Syphon's Song (5 page)

She lifted her chin. Blue eyes peeked out from beneath the hat. “Goodbye, Colonel.”

He took a quick, short breath. “Hand me your purse, please.” Somewhere in his mind, a red flag waved a vicious warning. He ignored it and held out his hand.

“What?”

“Your purse.” He crooked his fingers.

“There is nothing in my purse except my keys and my identification papers.” Her voice retained its cultured, proper timbre.

What would it take to make her lose that composed shield? What had it taken for her to build it? He would regret this, but it would keep her by his side for a little longer. He needed that time.

For a moment, she stood her ground. Her gaze drilled into him. He admired her determination, but it worried him as well. Defiance was dangerous for a Non-mage, even if she only pretended to be a Non.

Finally she held out the small bag. Her chin dropped. That hat once again hid her expression, but he’d bet anger lurked beneath.

He flicked the purse open and pulled out the red leaf. He’d watched from the window. He’d sensed her presence the instant she’d pulled through the gates. “What’s this?”

“That is a leaf.” She didn’t look up, but he could see her lips tighten.

“Is there a problem, Colonel Rallis?” The territory’s chief enforcer approached with pounding feet, a rhythmic warning that reverberated through the quiet foyer.

“Chief Masset.” Vincent nodded at the older man. Masset knew him well enough not offer his hand. They’d worked together after the first Double-Wide bombing. The chief’s son had died in the explosion.

Bronte lifted her chin, revealing her stubborn expression to the enforcer.

That red flag inside him waved another warning.

She stared right into the chief’s eyes. “I stole a leaf, Chief Masset.” She was calling Vincent’s bluff.

“Colonel.” Masset’s voice boomed through the house. “Would you like me to arrest the Non? She has confessed to stealing from a mage.” He thrust out a hand. “Papers, Non.”

Vincent ground his teeth at the question, but Bronte stood perfectly composed under the threat to her freedom. Her courage ran deep. Her life hadn’t been like the rest of the Mayflower heiresses’. No pampering or coddling. She been ordered around, forced to live at the whim of someone else and eek out a living in the South. Did she work in the sweltering factories among their dangerous machines? With hands like hers, he knew the answer was likely no, but it didn’t erase his horror at how she must live.

“Papers!”

“Certainly, Officer.” Bronte lifted her small purse out of Vincent’s grasp, the closest she’d come to touching him. Her hand stayed as steady as her voice. How many times had she faced men like Masset? Vincent wanted to step in front of her and order the chief to stand down.

Bronte tugged a folded white paper from her purse. A short, gruff growl escaped his throat. The white paper indicated her sponsorship was valid for one year. The darker the paper, the longer the sponsorship. Black indicated a sponsorship for a lifetime.

He’d expected black.

Instead, the Casteel family required their own daughter to reapply for sponsorship every twelve months. If they denied her request, she had fourteen days to find a new sponsor, or she’d be deported. Though a few Mayflower families had changed their sponsorship policies because of the outcry over the Double-Wide attacks, a Mayflower daughter ought to have a permanent sponsor.

Vincent slipped the paper from her fingers and stepped in front of Masset, cutting off the chief’s access to Bronte. He’d meant to use her theft to cajole her to linger, giving Edmund time to transfer her sponsorship. Gentle blackmail. Not jail. His plan threatened to spiral out of control thanks to the man’s overly zealous attitude.

He looked down at the top of her hat. “Have lunch with me.” He winced at his order. Thank the goddess Edmund couldn’t hear him bumbling this yet again.

“Ooooo!” The squeal came from behind them. The woman in pink hopped up from her bench and skipped over.

“A lunch date! Yes! A date would be perfect.” The pink lady stopped beside them. “You two are an exemplary energy match! I’ve never seen anything like it. And I get around!” The woman’s round face beamed with pure joy. “I’m so excited to get to meet the match already! You found each other all by yourselves!” Her smile grew so large it caused her eyes to squint. She turned the squint on Vincent. “It’s usually our job to find the woman. That’s how it works, you know.” She nodded, her head bouncing on her neck.

Her stern companion paced over and whispered in her ear. The woman’s face fell flat but perked right back up. “Oh trust me, Frederick.” She shook her finger in the air like a schoolteacher reprimanding a naughty boy. “He’s the right man! And she’s the right woman! Their vibes match perfectly.” She clapped her hands and tucked them under her chin. If her smile grew any larger it would hang off the edges of her face.

Frederick’s pointy nose flared. He gripped the woman’s elbow and dragged her back to their bench.

“Bye!” The pink woman waved with her free hand.

If this woman could see their vibes matching, then she was a compeer, a mage talented in finding complementary energy patterns. There was only one reason she’d be here: to work on a marriage for Edmund. His brother hadn’t even mentioned it.

“Will you be pressing charges, Colonel?” Masset demanded. He lifted his handcuffs, shaking the chain near Bronte’s face.

“No charges,” Vincent said.

Bronte spoke at the same time.

“Colonel, I accept your offer of lunch.” Her lush lips tipped into a frown. She stepped back from the handcuffs. “But I want my leaf back.”

He held out the fiery leaf. “I’d give you the whole tree.”

3

Bronte stuttered to a stop outside the manor doors. Her mental alarm squealed like an out-of-tune orchestra at the sight of the empty driveway. Her violin case swayed at her sudden halt and bumped against Vincent’s leg.

