Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore

by Michele Bardsley

  And that was the problem.

  He wanted Happy. And despite the relatively small age difference, he knew there existed a wide chasm between them. He was more experienced, more emotionally mature, and an actual adult. With Happy, he was getting too close to giving in to temptation. And if he did that…then he wouldn’t be the man she deserved. That was why he wanted to test for the House of Wolves. He wanted to go somewhere Happy-free so he could stop so much fucking yearning.

  He suspected, though, that no matter how far away he got from Nevermore or from his girl, he would feel the same. It was as if he were tethered to her, not only through his promise, but through the absolute—and yes, he was saying it, damn it—knowledge they were meant for each other.

  Patience. All he needed was to keep cultivating his patience.

  “You seem distracted.”

  Ant whipped around at the sound of Elandra’s fairy-light voice. He blushed to the roots of his hair, and she laughed at his obvious embarrassment.

  “I’ve been standing here for at least two minutes, and you didn’t even notice. What’s her name?”

  Ant tugged down the brim of his cowboy hat. “How’d you know it’s about a girl?”

  “Always is.” She offered him a half smile. “It’s a good way to lose your focus. You sure you’re ready for the testing? It will be a very long three days. If you’re not prepared—”

  “I’m ready.” Ant met her gaze steadily. “I won’t fail.”

  Her smile widened, and she inclined her head. “We’ll see.”

  Ant knew he was probably going to get his ass kicked. Most magicals were born with a strong-enough affinity to simply be assigned a House. His powers had been latent, blooming suddenly and inexplicably. So he had to do a little more work to get into the House of Wolves. It was rare for a pledge to get tested—at least to the degree that Elandra had planned for him—but the Wolves wanted to be sure he was truly a magical.

  He knew he was the real deal. He sure as hell didn’t need the approval of the Wolves. But he wanted the training, and he needed to go away, just for a while, just long enough for Happy to enter womanhood.

  Goddess, he loved her.

  And wanted her.

  “You want a few more minutes to moon around?” asked Elandra.

  “Hell, no.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Gray stared at the Colt Peacemaker that lay on the wood floor, gleaming like vengeance. Two crime scenes in one week with the same weapon.

  What the hell?

  He’d locked up Banton’s gun in his own magic-protected safe. No way could it have been removed from that safe or his property without his knowing about it. He gathered his power and sent it toward the weapon. Nothing. Damned if he could feel even an ounce of magic in it—or on it.

  If it wasn’t magicked, then it made no sense about how it kept disappearing from secured locations, only to end up in the hands of people who had no reason to take their own lives. He looked at the remains of poor Betty Mae Mooreland. Now, there was a lady whose life seemed all right. She and Kenneth had made a nice couple; she was shier than her gregarious husband, and she was prone to blushing. He hadn’t seen them in a while, especially since the café had been burned down. Nevermore really needed a restaurant, maybe even two. Making that happen was yet another thing on his very long Guardian to-do list. But that was neither here nor there.

  Taylor was splitting his time between documenting the scene, keeping his brother going with coffee and empathy, and putting in calls to Dr. Green. He had brought Gray along for an extra set of hands.

  Gray gathered his power and used it to once again seal the weapon. Then he took it carefully, put it in a special, silver-charmed box, and held on to it. This time, he was taking the damned thing to the Dragon archives in Dallas. Magic or no magic, the Peacemaker would stay put. And maybe then they’d be able to put a stop to whatever was going on in this town.

  Gray couldn’t help but wonder: Why Atwood? Why Betty Mae? Why would they kill themselves? And why both of them with this gun?

  “How’d she get it?” asked Taylor.

  “She didn’t,” said Gray. “She couldn’t.”

  Taylor nodded, but Gray could see the worry in his friend’s expression. “Ant will be here soon to get Ken. Once he’s gone, we’ll be able to transport Betty Mae to the morgue. Damned place is getting a lot more business these days.”

