Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore

by Michele Bardsley

  Happy stumbled to a stop and gawked at the strange scene. A crystal hung over a still-boiling kettle, which was surrounded by candles that had obviously been blown out. Whatever the magical setup had intended to create, she didn’t know.

  Had Ant and Elandra made this mess? If so, why? And where had they gone?

  Then she saw the crumpled figure at the edge of the circle that had been drawn in the dirt. Her mind went blank, and bile rose in her throat. “Ant!” she screamed. She skidded to a halt and dropped to her knees. Something had gone wrong. A spell had hurt him—or Elandra had. Her thoughts whirled and collided, until she couldn’t grab on to even one that made sense.

  She grabbed at the robe, the black, silver-edged robe—and her mind tugged at that detail, but she couldn’t stop and unravel the knot. She pulled hard. The man rolled onto his back, his sightless eyes gazing at the singed hole in the barn roof.

  “Shit,” whispered Happy. Her gaze went to the gold handle of the dagger embedded in the man’s bony chest. Her entire body went cold. It couldn’t be.…It couldn’t be!

  Orley Ryerson was dead.

  She had the urge to yank the dagger from his chest, to hide it, to run and run and run…but logic asserted itself. No. She had to deal with this the way Lucy and Gray would expect her to. She touched the small red orb that hung from a gold chain around her neck and said, “Help.”

  The magic crystal glowed, its magic released, and her message traveled instantly to Lucy and to Gray.

  Happy moved away from the man who’d scared her when he was alive. He wasn’t exactly friendly looking now. But dead was dead, she knew. So she crawled to the opposite side of the circle, sat down, wrapped her arms around her knees, kept her gaze on the corpse, and waited.

  Chapter 13

  “Not much to look at,” said Cullen as the limousine trundled down Main Street.

  “It’s not a thriving metropolis,” agreed Leticia. “But Nevermore has its perks.”

  “If you say so.” He returned to gazing out the tinted window. The Consul had insisted on showing him the town, as though doing so were some sort of grand favor for him. But Cullen suspected the woman just wasn’t ready to meet her new daughter-in-law.

  He almost felt sorry for Lucinda Calhoun. He’d heard she’d once been a Rackmore, and the rumor mill had churned out plenty of scenarios about Gray marrying the younger sister of his first wife—the one who’d sold his soul to save her money. What a bitch. Either Lucinda was the most awesome woman on the planet—and hell, that kind of woman plain didn’t exist—or Gray was Grade A Fool. Cullen was betting on the latter. The dude obviously fell for the wrong kind of girl.

  The private airplane ride from Washington to Dallas had been pleasant, if a little boring. Leticia spent a great deal of time signing paperwork and reading things her assistants kept putting in front of her. The two comely women had not accompanied them, however. Only the lictors—all freaking twelve of them. He’d spent most of the flight pretending to sleep, not that he believed the Consul would’ve insisted on a conversation. She’d been keeping a distance between them, and he wasn’t sure if the switch had been flipped because she’d gotten him to Nevermore, which had been her goal, or because she now had bigger fish to fry—or rather, witches to burn.

  They made a slow circle in a roundabout.

  “The temple is open,” said Leticia.

  Cullen couldn’t tell if the Consul was pleased or pissed about that development. He gave a cursory glance at the Temple of Light. It was nice enough, he supposed, like most magical churches. In fact, the place seemed almost welcoming. Still, he wasn’t exactly a venerating-deities kind of guy. He left the worshipping to the suckers.

  He noted the large brass dragon in the center of the circular drive and gave a low whistle. “Well, I guess there’s no mistaking this is a Dragon town.”

  “No,” said Leticia in a voice that held both warning and pride, “there’s no doubt at all.”

  Okay then. He said nothing, turning his gaze once again to his window. As they finished the circuit, the limo slowed to a stop, right around the middle of Main Street.

  “That’s the old Sew ’n’ Sew,” said Leticia. Her voice had softened. “Your grandmother’s place. It’s been in your family since the founding of Nevermore.” She offered him a slight smile, even though her eyes remained guarded. “You have a history here, Cullen. Roots. Family.”

