Syphon's Song (4 page)

“I doubt that.” But the senator dropped the letter.

“They’ve managed to pick up vibes from the bomb’s residue. There’s a chance. We’re getting closer. Just not close enough.”

Bronte had read the newspaper accounts of each bombing over the last several months. The latest attack was early this morning in a minor city of Rallis Territory. She’d heard about it on the radio station during the drive here. According to the reporter, the explosion demolished a new apartment building that was only partially full. A young family of Nons had perished. The bombing obviously hadn’t gone as intended. Nons wouldn’t have been the target. Plus the device had been capable of a much bigger explosion. Thankfully it malfunctioned.

“Double-Wide has invaded our home and yours, Miss Casteel,” the senator said.

It’s not my home.

She bit back the words along with the urge to offer an apology. This was not her fault. She was just the messenger.

“The enforcers don’t know?” Vincent glanced over his shoulder at her. His mage power drifted into her and heated her soul, the total opposite of the cold chill of his grandfather’s anger. A strange combination.

“Of course the enforcers don’t know,” Edmund scoffed. “If word got out that the Casteels lost their medallion, they’d never get their Senate seat back.”

Vincent leaned over the desk and read aloud. “
Use the power to better our land for all mages and Normals.
That’s nothing Casteel would ever do. Double-Wide has to know that. Considering they hid the body on our land, I’d bet Double-Wide anticipated the Casteels handing the letter over to us.” Vincent shrugged, his face intense and thoughtful.

“We’re the intended recipients of a letter from those damn terrorists?” The senator’s voice filled the room.

“A political strategy. That’s a new approach for them.” From Vincent’s frown, she wasn’t convinced he believed it, but it wasn’t her business. Her sole focus was on a safe, speedy exit.

“The medallion is a gift and a threat all rolled into one package. Maybe they’re smarter than you think.” Considering Edmund’s relaxed posture and tone, he might have been chatting about the weather.

“No.” Vincent was quick to dismiss the suggestion.

The senator gave a furious growl. “A gift from Double-Wide.” He narrowed his eyes at Bronte. “We do not tolerate terrorists. You’ll get your body back. And the medallion.” The older man’s words rang with the weight of the promise.

“Thank you,” she replied, though she had no claim to either the body or the medallion. Her shoulders knotted tighter than ever as the meeting came to a close. Her escape inched closer. She swallowed down the regret at leaving Vincent’s energy. It flowed through her, a delicious warmth that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Vincent crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Getting him out of the gyre isn’t going to be easy.”

As Vincent thought aloud, images of tiptoeing out of the meeting undetected flitted through her mind. He raised an eyebrow at her as if he read her thoughts. He stepped closer to her. “The energy’s too high right now. We’ll have to wait for the moon to wane. Three days at least.” He nodded to his grandfather. “I’ll call General Wilen and have him send an analyst to come pick up this letter. Since there’s a body, they’re going to send a bone witch and that means the Council. Edmund, make sure we have all our loose ends tied up before they get here. We don’t want anything they might find to slip through our fingers and into theirs.”

“Already planning on it.”

Vincent glared down at her. “You wait here. No disappearing this time.”

Edmund cleared his throat, loud and deliberate. The two brothers faced off. Edmund’s mouth moved with silent words.

Bronte had never witnessed a mage throwing his voice. Whatever Edmund was saying, the sound waves jumped straight to Vincent’s ears. No one else could hear them. Directing sound waves was a talent that ran in families, one the Casteels didn’t have.

Vincent frowned at her. “My brother tells me I’m being rude.”

“Not my exact words.” Edmund gave her a wink.

“If you would, Bronte, please wait here. I might really go crazy if you run away again. But I’d find you this time. I’ll be right back. My call will only take a few minutes.”

A wisp of energy stroked along her cheek, as real as a physical caress. She’d never felt anything like it. She lifted her hand to her face and traced the vibes’ path.

Vincent pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, turned to his grandfather’s desk and gently picked up a corner of the Casteel letter. He strode through the office and walked out a side door that blended into the wall. His vibes faded to a trickle, steady but soft.

The remaining Rallis men stared at her. She felt like a deer in a meadow full of wolves. Bronte cleared her throat. “On behalf of the Casteels, thank you for your help.” She stood up, leaving despite Vincent’s order. She took a deep breath. “Unfortunately I’m not able to stay. If you’d convey my goodbye to Mr. Rallis.” Her heart drummed against her ribs, fear and regret pounding in rhythm.

Edmund stepped toward her. “Colonel Rallis.” His masculine smile, warm and friendly, softened his correction.

“My apologies.”

“I know my mother would love to meet you. Vincent’s her current favorite, but I think you might sway her to my side if I were to introduce you to her.”

She couldn’t find a smile in herself to respond to his teasing. “I can’t. My pass is only for twenty-four hours. I have to get back to Chattanooga before eleven tonight. Locke Territory is a long drive away.” Her cheeks burned with the admission. The two men were silent at her statement, too polite to question the Casteels’ close control of her. Her mother had made sure she couldn’t linger.

“Good day.” She turned away, not offering to shake hands with them. The thick carpet muffled the sound of her escape. She stopped short as she crossed into the shadows, out of reach of the windows. There were no knobs on the door.

She was trapped.

* * * *

Vincent listened with half an ear as General Wilen spouted questions and orders from the other end of the landline connection. Two trains of thought tunneled through his mind. First and foremost was Bronte. She’d returned. For so long he’d only had her in his dreams. She was scared, but he’d fix that…show her she was safe here. Though how was he going to do that when Double-Wide had dumped a body in the gyre without tripping over any of their security wards or personnel? That was the other thought barreling through him.

