it at his friends.

  Oh hell. Gregor knew exactly where this was going to go.

  It was a well-known fact that sorceress power thrived on any type of spin—spinning on their toes like ballerinas, spinning bicycle wheels, spinning a tale, even spinning around a pole. The best strippers were sorceresses. Though it had been a long while since he’d seen one, he’d witnessed a few unforgettable performances.

  “You think if I shove this down one of their dresses they’ll give up spinning yarn on a wheel and spin around a pole for us and strip?” the burly man asked.

  What the hell was wrong with these assholes?

  Beside him, Dane sucked in a breath. “I think it’s going to take more than one dollar,” he muttered, just loud enough for Gregor to hear him.

  “Save your dollar, Johnny,” another man muttered. “One of ‘em is wayward. If she danced, her vibes would shrivel our dicks.”

  Wayward. At the sound of that cursed word, the dark ocean that had threatened to pull him under for the past three months surged forward. Its towering wave was utterly silent though it ought to have roared and howled considering its mass. Its silence made it even more powerful and foreign to his senses…and frightening. Goddess, he hated this rage, and that only fueled it more.

  “What’s wrong?” Dane squinted—confused, concerned. And oblivious. After all, his power worked perfectly.

  “She can’t help how her vibes resonate,” Gregor said with clenched teeth.

  “Gor, come on, you’re not like her.” But Dane was wrong. He was exactly like her now.

  Coming to a halt at the steps that led to the front door, Johnny cupped his crotch protectively. “You shittin’ me? Wayward vibes can shrink dicks?”

  Enough.

  Gregor summoned his vibes into his throat and hummed a chant in the language of the cadence mages. The mute spell formed with enough energy that it should have sounded like an engine revving in his head, but it was as silent as his dark ocean of rage. He couldn’t hear the sound of his own power anymore.

  He thrust the spell out, a vicious punch. The five went pale, stumbling. He’d hit them hard…harder than he’d meant to, but he’d lost confidence in his power. He still wasn’t sure that it functioned properly.

  The men flapped their mouths and flung their arms in alarm, temporarily as stuck in silence as Gregor was in permanent, partial deafness. Then they scrambled inside the mill like their asses were on fire, nearly running over the other men in the team who were exiting with more wheels.

  “Nice.” Dane gave him an approving nod. “See. Your power works fine. Now, buck up. Rescind your resignation and get back to our unit. The general is pissed all the time without you there to shut me up.”

  Gregor shook his head. “It doesn’t feel the same.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Power’s power, man. It’s like fucking a different girl from your usual. It doesn’t feel exactly the same, but it’s still a fuck.” He wiggled one eyebrow. “Probably a damn good one, too.”

  Thankfully there were no women around to hear. Gregor would have had a hard time defending his friend from their justified attack. “Someday you’ll find a girl you want to keep, and she’s not going to have anything to do with you.”

  “Why not?” Dane frowned.

  “Because you’re you.”

  Dane crossed his arms over his chest. “Still a little grumpy, I see. Going on three months now. Is this a permanent change? Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

  “Guess so.” He rubbed the scars on his throat, the remains of the fairy needle’s touch. How the hell was he supposed to live like this? It had stolen the sounds of his vibes, made him deaf to his chants, deaf to the beauty of all music, sheer torture for a cadence mage to whom sound equaled power and pleasure.

  Fortunately, after more than two decades of chanting spells, he didn’t need to hear them to use them. Still, the partial silence made him want to punch a hole in the stars.

  Dane raised one eyebrow and lowered the other, giving him a devilish look. “You can’t want to quit the army and work for Power United with these idiots.
How’d you get stuck with them? You sure as hell picked the short straw.”

  “Luck,” Gregor drawled.

  “Seriously, man. Vin didn’t mention you would be here, and if the general doesn’t know, then no one else in the army does either.”

  He shrugged that off. He and Vin weren’t on good terms. Gregor couldn’t remember exactly what had happened right before or after the incident. All he had were snatches of memories that flicked through his mind like a deck of shuffled cards. The general was among them.

  “So who put you on this job?” Dane wasn’t one to let things go.

