Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore

by Michele Bardsley

  She offered another smile, this one much warmer. “I am. And you shouldn’t worry so much about Happy.”

  “You’re not gonna give me the time-apart-will-do-you-good speech, are you? ’Cause I’ve heard that one about a hundred times from Taylor.”

  “Time apart will be excruciating,” she said. “You two are bonded. But there are things you both must do. And some of it you cannot do together.”

  “You sound a lot like Ember.” He chuckled. “You turning into a prophet, too?”

  “Not so much.” She laughed, but the sounds tinkled into silence. She was considering Tree in a peculiar way. “Can trees have souls?”

  Ant looked at her, startled. It was almost as if she’d tapped into his thoughts. Or maybe being a death keeper just made her think more about dying, death, and souls than anybody else.

  “This one probably does,” he said. He thought about the ancient stones in the nemeton and thought they had something close to souls, too. He’d never run across any living thing that emitted such power and such terrible sorrow.

  Mordi was staring at Tree now, her expression one of incredulity. “I understand now,” she said. She patted the trunk. “Ant, there may be a way to save Tree.”

  “How?”

  She turned her gaze to him, and in that moment, she reminded him of the stoic blue stones coated by blood and magic. It was as if Mordi were as ancient, as knowing as those magical monoliths. “I have to tell you something, and I must ask you to keep it secret.”

  “And whatever this is can save Tree?”

  “I believe so.”

  “All right,” he said slowly. “But I think I should hear this secret before I agree to keep it.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft with regret. “I know you’ll hold to your word, Ant, and that’s why I must ask for it now.”

  He stared at her, trying to get a hint about this particular mystery. But Mordi had always been enigmatic, even in school. It was her nature to keep secrets, especially those of others. It was part of being a grief counselor, and being in charge of a cemetery. Still, he felt wary about her request. He had a strong feeling he wouldn’t like what she had to say…and promises were important to him. She knew that, too; yet Mordi wasn’t a manipulative kind of girl.

  “All right,” he said. “Tell me how to save Tree. And whatever you need to say will stay with the three of us.”

  Mordi nodded. “Good.”

  Then she sat next to him, tucking her dress primly under her legs, and began to talk.

  Chapter 10

  Cullen Deshane entered the tiny, dark confines of the Mystique Salon and followed the smell of clove cigarettes to the back booth.

  The man lounging there blew out a thin stream of smoke and peered up at him. He grinned. “Mon frère. How ever did you escape prison?”

  “That metal file you sent in the last shipment of beignets finally did the trick, Laurent.”

  The grin widened. He put out the cigarette in the already-full ashtray, and then slid out from the booth. He grabbed Cullen in a crushing bear hug, then stood back. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Cullen.”

  “What you’re wearing is making my eyes sore,” said Cullen. “Did you decide to go into privateering? Or modeling for romance covers?”

  Laurent swept a hand down his outfit. He really did look like a pirate, especially with the billowy white shirt, tight black pants tucked into calf boots, and the gold hoop earrings. His long brown hair was swept into a queue at the back of his neck. He looked outrageous and dashing—and pure Laurent Chevalier. “You do not like?”

  “It fits you.” Cullen slid into the booth, and Laurent resumed his previous seat. “I can’t stay long. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to Bumfuck, Texas.”

  “Interesting name.” Laurent raised his head and waved at the waitress lounging against the bar. “The usual, darling. Two.”

  “Oui, Laurent.”

  “Leave it to you to find a place like this in Washington,” said Cullen.

  “They cannot offer the same as what we find in New Orleans,” said Laurent, “but it is adequate. What is it that you will do in this…Bumfuck?”

  The waitress arrived with two tumblers, an amber bottle, a bowl of sugar cubes, and two flat slotted spoons. She also put two carafes of chilled water on the table.

  “Thank you,” said Laurent. He winked at the waitress, and she offered a flirtatious grin before flouncing away.

  “You’re incorrigible.” Cullen eyed the tumblers. “Not Pontarlier, I see.”