  “These suicides are a piece of a bigger puzzle. And I don’t think we’ll like the picture when it’s done.” Gray told him about taking the gun to Dallas for storage. Taylor agreed. “In Dallas, I’ll do some digging around in the archives about the Peacemaker. If it has a magical history, then it might have documentation. Maybe there’s something that will enlighten us about Banton’s gun.”

  “Good idea. Dr. Green will be here tomorrow to do the autopsies. Can’t be anything other than suicide, but if it’s not…”

  “Yeah,” said Gray, running a hand through his hair. Frustration ate away at his composure. “Then we’ve got another murderer loose in Nevermore.”

  Norie Whyte awoke with a scream trapped in her throat, her arms and legs straining against the manacles on her wrists and ankles. You won’t break me, she thought. I won’t let you.

  It took a few seconds for her to realize she was freely moving her limbs and that she was in a warm, comfortable bed. She stopped struggling against the nonexistent restraints and lay still, listening to her own rasping breaths. Her body ached, but she was so used to feeling pain that it took her a moment to realize she wasn’t experiencing the usual agonies.

  Gingerly, she sat up and looked around. The big room was furnished with lovely antiques. On either side of the four-poster bed was an arched window. Pale light filtered through the gaps in the shut curtains, dappling the wood floors.

  She pushed off the covers and noted that a cotton nightgown covered her from neck to toes—and she wore thick black socks—men’s socks.

  Where was she?

  And how had she gotten here?

  Images flickered. Being trapped on the altar. People around her. Knives slashing. Spells poisoning. Pain flowing.

  She swallowed the knot of terror clogging her throat.

  They’d been trying to sacrifice her.

  And then…what? She closed her eyes and tried to remember something solid—something real. There’d been a sudden, terrifying cold. And screeching—birds, maybe? Then a blast of light. An awful smell of burned flesh.

  The faint memories wiggled away, like shadows chased out by sunlight.

  Her mind was in protection mode, and given the ugly turn her life had taken and all she had endured, she shuddered to think what other horrors had occurred—an experience obviously so bad, her brain had shut off access.

  Chilled, she pulled the covers up to her chin and had a childish moment of wishing someone would come in and shoo away all her monsters. But some monsters could not be defeated—especially the ones growling and clawing inside the soul.

  “My son rescued you.”

  Norie glanced to her left and saw an older female sitting on the dresser. She was pretty, with graying brown hair tucked into a bun and kind eyes the color of spring grass. She wore a floral-print dress covered by a white apron, and a pair of pink flats.

  Then Norie realized she wasn’t exactly sitting on the dresser—she was sorta drifting above it.

  “Yes, sweetie, I’m dead.” She smiled, and the left side of her mouth dimpled. “My name is Sarah Mooreland. And this used to be my room. You’re at my son’s house, and you’re safe.”

  Norie opened her mouth. Her throat convulsed. No words came out. She grasped the sides of her neck, though the gesture did nothing to jumpstart her speaking abilities. Panic edged through her. She was dreaming, right? She had to be. This was a nightmare. She looked at the…well, the ghost, and tried not to freak out.

  “Can’t talk, right?” Sarah gave her a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll get fixed.
” She jumped off the dresser and float-walked to Norie. “You’re very special. Goddess-blessed. She’s calling you into Her service. That’s why I’m here. To help you.”

  Norie stared at the spirit in shock. Goddess-blessed? Now, that was a laugh. She’d spent her childhood with a mother who was eight kinds of crazy. Norie’s adult life had been given over to mundane, back-breaking jobs, and she had never, not once, been in love. She’d tried. Relationships were not her forte. If the Goddess had been blessing Norie, she sure had a funny way of showing it.

  It wasn’t even that Norie wanted big things. She wanted simple things. Love. Family. Home. She yearned for this dream so deeply, so often, that it was all she could think of…all she truly wanted. But she’d been denied the opportunity for love. Oh, her mother had loved her…as crazy as she was at the end. They’d moved so often, and Mom had been so paranoid, that Norie wasn’t allowed friends. She never went to formal school. Her mother had homeschooled her and kept her protected from the world. And when Norie had gotten old enough to go out on her own, her mother had gotten ill. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was killing her mother, or what was affecting her mental state.

