Sorcerer's Spin Read online

  “You leaned into me when we were hiding,” he said. Neither huffing nor puffing. “You were intrigued.”

  “Maybe I simply lost my balance.” She pedaled faster.

  He kept pace. “I believe I mentioned that I like your vibes, too.”

  She sucked in a light breath. How long had she imagined meeting someone who could see past her specs and the labels society chained around her? Inside her chest, something small blossomed. She braked and put a foot on the road. “Fine. I admit that you have nice vibes. They’re tranquil.” She tightened her lips. “It’s too bad you’re a thief. And worse, it’s too bad you work for Power United.” She pushed off again, leaving him behind, and ruthlessly squashed the wistful flutter in her heart.

  He caught up before she was ten feet down the road. “I don’t work for them.”

  “You did. And now you’re tainted.”

  “I disagree. Despite what you’ve seen of me, I’m a nice guy.”

  “Nice guys say no to committing theft.”

  It wasn’t exactly fair of her. The High Councilor had issued Gregor an order, and no one said no to her. Except he had in a way…he’d hidden her spinning wheel in her office, keeping it safe for her.

  He might have groaned as she pedaled faster, but he didn’t fall behind. Maybe he was using some type of jogging spell to keep up with her. Did those exist?

  “So I have room for improvement. But in my defense, may I point out that I returned your employee’s drop spindle?” This time there was a slight panting in his voice. “No mage should have the conduit of their power taken away. I vow I will never do that to a fellow mage.” The energy of the vow vibrated through the air.

  She scrunched up her nose. She hated vows. “Here’s a lesson in dealing with wayward mages: never vow to the Goddess around them. She’s not a fan of our imperfections.”

  “That’s not true.” His voice was sharp with the denial as if he’d taken her lack of godly favor personally. Silence fell between them for a moment, broken only by heavy breathing. “What else is there to this lesson?” he prompted. “I’m listening.”

  But she wasn’t interested in convincing him of the truth. “That’s all there is. It’s pretty simple.” Focusing on pedaling, she called out the directions to get to her home.

  They turned down Redbud Alley that led to the old carriage house she used as a garage. Half a block in, she squeezed the brakes, stopping at its doors. The alley was secluded and dark, and the tree limbs stretched over them, hiding them from the sky…hiding them from scroll thieves riding on an impossible Pegasus.

  “You didn’t learn what you came for tonight. What were you seeking?” He took one deep inhale and his breathing evened out as he stood beneath the soft glow of his mage lights. A bead of sweat dripped down his cheek to hide among the golden whiskers that shadowed his face. He lifted the hem of his T-shirt to wipe it away. Her glance to his belly was automatic, the lines of his muscles glistening in the light. She didn’t even try not to look. The best she could claim was that she kept it quick.

  Warnings clanged in her mind, reminding her that she’d been lured in by a handsome face before. She’d almost forfeited her life for it.

  “I was looking for proof that the relics don’t exist.” She lifted her gaze to him, expecting to find a flirtatious smile because if he’d noticed she liked his vibes, then he hadn’t missed her glance at his abs.

  But his gaze was focused and sharp, his lips in a serious line. “Instead you found me, and I’ve seen a relic for myself. They exist. Do you believe me?”

  “No.” She climbed off her bike.

  He sighed hard and then his attention caught high, toward the upper floor of her house. “You left a light on and the curtains open. Might want to rethink that.”

  Her most powerful wheel sat highlighted in the dark of night.

  She couldn’t catch her breath at the thought of losing anything else today. She’d shuttered away the grief at the loss of her wheels for the sake of her sorceresses, but it burst to the surface now. “Are you going to turn me in?” The words quivered.

  “I swear by the Goddess not to tell anyone or anything.” Vibes waved around him at the power in the words.

  She flinched. “Captain, you didn’t heed my short lesson.”

  He held up his hands, palms in, surrender, mage style. “Habit. I apologize. And it’s Gregor.”

