Syphon's Song (8 page)

Vincent hummed in the back of his throat, a low vibrating growl.

“What?” Allison choked on her food.

Bronte shrugged. “It was an audition. I lied on the application and said I was a mage.”

The potionness gasped at Bronte’s confession.

“Risky.” His mother’s eyes were wide with alarm.

A dozen horrible outcomes flickered through his mind. “Do you know what happens to a Non who gets caught claiming mage status? Jail. Exile.” Worse.

Her eyes dimmed like a curtain drawn across a window. “I did get caught. But I had to know if anyone would give me a chance. I found out the answer.” She shrugged again. “I survived. Now I play mostly folk music. Country and bluegrass. They’re good too. Just different.”

His mother put down her fork. “Tonight is the twentieth anniversary performance for Peter Leggert. He’s the conductor of the Rallis Symphony. They’re performing a mishmash of his favorite pieces. Since your pass has been extended, you and Vincent should both come.”

Bronte laughed and shook her head.

Allison butted in. “Well, I’m not going.” She picked up the tall, skinny glass at the edge of her plate and held it out to her side.

The potionness stepped forward with a sigh of relief and tipped her flasks into the glass. Two streams of dull green liquids poured out.

Bronte shrank back in her seat as if she wanted as far away from it as possible.

Allison downed it, lifting the glass and tipping her head back until her nose pointed at the ceiling of the porch. As the potion soaked through her system, she shuddered and then gave a pleased smile. “
Chrislia
is one of my favorites. It makes every bit of energy so clear.”

Allison stroked the air around his mother. “Such a lovely aura, Aunt Helen.”

Damn that Riley guy for hooking her on these concoctions.

“I respect Aunt Helen’s love of music, but I don’t share it.” Allison sighed in bliss from the effects of the potion, then blinked at Bronte. Her mouth formed an exaggerated circle. “Oh, Bronte, I’m probably making you uncomfortable with my power. It slipped my mind to block my energy. Vincent forgot too, I see.”

Allison leaned back toward the potionness. “That’s a good one. It brings everyone’s aura into such sharp resolution. We need to tell Lawry again how fantastic this is. I can see energy everywhere.” She focused her eyes on Vincent with a tip of her head. “Vinny.” Her voice was soft and dreamy. “Your energy. I’ve never seen it so relaxed. Did you finally try that potion Lawry gave you?” She squinted as if she were nearsighted and missing her glasses. “Vinny, your vibes are flowing into that Non by the megajoule!” Allison’s voice reached higher as she stood up. Her chair crashed to the ground. “She’s…she’s stealing your power!” Allison looked down at herself, extending her arms to inspect them as well. “Is she doing it to me too?”

“Calm down, Allison,” his mother began.

Allison’s hands went to her hips. “Is she
the reason you can sit here? You never lunch with us. For a while I thought she was just good in bed. But no. She’s helping you with your power. If she can help you, then she can help my father!”

“Bronte is mine.” Vincent’s words trembled with power.

Allison twitched under the force.

“I beg your pardon. I do not belong to anyone.” Bronte’s crisp words dropped flat and powerless among them, a glaring example of her vulnerability, of her need for a protector. She would survive only if she belonged to someone.

Allison ignored her. “You are so selfish! Father has nothing. He doesn’t even have me because he can’t tolerate other mages’ vibes! You have everything. Riches. Fame. People think you’re a hero. But you stampede over anyone who dares inconvenience you. Well, I’m done with that! I’m buying her sponsorship for my father, and he won’t share with you!”

Allison stomped back inside. The potionness stood against the wall, mouth gaped open. She stared at Bronte, horrified, and then took off after her mistress.

His mother gave a small sniff. “I apologize for that. Allison had a trying day. Her home is here, but her heart is with her father. He’s rather…ill. Please don’t let her influence your decision to come to the concert tonight. Allison’s gift is almost as rare as Edmund’s and even more useless. Without that potion, she can only see the auras of dark powers, not the light powers. It’s a very unfulfilling ability. There are no other aurist mages registered in Rallis Territory, light or dark. No one will think twice about what you are.”

Bronte’s stare locked on the far edge of the table, her eyes clouded with anger for him. He did not regret his words. She belonged to him as much as he did to her.

She lifted her eyes to his mother. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe you that no one will notice my power. Not if I’m out in the open. The goddess help me if anyone else learns about my power. Going to the symphony, as much as I would love to hear that music…” She paused and sighed, lost in thought for a moment. “Too risky. Besides, bringing a Non to an event like the symphony will tarnish your reputation at the least.”

His mother arched a brow. The added smile softened the haughty expression. “I assure you, my reputation can withstand you.”

“It doesn’t need to be risky. We can slip in discreetly, hide you among us.” He could give her this. He took her hand. They’d held hands thirteen years ago, too. “You’ll be safe.” He’d make sure of it. “And don’t let Allison scare you away. You belong here.”

“Why? To syphon off your excess vibes? To serve your needs? No, thank you. I already have one set of masters. I don’t need another. No matter how you make me feel. I am done being under the control of a mage.” She stood and pushed in her chair.

He put his napkin on the table and stood with her.

“No, dear.” His mother patted Bronte’s hand. “We’re not—”

“Mother. I’ve got this.”

She stood, folded her napkin, gave a nod with a closed-lip smile, and went inside.

“Bronte, I don’t want to control you. I just want to be with you. You said syphons aren’t like the fairy tales. You’re right. I’ve studied them. There are cases of syphons throughout history who lived peacefully, happily with other mages. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Not all mages are like your parents.”

