Syphon's Song (9 page)

“That’s why you’ve been so quiet? You’ve been sensing my engine?”

“I can tune it for you.”

A thousand bitter words clogged her mouth. She choked on them. Finally a few spat forth. “No! You’ve done enough!” She wrenched open the door. Its ugly groan made it sound as if the car was on his side, moaning,
Yes! Please tune me!
She slammed it shut and stalked off.

She heard him get out, though his door neither squeaked nor moaned. The car, her only ally, had turned traitor. She marched on, as if she might walk away from everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

A stream of energy brushed against her ankle like a delicate lasso. She broke its hold with a single step, only to have it happen again. “Stop that.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.

“It’s not me.”

She spun around, ready to argue, but stopped. He was right. It wasn’t coming from Vincent. Something was in the woods. Its energy sent a serene sparkle into her syphon. From her spot on the rocky road, she peered into the trees. Whatever it was, it emanated the most marvelous energy. Her anger swept away on a wave of wonder.

Vincent closed the distance between them and walked around to stand in front of her. He stroked the back of his hand against her cheek.

“Give me a chance. That’s all I want.” His gentle words matched his touch.

“You want more than a chance.” She focused past his shoulder, peeking over his superior height. Tall trees reached scantily clad limbs into the crisp, blue sky and hid whatever shed such glorious vibes.

“I can’t be sorry about this.” He brushed her cheek again, his focus burning through her. Unlike her, whatever lurked in the woods didn’t call to him. “Since I came into my power, I’ve learned to grab on to every bit of good life offers. I sensed you the moment you arrived today. I recognized that tug on my energy as if I’d known you my whole life instead of a handful of hours thirteen years ago—your syphon reaching out and tapping my energy.”

“Yes, like a pipe channeling waste into the sewer. Useful, I’ll give you that.”

“You mock this because you’re afraid of it. But I’m not.”

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who’d face the fire. But she didn’t want to talk about this.

“What is that…power?” She pointed into the woods.

He sighed. A temporary surrender.

The little waves of energy tickled at her with delicate caresses of energy. An airy huff drifted out of her throat, almost a laugh. “It’s different from you.”

“It’s the Rallis mark, the gyre.”

“The gyre is your mark?” She knew about the special marks that claimed the land for the founding families. Each family had its own mark, but she’d never known they could be this powerful. During today’s meeting, she hadn’t truly understood what the senator and the Double-Wide letter referred to concerning the Rallis gyre.

“Why can I feel it?”

“Its energy’s frequency is close to mine.” Vincent watched her, stern and earnest. “The gyre’s really intense right now. No one can go in.”

“Mage vibes don’t bother me, remember?” She patted his shoulder in consolation. Between his vibes and the gyre’s, the energy in her syphon filled her, loosening her every constriction, as if she’d turned to marshmallow. She wanted more.

“I’m going in.” She walked forward, her gaze on his for a few steps. She arched an eyebrow at him as she stepped past the first tree.

He darted after her. She ran. He caught her in two steps and hugged his thick arms around her. “It’s too dangerous to go in there. It’ll burn up a mage’s sense in mere minutes.”

She slid her arms from his grasp and pushed away his hold. She didn’t fool herself. He allowed her to slip free.

“We both know I’m not the average mage. You’re not stopping me. I need
to go in there.”

“When the energy is this high, just driving by here gives me a pounding headache.”

“Then wait in the car. It’s not giving me a headache. I’ll be fine. And it’s not like I can escape since you have the car. My papers are in there anyway.” She walked off. Her heels sank slightly into the soft ground with each step.

His vibes pulled even with her before she was six paces away.

“Don’t come if it’s going to hurt you,” she said.

He shrugged. A touch of pink brightened his cheeks. The tough colonel blushed. “I think…if I stay close to you, it might be enough to keep me from getting sick.” The last words came in a rush. Such a powerful man wouldn’t like to admit to such weakness. “I’m fine right now. That’s never happened this close to the gyre when its energy is this high.”

She gave him a small smile. “Alright, Colonel. I’ll hold your hand and keep you safe.” She reached for him. His hand engulfed hers, but she was the strong one here. The rush of his mage power into hers warmed her from the inside out. His energy stirred her in places that had lain dormant since that handful of hours behind a garden shed years ago.

She glanced at him from beneath her bangs. His eyes had gone dark, his blush erased. In its place was heat, desire. It wasn’t longing or yearning. This was hard, demanding. The connection between them was potent and heavy and much too intense for her. She turned her back on him and took one step. Their hands stretched apart. Before she took another step, an ugly thought itched at her mind.

“Wait. The body is in the gyre. Will we see it?” Stumbling over her grandfather’s body would ruin every pleasant feeling the gyre fed her.

“I don’t know. If I were hiding it, I’d put it in the cave, not out in the open. Although I’m not sure even a Non could tolerate going down there.” He shook free of her grip and put both hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me. If you truly can get into the gyre, you cannot tell anyone. Not until we have a solid alibi for you on the day your grandfather died and the night his body disappeared.”

“I did not steal the body.” Betrayal and hurt tumbled through her. “Nor did I kill him.”

“I know you didn’t. I believe you.”