  “No offense, Consul, but why do you care so much?”

  “It’s not me so much as the Goddess,” said Leticia. “You are important to Nevermore.”

  “The Goddess told you that?”

  “Her prophet, Ember, told me. She’s the reason I pushed the committee to make a ruling on your case and release you. And, Cullen, you cannot underestimate the value of family.”

  “Except that I don’t have one anymore.” Cullen studied the faded gold lettering, the dingy picture window, the weather-worn door that may have been dark green once. He felt something long dormant shake off the grave dirt and try to push through the debris of his apathy. Wanting something or someone only brought misery. And he’d had enough pain for a while…hell, for a lifetime. No. He wouldn’t look at this place and consider the possibilities. He wouldn’t go in there and try to get to know a grandmother long dead, a family that had never been his except by blood. It was pointless. And he didn’t do pointless.

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to give me,” he said, even though he knew her motives were less than altruistic. “But all I see here are ghosts.”

  Just as the words left his mouth, Cullen saw movement inside the shop. He jolted. “Did you see that?”

  Lucinda leaned forward and peered out his window. “What?”

  “Someone’s in there.”

  He saw a flash of white, something pale and fluttering. “Definitely someone messing around in there.” Cullen grabbed the handle to the car door, but it was locked. He looked down at the black handle in disbelief. “Damn it.”

  “Roan! Unlock the doors,” demanded Leticia. She glanced at Cullen. “I don’t see anything in there. Are you sure?”

  “I’m looking right at whoever it is,” said Cullen. He pulled at the handle again, and this time, the door swung open. He was out of the limo and onto the sidewalk before he realized he didn’t know how he was going to get inside the building.

  Leticia followed him out, her gaze still on the plate-glass window as though trying to discern what he was seeing. He couldn’t believe she couldn’t glimpse the fluttering white. It was right there. Too far back, maybe, for him to determine what it was—or who it was—but there all the same. And it was as obvious as the two of them standing on the sidewalk in the early-morning light.

  “Here.” Leticia reached into her robes and pulled out a brass key. “I procured this for you.”

  Cullen took the key, not particularly caring how the Consul had managed to get it, or why she had it on her at this moment. He went to the door and unlocked it.

  Leticia followed him, peering over his shoulder.

  “Consul.” The smooth, deep voice of Lictor Roan had them both turning around. “Allow me to check for intruders.”

  Cullen eyed the big man, and shook his head. “No offense, but this is my property. And if you go in to look for intruders, I’ll feel like a pussy.”

  Roan’s flash of a grin was so quick, Cullen wasn’t sure he saw it. Then he glanced at Leticia. “I apologize for my language.”

  She rolled her eyes. Then she stepped back, closer to Roan. “Go check out your inheritance,” she said. “I’ll stay here and be protected, apparently.”

  The lictors who had been following the limo in a big black SUV were now exiting the vehicle and lining up on the sidewalk. Five men had accompanied them on the “tour”—well, six counting Roan. The remaining six were securing perimeters, or whatever.

  Cullen turned back toward the door, opened it, and entered. The daylight barely penetrated the darkness. It smelled musty, and the air was s
tale. He shut the door, and the loud bang echoed. The hair on the nape of his neck rose.

  “This is my place,” he said. Man. Saying those words felt good. He’d never really owned anything. He’d always been a Deshane, which meant having access to his father’s money and possessions, but really, nothing he could call his. And even though he wasn’t sure he wanted it, this building was his.

  It felt good.

  The white fluttered again.

  Okay. Now he was just getting annoyed. He felt along the wall for a light switch, but found only smooth, dusty surfaces. Shit. Since this was a business, it was likely that the lights were in the back, where it was more convenient for the owner to control them.

  He walked farther into the darkness. He maneuvered between bins of fabric and shelves filled with thread and needles and other sewing-related things. If he were to stay—and that possibility ranged between nil and none—he’d have to redo everything. He wasn’t going to be a purveyor of girly things. And yes, he knew that made him a chauvinist, but he never claimed to be a sensitive kind of guy.