She shook her head as if shedding his words. “This isn’t history. This is my life. I’m not going to risk it. Thank you for lunch, but I am leaving now.”

Every hope of making her want to stay swirled down a deep, dark drain. He’d played his only ace. If she wasn’t interested in what he’d learned through hundreds of hours of research on syphons and if the connection between them couldn’t lure her in, then he was out of bait.

But she wasn’t leaving.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She stared back with her chin tilted up and arms crossed over her chest. “A motel. Until I’m allowed out of this territory.”

He kept his voice free of mage vibes, but the intensity of his words remained the same. “You will stay here.”

She jerked her hands to her hips. “My pass states I must stay within Rallis’s borders. Not in this house.”

He took a deep, slow breath. He had only one option against her stubborn refusal to give him a chance.

Wariness slid over her face.

It didn’t stop him from crushing her illusions of getting away. “Your sponsorship is currently under Rallis authority. Therefore, your actions are subject to Rallis approval. You stay here.”

Bronte swallowed hard. She took a shaky breath, blinking as if something had fallen in her eyes. “My parents would admire your methods, Vincent.”

5

Bronte stomped down the pebbled path toward the west tower of Rallis Hall, where, according to Vincent, a servant had tucked away her car. Vincent had suggested they drive to his house since it was a mile farther into the estate. A sensible plan. But she’d darn well take her own car.

He followed two steps behind her angry pace—exactly where he could stay. The heat of her fury melted every word she might have spoken to him anyway. Arguing would change nothing. She was stuck under the thumbs of twice the usual number of mages. Instead of just the Casteels, the Rallises ruled her, too.

She rounded the tower and spotted her old Volvo. It rested in the shade cast by the stone manor. A gleaming black pickup truck sat next to it. Bronte hurried to her car as if to defend it from the heavy shadows of the Rallis power. The Volvo was her only ally, her sole means of escape from too many mages all blessed with so much power a single one could crush her whole life. The strike of her heels on the stone sidewalk broadcast her anger at all of them. Only one was around to hear it.

“I’ll drive.” Vincent’s assured tone yanked at her last thread of restraint. Apparently he wasn’t listening to her shoes.

Leaping off the stone walkway to the gravel parking area, she ran. Her long strides bunched her skirt around her thighs. She made it to the car, spun around and sprawled her arms and body across the driver’s door.

 
He was still a dozen paces behind, his pace steady and dignified compared to her frantic flight. His assured demeanor only fueled her ire.

“I. Will. Drive. My. Own. Car.”
She yanked the door open, jumped in the seat and slammed the door shut before he replied. With a rhythmic tapping of her fingers against the steering wheel, she fumed as he walked around to the passenger side. Temptation gnawed at her, daring her to peel out and mar the perfectly raked gravel with a pair of skid marks.

Vincent gave her a raised eyebrow, staring at her through the windshield as if he could read her mind. Her violin case hung from his right hand. Driving off before he could get to the passenger side, step in with his long legs, and sit his hard ass down wasn’t an option. She might have found some silent humor about his hard ass since it reflected part of his personality in addition to his physique, but her bitterness got in her way.

Ignoring him as he slid into the car, she cranked down the window to alleviate the stifling heat. She was afraid the small, enclosed space would intensify everything she absorbed from him. But it didn’t. The connection between them remained steady. Finally, one thing in her favor.

Bronte stabbed the keys in the ignition and drove out of the parking area. Gravel crunched under her tires. She turned left onto the paved private road that would take her farther into Rallis land, the opposite direction she wanted to go. She’d never been to Vincent’s house, but this had to be the way. He wouldn’t live near the border of the estate. No, he would live deep in the heart of the land, the better to keep out as many strangers as possible.

The better to keep her in.

Thick silence flooded the car’s interior. Vincent sat perfectly still, his head cocked to one side. His vibes poured out.

She soaked them up like a sponge with an infinite capacity to absorb his energy. Too bad the rest of her was maxed out on him.

The pavement ended a half-mile from the manor house. Twin gravel paths, one for each tire, branched off to the left. With nowhere else to go, she turned. The trail meandered back and forth through the woods. Her anger lent a heavy foot to the accelerator—too heavy for the bumpy road. The car went in and out of a deep pothole. The Volvo’s shocks gave a loud squeak. She didn’t slow.

Vincent stayed silent, probably because he could deflect the energy of a crash should she get too reckless.

He controlled everything. Including her.

Resentment lifted its head inside her, like a seedling erupting from the ground. She’d worked hard all her life to keep that seed of bitterness unfertilized, in parched ground, so it wouldn’t grow and dominate her. Vincent had stirred it up anew by stealing control over her life, even if only for the short term. She wished she could stop syphoning his power. An impossible wish. Syphons were feared partly because they could not shut down their power.

“Bronte.” His tone was matter-of-fact, calm and quiet.

She took a breath. Her chest puffed and deflated. “Hmmm?” Her closed lips vibrated with the sound. If she opened her mouth, the bitterness might spill forth.

“Your car is out of tune.”

Shock opened her mouth for her. She took her foot off the accelerator with a bent knee and stomped on the brake until her leg locked straight. She turned to him, her face so tense the muscles nearly twitched in protest. All the while he sat calmly in his seat, as if he’d expected the force of her stop. He probably had. It would be next to impossible to surprise a deflector mage with any kind of physical force or energy.