  “Don’t be such a snob. Not everyone is as sophisticated as we are.” Laurent chuckled. He opened the amber bottle carefully. “This is a verte absinthe.”

  He poured the green liquid into the tumblers, a quarter of the way. Then the men put the slotted spoons across the rims, added one sugar cube to the middles, and each took a carafe. It took a careful, slow pour—a fast drip was preferred—over the sugar cube to get the desired louche. He and Laurent had spent years practicing such a pour. Still, fountains were more convenient, especially because they allowed the proper louching of the absinthe and people could converse. Self-pours required concentration and patience.

  And Cullen had both.

  Eventually the sugar cubes melted, the louching completed. Cullen removed his spoon and picked up the tumbler. He inhaled the licorice scent of his favorite drink and smiled. It had been too long since he’d been able to indulge.

  “La fée verte,” said Laurent, holding up his glass.

  Cullen held his up, too. “To the Green Fairy…and to dreams reborn.”

  Laurent smiled.

  And they drank.

  “What are your plans, mon frère?”

  “Indulge in some family nostalgia. Then, you know, get my revenge on all those magical bastards.”

  Laurent made a tsking sound. “Revenge is so passé. Perhaps we could do something else…like go to Europe and bed pretty French ladies.”

  Cullen stared down into his absinthe. “Do you know how long I spent in prison? My own father testified against me. The magicals, with all their powers, all their truth spells and sorcery bullshit, didn’t see the truth. They wanted someone to pay for killing those children. I was the goat.”

  Laurent said nothing. Well, what the hell was there to say? Cullen had gotten screwed. And he’d spent a lot of time in his cell thinking about all the ways those bastards in the Courts should pay. He hadn’t been guilty. He’d been railroaded.

  And that resentment boiled in his guts like acid.

  “What do you hope to find in your past, Cullen?” Laurent asked. His gaze had a laser focus.

  “Nothing,” said Cullen. “Or maybe everything. I don’t know. But I have to look. It’s my mother’s life, her family there. She deserves that much from me, don’t you think?”

  “I think a man who lives in his past has no future.”

  “And the man who lives in the moment like nothing else matters?” asked Cullen, taking a dig at his friend.

  Laurent smiled, but there was a sorrowful glint in his eye. “That is a man who knows well the price of revenge.”

  “You honored Katherine. You took the sword up in her name and—”

  “And nothing.” Laurent’s carefree expression hardened. “Did my actions bring her back? Did she live again? No. She is still ashes scattered on the sea, and I still live with her ghost.”

  “I’m sorry, Laurent.”

  “I know. And if you follow this dangerous path you are on…you will be sorrier still.”

  “Maybe.” He sipped his absinthe. “But I’m determined.”

  “So, how long do I wait for you? We have plans, Cullen. Plans already put on hold by your unfortunate incarceration.”

  “I’m not giving up on the absinthe lounge,” said Cullen. “As soon as I take care of business, I’ll meet you in New Orleans. Is the location still available?”

  “Oui. Especially since I bought it.” He sighed dramatically. “But it is empty and
needs work. A lot of work.”

  “We’ll roll up our sleeves, then,” said Cullen.

  Laurent offered another long sigh. “My sleeves are Armani. I think not.”

  “Armani makes pirate wear?”

  Laurent chuckled. “I have missed you.” He eyed Cullen. “Are you sure about chasing these ghosts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then all I can say is”—he held up his glass—“bonne chance.”

  Norie awoke on an uncomfortable couch with three male faces hovering above hers. She yelped, and Emmett, Taylor, and Gray nearly collided heads as they hastily backed away.

  “What are you doing?” She grabbed the blanket, and, in a completely idiotic move, pulled it up to her chin. Because a fuzzy cloth would so protect her. Sheesh.

  “You have a lovely voice,” said Emmett. “It’s like music.”

  “Shut your noise hole,” grumbled Taylor. He nodded toward Norie. “You all right?”