  At the end, when she was strapped into a hospital bed, her body nearly wasted away, her mind gone, she had grabbed Norie’s hand and looked at her. “Star born,” she whispered, her gaze flickering with insanity, “shine brightly.”

  Minutes later, she’d closed her eyes and breathed her last.

  Norie felt her stomach clench. Mom may have been nuts, but she’d been the only person in the world who’d cared for her. And Norie had spent the next ten years figuring out a few things…such as being cursed. Attempting relationships…Well, it never ended well—especially for the man fool enough to like her. Something bad always happened to him.

  So she’d accepted her loneliness. She’d tried to build a life. It may not have been glamorous, but she’d been okay. Sometimes, though, when she woke up in the middle of the night, her chest aching, her heart pounding, a nightmare crimping the edges of her memories, she wondered if she’d inherited her mother’s insanity.

  “Our lives are a series of choices,” said Sarah kindly. “Not always our own. There’s so much you don’t know, sweetie. So much you must learn before your thirtieth birthday.”

  Norie stared at the ghost. “Why?” she mouthed.

  “The spell that’s bound your powers and your memories will disappear. You will know your destiny then. There are very difficult things ahead for everyone, especially for you. But you must have courage.”

  Sarah was echoing the speech of the raven in her dream, the one she’d had before she woke up chained to a stone. Black Robe had also talked about her destiny. She was tired of strangers telling her what her life should be like. She’d listened to her own mother map out Norie’s life in a way that only a crazy person could. You’ll know, Norie. You’ll know. And then he’ll know. He will know. And you won’t be safe. Have to keep you safe. Pack! Pack now!

  And off they’d go. To another city. To another ratty apartment. For a while, her mother’s mind would settle enough to get a job, to build a home, and then a couple months would go by…and it would start all over again. Goddess or not, Norie would not be beholden to Her will. How could she serve a deity who hadn’t helped at all, ever, during the constant hardships of her nearly thirty years?

  “Sometimes, you choose,” said Sarah. “And sometimes, you are chosen.” She laid her fingers against Norie’s brow; her forehead tingled. “In the morning, you will have some answers.”

  Norie didn’t want to go back to sleep. She wanted to get out of this bed, out of this house, and out of whatever trouble she was in.

  “It’s not wise to leave,” warned the ghost, as if she’d read Norie’s mind. Huh. Maybe she had. “If you venture outside this house’s protections, they’ll find you. You’re cloaked here. Safe. Understand?”

  Fear skittered like snakes up her spine. She nodded, suddenly chilled.

  “Good.” Sarah smiled. Then she slowly faded into nothing.

  Norie slowly sat up and stared at the space where Sarah Mooreland had stood looking all motherly and concerned. Something flickered in her mind, a memory she couldn’t quite grab hold of. She chased it for a minute, but it eluded her too well. Was it weird that she found the sight of a ghost familiar? She had seen one before, but it was a feeling of surety, rather than actual memory.

  She looked around the room, approving of its loveliness. She was glad to be here, safe and sound, rather than in the company of Black Robe and his asshole cohorts. She had no idea if she was embedded in a similar pit of vipers, but she doubted it.

  Oh, how she wanted to go back to her old life, but she knew it was gone. It didn’t matter now if she returned to California. Would she be on the run for the rest of her life? And for what? She didn’t understand why Black Robe needed her. She was no one.

  No one at all.

  Norie figured the best thing to do was to rest. At least in her dreams, she was safe.

  Taylor held her hand and led Norie through the garden. The trees were cut in whimsical shapes, the flowers as lush and beautiful as any she’d ever seen, and the path was lined with smooth, black rocks.

