Nevermore
Page 1
The gray film continued to spread through her
mind and cloud her visions. Her eyelids grew heavy. She lowered to the ground and lay on her back. The blue sky above lost its vibrant colour as the world around her closed in. Her heart slowed. Her breathing grew shallow.
A man stepped over her and peered down, his bulk blocking out the last of the light. Shadows obscured his face but not the long dagger he held perilously close to her body. His other hand reached up to his ear. Did he have a phone? An earpiece? Her vision wavered and continued to close off.
“Camhanaich,” the man said, his voice low and growly.
“We have a problem.”
Praise for novels of J. C. McKenzie
Shift Happens
“SHIFT HAPPENS has excitement, intrigue and lots of danger. I love the whole cast of characters and how they played a part in the story” –Fresh Fiction
Beast Coast
“I loved this book as much as the first. There are secrets, surprises, and all manner of supernaturals.” –Paranormal Romance Guild
Carpe Demon
“The story keeps the adrenaline pumping and spine tingling tension building throughout the story with well written scenes full of vivid details that capture the imagination and make it easy for the reader to become engrossed…” –Literary Addicts Book Community
Shift Work
“It’s a terrific series and if you like supernatural reads, with a side of romance, the sort with solid and intense plots, gripping and very real dangers, hard choices, supernatural people some of whom can be selfish, cruel and bloodthirsty…You’ll be hooked.” –Jeannie Zelos Book Reviews
Beast of All
“This time out, J. C. McKenzie has outdone herself with high-velocity action, soul deep emotions and one of those finishes that you want to replay over and over!” –Tome Tender
Conspiracy of Ravens
“Raven is my kind of people. Half hot-mess, half bad-ass, all awesome… the story was had plenty of humor, action and mystery rolled up in a nice paced story.” –Urban Fantasy Investigations
The Night House
“From the very first page till the very end I was hooked on this book and read it in less than one day…it had everything you could want from a story romance, secrets, lies, suspense, surprises and more.” –Linda Tonis, Paranormal Romance Guild
Dangerous Dreams
“This new world promises to be an adventurous one full of snark, passion, thrills, romance, danger and wonderful characters and I can’t wait to read the next one.” –Stormy Vixen Reviews
Dangerous Liaisons
“Loved this story and loved Raf and strong, stubborn Lara and I can’t overlook Lara’s dragon who brought humor to this story.” –Paranormal Romance Guild
Books by J. C. McKenzie
Conspiracy of Ravens
Nevermore
Queen of Corvids
Shift Happens
Beast Coast
Carpe Demon
Shift Work
Beast of All
Dangerous Dreams
Dangerous Liaisons
Dangerous Decisions
The Good Griffin
The Shucker’s Booktique
Be My Love
NEVERMORE
A RAVEN CRAWFORD NOVEL, BOOK TWO
J. C. McKenzie
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Nevermore
COPYRIGHT © 2019 by J. C. McKenzie
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: jcmckenzie@jcmckenzie.ca
Cover Art: Eerilyfair Design
Raven artwork: Yauheniya Piatrouskaya
Raven in nest artwork: Chad Keith
Publishing History:
First JCM Publications Edition, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-9992394-2-8 (print)
ISBN: 978-1-9992394-3-5 (ebook)
To the pub girls
You know who you are and
I’m so thankful to have you all in my life.
Author’s Note
It’s the Canadian disclaimer again… Fair warning, I’m Canadian, and because this story is set in Canada, I will be subjecting you, the fabulous reader, to the wonderful, and sometimes confusing, world of Canadian spelling. We use a combination of British and American spelling in the True North. It’s “colour” not “color” and “organization” instead of “organisation.” We love the letters U and Z, and have a fondness for the double L.
Also of note: Although we are technically a metric nation, our proximity to our American neighbours (see how I spelled that?) means we are well versed in the imperial system. Many of us still use feet and inches to describe our height and pounds for our weight. I’m not being inconsistent in my world building, I’m being realistic and reflective of the community I was born and raised in.
Canadians…we’re complex and full of layers.
Like a tasty red velvet cake.
“Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.”
~ Excerpt from The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe
Chapter One
“It’s not denial. I’m just selective about the reality I accept.”
~ Bill Watterson
Of all the diners, in all the towns, in all the realms, he had to walk into hers to waste her time. Raven shifted her weight from one foot to the other to relieve the ache shooting up her legs. She took a deep breath and winced. A musty smell permeated from the worn carpet, concealed partially by the frying meat in the kitchen and the booze wafting off most of the customers.
Ah. Dan’s Diner at its finest.
“I’m sorry.” The customer at table eight peered up at her with large brown eyes, crinkled with laugh lines. “I don’t have enough for a tip.”