  He walked slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes and ears open. He couldn’t see the white anymore—and what had that been? The swirl of a skirt? A handkerchief clutched in a fist? His fucking imagination gone stupid?

  He reached the checkout counter. It was really dark back here, but his eyes had adjusted to the interior. He followed the rectangular glass case until he reached a gap. He went through and stopped. He heard only the rasp of his own breathing, but he could feel someone here. Someone was watching him. His body electrified, and goose bumps popped out on his skin.

  “Who the hell is there?”

  “I am.”

  One minute, the darkness hid nothing but unfamiliar shapes, and the next, an older woman stood before him. She wore a pink dress with matching pink flat-soled shoes. She wore her graying brown hair in a knot, and her face held the wrinkles of age, which had been tempered by beauty and kindness.

  “Hello, Cullen,” she said. “I’m Sarah. Welcome to Nevermore.”

  “Mom?”

  Leticia Calhoun turned at the sound of her son’s voice. All six lictors closed around her before she even had a chance to see his face. “Oh, for Goddess’ sake! It’s Gray!”

  Roan stepped back and created a narrow gap so she could get through her human shield. Gray stood on the sidewalk staring at her with a decidedly unthrilled expression. It hurt her feelings to know he wasn’t happy she was visiting, even though she’d spent a great deal of time avoiding Nevermore. Obviously she had some motherly repairs to do.

  “Darling!” She opened up her arms and forced him into a hug. He caved quickly and squeezed her hard before pulling back a little. He looked less tense, although still far too wary. “It’s good to see you, Mom.”

  “I’ve missed you.” She straightened up. “Where’s your…um, Lucinda?”

  “My Lucinda is at Ember’s tea shop, along with a few other folks. I think you may want to join us.”

  “Oh?”

  He nodded. Then he glanced at the Sew ’n’ Sew. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you about Cullen Deshane, dear,” she said. Then she proffered a small lie. “He wanted to see his grandmother’s property before we headed to the house. So! How’s my father?”

  “Cranky. And he makes too many Wild West references. I think we should’ve imprinted his soul in a different book.”

  “That wouldn’t change his demeanor,” she said. “Why the meeting at Ember’s?”

  “It’s a long story. Actually, it’s a couple of long stories.” He sighed. “Maybe Mr. Deshane should make himself comfortable at my home before we—”

  Cullen chose that moment to exit the shop. He looked shaken, his face pale. His gaze locked with Leticia’s.

  “Cullen? Are you all right?” Leticia moved toward him, worried about his terrible pallor.

  “Holy shit.”

  Gray’s hoarse, shocked declaration made everyone turn to look at him.

  “Gray?” Leticia reached out and grabbed his forearm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” said Gray. “I think Cullen needs to go to Ember’s, too.”

  Cullen seemed to shake off his stupor, and as he stared at Gray, his eyes narrowed. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Good question,” said Gray. “Let’s find out.”

  “They’re coming for you,” Sarah said to Norie. “Tomorrow is your birthday, honey. They can’t risk that you’ll regain your powers before they can complete the ritual. Once you tap into your true affinity, you’ll be able to protect yourself. They can’t have that.”

  “I know.” Norie had figured that out during the prophecy discussion at the Dragon embassy. “I rode on a dragon’s back last night. I loved it.” She thought about her shock when Gray took the dragon form, and then how it felt to climb up his scales and sit behind Taylor, her arms wrapped around his waist. She loved how it felt to soar above the cities. Gray had used magic to ensure they stayed seated. Taylor had been less than thrilled with the entire situation. She’d gotten the feeling he wasn’t fond of heights, though he was too much of a man to admit any weakness. “It was wonderful. I felt a kind of freedom up there. As if I belonged to the sky, too, somehow.”

  Sarah chuckled. “That’s a good thing, sure enough.”

  Norie stopped detangling her freshly showered hair to stare at the ghost. “What does that mean?”

  “All will be revealed in time.” Her kindly gaze assessed Norie. “You like him, don’t you?”