Bitterness opened the hatch for her spiel. “I didn’t even know my grandfather was dead until I heard it on the radio. I haven’t seen my family in thirteen years. I spoke to my mother yesterday for the first time since then. I want nothing to do with them. I certainly have no desire to touch a rotting body, much less move it.” She shivered and then let her shoulders slump. The quick verbal dump had rinsed out her starch. “I’m sure I have some witnesses who will verify I was somewhere in Chattanooga working when he died.”

Her rant echoed silently through the trees. The soft rasp of dead leaves dancing along the forest floor accompanied it. His lips were pulled into a thin line, his eyes gone dark with pity.

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “I’ve cut them from my life.”

“But they haven’t cut you from theirs.”

“And I can’t change that. You can’t either. You said you’ve learned to grab onto the good in life. Well, I have too. I grab what happiness I can as I roll with their whims. I’ve learned to keep my head down, to move in whatever direction they push me. That’s how my life works and how it will continue to work.” With that, she grabbed for his hand, spun around and pulled him in her wake. She trekked through the thick buildup of dead leaves and sticks, determined to find the source of that energy. Nothing would stop her. Not high heels, not a dead body, and not Vincent.

She wobbled over a big stick buried beneath the leaves. He slowed their pace. She lost her footing again, a small hole this time, and her ankles teetered on her shoes.

“Maybe we should come back later. When you have better shoes.”

“Now.” She looked up at his hawkish profile.

He scanned their surroundings—right, left, and back again. The colonel was on duty.

She high-stepped through the woods to keep her heels from snagging against tree roots and fallen branches. Her cheek brushed against his shoulder as she stumbled again. It was a bumpy walk. He pulled her hand into the crook of his elbow. She leaned into his offered support.

“What exactly is the gyre?”

“It’s the Rallis mark on this land, the source of our territory’s energy. Each family’s is different. Our mark is both above and below ground. It forms a cave that spirals down into the earth. The story goes that a Rallis created the mark on top of the land, and the goddess blessed it with her energy from within the land. My ancestors took it as a sign they’d settled in the right place.”

“It must be huge to emit this much energy.” She looked up at him. Despite his worry about the intensity of the power, he looked at home in these woods. She shrugged. “I don’t know much of the Casteels’ history, but I think the High Council moved them further west at least three times. Their marks on the land got smaller each time, as if they didn’t want to spend much energy on creating one only to be forced to move again. The Casteel mark is a pool. A small, shallow one. It has a rock in the center. There’s no power in it.”

“No, you’re wrong on that. All marks have power. You’re just not tuned to the Casteel mark. And thank the goddess for that or your parents might have guessed what you are.” They walked past dappled trees as he explained. “Our mark was created by an ancestor so powerful she could disperse weather systems. Or so the story goes.”

“No one is that powerful.” Her voice was soft.

He smiled down at her, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

“What?” She didn’t trust that look.

“You’re smiling.”

She fought back the urge to reach a hand to her face to check. “This energy is hard to resist. I’m happy.” That was weird. “I don’t know if it’s just the gyre or a combination of the gyre and you.”

“I’m glad you like it. I want you happy.”

Hazardous territory. She’d just handed him something to use against her.

“Back to dispersing weather systems, are you that powerful?” Not her most graceful change of subject.

He shrugged. “Never tried. But energy types tend to run in families.”

Bronte gave a hard laugh. “That’s probably why my parents quit having children after me. Afraid of what they would get.”

He stopped in his tracks and cupped her face. Dark blue eyes stared down into her. “I’m glad they got you. And even better…I have you now. If you’ve never felt like anyone wanted you, let me make it clear. I do.” He held her face still between his hands, leaving the rest of her wobbly. She blamed it on the shoes. Her gaze broke away from his only to land on his lips. Neither moved for a moment. Then he took her hand again and tugged her along.

She concentrated on her feet instead of the current of desire flowing between them. Her toes ached already, pushing against the tips of her pointy shoes, a definite distraction. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was glad Vincent took the lead so he could scare away any snakes lurking under the crunchy brown blanket of dead leaves.

Other than the crunch of their steps, silence clouded the woods. Neither the song of birds nor the rattle of the wind dared disturb it.

As they walked, the trees grew closer and closer together until Bronte and Vincent were forced to twist back and forth among their dappled trunks. A dozen more steps through the woods and the broad trunks became all white. Tendrils of power leached from their pale surfaces as she passed them. The soft caresses passed right through her skin.

They were close.

The gyre must be on the other side of the next cluster of trees. The trees stood like sentinels, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Their trunks left only enough room for her to slip through sideways.

Vincent stopped. Her toes relaxed in her shoes with a throb of relief at the pause, but every other part of her wanted to keep going, pulled by the vibes. He turned to her, something written on his face that she’d never expected to see.

Fear.

She peered around him to find what might put such an expression on his face. Even as she looked, she knew in her soul there was nothing to fear. Ahead the energy source almost sang with the beauty of its power.

“Don’t let go of me.” He squeezed her hand tightly.

“No, I won’t.” Her voice sounded foreign in this silent place. She wouldn’t leave him to suffer whatever ill effects all this energy might have on him. She squeezed back in reassurance.

He didn’t move.

She took the lead and slid between a pair of pure-white trees. Her sweater snagged back and front, one side against each tree.