Enchanter's Echo (15 page)

“What about Bradford?”

He laughed. “Bradford is practically Rallis Territory already. They just do whatever we do and are happy to do it. I swear all that family does is party and race their boats on the river. Why couldn’t I’ve been born a Bradford?”

“Then how about some rogue mage from the Wild West?”

What would she do if he gathered her in his arms and lifted her on his lap? Probably not the moment for that move, but his hands itched to do just that. He shoved them in his pockets.

“It’s not easy to cross the Mississippi without a permit,” he explained. “The guards may turn a blind eye to some of the goods coming across but not to unregistered mages. Especially not dark ones.”

“Right. Well, I have no idea who the culprit could be. I’m no help.”

“Princess, you’re my biggest help. For all we know, it could be some random, crazy mage who lives in the Village, the Pipe, or anywhere, though it’s less likely to be a mage bound to Rallis. Hard to hurt the bond if you’re part of it. Hard to hurt the family that holds it, too. Far from impossible though. And of course we’re extremely diligent about tracking down rogue mages who aren’t bound to any of the families.”

It was something the Republic strictly enforced after the First Uprising, and it was the main reason the Second Uprising had been easier to put down. The mages who had been unnaturally enhanced had been identified quickly because the families had been alert for rogues. They’d been promptly executed.

“But if you happen to meet a dark rogue from the West, let me know. Anything’s possible.”

The carriage bounced over a pothole and then another. They were back in the Pipe. Through her window, he spied her diner. As they neared Whittier, he knocked on the ceiling and the carriage stopped. He pulled on his hat, opened the door with a stream of vibes, and jumped out before the steps could descend with the automatic spell.

As he stood there, the winter wind pushed against him, as well as the weight of the neighbors’ curious stares. The rickety clamor of the horses and coach had drawn inquisitive Pipers to the windows of the businesses and the few houses around.

Aurora stuck her head out the door. He pulled her gold knitted hat from his pocket. The
Clothe
charm had produced it, but he’d spelled it to form inside his pocket. He pulled the hat gently over her head, covering her ears.

She blinked in surprise, whispered her thanks, and then glanced right and left. Her long, soft curls bobbed along her shoulders. She stepped down with a surrendering sigh. Poor girl. She’d had an abrupt eviction from her shell. He escorted her to the corner. Her footsteps tapped against the street’s pavement then crunched softly over the gravel as they entered the junkyard.

The old building that housed her shop squatted just inside its borders, facing the street from a leery distance. He guided her along the edge of the building through dead, overgrown weeds. The wind whipped through them as they made their way against it.

“What are we doing?” Her pace slowed.

He stopped her three feet shy of the end of the brick structure. He pointed in answer to her question. The fissure was the size of his hand.

“What?” she asked again.

Blasted vibes, she walked around blind by choice. How had she grown up in the Pipe with zero sense of safety?

“Ror, you need to use your mage sense.” His had been on alert all morning. As usual. “The fissure is right here.”

“Here? Oh, no.” She was looking now. “How long has this been here? This is my shop.”

“Fix it first. We’ll talk inside.”

She performed her task without further prompting. The mark responded to her pull with ease, repairing the fissure seamlessly. But the damn ache in his gut persisted. He closed his eyes.

“It’s fixed,” she offered, as if he couldn’t tell.

He reached for her hand, a wordless plea for stillness as he focused on the power of the land. He pointed past the building’s corner. “What’s that way?”

“The trash towers. The fields. Nothing of interest.”

Wrong.

Another fissure waited out there somewhere in the junkyard’s land. He strode toward the front of her shop, pulling her with him. “Let’s get out of this wind. Then we’re going to play spill the vibes about your shop. Everything. Your regulars, any dissatisfied customers, your employees. Who hangs around?” He pushed the door open with his vibes.

The warmth of the shop spilled out, unnatural heat, generated by a furnace instead of a spell, its lack of moisture an instant clue. He took in the quaint shop with a glance. A ticking cuckoo clock hung to his right. Lace curtains covered the back and front windows. Shelves of appliances lined two walls behind a tall wooden counter that separated the customers from the workspace. An old toaster sat on it and from its edgy vibes, the appliance had long ago expired. Next to the toaster, a man lounged against the counter, arms crossed and legs extended. From his posture, Justin Wasten had been there a while.

