Enchanter's Echo (5 page)

“You could, but you don’t. The only time you come see me is when there’s a problem.”

“Not true. Remember the time I brought you those tickets to the symphony when they were playing at the amphitheater?”

“The ones you didn’t want because classical music sucks trash vibes and you refused to waste a precious date night with Boobs Brunette fully clothed?” She tapped her finger to her lips. “Yes, I believe I remember that.”

He lifted his eyebrows to the crown of his nonexistent hair in a parody of innocence. “You had a good time, right?”

“So did you, I’m sure.”

He nodded, male satisfaction stretching across his face.

“Uh-huh. So did she. I get it.”

He tipped his head in acknowledgement, but then the satisfaction faded. “I wish you could find another good time for yourself. Seems that every corner you turn lately another problem squares off at you. And if there happens to be a corner out there with no problem, you’re tensing up anyway, expecting one.” He leaned against the booth and spread both arms on the back of the seat. “I’m not around all the time and even I’ve noticed. Tera has noticed. Merida, Izzy.

“Next thing you know, little Lily is gonna be crying over faulty flower crowns because you’re too distracted with problems to spell them together right. They’re all keeping their heads down, Ror. They’re living the way they need to in order to survive.”

She stared, searching her friend’s hard face. Of all her friends, Bull was the one who understood her fears the most. “What if we can’t hide forever?”

He leaned forward and spoke softly. “This whole country comes from a long line of hiders. If we didn’t have hiding in our blood, every mage’s ancestor woulda burned. You gotta believe. You gotta have faith. You used to. Otherwise why even bother fixing the engines on these people? If I walk into a fight thinking I’m gonna lose, you know what happens?”

“Yes—”

“I lose.”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “Junkyard talk, Ror. I’m disappointed. You say it, but you don’t mean it. You gotta let the faith seep into your skin and drench your bones for the sake of the forest people.” It was Bull’s term for the people she’d enhanced, as well as those who knew what she’d done, whether they lived in the forest or not. “Because pretty soon they aren’t gonna believe either. And if they stop trusting that they’re safe and protected, they’ll stop working so hard to keep their secrets hidden.”

He leaned to one side and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. Pulling out a piece of paper, he slapped it on the table. It was an envelope. An expensive one based on its creamy color and linen texture. The inside was lined with gold. She knew because it was open. Turning it over, she saw her name scribbled on the front.

“You opened my mail?” She gave him a one-sided frown and pulled out the heavy card inside. She didn’t need to read far. “P.U.R.E.? Hellhounds, Bull. No way. Where did this even come from?”

“Delivered by messenger. One of the gang intercepted him.”

“Which doesn’t explain why you opened it.”

He lifted his mug in a toast. “Anything in the name of security.”

“Do you know what P.U.R.E. stands for?”

“Yeah. Prissy Ugly Rich Elitists.”

She laughed, exasperation bubbling up with the humor.

Izzy walked up with another newspaper. “Table four left this behind. Thought you might like to read their leftovers.” The invitation fell to the floor as the paper brushed against them.

“Whoops.” Izzy bent and picked up the stiff paper. “P.U.R.E.? I hardly think they’re going to find many People of Universal Righteous Energy in the Drainpipe. At least not as they define it.” She read further and then donned a real smile. “You are cordially invited to the P.U.R.E Ball.” She turned toward the rest of the diner. “Hey, guys! A girl from the Pipe is going to infiltrate the P.U.R.E. Ball.”

A chorus of cheers and applause filled the open space of the diner. Bleak, the cook, hooted his approval through the kitchen window. “You show ’em who really lives in the Pipe!”

“Yeah! Damn P.U.R.E.,” an older man by the far window chimed in. “Prejudice Used to Refuse Equality.”

Another diner raised his coffee mug. “We’re just as right as the light.” Another round of yeas echoed through the diner as everyone raised their mugs, including Bull. He lifted a brow, daring her to join. She lifted her cup.

Izzy set the invitation down. “You show P.U.R.E. that the people of the Drainpipe are as worthy as everyone else. We’re Pipers.” She pumped her fist in rhythm with the shortened term for those who lived in the Drainpipe. To those outside the Pipe, it was an insult, but everyone here was proud to be a Piper. She walked away and the crowd turned back to their papers and eggs.

