He turned and walked toward the bar, calling out as he went, “I don’t do that anymore.”
The three old men listened closely. They no longer bothered to even pretend to engage in their own conversation. The one on the far end must be hard of hearing, because he leaned over as far as he could, tipping in her direction.
Echo didn’t want to say anything that might give her true intent away. It was best to keep magical abilities hidden from those who did not have them. That was a bridge difficult to cross, and anyone who found themselves human in a supernatural world almost always became resentful, in time. In the end, they wanted what they could not have. No ordinary human could ever understand her desire, her need, to be rid of all magic.
Gideon’s wife, Hope, was the exception to that rule. Ungifted to the bone, with a husband and two little girls who were anything but, she was fine with who she was. More than that, she didn’t want magical abilities. She said she had her hands full enough as it was. And she wasn’t wrong.
Echo followed Duncan to the bar. Slinking away after one or two rebukes was not her style. “You’re too young to be retired. I’ll pay you.” This was one purchase she would gladly dip into Raintree family money for. “I’ll pay you well.”
He didn’t even bother to turn to look at her, which offered an interesting view. Echo tried not to notice the nicely shaped butt, the way his gray shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the thick, wavy hair.
“I don’t need your money, and I certainly don’t need the hassle,” he said as he rounded the bar.
“But I need...”
From behind long expanse of scarred wood that stretched between them, he turned to look her in the eye. Big hands on the bar, he leaned forward in a way that was unmistakably threatening. His expression alone stopped her words, made them freeze in her throat. “You need. You want. You have my answer, love, now be on your way.”
She lowered her voice, edging toward desperation. She had no idea what might come next if he continued to refuse her. “You don’t even know why I’m here, what I need.”
He was unmoved. “I don’t care.”
Echo turned, mustering what little pride she had left to walk out the door before the tears came. She could not speak another word without losing what little control she had left. Dammit, she would not cry in front of that jerk! He wasn’t her last chance, couldn’t be. There had to be another way.
She just didn’t have any idea where to look for it.
Once she was outside, the heavy wooden door closed solidly behind her, the rain began to fall harder. It was still what they’d call a soft rain, but she’d get soaked in the short walk to her car. Just as well that she wait a few minutes. She needed to calm down before she got behind the wheel. And went...and went where?
Echo backed against the rock wall of the pub, protected by a small but sufficient overhang above. She leaned there, boneless and shaking with a mixture of anger and frustration. She looked to the right. The square was still deserted, but given the rain that was not unusual. In her mind she continued to ask, Now what? No answer came to her. None.
She was lost. Far from home, alone, desperate for help—and lost. Worse than simply turned around, she didn’t know where to turn next, didn’t know which direction to take. She’d come to Cloughban so sure Ryder Duncan would help her. She hadn’t realized how deeply she’d believed him to be her last and only hope. Now what?
“Hello.” The small voice from Echo’s left-hand side startled her so much she twitched as she turned to glance down. The voice belonged to a child, maybe ten years old, with an impressive head of curly red hair, a smile that would surely light up any room and deep chocolate-brown eyes. As ordinary as she appeared to be, it was definitely odd that in spite of the steady rain, the little girl was not wet.
“Hello,” Echo responded. “Who are you?”
The question went unanswered. “You’re American,” the girl responded. “I can tell by your accent. Sometimes I watch American television.”
Yes, she was the one with the accent here. “You’re right, I am American.” The fact that the girl had come out of nowhere and was oddly dry was the least of her worries. The kid was, at the moment, a welcome distraction. “My name is Echo.”
“I love that name,” the child said with enthusiasm. “My name is Cassidy, but most of my friends at school just call me Cass. I like Cassidy better, but I don’t want to tell them. It might hurt their feelings. There’s no way to shorten Echo! You’re so lucky. No one will ever call you Ech.”
In spite of herself, Echo found herself smiling. “While I’m here I’ll call you Cassidy, since that’s the name you prefer.” Again, there was that uncomfortable sensation of being lost and not knowing what came next. Her voice was lower, less steady, as she said, “Though I’m afraid I won’t be here much longer.” The rain was letting up a bit. It would end soon, and she’d have no reason to stand here and wait. No, not wait, procrastinate.
“Yes, you will,” Cassidy said. “You’re going to be here for a very long time.” She seemed sure of herself, but then she was a child, a child who knew nothing about what had brought Echo to this place. Or what—who—was sending her away.
Cassidy leaned toward Echo a little and lowered her voice. “You need to go back inside. He will help you, he’s just scared. Only a little scared, but still scared.”
For a long moment Echo couldn’t speak. How did the kid know about Duncan and his refusal to help? Duh, the child had been listening in somehow. That’s why she wasn’t wet. Cassidy hadn’t appeared out of nowhere; she’d been inside, hiding in a dark corner or behind a booth, and had slipped out of the pub quietly either right before or right after Echo.
“No, I can’t stay here.”