Bronte’s tug on his energy softened.

Edmund strode into their father’s office, ignoring the fact that he was on the landline. “She’s leaving, Vin.” His brother was right. Bronte was moving away from him.

Edmund nudged him hard in the shoulder. Vincent stiffened. No one touched him.

His brother’s whisper hissed into his ear. “Hurry up. We can’t force her to stay. Unless you want me to tie her up. There’s probably some rope in Jasper’s closet.”

Vincent interrupted General Wilen’s stream of orders, a necessary breach of protocol. “Our lead is leaving, sir.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Wilen said.

“Yes, sir.” He had no intention of letting her get away. “Rallis out.” He dropped the receiver into its cradle. Using Nons’ technology was easier on his mage sense than using vibes to communicate with Wilen.

“Your lead? She’s a suspect?” Edmund wrinkled his brow.

Vincent moved to the far end of the office. It was an ingrained habit to keep his powerful sixth sense from overloading. He was the most powerful deflector mage in the country. The more powerful a deflector, the more sensitive he was to energy. It was an unfortunate paradox. Edmund’s energy brushed against him, but for once, Vincent’s mage sense remained relaxed. Bronte’s syphon power worked even from a distance.

“Look at it from Wilen’s point of view,” Vincent said. “She’s a Non, or so everyone believes. Maybe she’s angry. Resentful of her controlling sponsors. As a Casteel, she has access to their house, or would if they treated her like family. Then she shows up here, finagles her way into our household. If she’s a DW agent, now they’ve snuck someone into both Casteel and Rallis.”

“She’s hardly terrorist material. She’s terrified. Did you tell Wilen she’s a syphon?”

Vincent looked at him without an iota of guilt. “No.”

Edmund leaned against their father’s empty desk. “You don’t trust what he’ll do with her.”

His brother’s guess was right on target. Wilen would sacrifice anything and anyone for the good of the Republic.

But Bronte was off-limits.

“We need to keep her safe,” Edmund said.

Vincent braced himself for one of his twin’s plans. Edmund was smart, devious when needed, and a crack at winning against the system. But Vincent didn’t need his brother’s interference to win over Bronte. He cut him off at the pass. “Here’s the plan. You get her sponsorship with the Casteels voided. Today. Transfer it over to us. I’ll handle the rest.”

Edmund slipped on a smile. “Come on, Vin. You need me for more than that. When it comes to women, you’re out of practice. Hell, you’ve never had practice. Women just hop out of their clothes and into your bed at the crook of your finger. They all know not to waste time before your sense can’t tolerate them. But this pretty little Casteel is going to be a challenge.” He held out his hand like a knife, slicing it back and forth through the air. Their grandfather used the same gesture when he formulated plans for a Senate bill. “You’re gonna have to woo her. I’ve got some ideas on that.” Edmund paced toward him.

Vincent stepped out the door and slammed it behind him. He sent a stream of energy into the lock. It clicked into place.

“I only want to help.” The laugh in Edmund’s voice came through the door. His brother could unlock it in seconds, but Vincent had made his point. He didn’t need Edmund’s schemes to catch his girl.

“Let me know if you need some rope.” Edmund threw the words to Vincent’s ear, making it sound like he stood at his side. Vincent swatted at the air as if he could shove him away. He picked up his pace and strode down the marble hallway toward the main entrance. He was confident Jasper had delayed her from leaving—without involving rope.

Two groups waited for meetings outside the senator’s office. One was the chief of the territory’s enforcers and his lieutenant. The other two made for an odd pair: a fluffy woman in pink and a man with a sour face. Vincent dismissed them all with a glance.

Bronte stood by the front door, her back to him. The sun shone through the glass of the windows, highlighting her slender silhouette. She wasn’t tall, but her composure and the quiet way she carried herself lent her the illusion of height. He’d never seen anyone with such pale skin and dark hair. Those red lips had tempted Vincent at nineteen. They still did.

“Bronte.” His voice sounded louder and harder than he’d intended, echoing in the marble entryway.

She turned. Her lips parted. Her dark blue eyes went wide. Edmund was right. She was terrified. He wanted to see her lit up with joy and happiness. Someday soon, he promised himself.

Jasper exited the coat room with her hat and violin case. “My sincere apologies for your wait, Miss Casteel.” The butler spared an exasperated look at Vincent. It vanished as he turned back to Bronte. “There was some confusion as to which violin was yours.”

“Thank you.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t buy Jasper’s story about multiple instruments. She donned her hat. Its low brim concealed most of her face. With long, graceful fingers, she tamed any errant strands of hair, tucking them in place. He couldn’t remember ever noticing a woman’s hands. Hers were delicate and slender.

Vincent reached for her violin, but she beat him to it.

Jasper left them to battle it out while he attended to the other visitors.

“Stay.” An order. “Please.” A small improvement, but it made no difference.

“No.”

“Thirteen years ago—”

She cut him off. “We were kids. Ignorant kids.”

“No. We weren’t.” He’d already spent a year under Wilen’s command. He hadn’t been a kid. Considering the family she’d been born into, her childhood hadn’t lasted long either. “We deserve a chance—”

“I deserve a chance to keep my head on my shoulders.” Her whisper crackled with fury. “Hanging around you isn’t going to help me achieve that goal.”

“You’d be safe here.”