“Overseer Wasten, this is a surprise.” Edmund held out his hand in greeting and opened his mage sense to its max. The sharp static of the fissure poured in, but he withstood it, seeking the other man’s vibes. What the hell was he doing here?

Beside him, Aurora stiffened. Her glitter leaked in a thin cloud.

The other man was slow to take his hand. “Indeed, this is a surprise, Lord Rallis.”

As they shook hands, weak vibes touched Edmund. Not surprising in the Pipe. But he couldn’t garner anymore than that.

“I confess I didn’t recognize you at first in that costume.” Wasten pulled his hand away. “I didn’t realize you and Aurora were friends until last night.” The newly appointed overseer stood about Edmund’s height, broad enough, too, but an aura of anger circled around the man that Edmund hoped he lacked.

Aurora darted her gaze between the two of them, tense and stiff. “Overseer Wasten. I see Gwyn pulled your toaster for you, but I haven’t had a chance—”

“It was just sitting there. But no one else is here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Gwyn usually opens the shop for me when I’m late, but I didn’t expect to be late today.”

Two skinny black squares ejected into the air from the toaster’s slots, startling all of them. The sharp scent of burnt toast scented the air.

Aurora blushed bright red. “I’m afraid it’s not ready.”

The man tipped his head with a sharp move. “I didn’t come for the toaster.” His voice was hard. “I’m here to inspect, as I’ve been appointed to do. I walked around the trash towers. I even walked down to your house.” He stared at Aurora, his dark eyes angry. “I’d hoped to introduce myself to the gang, but there was only one around. Practically a kid, whatever his name was. Keith or something. Why aren’t there more guards around the trash towers?” His tone was harsh and accusing.

Edmund stepped even with his enchantress, pulling his vibes to the forefront, readying them in the face of the unexpected aggression. “Aurora isn’t in charge of the gang, Wasten. Don’t take your disappointment out on her.”

“Overseer Wasten, are you all right?” Compassion flooded Aurora’s voice.

The overseer shook his head and backed down. “My apologies. It’s not been a good day. Kathryn, my wife, her illness is progressing rapidly and she’s not....” His voice cracked.

News of Wastens’ ill wife had been part of the man’s background report, but obviously the report was incomplete. Nothing had indicated she was dying. Edmund had assumed she’d heal. It was a very rare illness that could kill a mage. Except in cases of extreme injury, most natural deaths occurred when a mage’s vibes were old and faded.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora said.

“Is there anything we can do? I’d be happy to send our healer,” Edmund offered. “She’s the best around. Perhaps a second opinion would help.”

“I would hope you have access to better healers than I did.” Wasten’s mouth pulled into a bitter line. “When she first got sick, the only one we could afford was a quack. If Kathryn had been treated properly from the start, she would have recovered.” His face tightened and for a moment, Edmund thought the man might cry. “But the junkyard has a good healer. At least she’s taken the pain away.”

The junkyard had its own healer?

His girl went so stiff that she might have fallen over with a simple push of his finger. He eyed her and stepped closer, the better to shake the secrets out of her.

“I would’ve done anything to save my wife. Anything. But she wouldn’t have it.” An angry spark hardened his eyes and he turned them on Aurora again. “Now it’s just a matter of time.”

“You should spend that time with her,” Aurora said in a rush.

“Yes, you should.” Edmund stepped forward. “Go be with your wife. I’ve been meaning to tour the junkyard myself, Wasten. I’ll go in your stead and deliver your greeting to the gang. I’ll make sure they’re guarding the towers. Aurora can show me around.”

Wasten shook his head. “I won’t shirk the job on my first day.”

“The job will wait.” Edmund thumped him on the back and opened the door with his vibes. “Keep us informed.”

With little choice, the man nodded and stomped out.

Through the lace of the window’s curtains, Edmund watched Wasten head for the street. The man glanced back once. Looking where the fissure had been?

“That was kind of you.” His too trusting enchantress joined him at the window.

“That was not kindness.” He fingered the calling card that was permanently spelled to his pocket no matter which pants he was wearing. When the spell connected to his personal sentry, he spoke. “Track Overseer Justin Wasten until further notice.”

Aurora scrunched her nose at him. “Did you just charm call someone?”