Cassidy was not at all put off by that statement. “Yes, you can. You will! Besides, you really shouldn’t drive in your condition.”
“My...”
Echo stopped speaking because Cassidy disappeared. The kid didn’t run away; she literally vanished into thin air. Here one second, then poof, gone the next.
Was Cassidy a vision of what would be, like those Gideon had once had of his eldest daughter? A delusion, brought on by her own frustration? An incredibly gifted child? She’d never known anyone to be able to disappear that way.
It was possible the child had not been there in body at all, but had somehow manifested from a distance. Or didn’t exist at all. Yes, she was right back to delusions. Great.
You shouldn’t drive in your condition.
If she had an episode while she was on the road...
It began with a sensation of intense heat. She felt that heat on her face and in her blood. Instinctively she raised her hands up to protect her face. Her vision dimmed, her knees went weak. Echo turned clumsily. It took all her strength to throw open the pub door. It didn’t matter that Ryder Duncan had sent her away; she would not fall to the wet sidewalk. She would not expose herself that way.
She lurched into the pub and took four steps before she fell to her knees. Her last clear look at the here and now was of Duncan’s unhappy face.
* * *
Rye was about to ask the Raintree woman what the hell she was doing back in his pub when she dropped to her knees. Hard.
“Not now,” she whispered.
“Not now what?” he snapped. “If this is some kind of a trick to get me to change my mind, forget it.”
She fell forward, drew in her knees and covered her head with her hands, drawing herself into a ball. She shook violently. What the hell?
McManus lifted up slightly and peered over the top of the table to get a better view. “I think she’s having a fit.”
“Sure looks it,” Nevan said.
“Looks like a seizure to me,” Tully said.
Nevan chimed in again. “What’s the difference bet
ween a seizure and a fit?”
“What difference does it make?” Rye dropped beside the Raintree woman, placing a hand on her shoulder. She felt hot, as if she had a fever, and she continued to shake. Hard. Dammit, she’d been fine when she’d left a few minutes ago.
Whatever was going on, she was not faking.
He let loose a stream of foul language that had Tully laughing and Nevan crossing himself. She was light enough, easy to pick off the floor and carry to the back of the public room.
“One of you fetch Doyle from the kitchen and tell him to watch the place for a bit,” he said. All three men agreed, without question. Not that he expected any actual customers this afternoon. They knew to steer clear; they would know Raintree was here.
That was why no one but her had come in for lunch. Did Echo know her family name sometimes elicited fear in others of their kind? In the past, Raintree royalty had sometimes been imperious and even dangerous. Not in the past couple hundred years, maybe, but independents remembered their history, they had heard the stories. They came here, more often than not, to be left alone.
Rye dipped down just enough to open the unmarked door at the back of the room. Steep, narrow stairs loomed ahead. He carried the Raintree woman up, into the room where he slept some nights, and lowered her to the unmade bed. Dull afternoon light streamed through the windows.
Already she was cooler, and the trembling was lessening. He backed away from the bed to stand by the door, arms crossed and scowl in place. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman in this bed. Just his luck, she was not there for a pleasant reason.
What the hell did she really want with him? Why was she here? No Raintree, especially not one of the royals, would need his help. None of them would leave the clan looking for a teacher when they were surrounded by some of the most gifted individuals in the world. No, she wanted something else.
Rye hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he didn’t teach anymore. He no longer had the patience for it, and besides, his attention had to be focused elsewhere. He was also no longer wild about bringing strangers into his circle, even for a few days. The last time, a good four years earlier, things had not ended well. He had to be so careful.
It wasn’t long at all before the woman on his bed opened her eyes and looked at him with tear-filled, hope-filled, impossible eyes. Those eyes had a way of cutting through him, of touching him deep down in a way he did not wish to be touched. He knew he was screwed even before she whispered, “Please, make it stop.”
Chapter 3
Fire. She hated the visions of fire more than anything else. This one—a true inferno—had taken place in a warehouse of some kind. China, Echo thought. Not that it mattered. The disaster was over. The fire had been waning as she’d fallen to the floor.
She looked at Ryder Duncan as she pulled herself back to the present. Straightening her sweater was as much a nervous gesture as anything else. It was a way to remind herself that this place and time were real. She was real, and safe. Unburned, no smoke in her lungs...
As was usual, she felt as if she were caught between a dream and reality, as if she were dreaming that she was awake but wasn’t quite there yet. The feeling would pass, she knew, but it usually took several minutes. She clutched the sheet beneath her hands, holding on to this world for dear life.
Her greatest fear was that one day she’d leave this world behind for much more than a few minutes. What if she stayed within a vision of disaster? Drowning or on fire, caught up in a violent earthquake or a trapped in a war zone. Would she die with those around her? It was that fear that had driven her here, away from her family, away from home and her responsibilities. The only way to handle that fear was to gain enough control so that she knew she’d always come back to herself.
