Syphon's Song (21 page)

She picked up the heels she’d worn to the symphony. They were the only shoes within view. Had they been a gift from Lady Rallis, or were they a loan? She hoped for the former, since they were all she could find. She grabbed the beaded clutch.

At this rate, Lady Rallis could have her arrested for theft if she was so inclined. The Rallises would have to catch her first. Bronte was confident that even their all-powerful reach wasn’t enough to infiltrate Locke’s boundaries. Assuming she could get there.

She picked up her violin and stepped into the quiet night. The chatty crickets stood as her only witnesses. They hushed as one unit when she stepped off the porch, as if they were in silent awe that she dared to flee from the intimidating Colonel Rallis.

Her breath rasped loudly through the quiet night as she moved toward the car and stepped into the spotlight of the almost full moon. She tiptoed. Her sore feet went quickly numb, her shoes still in her hand. Their
clip-clip
would be too loud for a sneaky escape. She opened the driver’s door. For once it didn’t squeak. Maybe her car wasn’t the traitor she thought.

She placed her violin on the passenger seat and glanced one last time at the house. No Vincent on the porch. But his vibes flowed into her syphon almost as easily as if she lay next to him.

She sucked in a hard, scratchy breath. She refused to miss him already. Squeezing her eyes shut against the sensation, she started the car. The engine turned over, smoother than before. He’d done something to it. When had he managed that?

The car bumped through the meadow in the dark. She didn’t dare turn on the headlights. Vincent’s vibes stretched, thinned, but stayed with her. The gyre’s influence picked up as she drove toward it. Its energy syphoned into her. Gravel cracked and crunched beneath the slow turn of her tires until she came to the paved road that led to the big house. The gyre’s power faded, but Vincent’s energy still whispered within her. How long would it last?

The little clock on the dash was dark. Bronte pushed the button for its minuscule light to shine. 3:02 AM. No one else should be about.

She drove down the smooth road, passing the big house on her right and steering around the front of it to the straight lane leading to the gates. Along the driveway, the dual border of naked trees loomed blacker than the night sky. Their branches stretched over the path like a tent of bony fingers. She passed under them. Vincent’s energy dwindled to a wisp. She stilled, trying to sense him a little longer. But it was useless. Her syphon’s reach had a limit. And she’d just passed it.

Her hands shook on the steering wheel—grief, instant loneliness…heartbreak. It was withdrawal of the heart, not from addiction. But that didn’t stop the hurt. She tried to box it back in and focus on the dark drive.

The gatehouse was straight ahead. Its two halves straddled the driveway with ample space for cars to pass beneath it. Her gut knotted at the lights shining from the right side of the small building. Someone was awake. Worse, the gates were closed.

A lump of dread settled in her stomach. By the stars, she’d forgotten about that. How would she get the gates open? Brute force? Prayer? She had to figure out something. Instinct told her if she didn’t get out now, she never would.

She slowed, hoping a slower, quieter engine might go unnoticed by the gatehouse’s occupants…hoping the gates would open automatically as she approached. She guided the car under the gatehouse at a crawl.

A door opened. The light from inside silhouetted a female form.

The shadowy person hailed her.

“Bronte?” Allison’s loud holler carried through the car’s windows. Heck, the woman’s shout probably carried to the big house.

Bronte stopped the car as the other woman bent over to peer in the passenger window. “What are you doing? Are you leaving?” Allison asked.

A man came up behind Allison. The light inside the gatehouse kept his face in darkness, but Bronte could guess who it was.

She stepped out of the car and stood in the doorway. It was easier than cranking down the passenger window. Her bare feet made contact with the driveway. They couldn’t get any colder.

“I was just looking for a little bit of space to clear my head.” That was a lie. She’d remembered too late that she shouldn’t lie to a mage. She’d spent too much of her life lying. It was a habit.

Allison didn’t seem to notice. She nodded. “I get that. This clan can be rather ‘do this, don’t do that, shame on you.’ I escape from here on a regular basis. I’ll open the gates for you. I’ll be here for another hour if you want back in. After that, you’re on your own.” Allison turned her head toward the gates, and they silently opened in.

Lonely freedom yawned on the other side. She turned to Allison, but a shout from outside the gates grabbed her attention.

“Freeze!” A clatter of footsteps from the road drummed toward her and onto the driveway.

Bronte obeyed, as did Allison. Her date did not. His shadow disappeared.

Mage lights blinked into existence, blinding her with their brightness. A small army of enforcers stood in front of her. Guns and blasters targeted her.

Bronte’s mind splintered, too stunned to catch a single thought of the jumble spinning through it.

“Step away from the car! Hands up!” The mage lights glittered against their metal vests formed of connected tuning circles. They were ready to channel as much energy as possible to handle her. Bronte had seen the vests in newspaper photos, worn by enforcers when capturing deadly mage criminals.

“Great,” Allison muttered. “Now I’ll really be in trouble.”

Bronte moved away from the car as ordered. The strength in her legs disappeared and left her with enough energy for only a few steps. She locked her knees to keep from falling.

“Turn around.” The man’s voice was softer this time but no less deadly. Disdain dripped from each word. “Arms on the car.”

She knew what was coming. Cold handcuffs girdled her wrists one by one, the kind of restraints used for mages. The hard metal squeezed tightly and bruised her thin wrists. The cuff’s sharp square angles prevented a mage from channeling extra energy into his sixth sense. They would have no effect on her. Not that they’d believe her if she told them.

