Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore

by Michele Bardsley

“Um.” Emmett swallowed nervously. “I don’t know.”

  “Terrific.” Taylor tossed the lockbox to Emmett, who caught it out of reflex. At least the fool boy didn’t drop it. Three strides toward Norie, he rammed into something flat, cold, and immovable. The shock of hitting something not there sent him reeling backward, cursing the whole way. “What the hell!”

  “Weird,” said Emmett.

  Taylor retraced his steps more carefully, putting out his hands to feel for the obstruction. His palms slid across an icy surface, solid and real but invisible. He felt his way around, and ended up making a complete circuit. The blockade had Norie fenced in, and she wasn’t moving at all. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice that she’d been cut off from them.

  “Norie!” he yelled. “Can you hear me?”

  She didn’t even twitch. Maybe she couldn’t hear him, or maybe she’d gone comatose. Damn it. He should’ve listened to his gut. His instincts had never done him wrong, but no, he had to go and trust some idiot kid. The air around Norie seemed to be going gray. He peered closer and saw swirls of silvery mist. Shock rendered him immobile. He saw faces, lots of faces, most of them with expressions of horror. They swirled around Norie like hateful children, their mouths wide as though they were screeching.

  “Norie!” Taylor banged his fists against the barricade.

  Frustration curled through him. How could he get to her?

  Pain seared the middle of his forehead. Claim what’s yours. You are the key, Taylor Mooreland.

  The voice echoing inside his skull, the one he’d heard before but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, was feminine—as soft and comforting as a fleece blanket. What do you want from me? He thought. I’m not the key to anything.

  You’re the key to everything.

  The pain ratcheted up. The excruciation drove him to his knees. He pressed his palms against the magical wall, his skull throbbing in agony.

  Claim what’s yours, urged the voice.

  “No,” he whispered. “I don’t want this.” Taylor gritted his teeth. Sweat beaded his brow as he tried to fight the pulsing torment.

  “What’s happening to her?” asked Emmett.

  Taylor directed his gaze toward Norie. She, too, had been driven to her knees. Her body quaked, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream. No! He wouldn’t let her be harmed.

  “I claim it,” he uttered hoarsely. “Whatever the hell it is, I claim it as mine.”

  The pain flared, hot, acute, and damned near unbearable. Then he let go. He stopped struggling. And the agony receded. Silvery light filled him. Energy flowed. He felt the skin on his hands blaze with lines of heat, and, to his amazement, he saw swirls and lines appear—tattoos, and he could feel their ancient power.

  His hands sank through the wall, and then the rest of him melted through it. The mist was as thick as cold soup. Voices murmured and sobbed. He realized the spirits were trying to tell their stories to Norie, and she couldn’t handle the strain of so much emotion, so many voices pouring out despair. He stumbled toward the overwhelmed woman and grabbed her, lifting her into his arms. “Leave her alone!” he shouted.

  A great, sorrowful howl issued from the entities. The temperature dropped, and it seemed as though all the air had been sucked out of the space.

  Taylor’s hands went blazing hot, and he found himself shouting, “Be gone!”

  Silver, sparkling light emitted from the markings on his hands and seemed to somehow ignite Norie. He felt the power within her, the dark coldness of it, the heavy burden of communing with the dead, and then his luminosity joined with hers. Magic flared from them both, joining, twisting, and then exploded in a rush of brightness. The spirits yowled as they were dispersed.

  Taylor slipped to his knees, still clutching Norie. She slumped in his embrace, her head lolling on his shoulder. He held her tightly, trying to shake off the power buzzing inside him. His skin prickled painfully.

  “Are you guys okay?” asked Emmett. He hovered a couple feet away, hugging the lockbox.

  “Help me get her to that sofa.” The oversized red couch faced the massive fireplace, and it was the only place in the room where Norie could stretch out while she recovered. For a moment, Taylor wasn’t sure he could get to his own damned feet, but he sucked in a huge breath, and, keeping hold of Norie, he stood up.

  Emmett shuffled the lockbox into one hand and used his free arm to wrap around Norie. Together, they managed to get the prone woman to the couch. Taylor knelt down and examined her. He could see the steady rise and fall of her chest, so he knew she was breathing. But her eyes were closed, and her limbs seemed boneless. “You have a blanket around here?”

  “Yeah,” said Emmett. “Yeah, sure. Maybe some water, too. It’s usually better to hydrate after using that much power.”

  Taylor looked up at Emmett, his temper simmering. “You got any idea what the hell just happened?”

  Emmett blinked down at him, his eyes looking huge behind those ridiculous glasses. He swallowed visibly. “You…uh, said you weren’t a magical. You have a kinda weird vibe. Some mundanes have enough magic to make them…er, have vibes, I guess. Not enough power to work with, but enough to sorta make stuff happen. Usually not good stuff. Anyway, I’ve never seen anything like what you did. It wasn’t magic as much as…well, I don’t know.”

  “You’re mighty helpful,” drawled Taylor.

  The young man flushed. He pushed the glasses up onto his nose, more out of nervous habit than a real need to fix his eyewear.

  Taylor sighed. “Just get the blanket, son. And some water. And maybe fetch someone who knows what he’s doing.”