  Norie didn’t play coy. She put the comb on the dresser and sighed. “Yes. Taylor is amazing. He makes me feel safe.”

  “That’s nice, dear.” She reached out and patted Norie’s hand. “But you’ll have to save yourself. He won’t like it, mind you, but that’s the way of it. But maybe there’s a little bit of saving each other later.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “Norie?” Taylor’s voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the staccato rhythm of his cowboy boots.

  Sarah put her finger to her lips—a reminder to keep her presence a secret—and faded away. It wasn’t as if Norie wanted to discuss that she’d been talking to Taylor’s dead mother. She wasn’t sure why Sarah wanted her presence to remain hidden, but Norie would honor the woman’s desire.

  In the next moment, Taylor stood in the doorway, looking fit and handsome in a T-shirt and jeans. He wore a black felt cowboy hat, and man-oh-man he looked yummy.

  “You look real nice,” he said. Something sparked in his eyes, something hot and needy, and…primal. It just lit her up inside the way he looked at her—as if she were the only girl for him.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You look very handsome.”

  He grinned and tugged on the brim of his hat. “Thank you, miss.”

  Norie didn’t know why she did it. Maybe it was being tired of getting told how she had a destiny. Or maybe it was just that Taylor had been kind to her, and he was cute. And something about him touched her soul-deep. There was a rightness to being with him, a rhythm between them that indicated they’d been together before and were meant to be again.

  Or maybe she was scared. Terrified of what would happen today—or tonight. The Ravens would have to try for her again. And she knew they’d get her. Sarah had as much as told her so when she said Norie would have to save herself. What else could that mean, anyway?

  No, in the end, Norie didn’t have one explanation for why she crossed the room, wound her arms around Taylor’s neck, and drew him down. They stood there like that for a long moment, hearts thumping as they stared at each other and breathed each other’s air.

  He closed the distance.

  Her whole body went electric, especially as he wrapped her tightly in his arms. He was so warm, so safe. She wanted this; she wanted him. And for a moment, she’d pretend that she was normal, and that this man could be with her—that he could be hers.

  It was a lovely fiction.

  Taylor
was patient. He brought his lips over hers in a slow, gentle sweep that had tingles racing down her spine. He did it again…and again…and ooooooh… again…making each contact longer, building the tension so sweetly between them.

  Her fingers dropped to the collar of his shirt and twisted in the fabric. Her heart pounded so hard, so fast, as if it were trying to burst out of her chest. She couldn’t stop gasping. It was his air she sucked into her lungs, his scent that she breathed in, his essence that infiltrated her skin.

  And still…oh my Goddess…still…he kissed her in that patient, drawn-out way. She was dying. Just dying. And he was holding her and torturing her and kissing her. It was wonderful.

  Beautiful. She had never known anything like this.

  “Taylor,” she whispered. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, but he wasn’t finished. And she was so glad when he went for another taste.

  This time, his tongue parted the crease of her mouth, and she welcomed the sensations he invoked. She met each of his slow thrusts with her own. She felt tentative, but he held her tighter, and as she matched the pace of his sweet invasion, he groaned.

  The sound vibrated right through her.

  He pulled away just a little, tipping up his hat. “I want you, Norie,” he said. His eyes were glazed with his passion, with his sincerity. “No matter what it takes. No matter how long I have to wait, babe. I can be patient until we’ve sorted out whoever is after you and you’re feeling stronger. The important thing is…I want you.”

  “I want you, too,” she said. She felt luminous. She felt…as terrific as she had during the “Dragon Airlines” flight, when she was soaring close to him through clouds and wind. Taylor gave her that same feeling with his kiss, with his words.

  “All right then.” He leaned in for one last honeyed kiss, then let her go.

  She felt bereft, while at the same time her body buzzed with need, with desire. Oh, if only she could have Taylor. Damn the cursed luck in love. Then he took her hand and raised it, turning it over so he could plant a soft kiss on the pulse of her wrist. He looked at her, with that promise, that adoration glittering in his dark eyes, and she was lost. No, she was found.