He stepped up beside her. “The back terrace is around to the left.”

She didn’t move.

“Is it too hot for you out here? We could have lunch inside, but you’re going to attract the rest of the family if we use the dining room.”

“Where is my car?” Her voice screeched in the quiet. Panic buzzed in her head like a bee trapped in a glass jar.

“One of the servants took it behind the house. Someone will drive it around when you’re ready to leave.”

“But my car keys are in my purse.” Her tone shot higher and headed toward a whine. “How did he move…” She took a breath. Her shoulders drooped. Real mages didn’t need keys. Or doorknobs. They didn’t need to hide or to have sponsors. They didn’t need to fear arrest for stealing a stupid leaf.

A soft pressure landed on her head and her hat flew off. She turned her head and glared at the thief.

“I can’t see your face in this thing.” He held the hat by the crown, delicately clasped in his palm. He shrugged one shoulder and tilted his head. “I can barely read your vibes.” The great and powerful colonel wrinkled his brow at her, confused.

“No one can read my vibes. Let me help you out and simply tell you how I’m feeling right now.” She planted her feet to face him head-on. Her violin case banged between them and came perilously close to parts he wouldn’t want in contact with the hard case.

He slipped his fingers around the handle and took it from her grasp, adding it to his hand that now held her hat by its brim.

She allowed it, but only because she needed both hands for this. Finger by finger, she ticked off her thoughts, pointer finger first. “Number one, I want my car back. Number two, I want to get home before my pass expires, before I have to deal with another Chief Masset arresting me. Three, I want to get there without falling asleep behind the wheel. Four, I want people—no, I want
mages—
to stop telling me where I can and cannot go.” She ticked off her last finger. “And I…” She paused. She had one more finger. She needed to use it for something. “I want my violin back. Please.” She held out her hand.

He gave a firm nod. His wrinkles smoothed. “I’ll take care of all that for you.” He did not hand over her instrument.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She took a breath for three slow counts and then lowered her chin. “No.” The word was a long note filled with exasperation. “That was me telling you how I feel. I’m not asking you to fix my problems with a wave of your mage wand. You can’t poof it all away like your gardener did with your leaves.” She flung a hand behind her to the naked branches. They stood stark against the blue sky.

How long had she been inside? Forty-five minutes? In that short amount of time the gardener mage had erased that beautiful, bright canopy. No evidence remained of the leaves’ existence anywhere. Not on the ground. Not on the branches. They’d been shaken off and obliterated. Deemed no longer worthy. Like her, they’d been banished. There were no survivors…except one. She clutched her purse against her chest.

Something hot and angry wrapped around her gut like a lasso. “You know, this season is called fall because the leaves are supposed to fall.”

He squinted at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking another language. “They did fall.”

“They are supposed to fall one by one. Or two by two. However they choose. Not because a mage forces them to. They’re supposed to scatter down to the ground all on their own.”

He studied her. “One fell right into your hand.” Uncertainty drenched his tone.

“Yes, guided by mage power.”

“A mage who was flirting with you. I saw it from the window.”

“Mages don’t flirt with me. I’m a Non.” She pointed at the left side of her cardigan, bringing his attention to her N.

“Your N is a lie, though the reason you wear it is exactly the reason we control the leaves. Appearances matter. Rallis would lose respect if our enemies thought we’re too weak to regulate the mages around here, much less the trees or the grass.” He brushed the underneath of her chin with a finger. “Project the image you want seen. That’s something you of all people should understand. You’re a master at manipulating people to see what you want them to. They are completely deceived by your façade and don’t look any deeper.”

The brief physical touch increased the connection between his vibes and her syphon. The flow of his energy quickened.

“It’s not a façade. I can’t conceal my ability. People just don’t notice. They assume I’m a Non.”

“And you play along.”

“Of course I do. I want to live. What you think I am…” She shook her head. “It’s not what all those fairy tales say. I’m not the witch in Hansel and Gretel capturing lost children to feast on their energy.” She pressed a hand to the bare skin beneath her throat. “I never sensed mage energy before I met you. I never have since. All those accounts in the history books of burning…syphons.” There. She’d said it. The word flung from her like it had been straining at its tether, yearning for freedom. “Those poor women. They were turned over to the inquisitions by other mages.”

His intent focus did nothing to stop her ramble. Instead it seemed to be the catalyst for the spill of her plea.

She continued, “Some coward of a mage was accused of witchcraft, and he pointed the finger at a syphon to save his own skin. Those historical accounts all read the same. No one else in the village or the castle knew the syphon even had a mage power. And there’s a reason no one ever suspected anything! There’s nothing bad about syphons.” She held her hands in front of her as if pleading with him to believe her. Those words had existed inside her for years. They were finally free.

“I’m familiar with the stories.” His tone reflected a scholarly expertise. “It’s worse than you know. Most of the history books don’t tell you that the coward who betrayed her was the only mage the syphon could sense, the only mage whose vibes sang to the syphon’s soul. They handed their syphons over to a horrible death to deflect attention from themselves.”

She took a step back.

“Without exception, the men who accused the syphons were very powerful mages.” He stepped forward. “But their courage didn’t match their power.”

He bent down until his nose was mere inches from hers. “I’m not a coward.” The colonel no longer sounded like a professor. “I’m not scared. Not of anyone, including you and your direct line to my vibes. You need me. Just as much as I need you. And I’ll stand up to anyone who tries to sever that link.”