  She pushed the button on the garage remote that sat in her bicycle’s basket. Catching his glance, she knew he was surprised she hadn’t spelled the door open, but she never used her power in public. “Thanks for the protection against the Pegasus.” She walked her bike into the garage. His mage lights accompanied her. She would wait to extinguish them until after he left. Even the small amount of energy needed for that would cause her eyes to glow, and she refused to expose that to him.

  He stood there, a silhouette of grays and blacks. “Mara, I’m leaving soon.”

  She waited. He didn’t move. “Okay. I’m closing the door now.”

  “No, I meant I’m leaving to…go far away.”

  She didn’t ask where. Far away didn’t invite questions, and the less she connected with him the better.

  His shadow didn’t move. “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?”

  She might have laughed. “No. Whatever you are…a government agent, a soldier, a Power United employee, I know your type. Lure them in and lead them to their doom.”

  “A flair for drama wasn’t in your file.”

  “You admit you read my file.” It was evidence against him, though she wasn’t surprised there was a file on her or that he’d read it. She could imagine what it contained.

  “It was thin. I’d say it’s missing a few details. I’ll bring you my file. You can read it over dinner. Then we’ll be on even ground.”

  “You and I will never be on even ground.” She closed the garage door with another push against the remote.

  He bent down as it lowered, keeping her in sight. “Please?”

  “No.”

  5

  Gregor walked into the High Councilor’s vast throne room and surveyed it. The throne stood at the center of the back wall and was elevated on a dais. Enormous tapestries hung throughout the room. The exits were peppered among them. He made a note of them. Habit.

  There was a door ahead, close to the throne, another behind him and one each on the right and left walls. It was always good to know how to escape when the High Councilor was in the vicinity.

  Beside him, General Vincent Rallis cleared his throat. Something nervous and uncertain rang through the sound to Gregor’s mage sense. He braced himself for questions that would be uncomfortable for them both, and then decided to be proactive. “No.”

  “No, what?” Vin asked.

  “I’m not returning.” He wasn’t changing his no to a yes. Though he spent most of last night wondering how to get Mara to do the very same to his dinner invitation. “I’m not rescinding my resignation.”

  Vin asked him each time they’d been together since Gregor had quit. The question was usually followed by a spiel claiming that he didn’t know anything about the plans with the fairy needle and he wanted him back in his unit and that Gregor needed to move on.

  “I would like you to reconsider.” Vin’s tone turned formal. He was a member of a founding family, practically a prince of the Republic. His occasional stuffiness was a side effect of his birth.

  It had never bothered him before.

  Gregor eyed the other man in the room, Lincoln Sinclair, chief of the High Councilor’s guards. He didn’t know him well, and he didn’t want to have this conversation in front of him. But considering Sinclair’s position, he probably already knew about the incident.

  “The army doesn’t welcome waywards. You know that as well as I do. The only reason you’re asking me is because you’re my friend.” Or rather they used to be friends. Gregor couldn’t trust him anymore. “No one would willingly follow me or partner with me.”


  “Dane.” Vin held out his hands.

  “Again, because he’s my friend.”

  “And many others.”

  Wrong. Vin was just too stubborn to admit it. Gregor couldn’t go back, but he had no idea how to go forward. “You say I need to move on.” He met Vin’s gaze. “So do you.”

  The right door opened, and Cecilia Garnet entered, along with her Power United colleague, Nils Lusman.

  Their arrival killed the conversation. Thank the Goddess.

  Both wore business suits, Cecilia’s tight with a short skirt. Nils’s suit was much less remarkable, as was everything else about him. He was tall and slender with brown hair, sharp eyes, and the manners of a polished businessman. But today he looked pale. He puffed out his cheeks. “Holy vibing shite. I can’t believe I’m in the throne room.” His voice wavered. “Captain Whitman, I am glad you’re here. You have a capable presence.” He pulled at his tie. “Pretty much what I need right now. Goddess, I’m nervous. By the way, you did quite a job coordinating the men at the mill. I know they weren’t the easiest men to handle. We’re always a little short-handed on the night shift.”

