Syphon's Song.... Chapter One

At the end of fall 2019, I got my rights back for Syphon’s Song and Enchanter’s Echo. I’ve spent the last months updating both books, but especially Syphon’s Song. It has a new first chapter. This is part of the story I was afraid to put in when I was first published because I didn’t feel it let the book jump into the action fast enough. I worried that it prevented the reader (and a potential acquiring editor) from getting to the Meet Cute between the heroine and hero.

Live and learn. Or, rather, write and write and write and then learn. I think this book is so much better than it was originally. (And not just because of the new first chapter. There are a lot of updates.)

Check out your favorite ebook retailer for the rest of the book. It’s not available everywhere yet, but it will be soon.

Chapter One

Bronte Casteel set her violin case on her tiny stoop and rummaged through the endless depths of her purse. Her keys were hiding, and the dim glow of her porch light wasn’t enough to see by. The moon was no help either. Though it had shined bright after her band’s show at the bar, clouds now devoured its white gleam. Night’s darkness prevailed.

The keys jingled. All the way at the bottom. Not in the side pocket where they were supposed to be. She pulled them out and then froze.

Someone was behind her. She wasn’t sure how she knew…had she heard his breath? Seen his shadow?

She spun around. A bearded man stood on the gravel walkway, tall and lanky, but his slender frame gave her no illusions. He was far stronger than she was.

He was well-dressed despite his heavy beard and his too-long hair. His pants were crisp, his shoes polished. The black leather jacket was much too heavy for the overly hot autumn night, but he looked cool enough for his breath to fog in the air. His cooling spell must be working overtime.

A mage in a trailer park of Nons.

This was never good news for any of the residents. She’d certainly never had one visit her.

Though Bronte was a mage too, she had no spells and so she passed herself off as a Non. Easier. Safer. Not that she’d had a choice.

Did this man know what she really was? Her heart sped up. The world around her crystallized—mundane adrenaline at work.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He held out an envelope. He was too far away for her to reach as if he didn’t want to come any closer. Perhaps he did know what she was. She could tell him he had nothing to fear, but he probably wouldn’t believe her.

“The message you are to deliver,” he said, his voice smooth and polished.

Oh, not this. She shook her head. “I already told her no.”

Her mother had called two nights ago after thirteen years of silence. The last time Bronte had seen her was when her mother had cast her into exile. She’d been hidden away because her power was embarrassing, dangerous…forbidden.

And most of all, her power was secret.

Everything always came down to power in the Republic of Mage Territories. And that was why Bronte had never fooled herself into thinking that her family had forgotten about her. She’d always known they’d use her if they needed her. Somehow. Some way.

Apparently that time had come.

She pressed her lips together to hold back the bitterness. “She must be desperate to be sending me.” Over the landline, Lady Casteel had demanded Bronte deliver a message to the Rallises. Her mother had poured out the morbid details of the job.

Bronte had absolutely refused.

The Rallises. Of all the founding families. They were the most powerful in the Republic.

“Lady Casteel’s state of mind is none of your concern.” The porchlight’s glow gave the messenger’s dark eyes an evil sheen. “And she reminds you that your sponsorship requires obedience.”

A threat. Of course.

All Non-mages who resided in the Republic of Mage Territories were required to have a mage sponsor. Since Bronte masqueraded as a Non, she too had a sponsor.

“Or she’ll throw me in jail?” Her voice was soft but steady.  

“Indeed, the Standish Institute for Reform has been notified that the Casteels may have a female candidate for intake.”

“You can’t be serious.” Her shock let the words fly free. The Institute was legendary among the Nons. Bronte had first learned of it when she’d moved into the trailer park. It was only spoken about in whispers, the boogeyman of grown-ups. Nons who entered the Institute didn’t come out.

In the man’s other hand, a pair a wrist cuffs appeared as if he’d summoned them from thin air. They were thick in the center and sharp on the edges, designed to cut into its victim’s skin if he struggled. The light glinted off them just enough to see the Institute’s initials etched into them. They swung in his grip like the watch of a hypnotist. She couldn’t look away. She could already feel them squeezing her, cutting her off from freedom, from this life she’d built from scratch.

There was no choice now. She was going to Rallis.

“What’s in the envelope?” she asked. Her voice had turned hoarse. She could hear her own defeat.

“You don’t need to know that.”

“I do need to know if I’m handing something to Rallis that’s going to get me killed.” What was she saying? Simply going there would probably be the end of her. The only silver lining was that they’d likely do the job faster than the Institute’s infamous torture.

“The body of the late Senator Casteel was stolen and is believed to be on Rallis property.”

“Lady Casteel already told me that.”

“Well, that’s what the letter in the envelope says too.” Sarcasm drawled through his word. “So now you know. Your task is simple. Drive to Rallis Territory. Deliver the letter to their senator. Return home.” He smiled. His incisors were oddly pointed. His dark bushy beard emphasized their whiteness. “Nothing more. Nothing less.” The wrist cuffs disappeared like a parlor trick. “And nothing to fear.”

She had everything to fear. Vincent Rallis knew the truth of her power. “Why me?”

“No more questions.” He held out the envelope, sliding it to the side with his fingers and revealing another piece of paper behind it. “This is your pass that permits you to leave Locke Territory. You have twenty-four hours to get to Rallis, deliver the message, and return home.” He tossed the papers to the ground. They landed just shy of the stoop.

“Twenty-four hours?” That would never be enough. “It’s nighttime. I need to sleep. I’ve been—”

“You leave tonight. I’ll follow you.” He lifted his hand again. This time he was clutching her violin case.

Horror smacked her with a sharp hand.

How had he done that? It had been right beside her. She hadn’t even seen him move. Her violin was everything to her, her companion, her sole income, the key to her happiness...her soul. “Give that back.” She dashed forward, but he scampered away faster than she could track.

In a blink, he was fifteen feet away from her. His head was turned slightly to the side, his chin a little too far back. Fear. Of her.

“You’ll get it back. In twenty-four hours.” He shook the case by the handle. “Consider this a little incentive to make sure nothing goes wrong.” His tone turned light and airy, like staccato notes, plucked from the strings of her life in a tune that had turned deadly. “Don’t think to plead your case to them. Don’t pull any poor little me stories on them. You return here as friendless as you are now. Not that they’d really want you. No one wants you.”

He walked away, calling out over his shoulder, “Hurry back home, Bronte Casteel.”