Aurora glanced around to make sure the diners were back to minding their own business and then leaned in to Bull. “What the heck?” she hissed. “I thought you wanted me to hide.”

He lowered his voice. “The forest people need to stay quiet and discreet. But after yesterday, that’s not an option for you. I saw that kiss. I didn’t see him in time to stop him from trespassing, obviously. I’d guess he saw you in your shop and followed you?”

“I don’t know. He had a
see-me-not
charm. Did you see what he held in his hand?” She answered for him. “My father’s eye. The Rallises had it all along. Edmund destroyed it in mid-air.” She shoved the invitation back at him.

“Ah.
Edmund
, huh? Interesting.”

Aurora stayed silent. He’d see through any defense she offered.

His thoughtful frown lasted a lengthy moment. “We need a change of strategy.” He pushed the invitation back to her side of the table. “Starting with this. This is your fight. You go, give them your goody-goody, innocent-me smile, and say whatever’s necessary to keep them away from the junkyard.”

“No. I don’t like these people.”

P.U.R.E. disguised itself as a grassroots movement aiming to reunite society in the aftermath of the terrorists. But they were only interested in select portions of society. “This is just another version of the light reigning supreme over the dark.”

“Screw them. You are P.U.R.E. in the truest sense of the word—kind and caring, out there with your little rebel heart doing good with your gifts. Go. Represent the forest people and the Pipe whether or not the snobs know it.”

His hand engulfed hers as he gave her a pat. “Drenched with faith…this is how it works. You go challenge the best fighter. Win. Then you’re the biggest and the baddest and those under your protection stay safe.”

She shook her head. She knew the biggest and baddest. It wasn’t her. Edmund took that title without lifting a finger. She pulled her hand away from Bull and stroked her fingers over the embossed writing on the invitation. A hand-written message appeared.

Pay up.

She’d already guessed the source of the invitation, but there it was, spelled out for her. “No.” She shoved the invitation back into the envelope with a furious thrust.

“Do you want them to come to you? Because that’s what’s gonna happen next.” He gave her exactly enough time to picture the results of that and then delivered his next punch. “You spent years vowed to that vibe shite founding family. You know how they work.” He planted his hands on the table. “You’re the only one of us who can run interference with these people. This is your fight. Go to the ball. Dress up. Dance. I’ll find you a dress myself if I have to.”

“So now you’re my fairy godfather?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Maybe you can blow off some steam in the process. Relax. Find a bed buddy. Choose
him
, if you want. Keep your enemies close, huh?”

“A bed buddy?” Her incredulous tone drew the stares of the other diners.

“I was being polite. A fuck buddy. But do the nasty at his house, not at yours.”

Izzy returned with offers of refills putting an end to the argument. Bull accepted and ordered three entrees of breakfast. Aurora declined, her stomach locked at the idea of attending a P.U.R.E. ball. Besides, she’d lingered in the diner too long anyway.

He nodded at the door. “Go. I know you’ve got to get to work. I got your coffee. And remember to pick out a dress.”

She slid out of the booth, leaving the invitation behind, but he caught her by the tail of her coat. He shoved it into the back pocket of her pants.

Stomping out of the diner, she paced down the sidewalk as if she could outrun her pocket. Bitter cold wind wrapped around her as she stepped around the cracks in the broken concrete. Almost all the sidewalks and roads of the Pipe were pockmarked and cracked. Little tax money was thrown in this direction. Fine by her. Money meant the light creeping closer, bringing their judgment and prejudice.

But Bull was right. Not going was a guarantee that Edmund would return. Her stomach twisted; a puff of glitter clouded around her. Again. She looked around, right and left. Goddess, had anyone caught that?

Her shoulders slumped as she caved to the only option.

To save the kingdom, she’d go to the ball.