“Why are you doing this?” Adrenaline coursed through her and awakened every sense to the max. It was all too intense for her mind to process.

“Shut up.” The man shook her hard and then yanked her from the car. His rough gloves scratched her bare arms, exposed by her short sleeves. Vincent’s short sleeves. The enforcer marched her down the driveway. His hard shoes kicked against the back of her bare feet. Rocks cut at her soles as he shoved her toward the road. The mage lights floated with them.

She walked out through the Rallis gates. This wasn’t freedom.

“Thank you, officers,” a man called from the down the road.

The guns and blasters came out anew, pointed into the darkness.

The unknown man, shrouded from her view by the night, seemed to ignore them. “General Wilen is grateful for your assistance. I’ll be sure to give him all the details about how helpful you were. We’ll take her from here.”

Her captor whispered a string of foul words. “ID,” he demanded.

“Of course.” Two men came into range of the mage lights—one dark-haired and bearded, the other clean-shaven and blond. Their black army uniforms were instantly recognizable, though this wasn’t the formal one Vincent had worn tonight. No, these uniforms sported an array of pockets and sheaths loaded with a dozen weapons.

The bearded soldier lifted a card from around his neck and threw it to the ground in front of the officer. “Miss Casteel.” He beckoned her with a quick bend of two fingers. “If you would?”

She grasped at the possibilities their politeness might hold. “Could I contact Vincent—”

He cut her off. “Colonel Rallis? The man you were leaving in the middle of the night? You looked like you were done with him.”

The sarcastic words loosened a flood of pain through her heart.

He shrugged. “You can call him later. Maybe. General Wilen has a few questions for you.”

The enforcers abandoned their quarry without another word. Wilen was too great a power to battle against. Defeated, they stomped to their cars. The mage engines powered up, a low hum in the otherwise silent night. They disappeared into the darkness as the gates to the Rallis estate closed, quietly shutting her out of their protective embrace.

Alone. Defenseless.

The blond soldier strode forward.

She dropped her gaze. Goddess, she couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Could I…” Her voice failed. She tried again. “Could I get my papers?” The words stuttered, caught on her tongue. They might have been a whisper. She could barely hear them over the utter loneliness ringing in her ears.

 
He took her arm. “This is a terrible idea, Dane. She doesn’t even have shoes on.” His reluctance didn’t stop him from escorting her to their vehicle. “Vincent is going to blast our asses to specks when he hears about this.”

“Please. I’m a Non. I need my papers. They’re in my car.”

“Naw.” The bearded man shook his head but not at her. “They’ll be bigger than specks when he hears we kept her from being arrested by Masset’s men. Probably more like chunks.”

“I don’t know about that. Guess it all depends on what Wilen plans to do with her.”

Bronte swayed. Her legs fell out from under her, but her new captor pushed her into the car without missing a beat and shut the door.

She leaned forward to take the pressure off her bound hands. Her chest rose and fell, but there was no air inside this vehicle. Only fear.

 
The blond got in on the other side, sitting in the back with her. Two others took their places in the front.

She kept the Rallis gates in sight for as long as she could as the vehicle sped her away.

* * * *

Moonlight, not headlights, lit the road. Another benefit of a being a mage—they could use their sixth sense to see in the dark as easily as their eyes saw light. For Bronte, the darkness added another layer to this nightmare. They were on the road that followed the Olentangy River. The twists and curves of the vehicle crushed her back against her hands.

“Why the hell haven’t you shut her down already?” The words burst from driver as if he could no longer hold them in.

Bronte jerked at the sudden shattering of the silence.

“Why should we? She’s not doing anything.” The calm statement of the warrior next to her was a sharp contrast to the driver.

“She’s a syphon. Don’t you know what they do? We ought to pull over and drown her in the Olentangy.”

The bearded man turned around to face his colleague. “Why do we always get stuck with him?”

Bronte could feel the blond man staring at her like he was looking through a microscope. “Her energy is like the space between stars in the sky.”

“Oh blasted hells, Gregor. Don’t start with the poetry crap.”

She turned away from the uncomfortable inspection and looked out the window. The darkness passed them by. She had no clue where they were taking her. They weren’t heading into the city. She was sure of that. Empty fields, shorn of various crops, quilted the land.

She was lost.

Whoever and whatever she had been before, Bronte knew with a certainty there would be no going back. Why hadn’t she fled the country instead of obeying her mother’s orders? Her family was completely capable of negotiating with the Rallises without her. They’d taken the easiest way out by sending her. Her anger built, melting away the blanket of fear that wrapped around her mind. She sat up straighter, taking the pressure off her wrists.

She caught the wide-eye gleam of the driver in the rearview mirror. He yanked the car into a turn. The unexpected move slammed her into the door. Her head banged painfully against the metal seat belt hanging from the wall of the car.

“Damn it, McIssac!” Dane shouted. “If you can’t drive, stop the fucking car and get out.”

“It’s a straight shot from here. Surely the corporal can handle that.” Sarcasm from Gregor to her right. “As soon as he’s done, he can take his pig-ass back to his own base.” Another minute and they came up beside an old white farmhouse. McIssac stopped the car and made to get out.

“No, thanks, McIssac,” Gregor said. “We’ll take her from here. You stay there.”