  “Here,” he said. The small clearing was surrounded by a wall of verdant trees, these with long thin leaf-covered limbs that drooped to the ground like a lady’s wrinkled ball gown. “Weeping willows,” said Taylor. “My favorite.” He glanced at her, smiling. “Not that I walk around thinking about trees a lot.”

  Norie laughed.

  He squeezed her hand and took her to the checkered blanket. She saw the wicker basket, and beside it, two wineglasses and a bottle of Chablis.

  He waited for her to sit, and she realized she was in a long dress, the same white one she’d worn in the raven dream. Her heart tripped, and fear shot up her spine like cold lightning.

  “You’re all right,” said Taylor. “It’s okay.”

  The fear receded instantly. He poured the wine and handed her a glass. “To us,” he said, tilting his glass in her direction.

  “To forever,” she said.

  They clinked glasses.

  Later, they lay on the blanket, hand in hand, and she listened to the low, comforting sound of Taylor’s voice. She couldn’t discern the words, but it didn’t matter. Not really. She was where she belonged.

  With him.

  Above them, two stars glowed in the night sky. It was odd, thought Lenore, that only two stars should be visible. They looked like eyes gleaming in the dark, but she wasn’t afraid.

  Destiny, said a voice that sounded like the white raven’s.

  The garden faded.

  Now they stood in the middle of the nemeton, the ancient stones buzzing with energy.

  She was naked.

  And so was he.

  She turned in Taylor’s arms and kissed him, mating her tongue with his, reveling in his gasp of breath, his tightened embrace.

  “I want you,” she whispered. Whoa. Was she really doing this? Love me, she wanted to say. Love me.

  But the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. She couldn’t bear to ask for love, only to receive judgment and rejection. Just like so many times before.

  She couldn’t say it. No. But she could show him. She kissed the strong column of his neck, the rough line of his jaw, the dent in his chin. “Taylor.”

  He took her hand and lowered it to his cock. Her heart pounded fiercely as she encircled the smooth, warm flesh, then trailed her fingers from the base to its tip.

  Taylor tipped her chin so that she would look at him. “I want you so much.”

  “Then take me,” she said. “I’m yours.”

  He lowered her to the ground then and used his hands, his mouth, to give her such pleasure. She gave the same to him. Touching his muscled flesh, stroking, kissing—it was beyond what she believed possible.

  And when he finally rose above her and slid inside her, she thought, I belong to him.

 
; “Lenore. Oh, Lenore.” He clamped on to one of her tightened nipples and sucked. Bliss bubbled through her. She wrapped her arms around his hips and matched his strokes. She wanted to reach that promise of pleasure that felt so close. Her body trembled; her heart pounded.

  “More, Taylor,” she said. “More!”

  Her breath caught in her throat when he abandoned her breasts and pounded into her, his head cradled in the crook of her neck. Sweat rolled down her breasts, but all she felt was the great need filling her belly, the spark he ignited.

  “Lenore,” he muttered. “Lenore!”

  She shattered. Her hands grasped his shoulders, her nails piercing his flesh.

  Then Taylor found his pleasure. He held on to her, shuddering. Only when he lifted his head and looked at her did she see the utter desolation in his gaze.

  Norie woke up and shoved off the covers. Her body was suffering the aftereffects of such a vivid dream.

  Wow. She had it bad for her rescuer.

  But there something about…What did the stars mean? And why had Taylor looked so desperate?

  She put her head into her hands. She knew the price of falling for someone. Every guy she’d ever dated, whoever had the misfortune of being with her for longer than three dates, ended up hurt—literally.

  Her mother had told her, numerous times, that she had to wait for the key. Only the key can be yours, she’d muttered in some of her most insane moments. Save yourself for him. He’ll save you. He’ll save the stars!

  Oh, Mom. Norie shook her head. Whatever voices had infiltrated her mother’s thinking, whatever crazy thoughts spun in her head, she’d been right about Norie’s luck in love. She wasn’t allowed to have a relationship.

  Well, she wasn’t going back to sleep. Who knew what else her brain would come up with?

  She eyed the opened door to the bedroom and then shoved off the covers.