“That’s okay.” She brushed a long strand of black hair from her face. Oh, here we go. Insert sob story. It wasn’t that Raven was unsympathetic to those without means. Quite the opposite. If anyone understood debt and poverty, it was Raven. But if she couldn’t afford a sit-in meal plus the tip, she didn’t eat out. Raven forced her mouth into a tight smile and hoped it came across as reassuring to the customer despite her sinking stomach.
In Canada, servers earned minimum wage with the assumption they’d make up the difference with tips earned from hustling their butts. But that wasn’t really the issue. If it was just a lost tip, Raven wouldn’t feel so bitter. Most places, including Dan’s Diner, required servers to pay a certain percentage of their total sales, called a tip out, to the non-serving staff. Technically, if a table stiffed her on a tip, Raven lost money because she had to tip out no matter what. This meant she made less than minimum wage. That’s what ground her gears.
She knew her limits and played within it, why couldn’t everyone else?
“I have something better.” The man smiled.
Oh no. A phone number from a middle-aged, balding man sporting a dad sweater was not adequate compensation. This Saturday graveyard shift kept getting better and better.
He reached into his
tight hipster jeans—the kind indicating he had more money than fashion sense in addition to delusions of his age—and pulled out a jewellery box.
Raven’s eyebrows shot up. This was a new one.
“You can pick any gem in the box.”
Raven groaned. On the inside, of course. No need to be rude or completely forgo a gratuity. She might be a less-than-stellar waitress, but she wasn’t an unprovoked asshole.
“Some are quite expensive,” he said.
“I’m sure they are.” The only thing Raven was sure of was this guy probably picked the trinkets up at a dollar store. The corner of her right eye twitched. She shifted her weight on her feet again. She needed to think up a polite excuse to flee before something snarky erupted from her mouth.
The man opened the jewellery box.
Oooo. Shiny. Her Dark Other energy pulsed inside her. The birds wanted out.
As a part-fae raven shifter, she loved shiny things, and all intention of escaping flew away the moment Dad Sweater lifted the lid.
Under the stark diner lighting, various hues of blue, gold and pink sparkled from the gems sitting in the velvet interior of the jewelry box. One less-than-shiny stone sat off to the side. Instead of the light dancing off its black surface, it seemed to draw in the questionable diner lighting, absorbing it while still giving off a captivating lustre.
She rubbed her clammy hands on her black polyester pants and bit her lip. The more she stared at the gem, the more she wanted it.
Take, her ravens whispered.
Should she touch the black stone?
No.
She shook her head. No, she shouldn’t.
She leaned in and reached out to touch the odd, pear-shaped gem. She stopped.
“Ah…” The man nodded. “The black spinel. Excellent choice.” He plucked the jewel from the box.
Raven held her breath, tracking the gem with her gaze, every bird inside her alert and ready to burst forward.
He rolled the black spinel to sit on his weathered palm and held out his hand. “It’s yours.”
Raven gently collected the gem from his hand, pinching it between her forefinger and thumb. It was a larger jewel, pear-shaped, with lots of facets.
Once, back in her delusional days when she dated a compulsive liar but hadn’t figured out his character flaws yet, she’d researched diamonds, cuts and rings, dreaming of becoming Mrs. Robert Fleming. Ugh. She avoided becoming Mrs. Douche but what cut the deepest was the relationship ended on his terms, not hers.
Robert had done her a favour, but she still wished she’d broken his heart, not the other way around.
“It has one hundred and forty-five facets,” the man said.
Raven shook herself from her funk. “Sorry, what?”
“Normally, a pear cut gem has around fifty-eight. This beauty has more than double.”
Raven held the stone up to the light. The black faces mesmerized her. She clutched the pretty rock and brought it to her chest. Though her white blouse provided a thin, synthetic barrier between her and the gem, the rock felt right against her body, as if it contained energy of its own and meshed with hers perfectly. “I’ve never heard of a black spinel.”
The man snapped the jewellery box closed and pushed away from the table to stand. “It’s a rare, single refractive stone, but it’s gaining popularity. It also happens to be my favourite. Good choice.”
Was he full of crap? Raven glanced down at the rock in her hand again. Despite the warmth of her hands, the gem remained cool. This could be some cheap plastic for bedazzling the butt pockets on preteen jeans for all she knew.
“Are you sure you want to part with it?”
“Absolutely. It’s yours, mo bhanrigh.” The pupils of his eyes bled out to cover the irises before retreating to boring brown.
Raven blinked. What in the Underworld was that? Had she imagined the eyes of an Other? Her Other senses hadn’t detected anything. Her scalp wasn’t prickling and her hair remained straight. Normally, it curled in the presence of Underworld energy.
“Mo what?” she asked. She must’ve imagined his eyes tweaking out. After all, she hadn’t been sleeping well lately.
He smiled again and turned to walk out the door.