  “I’m thirsty,” she said. She placed a hand against her throat, her gaze on Taylor. She couldn’t look away from the man. He was good-looking in a solid, serious kind of way. He was the kind of man you could rely on…the kind that would stay no matter what. What was she thinking? She’d been cursed. Love would never be hers, and the men who’d had the misfortune to date her—even for a short time—ended up injured. She was lucky she hadn’t managed to kill any of her would-be boyfriends. The last guy spent weeks in the hospital recovering from falling out of her second-story apartment window. They couldn’t explain how he fell out. And those sorts of accidents happened all the time to men she showed the slightest interest in. Still. Taylor was the sheriff. It was his job to serve and protect. The interest he showed in her didn’t necessarily mean anything. She wasn’t particularly special; she was just the local damsel in distress. The thought was depressing. All the same, she could keep her attraction to herself, right? Right. He wanted to protect her…and she would protect him.

  Emmett brought her a glass of chilled water, and she downed it greedily.

  “Thank you,” she managed. “It’s nice to be able to speak again.” She eyed the young wizard and then tilted her head up. “Are the globs all gone?”

  “Y-yes,” said Emmett. “Wow. You have a nice neck.”

  Taylor made a noise between a growl and grunt, and the boy took the glass from Norie, then scurried away. When she looked at the sheriff, she saw him scowling in Emmett’s direction.

  “He doesn’t mean any harm,” she said.

  “That’s worse,” said Taylor. “He’s like an overgrown puppy, all legs and enthusiasm and no damned sense.”

  Norie bit back a grin and looked down at the floor until she could school her features. She didn’t think the sheriff would be too thrilled to know that she found his ire cute rather than fearsome. Wait. No. Not cute.

  “Can you remember what happened?” asked Gray. He knelt down, his expression creased with concern. Nevertheless, she saw the shadow of suspicion lurking in his gaze. Well, why should he trust her? She wasn’t exactly a reliable witness, not even to her own trauma.

  “I called up some ghosts,” she said. “I tried to do what Emmett told me, but honestly, his instructions were…” She trailed off, trying to think of a kind way to describe his harried teaching style.

  “Stupid,” offered Taylor.

  Gray slanted a look up at the sheriff. Norie saw the man’s lips quirk, and then watched as he swallowed the laugh that had certainly threatened. He returned his attention to Norie.

  “So, yeah, I tried to follow his instructions, but it wasn’t like he said at all. The magical strands and tying them all together? It was more like…seeing this ocean of cold and dark. I could touch it. I was afraid of falling into it, drowning.” She shivered. “Death really is all around us. I can see it. Well, I could.”

  “And the ghosts just came to you?”

  “All at once. Dozens of them, and they were all talking and trying to tell me so much.” She blew out a breath. “The worst part? All those emotions. Sad and scared and angry and desperate. They were like coiling snakes, squeezing me.”

  Gray nodded. “Emmett said you were a thanaturge.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I don’t understand. I’ve lived my whole life without magic. I was raised mundane. If I really do have powers, I don’t know how to control them. Or what my purpose is.” She glanced at Taylor. He was frowning down at her, his arms crossed. “Taylor saved me. Again.” Her gaze dropped to his hands. “What happened?”

  “You’re not the only one with powers,” said Taylor. “Apparently I’m some kind of key.” He tapped his temple. “Goddess wormed right into my brain and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Still don’t know what it all means, though.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” said Gray. “I’ll do some research here before we go back to Nevermore.”

  “You up for traveling later, Norie?” asked Taylor.

  “Yes.” Norie had an urge to go to back to Nevermore, even though it seemed a moronic move. How could she feel any kind of safety there? She’d nearly been sacrificed there without anyone in the town having a clue. But she felt strongly she needed to return. She wanted to figure out what was going on and take on the bastard in the black robe. And she had to admit that being in that house with Taylor felt nice. If there weren’t demons and Ravens trying to sacrifice her, then being there would feel close to her old dreams of love and family. Taylor was the kind of man she’d dreamed about.

  She chose her life, damn it. She would not be ruled by some kind of uncontrollable destiny.