  “I woke up early this morning with the High Councilor leaning over my bed and whispering in my ear,” Gregor explained. He tried to shove back the anger and resentment he felt toward her. He refused to call it hatred even to himself. She could read minds, and he wanted to get out of the Republic with his head intact. Besides, the fucking fairies were the true culprit. “She ordered me here.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Dane shouted.

  He’d wanted to shout too, especially when she’d rifled through his underwear drawer and pulled out a black silk thong he’d never seen before. He could only guess she’d planted them as a joke. She’d found it hilarious. Her cackles still echoed in his ears.

  At Dane’s shout, the men loading the vans looked over. Flickers of excitement lit their vibes. This group loved violence.

  Just then, the silenced men returned and scrambled past, carrying the last of the spinning wheels. Gregor and Dane marched out on their heels.

  Finally.

  As Gregor climbed into the first van, a car turned into the mill’s front lot. Sporty, sleek, and bright red.

  Shit.

  It stopped behind the vans, blocking them in. Cecilia Garnet, director of Power United’s mage resources, waved at him from behind the wheel. He wasn’t sure where she fell on the chain of command on this mission. She probably thought she was his boss. She might have been right. He was only a temporary consultant leading a team of her workers. She got out and strode over, her long legs strutting with all they had. They damn well had a lot.

  Dane, beside him, whistled in quiet appreciation. “And who do we have here?” he whispered.

  “What we have is a fucking roadblock to getting out of here undiscovered.” Gregor was careful to keep his face blank as they got out of the van. In the short time he’d known her, it was obvious that, unlike most executives, Cecilia enjoyed getting her hands dirty. There was plenty of dirt to stir up here.

  Her long dark hair draped over her shoulders, one curl circling around the outline of her nipple poking through her shirt. He couldn’t help but notice. But he didn’t return her smile.

  “Cecilia, we’re all done,” Gregor called out as she strutted forth. “You pull out and we’ll be right behind you.”

  But she just kept coming.

  Goddess above. It was like Fate was pulling on his chain and dangling him over a cliff. There was a part of him that wouldn’t mind if she just let go.

  His jaw cracked as he clenched down. Cadence mages were supposed to be the epitome of calm, but it had been a shit day and the sun had yet to clear the horizon.

  “Captain Whitman,” she purred. “I’m impressed. The vans are all loaded up. You crack the whip well.”

  He wasn’t a captain anymore, but he didn’t bother to correct her. “Yeah, thanks. Lead us back to Power United and we’ll unload. We’ll debrief there.”

  She pursed her gleaming red lips. “I can’t stand to think I’ve missed all the fun.” She winked at Dane. “Well, hello there. Did Captain Whitman tell you I love men in uniform?” She looked him up and down, taking in his black army uniform. “I’d like to thank you for your service.”

  Dane gave her a quick smile. “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.” But he refocused as footsteps sounded from inside the building, unmuffled and at a furious pace. “Incoming.”

  In a blink, Gregor resigned himself to his mission being exposed. Antipathy flowed through him with surprising ease. It was like swallowing down a cool glass of who the hell cares. It quenched a deep thirst, the kind that somehow made water taste sweet. This wasn’t how he thought he’d feel. He took a deep breath and went with it. After all, this sure as hell wasn’t the worst thing to happen to him.

  Mara Rand, CEO of Blue Light Mills, burst through the building’s doors, her green gown flowing out behind her. Her red spectacles dominated the portrait she made simply because he could count the number of mages he’d seen wearing specs on one hand, minus a few fingers. They framed her brown eyes, which sparked with fury. Her chin-length curls blew back from the force of her approach.

  She was taller than he’d expected, and she stood straight, upright in a way that made him think she’d been tested and had come out of the battle stronger. He recognized that look. The best warriors in the army had it—the experienced ones—though it always came with a mess of scars, visible or not, and a stubbornness that bordered on impossible to defeat. Still, she was no warrior mage. Her vibes were tucked away, her muscles too slender to fight and win.

  She radiated a sophistication that equaled Cecilia’s, only Mara’s was crisp and poised and cool instead of dripping with heat. He hadn’t expected that either. But now that he thought about it, that cool poise had been apparent in her image spell in her file. He just hadn’t been looking for it.

