Syphon's Song (14 page)

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered as he stroked his fingers through her hair. The pillow beneath was wet. With a spray of energy he pushed the water out, drying both with two swipes through her hair.

She reached up, her fingers mimicking his, and brought a strand of hair to her line of sight. “My new favorite hair dryer.” Her voice was groggy.

“Sleep,” he ordered with a brush of his hand down her cheek. He turned and walked back to his office, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He sent a push of energy to bolt his front door. The locks on the windows and the back door didn’t move as he tried the same thing on them, already latched. It felt odd to so easily use his mage power for everyday actions.

He scanned the energy around them, his sixth sense relaxed but primed. Bronte’s syphon kept him comfortable even when he was geared up. The vibes of the nearest people came from the big house, but with the gyre throwing off such intense power—even more now since the encounter with Masset—it was hard to be sure. He wouldn’t let down his guard. He’d keep her safe even if she didn’t want him to.

He pulled out the reports and skimmed Bronte’s first. It didn’t reveal much more than the general had already told him. He flipped to the one on Claude.

In the bedroom, her movement pushed at the air around her. He looked up from the report and froze. He had every sense tuned in and picked up the energy of the rustling covers before she stepped out of bed. Her mage vibes would take practice to sense. He wasn’t good enough yet. Her energy signature was almost blank. Almost.

A
thump
and two clicks sounded from the main room. She appeared in front of the opening to his office with her violin and bow in one hand, the other still fingering a lock of her hair.

It spilled down her shoulders and to the middle of her upper arms, curling under softly. It framed her beauty perfectly. He’d like to see it all spread out on his pillow again.

She flicked the back door’s lock, walked out and shut the door behind her.

So much for keeping her locked in.

He strode to the couch and looked out the window. She sat on the edge of the back porch. Her feet dangled over the edge. She tucked her violin under her chin and pulled the bow along the strings. Notes found their pitch and streamed out with a purity that matched her faint energy. Her melody vibrated around him and everywhere else. The universe’s energy responded and vibrated in concert. Even the energy of the trees and grasses morphed to blend with her song. He closed his eyes and let the vibes she created with her song soak into him. He liked music as much as the next guy, but not classical. This, however, would turn even a rocker’s head.

The landline’s duplicator swished out more papers. He forced himself to shake off the bindings of her song and picked up the latest report. He needed to focus while she was busy.

The handwritten cover page read,

Meant to tell you about this. Your syphon’s distracted me too.

T.W.

Shuffling to the next page, his gut tightened as he read the short report. DW had detonated another bomb, this time in Eaton Territory in a wooded area behind a mage school. It should have been empty on a Saturday afternoon. The blast occurred two and a half hours ago, a hundred yards from the school during an early festival to celebrate the autumnal equinox. The place had been packed with families. No injuries. Another bomb off target.

Vincent sat back in his desk chair and tried again to puzzle this out. The last four DW attacks had missed their mark, after a dozen being right on. Something was wrong in Double-Wide. But what? A traitor in their organization? If that were the case, it shouldn’t have taken four bombs for the terrorists to notice and eliminate the problem. Vincent reread the details and studied the grainy photos.

Just then, mage vibes drifted toward him. Not Bronte. Someone was coming down his road. Three someones. His parents and brother. The cavalry had arrived, ready to plan the attack to secure his syphon’s future.

He locked the reports in the top desk drawer and went to the front porch to meet them. Best to keep his mother outside. If she got in, he’d need a crowbar to remove her. Vincent leaned against the post at the top of his porch steps and stuck his hands in his pockets.

Out here, Bronte’s music resonated crystal clear. Its energy waved through the air. He watched his mother absorb it the moment she stepped from the Land Rover. She took a deep breath, her eyes closing, as if she could inhale the melody.

“Good goddess. Is that her?” She paced to the edge of his house quicker than high heels ought to allow.

“You’re a lucky man, brother.” Edmund sauntered up the steps. “You’ve found a girl who’s like a mythical siren for Mother. You’ll never be alone again. It will always be the three of you.”

His mother leaned around the corner of the house, pulled to Bronte’s tune. “Is she in the back?”

Vincent nodded again.

“I’m telling Dell to cut your grass,” she said. “I’m not tromping through these weeds.”

“Then you can listen from here.”

She gave an exasperated huff but stepped up to his front porch.

The sad beauty of Bronte’s tune shifted and twisted, circling around the same melody again and again. It ventured further away each time, leaving him surprised when the melancholy string of notes returned. His bones vibrated with her sound. His heart moved in time to it. Her song captivated them all—even his father’s face lightened for a moment, though he climbed the steps like every move hurt.

He’d been helping with the victims of the bombing since early this morning. His drawn face looked as if he’d spent his every vibe mending what damage he could. “All this time, the Casteels have held the answer to your sense-sickness.” He looked off into the meadow and squinted against the bright light of the blue sky. “Who would have thought such an incredible gift would come from such an unlikely source?”

Vincent looked the other away. For thirteen years he hadn’t believed what his heart was telling him. He should have known.

“The house of Casteel will never let her go.” His mother shook her head with disgust. “If they knew she was the complement to your power, they’d probably get rid of her just to spite us.”

“Bronte said something similar on the way here.” If Vincent had anything to say about it, they would never see their daughter again.