  Once again, she found herself studying the sheriff. He really was handsome. It had been a long time since she’d been interested in anyone. Given her problems with intimacy—and that wasn’t some kind of emotional metaphor—she’d never had any long-lasting or fulfilling relationships. She would be thirty in two days, and she’d never had sex. It was a fact that embarrassed her, but not as much as the inexplicable reasons she couldn’t be with someone.

  No, Sheriff Mooreland was not for her. No one was. She sighed, and that drew the gazes of Taylor and Gray.

  “You all right?” Concern lit Taylor’s kind green eyes. “Need more water? Something to eat?”

  “Seems like you’re always trying to feed me,” she said with a slight grin. “But no, I’m fine. When are we leaving?”

  “I need to go into the Great Library,” said Gray. “I found a reference to an ancient prophecy that might indicate what the Ravens are trying to accomplish in Nevermore.” He looked away, and she wondered if that prophecy had something to do with her, too. All this talk of destiny from friends and from enemies—well, why wouldn’t there be some kind of prophecy motivating everyone?

  “You think it has something to do with me?” she asked, just to confirm her suspicions.

  “Maybe,” said Gray. “I’m not sure yet. That’s the shitty thing about prophecies, especially the older ones. They never spell out what’s going to happen exactly, mostly because the future is malleable. Things can unfold in ways that change the course of whatever was foretold. It might not happen in exactly the same way. Or at all.”

  Norie studied his expression and realized Gray was holding something back. She tried to discern what it could be and made an intuitive leap. “I’m betting there are some hard-core predications, aren’t there? Stuff that will occur no matter what else happens over time.”

  Gray nodded, shifting his gaze. “That’s true.” He offered her a smile, though it didn’t convey a lot of comfort. “But I don’t know if that’s the case here. I need to check out a few references and put my thoughts together. Maybe then we can figure out what the Ravens really want and why.”

  “They want war,” said Taylor.

  “No,” said Gray. “They want to win a war. They want to change the entire landscape of the world and create one that has demons living among us.” He looked at her. “Are you familiar with Kahl?”

  Norie shook her head.

 
; “He’s a very powerful demon lord,” said Gray. “I’ve had run-ins with him before. Trust me when I say that his stepping just a hoof onto the earthly plane is a bad thing.”

  “Well, we can’t allow that to happen,” said Norie. She sat up and pushed off the blanket. “I might not buy into all this destiny crap, but I’ll tell you this: I won’t let the Ravens use me to bring Kahl and his minions onto the earth.”

  “Good,” said Gray. “Neither will we.” He paused. “Do you remember anything about the night Taylor found you in the nemeton?”

  Norie couldn’t stop the flinch. She had been hoping no one would ask her that question. It seemed with the restoration of her voice, she’d also been given the gift of remembering the horrible events that had unfolded the night the Ravens tried to sacrifice her. She owed Taylor and Gray no less than the truth—especially after everything they’d done for her. No, she wouldn’t lie or avoid. It wasn’t her style anyway.

  Norie took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I remember.”

  Both men seemed taken aback, and then their gazes were riveted to her. There was no reason to explain about the dream with the raven familiar; she hadn’t quite figured out what that all meant anyway. It wasn’t as if the damned bird had shown up again. She knew that the white raven had drawn Taylor to her, not because he’d said anything. She just knew. And if that so-called familiar appeared in dreams and in—well, reality—she didn’t know what to make of it.

  So she plunged in. “I woke up on the altar. Um, naked. I remember that the stone felt cold. Really cold. Six, maybe seven black-robed people were around me. They all had blades.” She stopped and drew in a shuddering breath. She hated being a wuss, but visualizing what had happened made her feel the terror all over again. “Anyway, the biggest asshole was at the top, I guess. Right by my head. He was the one directing the incantations and the…the other stuff. I don’t remember exactly what they said. It was a different language.”

  “Most spells are in Latin,” said Gray. “The Romans translated many of the ancient texts and spells. They work the same because it’s the wizard’s intention—and the ability to access his powers—that make magic work.”