  Gregor stifled a frown at the excuse. Those men had orders and they should have followed them to the letter.

  “I hope you’ll consider joining us permanently.” Nils glanced at Vincent. “Sorry, General. We offer better pay, better benefits. It’s less dangerous by far. I know we’re a step down in prestige but considering….”

  Gregor raised an eyebrow. “Considering that I’ve had a step down in prestige as well?”

  “No, no, not at all. I just want you to know we do not discriminate. We are an equal opportunity employer. As you know, we hire even the weakest of sorceresses.”

  When Gregor had overseen the delivery of Blue Light Mills’ wheels yesterday morning, he’d witnessed the women spinning green hay to copper. He’d made it a point to check it out. Their working conditions were nothing like what Mara had claimed—her protests were recorded in her file, but she had no proof of wrongdoing by the electric company.

  “We’ve been looking for the right man to head up security for a while,” Nils continued, smiling.

  “We’ve got great toys to do the job.” Cecilia handed him a flat rectangle, about the size of his palm.

  “Pocket-sized tracker,” she explained.

  He knew what it was.

  “No spells. Just Non-mage tech, so no mage can sense it on him…or her.” Her smile brimmed. He could guess what was coming. “We’ve been tracking Mara Rand at the High Councilor’s request. A smart move. She can’t be trusted. I hear you’re taking over the job.”

  “What?” He raised an eyebrow. That was news to him.

  Sinclair snapped straight and opened the door ahead of him with a push of his vibes. No one but the High Councilor’s guards could cast spells in her presence. Not even the senators.

  The old crone entered, her white robes flowing around her. Her long white hair, parted in the middle, streamed down her back. Wrinkles lined her round face. At first glance, she looked like a kindly grandmother walking around blind, her eyes closed, with long black eyelashes gracing her sightless eyes. But on a closer look, those eyelashes focused into black stitches. Her eyes were sewn shut, the better to see the future, or so the story went. But only the foolish assumed she couldn’t see exactly what was in front of her and more.

  Power radiated from her and it took Gregor a moment to remember how to breathe again. She always had this effect on him.

  Everyone bowed low until she was seated on her throne.

  She turned her blind gaze to Cecilia and Nils. “How many wheels have you confiscated?”

  “From Blue Light Mills, there were one hundred seventeen,” Cecilia replied. “From Rallis Territory overall, we’ve collected about a thousand. And Power United’s branches in the other territories are right on track with us. In total, we’ve confiscated over ten thousand.”

  Gregor absorbed that new piece of information as calmly as possible. No one had told him this was a nation-wide seizure.

  Nils cleared his throat. “None resonate with the power of the gray according to our tests.”

  “Your tests?” Gregor’s words busted out, driven by horrified instinct. “You don’t need to use it to know it’s a relic. Trust me. You’ll be able to sense its evilness simply being in the same room with it.” He flung his arm out with the words, the small tracker box still in his grip. What the hell was he supposed to do with it? He stuck it in his pocket.

  “Some of the sorceresses who spin for Power United have taken on the duty,” Nils responded as if it were no big deal. “We need to be certain in our identification process.”

  Goddess above, they didn’t know what they were asking.

  “As soon as the relic is identified, it will be taken into custody and delivered to the Council House. No one will be worse for wear.” Nils smiled.

  Three months ago, Gregor had been meant to walk away from his encounter with a relic too. Stronger than ever. No worse for wear.

  Nils was clueless about the power of the relics just as the army officials had been. The med mage had even assured Gregor that the inoculation with the needle would strengthen his power. Not ruin it.

  Gregor eyed the man. “If you find the wheel and test it on one of those women, you’ll destroy her.”

  Nils shook his head. “I don’t—”

  “Lusman and Garnet. Out. Now.” The High Councilor waved at both Cecilia and Nils.

  They didn’t wait. Both almost ran out of the room. The door clicked shut behind them.