His sentry sent a
yes, sir,
in immediate reply.

“Edmund.” Her voice pitched high with shock. “You’re going to have him followed? That’s exactly the kind of first family ploy that makes people not like you.”

“That doesn’t actually bother me, Aurora. How well do you know him?”

“Not well. Only that he loves his wife. Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you think he’s making the fissures.”

He wondered exactly that. He thought back to his first encounter with the man. “When I was interviewing him, he told me he’d turned over the fate of his most prized possession to an enchantress. I’d guess he must have been referring to his wife and the fact that you found a healer for him? He sure as hell couldn’t have been talking about his toaster. Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

She stepped back. “Heart problems,” she whispered. “Grief makes people angry sometimes.”

“Angry enough to destroy a territory?”

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Leave him alone. He’s not our fissure man. He deserves whatever peace he can find right now.”

Wasten would be searching for that peace while a Rallis sentry spied on him.

“He claimed he was some kind of stone mage. But we didn’t bring in a reader. We need to make that standard for all appointments,” He pivoted to face her as the overseer turned out of sight. “He walked right into your shop. Why wasn’t the door locked?” Even as he asked it, the answer banged against his skull. “Ror. Tell me you lock the door.”

“I do.” Her tone said
I don’t.
“Sometimes.”

He clutched his fingers to his hair.

“It’s just not that necessary around here. Not with the gang.”

He huffed a deep breath, seeking patience, understanding. To an enchantress, life was glittery goodness. Though with everything that had happened to her, from growing up in a junkyard with a crazy father to a seven-year sentence with the Nobles, how had she kept that innocence?

A sudden bang came from behind them and they both jumped. Two pieces of black toast landed on the counter. The appliance fell to its side with the crash and rattle only toasters could make. Smoke wafted from its slots.

“Breakfast, darling?” he asked flatly. He sent a slow stream of vibes at the odorous bread. It disappeared. Aurora halted his unstoppable cast without looking.

“This one is going to take a bit of work to fix.”

“Maybe it’s time to junk it and add it to the towers. Wasten can afford a diamond-plated toaster on an overseer’s salary.” Unless he needed to spend it on his plot to take down Rallis. “Maybe this healer knows something about him. Let’s go see her.”

Aurora shook her head. “She doesn’t know anything more than I do. Besides, she values her privacy.”

Much like an enchantress he knew. But this situation was too serious to coddle her. “There’s another fissure out there, Ror. Somewhere on the junkyard’s land.” He continued as she gasped. “I need to talk to everyone back here.”

She shook her head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Everyone back here is my friend, Edmund. Even if they were capable of it, none of them would do this. There’s no need to go investigating them or accusing them.” Her eyes shimmered with the plea. Goddess, were those tears? Pain jabbed his chest, and her tears hadn’t even fallen yet.

For now, she was stuck in the middle of this. But he’d get her out. He’d put himself there instead. He just needed a bit of time to force his way in. “Then let’s go fix that fissure before one of your friends gets hurt.”

She dropped her gaze and swallowed hard enough that he heard it. Reaching under the counter, she lifted the bridge that allowed her to pass back and forth. She held it for him. “We’ll go out the back.”

He pointed at the front door. “You’re begging for a thief with that unlocked. The gang’s reputation isn’t what it once was.”

“It’s hardly that bad.”

It was worse. The gang had become so lax that his not-sister-in-law had walked right into the metallist’s shop and asked him to do something so illegal that any mage would have been executed for thinking about it. No trespasser ought to have entered that shop without the guards’ permission.

“Owen Crombie has taken over. Bull. Have you heard of him?” She said the man’s name as if he were a god. “He doesn’t tolerate any kind of slip-ups. He tossed out all ten of the men who were on duty that day.”

The day her father had died. Had she forgiven him for his role? He didn’t want to ask.

“I’ve heard of him. He’s taken over the gang temporarily.” Edmund knew of him by reputation. He also knew something about how the gang worked, but a founding family never took an active role in junkyard security. That was about to change. “Apparently, he needs to acquire some more staff if there’s only one man out there guarding the towers. If he truly wants to restore the gang’s fierce rep, he needs to take over for good and kick some ass in a very big way to polish that fierceness to a shine. Ruthless and violent. It’s the only reputation the gang can afford to have.”