Duncan had been her last sight before the vision, and now he was her first sight after. Even in her distressed state, she could appreciate that annoying as he was, he was a fine sight. Focusing on him allowed her to leave her fears behind. For now.
Normally she was alone when she came out of a vision. She’d always thought that was best. Her dreams of disasters, her visions of pain and suffering, they weren’t meant to be shared. Who would want to share them? Still, she had to admit, it was nice to see Duncan’s face waiting. Even if he did look pissed.
He was not at all what she’d expected when she’d flown to Ireland. It had been silly of her to expect anything at all! She hadn’t been able to find much in the way of detail about him. A mention in a story from ten years before, a second-or thirdhand account. In the real world, the world she lived in, “wizard” didn’t necessarily mean an old man with a long gray robe and long white hair and a magical staff. Though that was not impossible...
She sat up, uncomfortable to be on what was obviously his bed but too weak to stand just yet.
He continued their conversation as if there had been no break, no pause for her vision.
“Make what stop?” he asked, his voice cold.
She was probably wasting her time, explaining why she’d come to him for help. He’d already turned her down flat! But he had asked the question—make what stop?—and she knew better than to lie to him. She didn’t know exactly what powers he had, what gifts he possessed. He might realize she was lying; he might already know why she had come.
The truth. What else did she have to offer?
“My name is Echo Raintree. I’m called the Raintree prophet, but everyone knows I’m a poor excuse for a prophet.” That was her curse, as much as the visions. Always a disappointment, always less than she should be. “My visions come too late. There’s never anything I can do to help the people I see and hear...and feel. There was a time when I only saw these horrible things in my dreams, but as you just witnessed that is no longer true.” She shivered, then pulled the front of her sweater closed as if that might warm her. “They come all the time now, day and night, without warning, just...” She shuddered. “I don’t know what to do.”
He did not move closer or drop his arms. Jaw tight, dark eyes cold, he responded. Somehow, his Irish accent was more pronounced than it had been before as he asked, “You want me to train you to be a better prophet?”
Her heart leaped. In the beginning, even just a few moments ago, that had been her plan. But as she lay on his bed, shaking, feeling as if she’d blink and be back in the burning building, she realized she wanted more than control. Much more.
“No. I want the visions gone. I want them wiped away, erased. I want...help. The kind of help only you can offer.”
There was an uncomfortably long pause before he responded. “You want a lot,” he said without emotion.
“Yes, I do.”
Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Are you telling me there are no Raintrees who can help you?”
Again, she had to stick with the truth. If she lied to him and he found out, there would be hell to pay. One did not try to pull the wool over the eyes of a wizard. “They’ve tried, but...no luck.” Not knowing how much he knew, how much he saw, she had to tell all. “My cousins have attempted to teach me to control the visions. When I asked they said it was impossible to get rid of them entirely.” Gideon had refused to even discuss that possibility. “Maybe I’m too close to them, too connected. A st—” She caught herself. “Someone outside the clans seems like a better option, at this point.”
He didn’t respond for a few drawn-out seconds, and then he said in a lowered voice, “Poor Raintree princess can’t get her way at home so she flies across the pond to ask a stray for help.”
Her chin came up a bit. “I didn’t call you a stray.” Though she almost had. Caught. Echo swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain her strength. If only her knees would stop knocking. It was impossible to be strong when her entire body was weak, shaking, drained. She didn’t want Duncan to see h
er as weak. Not that she should care what he thought of her. She’d never see him again, once she drove away from Cloughban.
Which would probably be very soon. It was looking as if her trip had been a complete waste of time, as if Ryder Duncan was not all he’d been rumored to be. Any decent teacher would see that she needed help and offer it!
“No, not out loud,” he said. “But isn’t that what you call those with magic who are unaffiliated with your clans?”
She stood. Anger helped her find her legs. “Okay, fine. I almost called you a stray. Sorry if that offends you. What would you prefer?”
“Independent.”
He remained angry; he’d called her a princess with disdain...yes, this trip had been a waste of time. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide from those dark, condemning eyes. “Stray seems more appropriate to me.” She walked toward the door he blocked, trying not to let him see how devastating his refusal was. She would not beg!
“Sorry to have bothered you.” She thought about the little girl—real or imagined—she’d been talking to before the vision began. Beneath her breath she mumbled, “I guess Cassidy was wrong.”
Duncan didn’t move away from the door. Echo had to stop a couple of feet short. It was that or physically move him, and given his size and very nice solidness, that wasn’t going to happen. After a few seconds, she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. He still did not move. Dammit, did he want her to go or not?
“Cassidy?” he said in a lowered voice.
Echo sighed. “A little girl that was probably all in my head. I saw her, or imagined her, outside the pub right before this latest vision. She said I’d be here for a long time.” Wishful thinking, a real child with magic, a new precursor to the visions? She didn’t know. Cassidy had obviously been wrong when she’d said that Duncan would help her.
“What did she look like?” he asked.
Raintree: Oracle Page 3