  Vin stepped forward, his mouth in a tight line. The general was highly displeased. “With all due respect, Lady, this is something the army should lead. Not Power United.”

  “They are spinning wheel experts, Vinny. Can anyone in the army claim that? I think not. Besides, I have my little monk mage on the case.” She pointed at Gregor.

  Monk mage—it was another term for cadence mage because of the chants they often used in their spells.

  “My little monkey.”

  Experience kept him from grimacing. She’d called him that more than once. His bigger concern was that he’d thought his part in this was done. He wasn’t on the case. He was here to report his findings and then he was getting back to his preparations for his trip. He was leaving for the West on a search to find…something. Answers. Hope. Himself.

  The High Councilor shook her head at him as if she disagreed with his thoughts.

  Goddess, he was tired of this. His slump intensified. He was aware of it this time.

  “The handsome Captain Whitman is right. He knows exactly how a fairy relic feels,” she said.

  He wasn’t a captain anymore.

  Beside him, Vin stiffened. “He knows how one feels because you’ve destroyed his life with it.”

  “He’s still standing, isn’t he?” she snapped. “I did not destroy his life.” She held up a long, pointy finger. “But I can destroy yours, General. Best remember that.” She nodded at Sinclair. “Hide these two away before my army boy gets angry and commits treason. When it comes to children it’s best to limit their opportunities to misbehave. Besides, I promised him he could watch his wife.” Her voice dropped a few notes lower. “It’s a little kinky, General…your inclination to spy on her. Does she know?”

  Vin wisely remained silent.

  Gregor followed the general and Sinclair behind the hanging tapestries. Whatever the hell was going on now, he knew better than to ask.

  Three feet of space stood between the wall and the tapestries’ thick fabric, one of which was coated in a transparency spell, making a one-way window into the receiving room. The moment they were hidden, ladies-in-waiting entered and bowed to the High Councilor. Gregor had witnessed similar scenes dozens of times over his years of guard duty.

  The old crone waved them away and then watched from her throne, seemingly bored, as the women mingled.

  Mara Rand walked in a moment later. Gregor st
raightened as he drank her in.

  Her eyes were clear behind her red-framed specs. Her chin was high. Her black pantsuit outlined her long legs. The trim jacket followed the curves of her body with equal perfection. She might have looked like she belonged, except for the spectacles and the solitude that hovered around her. She bowed, unacknowledged, and took a seat against the wall and waited alone, a meal fit for any one of the privileged women circling like the library’s sharks.

  A fist punched against the inside of his ribs as if prodding him to go to her, to stand beside her, but all he could do was watch.

  From her secluded corner of the receiving room, Mara eyed the High Councilor. She no longer shivered at the sight of the stitches that held the High Councilor’s eyes shut. Instead, she wondered which sorceress had spun the black thread. Though it was done long before she was born, some ambitious, prideful part of her wished she’d been the one to spin it.

  A waste of a wish for a wayward.

  The thread had probably been spun by a sorceress who was related to one of the ladies milling about the chamber. They were all born of privilege and power. The group was composed of the female members of the Council, one senator, and some of the heiresses of the Mayflower families—their ancestors were the founders of the Republic.

  The three-dozen women gossiped and cast curious glances Mara’s way. The muffle spells that hovered over the room clogged their words like they were stuck in a drain. But Mara didn’t need to hear them to comprehend their disdain.

  She wondered if any of them knew that some of her spells circulated here. The original tapestries of the room that graced the wall to her left were woven with threads she’d spun and imbued with the power to absorb mage vibes. Thanks to her spells, the room wasn’t overwhelmed with the energy of the high-powered mages who frequented it. The ladies-in-waiting didn’t seem to notice the spells, but they weren’t they meant to.

  However, Mara was certain she was meant to notice the new set of tapestries that hung over the throne. She’d taken stock of them the moment she’d arrived. They were a message to her. Although considering the messenger, who happened to be sitting beneath them, it was more accurate to call them a threat.