His mother put her hands on his shoulders. “Vincent, she needs to be able to stand beside you. Not behind. Believe me, I know. The Hawkins name was no blessing when I first came here.”

“But your scrappy, sly heritage has served you well, Mother,” Edmund said.

“As it has served you, Edmund. You’re fifty percent Hawkins after all, even if you grew up here,” their mother said. “But back to Bronte. She cannot continue this façade of being a Non.”

She moved to stand beside her husband. His parents shared a look of secrets, two experienced warriors with a long history of prevailing over powerful foes and ready for another fight. Together they were a force of nature.

“There’s only one alternative.” Mother’s flat voice rendered her verdict.

Vincent nodded, knowing they’d drawn the same conclusion. “She has to come out of hiding.”

“We’ll help. You can’t do it alone,” his mother said.

For a moment they fell silent. Bronte’s music continued to drift around to them, creating an almost physical connection between her and every living entity within hearing.

“I don’t know about this. She’s a bit timid, Vin.” Edmund crossed his arms over his chest.

Vincent frowned. “You’re wrong about that.”

“Well, she uses her propriety like a shield.”

“That’s certainly nothing you would know about,” their mother shot in.

Edmund grinned. “Bronte’s lovely, and there’s enough fire in her to fascinate. But it’d be easy to blow out her flame with just a breath.” He rubbed a single finger over the bridge of his nose. “She not going to come out of hiding willingly.”

“No.” Vincent shook his head. “I’m going to have to drag her out.”

“Well, make sure she still likes you afterward.” His mother waved a finger in the air. “She’s not one of your army mages. You can’t order her around.”

“Masset’s already on her trail.”

“Oh, yes. He’s definitely working on that warrant.” His mother had imported a bevy of Hawkins spies when she’d married a Rallis.

“Either Masset suspects something about her, or he’s prejudiced against every Non out there now. I’m guessing the latter. He’s no aurist mage.” He looked at his father. “I don’t know if he’s the right man to be the chief of the enforcers, Dad. After that first bombing, he changed.”

“Losing a son would change any father,” he replied. “I’ll look into it. But our mages are up in wands over the bombing. It would be almost impossible to replace the leader of the enforcers right now. He’s gained a good bit of support for his strong tactics with Nons because of the Double-Wide attacks.”

“Strong? He tried to kill her in the gyre.” Vincent ran a hand through his hair. “We have to secure her position with us fast. And the Casteels won’t simply hand her over.”

“Changing history doesn’t happen overnight, Vincent,” Helen reprimanded. “And that’s what needs to be done. The public is scared of syphons.”

“The public is scared of everything these days,” Vincent scoffed.

“There are some powers that should be feared,” Edmund said matter-of-factly. “Though syphons obviously aren’t one of them.”

Vincent wasn’t fooled by Edmund’s casual words. His brother had a power so rare they’d had to research ancient scrolls to determine what it was. Knowing its name hadn’t helped. It was still just as dangerous, just as deadly, and imperative to control. So far, Edmund excelled at concealing the depths of his power. He and Bronte had that in common. But if Edmund’s control ever slipped, the devastation would be unmatched.

Vincent thumped him on the back in consolation.

Edmund shrugged him off. “Bronte’s about to become the spokesperson of scary mage powers. She’ll be good at it, if only because she looks like she could be knocked over with a dandelion puff.”

“If that’s what you think, you’ve been duped.” Vincent would rather forget how she stood up to Masset—not once, but twice.

“The symphony’s a good starting point,” his mother said. “She’ll like it. We’ll keep her with us, insulate her from the curious. We’ll arrive late, let everyone see her in the box with us, and we’ll leave early.”

His father took her into his arms. “Darling, that means we can’t go to the dinner before or the party after.”

She nodded.

“You’re a sweet girl.”

“I am not.”

His mother had worked all year on tonight’s celebration; even Vincent knew that.

“Besides, it’s not a big sacrifice. Not for Vincent.” She patted him on the arm.

His family rallied for a fight in his honor. They’d arrived here without waiting for him to ask for help. And his mother was giving up her big night.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, darling. In the meantime, we convince the Casteels to transfer her sponsorship to us permanently. That’s the first step until we can secure her legal protections as a mage.”

Edmund tilted his head. “After seeing the gyre, it’s obvious the land has welcomed her with open arms. She’s already bonded as one of ours, though not by law. As for getting the Casteels to hand over the legal rights to her, I say we hold the medallion hostage.”

Vincent straightened. “No. Double-Wide will think we’re accepting their gift and giving in to them. If they share that with the public, everything this family stands for will be crushed.”

Edmund shrugged. “Alright, Colonel. Whatever you say. Then we stall for now. Tell the Casteels we can retrieve the medallion in a week or so, and in the meantime we need to keep their daughter as a witness to the safety of the medallion. You know, with Bronte in your life, you could take the Senate seat. You wouldn’t have to worry about the vibes of all those other senators bugging the hell out of your sense.”

“No way. That’s yours.” As firstborn, Vincent was entitled to the position, but his overly powerful mage sense would flare beyond the tolerable at the Rushes. Vincent had never wanted the seat. He wasn’t sure Edmund did either.

He focused the conversation back to tonight’s plan. “We take the sentries with us to the symphony. They’ll guard the door to the box and can tell everyone we’re enjoying the time alone as a family and don’t want to be interrupted.”