With one hand in the pocket of his tuxedo pants, Edmund stared over the crowd toward the ballroom’s closed door. His soul had been aching for the past two days from the bond’s fissure. Neither his grandfather nor his parents had mentioned the rip, merely eyeing him closely every time they saw him. He knew what that meant. They thought he’d done it…probably assumed it was an accident, as if he’d leaked power or something. A silent tension had gripped the household. Thanks to the vow, he could offer no words in his defense.

Tonight, he was determined to put it aside, a task she would make easier. If she ever showed up.

Vincent stood next to him staring at his own target, his mate. Actually, he was glaring at the man dancing with her: David Noble, second heir to the Noble medallion. The man sported a cunning smile that begged for a good, hard fist. His pale blond hair, typical of the Noble family, was slicked back with a greasy spell. Edmund couldn’t imagine any woman finding that attractive. The only good thing about that hair was that it made it easy to recognize the man was a Noble. They were all greedy, scheming bastards who tried to worm the advantage for themselves with every play in the Senate. Their citizen mages bore the brunt of their dirty politics.

“He’s got a sound spell around them,” Vincent growled as dozens of mages danced before them. The women were dressed in white. Like Edmund, most of the men had chosen standard black despite P.U.R.E.’s directive. Vin wore the stark, plain black of the army’s dress uniform.

Edmund turned to the dancing pair and pushed at the air around them with his vibes, a delicate move considering the crowded dance floor. His energy bounced off the invisible dome of the spell.

“That’s why she keeps tilting her head,” Vincent said. “The spell is bothering her.”

“I thought you were working on a shield for her.” Edmund frowned at the thought of Bronte in pain.

“The shielder’s spell bothered her just as much as anything else.”

“Then we’ll find a better shielder.”

“There aren’t any.” Vincent said the words with a worried sigh. “The only thing that works is if I’m in the spell with her and deflect it from her.”

Though Bronte was a mage, she had a difficult time tolerating any spells, nor could she cast any spells of her own. No syphon mage could.

“Why is she dancing with him? More to the point, why are you letting her?” Edmund carefully kept a polite expression beneath the gaze of the watchful, curious crowd. The Rallis twins rarely appeared together in public. A light flashed as a reporter cast an image spell of them.

“She’s campaigning. Trying to get the all the founding families to support her message to syphons, encouraging them to come forth.”

Until a few months ago, syphon mages were automatically put to death, but none had been born in almost a century, or so everyone had believed. Bronte was the first syphon to come out to the public. She’d risked a fiery stake doing so. Instead, she’d earned freedom for every syphon, proving her worth and the benign nature of her power.

“Let Pops lead that campaign. No one would counter the senator on that.”

Vincent ground his teeth hard enough to hear over the music and noise of the crowd. “She wants to do it on her own.”

“Who exactly wears the pants between the two of you? I still have that—”

“Not the rope, dickhead.”

Edmund winked at Bronte as she danced past, just before she was lost to sight among the shifting dancers. Allison, their cousin, whirled past next, an elderly mage her partner. She’d stated her plan on the drive here. She would only dance with old, conservative geezers. This was geezer number two—Edmund was counting. She would avoid any mage who might lead her astray like her last boyfriend. In unspoken agreement, the family had nodded at her strategy. The girl was returning to mage society after detox and that took guts. She’d find her path, which apparently began with stodgy elders.

Far to his left, the doors to the ballroom opened. He sucked in a breath as a curvy column of black halted in the entrance. With her pale pink lips in a cool, flat line and her red hair tamed in smooth waves around her face and shoulders, she stood straight, proud, and fearless. A regal queen of the dark.

Dancers shuffled to chaotic stops and musicians lost their tune as they craned to see. Edmund angled his stance, shifting to face her. Her black dress, fitted gently down to her hips, mimicked the grip his hands wanted to take. It frothed in a fuller skirt around her thighs and to the floor. Little sleeves, mere strips of fabric, fell in a droop across her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare and hinting that the rest of the dress might fall off, too. At least that’s what he read in those sleeves.

Around him, the stunned crowd found its voice.

“She’s dark?”

“She dares come to P.U.R.E.?”

That was the thing about mage power. It was almost impossible for the average mage to read individual types of true power. Only aurist mages could do that, but even they could read only specific frequencies. Manners dictated never asking mages what they were.