“Wait a minute!” Raven stalked after the man. Weird eyes or not, too much crazy shit had plunged into her life to let a mysterious, gem-toting man spouting words sounding suspiciously of the Underworld leave without an explanation.
“Waitress.” A man growled as she walked by.
She ignored him.
“Waitress!” His wife reached out and snatched her serving apron.
Rip! The cheap material tore, and coins flew through the air, smacking tables and the floor in a clatter. Customers from nearby tables dove on the loose change like vultures. On their hands and knees, they filched her hard-earned tips.
“Hey! That’s mine.” Raven snarled at the customers.
The woman who grabbed her apron straightened in her seat and let go of the material. She lifted her hands in surrender, as if she wasn’t responsible for this clusterfuck. Raven narrowed her gaze and barred her teeth. The husband squeaked. The vultures dropped the coins and backed away from the scene of the crime with wide eyes, like they hadn’t just tried to steal loose change from a rundown waitress in a greasy spoon dive on a Saturday night.
The door chimed.
Raven turned to watch the front door close.
“Crap!” She ran to the entrance and flung open the door.
The cool night air of North Burnaby greeted her. Gentle wind rolled through the nearly empty parking lot, rustling fallen leaves. The man had disappeared. Raven stood at the entrance and clutched the odd black stone to her chest.
“Raven?” Her brother Mike stood behind her. He must’ve come out of the kitchen when he saw her race by. Though nineteen and in his second year of university, Mike hadn’t filled out his tall frame yet, and given the wiry, lean build of his father, he probably wouldn’t. A thick mop of red hair hinted at his fox shifter nature and his kind eyes proved the harshness of their reality hadn’t turned him into a bitter inhabitant yet. A grease-coated cast decorated the arm he’d broken while caught in a leg-hold trap a month ago. “You okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
Chapter Two
“Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That’s why it’s a comfort to go hand in hand.”
~ Emily Kimbrough
Over-teased chestnut hair and a familiar face caught Raven’s attention before she could run back into the diner to find out what those customers at table six wanted. The attractive woman stalked across the parking lot toward the restaurant’s entrance. Her stiletto heels clacked against the dry pavement and sent echoes through the night. Well, early Sunday morning, now. A souped-up sports car playing loud music with the bass cranked too high drove past. Boom, boom, boom.
Where’d she know this woman from? If she wasn’t wearing a scowl and stalking toward the diner with deadly intent, she’d be pretty.
Oh no.
Memory clicked in.
This couldn’t be good.
The car with the loud music turned the corner and the music faded into the night, giving way to the punctuated clack of the woman’s heels. A gust of wind blew through the parking lot, flinging Raven’s black hair back. Though fall, the infamous rain of Vancouver and the surrounding areas hadn’t started yet. When it did, it wouldn’t stop for days.
The woman brushed her hair from her face without missing a step.
“I’m definitely not okay now,” Raven told Mike, who still lurked behind her.
Mike peered over her shoulder, bringing with him the sweat and grease from the kitchen. “Who’s that?”
“Robert’s fiancée.”
“Poor thing,” Mike muttered.
Raven was inclined to agree except the other woman looked pretty pissed off and intent on confronting Raven.
“Do me a favour?” Raven asked her brother, without taking her eye
s off of…what was her name? Sarah? That’s right. Sarah. Robert had brought her to the diner once.
“Yeah?”
“Check on what table six wanted and pick up the change on the floor?”
Mike grunted. He hated covering tables. He hated “cleaning” even more. His room was a disaster.
“And if I’m not back inside in five minutes, come get me.”
“You got it.” Mike squeezed her shoulder before slipping into the restaurant. The door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the classic rock tunes straining from the static speakers and wafts of greasy meat.
Sarah screeched to a halt two feet away and vibrated with angry energy. The bright entrance lights illuminated her delicate features and the fevered gleam in her eyes. Her subtle floral scent laced with something slightly furry wound around Raven. Hmmm. The furry note was still there. She must be a shifter of some kind, but akin to inquiring about someone’s ethnic background, asking a supernatural what type of shifter they were was considered rude.
“Sarah, right?” Raven said.
“Cut the crap.”
Raven’s mouth snapped shut. She narrowed her eyes at Sarah. She might’ve felt sorry for the woman the last time they met, being engaged to a sociopath and all, but nope. Not anymore. Raven’s hands flew to her hips. She didn’t owe this woman a goddamn thing. “The only one dishing crap right now is you. What’s your problem?”
“You’re his ex.”
“Yeah, so?”
“The one he always talks about.”
Ew, gross. “I talk about him a lot, too.”
Sarah snarled. “I knew it. You’re one of his whores.”
The temperature dropped again as the wind picked up. Raven clutched her stone in one hand and used the other to rub her arm. Her hand slid against the cheap material of the blouse, but anything was better than reaching out and slapping the woman standing in front of her.