  She stood on the stoop of her factory like a queen ready to defend her castle from marauders.

  “Oh goody. I didn’t miss it. I’ve been waiting years for this.” A cruel glee vibrated in Cecilia’s voice.

  “Cecilia. I should have known you’d be behind this.” Mara Rand’s voice snapped with disdain as they approached.

  Nowhere in the intel on this mission had the words mortal enemies with Cecilia Garnet been listed. Yet another instance of fucked-up-ness for the morning.

  Behind him, he could hear men shuffling out of the vans to get a closer view of the show. He looked back. The men he’d casted the mute spell on had stayed in the van.

  A mark of intelligence. Finally.

  Cecilia linked her arm through Dane’s. “Let’s go ruin this freak’s day…and her life.” She pulled him forward and paraded closer to the sorceress.

  “I’m handling it,” Gregor spoke softly and overtook the pair in three strides. Cecilia might have outranked him, but she couldn’t fire him since his orders came from the High Councilor.

  “You can’t stand to let your cast-offs succeed, can you?” Rage flashed in Mara’s brown eyes. Wayward mages were supposed to be downtrodden and submissive, not ready to cast someone’s head through the nearest window.

  Somewhere inside him, a faint spark glimmered, and it took him a moment to recognize it. Satisfaction and a hint of pride in his own kind…the wayward kind. He might have tried to mirror it back to her, but he could not take pride in what he was about to tell her. He stopped at the bottom of the three steps that led to the front door and looked up at her. “Miss Rand, by order of the government of the Republic of Mage Territories and the High Councilor, you are hereby ordered to surrender your spinning wheels into the custody of the Republic.”

  She was the first wayward he’d met face-to-face, or rather she was the first mage he’d met who admitted to waywardness. She met him head-on. She did not flinch. She did not blink. She did not bend. “Ordered to surrender them? There’s nothing for me to surrender. You’ve helped yourself.” She gestured toward the vans as her crisp tone cracked through the air.

  Courage under fire. Gregor admired that. There was part of him that wanted her to march over to the vans and take back what was hers. If he could take back his perfect power, not even an army could stop him.

  “Ma’am, I want to caution you. Acting against anyone here will be considered an act against the government,” Dane said from beside him.

  Gregor glared at him. Dane was showing off his power for the sexy executive next to him. Sometimes his best friend was an ass.

&n
bsp; “Cecilia Garnet doesn’t work for the government.” Mara pointed at the men dressed in the work overalls of Power United. “These thugs don’t work for the government.” Her finger encompassed him in the category of thug, a judgment that might have snapped the chain that Fate held in her fingers. It left him sinking into the abyss.

  “That’s Captain Gregor Whitman. You should speak to him with respect,” Cecilia snapped.

  Mara’s eyes burned fiercely as she stared at Cecilia. And then she turned her gaze on him and he was pierced to the core. He could see the words in her eyes. She might as well have said them aloud.

  You are not worth my respect.

  The same words whispered at him whenever he looked at his reflection. He’d spent hours trying to convince himself he was wrong. But the incident…it had left him a fraud. He’d hoped no one would notice, that he could walk around with his empty shell intact, masquerading as what he once was. Dane sure as hell didn’t seem to see anything amiss.

  With one glance, Mara Rand had seen through his façade.

  Mara knew why they were here. They were searching for the white wheel.

  She knows.

  Based on the prophecies delivered by her unknown pen pal, that could be the only reason for this raid.

  Now Power United was carting away everything she’d worked for…everything she needed to keep her people in paychecks.

  “These men are ensuring the future of our country,” Cecilia drawled. “A freak-free future. You and your weak-ass sorceresses have only one way to contribute something positive to society: spinning copper wire for Power United. Otherwise, all you are is shit under the shoe of the Republic.”

  The blond man stepped up beside Mara. “Cecilia, please. That’s uncalled for.”

  “This is all uncalled for.” Mara turned to face him. She’d get nowhere with Cecilia. Not that she expected this man to do anything other than steal from her. She did not harbor the foolish hope that pleading her case would change anything. Still, she studied her opponent as if she might find his weakness and exploit it.