Sorcerer's Spin Read online

  “But that means you disobeyed the High Councilor.” Disbelief crept over her.

  Treason.

  The word sounded in her mind with perfect clarity as if his admission had triggered some surveillance spell that hovered over every citizen of the Republic. “No one disobeys her orders,” she whispered.

  He continued, “And by telling you this—”

  “Stop.” She backed away. For a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath around this revelation. He’d risked his freedom—his life—to save one of her wheels. Her favorite wheel, in fact. It hadn’t been taken into the clutches of Power United. “Why would you risk that?”

  “Because your mage power soars. I’ve never felt anything like it.” His voice was low and something about it enticed her as if he cast a spell with his words.

  She could have leaned into them. But she didn’t, of course. “I beg your pardon. My vibes are nowhere near you.”

  His smile reappeared, the one he given her when she first showed up. “Right again. But this morning, whatever you were doing behind your mill, they were like a note of beauty among a dozen ugly chords.”

  “Ah.” She gritted her teeth. “You were spying. And of course, you were surrounded by ugly vibes. You’re with Power United. That’s who they are.”

  He lowered his eyebrows. They made a dramatic line across his forehead. “That’s not who I am.”

  “No? You’re not one of the privileged and powerful who can take whatever they please from the weak and poor and then reap the accolades and benefits. So today was an exception?”

  He opened his mouth, but his words didn’t fall until after a long pause. “Yes,” he said finally.

  She’d expected a handful of excuses. “At least you’re honest about the flexibility of your moral code.”

  “But I’m not spying on you.” He held up a finger, halting her protest. “Not anymore. Though I did recognize your vibes coming toward me.”

  “I wasn’t broadcasting my power.”

  “Your mage lights were. And your vibes really are the prettiest energy I’ve ever sensed…as pretty as you are.”

  “Oh, just stop right there.” She held up her hand, something no normal mage would do, but she wasn’t normal. “Do not bother trying to charm me.”

  Pretty. That word again. And from him!

  She’d been called pretty once before by another tall and handsome man. She’d fallen for it with all her soul. Then he’d abandoned her to drown in a hell so deep and murky only the sharks could survive.

  Her cheeks burned so badly they might have started steaming, but it wasn’t embarrassment. It was fury. It rippled through her.

  “Why are you slumped over?” she asked. It was rude and offensive. It was her version of a slap to the face. Which she would never do…. So why had she said it?

  She dropped her gaze. Now it was shame burning her cheeks. She worked with damaged and sick mages all the time, and she never would have demanded such a question of them. It was not wise to hang around this man. She couldn’t find her balance with him.

  “I’m slumped?” He straightened, slow and still crooked, as if he’d been off-kilter for so long he’d forgotten how to stand straight. She might have reached out to fix him, but too much of a divide stood between them for her to brave that.

  She pulled the scroll from under his arm, put it on his right shoulder and pressed down gently until it came into line with the left. “That’s better.”

  “I wonder how long I’ve been standing like that.”

  She let him ponder that while she unrolled the scroll. It was thick and heavy. She glanced around for a scroll stand, but the shelves were the only furniture around. “You never answered my question about why you have this scroll.” A safer topic compared to pretty and slumps.

  “It contains information about the spinning wheel the High Councilor is looking for.”

  Not a safer topic.

  “The wheel is quite ancient. It was made by the fallen consort,” he continued.

  “The wheel is a myth. It doesn’t exist. It never has.” She struggled to turn both ends of the old scroll.

  “May I?” He held out his hand for it and she passed it over. He wound the scroll with efficient expertise and much greater strength than she had. He paused at a set of drawings. “This is what it looks like.”

  “I know. I’ve seen pictures before. That doesn’t mean it exists.”

  He pointed to another drawing. “This is the sewing needle. It’s also one of the relics.” He looked at her, his eyes dark and lost. “It exists. I’ve seen it. Felt it. I thought it was going to kill me. Instead it left me....” He swallowed so hard she could hear it. “Slumped. It damaged my power and there’s no undoing it.”

  Few mages shared their weaknesses, certainly not with strangers. It had to be hard to admit such an injury. Especially for a man like him.

  She didn’t believe for a moment that a relic had caused such damage to him, but whatever had happened, sympathy welled up in her, even though he was a thief. Damaged power…that was something she was much too familiar with. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” In the face of his pain, she wouldn’t argue further about gods and their supposed crafting tools.

  He moved the scroll to one hand and lifted his other hand to the scars that lined the left side of his neck. Any hint of his smile was tossed away like broken threads. “Stay away from the white wheel,” he whispered.

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me.”

  Silence fell for another moment. Eventually, he gestured with the scroll. “The story of the relics’ creation is in here. It reads like a fairy-tale, a sad one. A few of the sorceresses don’t fare well, I’m afraid.”

  She knew that story well. The sorceresses in it were known as the lost girls, consigned to the still-hells of the fallen consort forever. “You’ve been standing here a long time to have read it all.”

  “Yes. My feet are tired.”

  She looked down at his feet shod in heavy black boots. He was so big and powerful. The idea of his feet hurting was incongruous to his physique.

  “Just so you know, my feet are tougher than they sound. I read six scrolls standing here.”

  “Six?”

  “Okay, five. I skimmed the sixth.”

  “You must have learned a lot.”

  He swiped the broad swath of his hand over both of his cheeks. “There’s surprisingly little of substance in any of them. Except for this.” He rolled the scroll for a long minute, finally stopping at a small poem.

  Her chest tightened when she saw its form.

  He read it aloud.

  “In the hand of royal’s heir,

  Three relics claim the regal chair.

  It sits in east and rules in west,

  Destiny shall manifest.”

  “It’s a prophecy,” she said. One she’d never heard. She stepped away. She wanted nothing to do with this. “You should put that back. Prophecies are dangerous. They’re trouble.”

  He frowned. “This can’t be a prophecy. Only the High Councilor has those. I don’t know much about the Rarified Library, but I know prophecies are not kept here.”

  “Then this one escaped.”

  He straightened, his lips tightening, his eyes alert. “Someone’s coming.” He rewound the scroll and slipped it back. “Come on. We need to hide. Whoever this is, he’s not friendly. He’s nervous.” He cocked his head. “Coming fast and silent.”

  “It’s probably just a librarian. They’re very quiet people.”

  His nostrils flared as if he were scenting the air. “This guy is no librarian.” He put his hand on her elbow and tugged her out of the aisle and into the last row. He stepped in front of her, shielding her body with his, and then wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Stay close.” His vibes circled around them both, sealing them together.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, her words tight and fast.

  But his gaze stayed focused straight ahead.r />
  Every breath she took was full of him—his warmth, his spice. Her nose was an inch away from his shoulder.

  A thousand tiny jitters raced through her veins and it had nothing to do with their incoming visitor. It was him. For all that he might have been ready to fight, his touch was gentle, and his warmth was welcome against the coolness of the library. Though he was alert and focused and had an air of aggressive readiness, his vibes were composed and tranquil. How did he manage that? Whenever she was angry or scared, her vibes were tight and harsh and tucked away.

  His power was like silk. It was oddly reassuring. She leaned closer. Her cheek almost brushed his shoulder. By the starry vibes, what was she doing? She pulled back and he tightened his grip on her wrist, a warning squeeze.

  She hadn’t let a man touch her in two years. It had been on the final night of a textile conference. After that evening, she was content that she wasn’t missing much. But the captain, even if he was slumped, had that confident swagger. He probably knew how to show a girl a good time. Not her, of course.

  For her, he had wrong guy written on every line of his Potential Lover application, from the current employer line to the work skills line because theft wasn’t a talent she was interested in. Plus, he had a misplaced belief in mythical relics.

  “You didn’t hide when I came up here, Captain,” she whispered.

  “That’s because I recognized your vibes.” His voice was barely audible. “And call me Gregor.”

  Ahead, the door opened. Its creaking noise carried to them. It was a long moment before the man came into view through the cracks in the shelves. He was tall and meaty, his hair dark and curly, his skin well-tanned. He wore black from head to toe. Fingerless leather gloves covered his hands. A pair of dark spectacles sat high on his head.

  He paced down the aisle, his shoulders strutting with the move.

  Power emanated from him, warning her to stay back. He flashed danger like a gun, and it stole her breath. The newcomer stopped in the same spot they’d vacated. He pulled out a scroll. It could have been the one the captain had just returned, but she was too far away to see.

  She tried to get a closer look through the cracks in the shelves, leaning into her would-be protector, and she became very aware of his solid wall of muscle that smelled of clean male, the woods, and sunshine.

  The visitor put one scroll and then four more inside a bag that rested on the floor. He sealed it up and made his way out. After a moment, the door creaked open and then shut.

  Mara stepped back.

  “Not yet.” Gregor tugged her closer by her arm. “He might sense me break the spell,” he whispered.

  “Who was he?” She cleared her throat, hoping her breathy words passed for a whisper.

  “No idea.” He turned and looked back at her, holding her gaze, and an unexpected awareness snapped between them.

  Foolish.

  She twisted free and stepped away from him, deeper into the row of scrolls. His spell shattered in a soft wave. Cool air rushed between them and a shiver ran across her shoulders, missing his close warmth. “He stole those scrolls. We need to tell a librarian,” she said. “Did you get a good look at him? He had dark spectacles on his head like they were for the sun.” Strange, because mages typically used a spell to cast sun shields in front of their eyes, not specs.

  Gregor shook his head. “Only the center of the specs was dark. The edges of the lenses were clear.”

  She hadn’t been able to see that high. “What’s the point of that?”

  “I don’t know. They wouldn’t be for the sun…or for seeing much of anything.”

  She gestured toward the aisle’s exit. She couldn’t get past him unless he moved. “We have to tell someone.”

  “I admire your honesty, but I don’t think that will be necessary. He can’t get the scrolls out. This place has alarm spells packed in everywhere.” His vibes pressed out again. Though they weren’t intended for her, they brushed against her and tickled at her skin. He frowned and stepped out of the aisle, holding her off with a raised hand.

  “What’s wrong? Is he coming back?” She was as good as blind to other mages with her sense tucked away.

  “He’s gone. Completely. No vibes. Unless he fell down the stairs and died, something’s wrong.” He strode off toward the door, giving her a long look at his broad shoulders. “Stay here.”

  Not happening.

  She followed him from the room and into the stairway, crooking her head and shoulders to fit through the tiny door. She raced behind him as fast as she dared down the steep, tight, windy stairs. He stopped at a broken window, staring out at a flying….

  “Is that a horse? A Pegasus? Do those exist?” She blinked trying to clear the image before her eyes. “That’s as impossible as the white wheel popping into existence…as impossible as a wayward ruling the world.”

  He turned to her, a breath away in the tight space.

  She stood on a step higher than he did, their height matching and bringing her close to his blue eyes. Out the broken window, a half-moon glimmered in the dark sky. It shined through and graced his face, glinting against his blue eyes. If the Goddess existed, she’d just focused her spotlight on him.

  “I’ve seen and felt things that I thought were impossible.” His tone was light, but sadness echoed behind it. “Now I know better. Nothing is impossible.”

  4

  Mara kept up with Gregor’s fast pace, racing down to the Rarified Library’s ground level, but the spiral of the stairs called out to the twist of her mage energy. She had to focus to keep her power wrapped tight inside her. It threatened to spin out and bring the shine to her eyes. If they’d descended any faster, she’d be glowing like dual stars.

  “Jane?” she hollered, uncertain where to look for the woman or if she should. She was only here on an exchange of favors, not because she had any right to be. But they needed to tell someone about the theft.

  “I’ll alert the Librarian tomorrow,” he offered. “It’s late. I’m sure everyone’s gone home for the night.”

  “I’ll wait for Jane. You can leave.” She needed him to go away, along with his silky vibes and his blue eyes. Even Stella had commented on the latter after he’d left this morning.

  “No, ma’am. I’m seeing you to your car. It’s dark and there are flying horses carrying thieves in the vicinity. Shall we?” He held out his hand toward the slender door.

  She didn’t move. “That’s not necessary. I rode my bicycle.”

  He nodded, his lips mashing together in a thoughtful frown. “Perfect. I missed my second workout today. I’ll run alongside you. That way I know you’ll get home without getting plucked out of your seat and tossed to the sky.”

  “Don’t you have a car”—she paused—“somewhere around here?” There was no lot nearby. For that matter, no road ran through here. Just the rocky path. The librarians either walked to work or simply lived among their scrolls. Then again, for all she knew, maybe they unwound a scroll and flew on it like an enchanted carpet.

  “I took a taxi to the edge of the cemetery and walked the rest of the way.”

  “Then you should summon another taxi. You can’t run next to me. Your feet are tired, remember? And those boots look heavy.”

  “I see I need to prove the strength and manliness of my feet to you.” He spoke absently as he opened the door, stepped outside, and scanned the area, star-studded sky included. Apparently satisfied, he gestured for her to exit.

  She hadn’t meant to challenge him. “I fully believe your feet are capable.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m capable too. I’ll get home on my own.”

  He nodded at her like he cared but was going to do as he pleased. She sighed in capitulation. He cast a string of mage lights to guide their way. They crossed the bridge over the moat to her bicycle.

  He frowned at it. “No lock spell?”

  “Who would steal my bike here? No one knows about this place. And besides, there are great-vibed sha
rks around.”

  “Speaking of the sharks, where are they? Did you sense them when we crossed?”

  She squinted at the water, cautious even though they were a good distance away. She didn’t want to disturb the creatures with the weight of her gaze. But nothing stirred in the moat. “Eaten by a Pegasus?” She mounted her bicycle, kicked the stand up, and put one foot to the pedal. “Running beside me is going to be very awkward. You’ll struggle to keep up and you’ll huff and puff everywhere.”

  “I promise not to blow your house down.”

  A smile stretched her lips against her better judgment.

  He patted her handlebars. “Let’s go.” He took off at a fast jog, his stride easy.

  She pushed off. “Do you often escort girls home while they ride bicycles?”

  “Do I look like a professional? I am in the market for a new job. I wonder if that’s a viable business. How am I doing? You’re my first.” He looked back, and his vibes spilled out.

  “Quit with the vibes,” she ordered.

  Two mage lights circled around her, one stopping at the front, the other floating behind her.

  “Why? It’s dark. You have no visibility.”

  His power was like a lasso that tugged her with a gentle pull, enticing her. Tempting her.

  He stopped running and she passed him.

  “I know what your issue is,” he hollered.

  “You’re tired already? No wonder you need to work out twice a day.”

  “You like my vibes.” He caught up with her in seconds.

  She scoffed and then lied as only a sorceress could. “I do not. Why would you think that?” Her bicycle wobbled, channeling the unsteadiness he inspired in her.

  He smiled.

  Oh, don’t do that.

  Men like him should come with warnings. Maybe there was some kind of spell that would hover a banner over his head. If such a thing didn’t exist, someone should invent it because his smile was like sunshine and rumpled bed sheets, warm and seductive, something to snuggle up to. She had to look away.