  Emmett opened his mouth to protest, assessed the look on Taylor’s face, and snapped his mouth closed. “I’ll put this up while I’m at it.”

  “Good idea,” said Taylor. He watched Emmett scurry away, and then he turned his attention to Norie. He brushed back the dark strands of hair clinging to her face and resisted the urge to kiss her. She wasn’t Sleeping Beauty, and he sure as hell wasn’t a prince. Laying his lips on hers wouldn’t wake her, and he might just get a slap for his trouble.

  Although she was beautiful.

  His heart skipped a beat.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and grimaced as he noted the silvery marks on his hands. He had no idea what the gobbledygook meant, but he’d accepted it as a gift, or more likely, a curse. He got the feeling it wasn’t something he could give back. And if being the so-called key, whatever that meant, allowed him to save Norie…then that was all right by him.

  And he would save her.

  Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Chapter 9

  “Where is she?”

  Orley peered into the bowl of water. The face glimmering there was half concealed by the wizard’s black cowl. It didn’t matter. He knew the man’s reputation well enough to be afraid. He tried to keep his expression passive, but it was difficult to deny the urge to shiver.

  “Dallas. They went on some kind of mission for the Guardian.”

  “Mission?”

  Orley swallowed nervously. “I couldn’t glean the exact nature of their trip,” he admitted. “Only that the sheriff and the girl went together.”

  “Do they know who she is?”

  Orley shook his head.

  “The spellbonds are already weakening,” said the wizard. “If she gains her full powers before we can sacrifice her, we will not be able to use her. Only her pure blood can open the portal for Kahl.”

  “You’re sure she’s still…virginal?” He shouldn’t doubt the master, but it seemed strange that a woman nearly thirty years old—especially one as beautiful as Lenore Whyte—hadn’t had sexual relations with anyone.

  “Yes. The protections that were used on Lenore to cloak her from us had a residual effect. She’s poison to the opposite sex. The original spellwork has a thirty-year limit.”

  “Thirty years? How is that possible?”

  “It’s an ancient
spell. One that’s never used—hell, it’s not even known to modern wizards. Its potency was ensured by human sacrifice.”

  “A blood spell, then.”

  “Yes. And it makes Norie nearly impossible to kill.”

  “That’s what happened?” asked Orley. “At the ritual?”

  “We moved too quickly,” he admitted. “We assumed we could complete Kahl’s sacrifice since her birthday was so close.” The master sighed, an obvious sign of impatience. “Anything else you need to know, or are your fears allayed?”

  “I don’t have fears, Master. Nor do I have doubts about our success.” Orley’s tone was submissive and respectful. He knew how the chain of command worked. If he played compliant now, he would surely be rewarded later. Still, he wondered why the girl had been allowed outside of the Ravens’ protections, especially if they’d known her importance. He didn’t know much about her history—only that the girl had disappeared from Raven’s Heart orphanage. The master had been searching for her for years, one of the star twins, the only one whose magic and blood could serve as the way for Kahl to enter the world. Magic was neutral. It was the intent of the user that mattered. If the prophecy was correct about the power of the star twins—then Lenore’s virgin blood, her sacrifice, would be the key to unlocking the doorway between worlds. Lenore had only recently been discovered in Los Angeles laboring as a mere waitress. She wasn’t hiding, and she didn’t fight. She had no idea what kind of power she had.

  “When will the girl return?” asked the master.

  “Tomorrow evening,” said Orley.

  “That will be enough time to recapture her.”

  “Should we attempt to retrieve her in Dallas?

  “Why expend the time and manpower when she’s coming back to the location?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Orley cleared his throat. “Leticia Calhoun arrives tomorrow as well. Apparently, she’s bringing a guest.”

  “I’m aware. That presents a problem. You’ll have to deal with him.”

  Surprise jolted through Orley. “Deal with him? In what way?”

  “In the way that I’m inferring, you idiot.” He issued a long sigh. “To put it plainly, I want you to kill him. But not until Friday.” Lenore Whyte’s birthday. Why wait? Oh, but it wasn’t wise to continue annoying the master. He’d pushed enough with his questions. Orley nodded as though eager to fulfill this request, but his stomach roiled. He’d never been much for murder. He didn’t like getting his hands dirty. There were plenty of others who had a better taste for it. “What about Bernard’s daughter?”

  “She is of no consequence. Continue to use the pretense of the investigation to follow through with our plans. You will be ready when Lenore returns to Nevermore?”

  “Nearly everything is in place,” said Orley. He hesitated to question the master again, but he needed assurances. Though he was not yet high enough in rank to participate in the ritual, he knew that the first attempt to use the girl in the nemeton had resulted in five deaths. Only the master had somehow escaped the power of the girl’s unfettered magic. “The others are ready, too?”

  The resulting pause was long enough to cause anxiety. Sweat beaded Orley’s temples.

  “We will not make the same mistakes that cost us our brethren,” said the master slowly. His gaze pierced Orley. “Perhaps I should send along Lyer to make sure all goes as planned.”

  Terror chilled Orley to the core. Lyer was one of the master’s loyal minions—and a crazy, murderous bastard. “No need,” he said hastily. “I have it under control.”

  “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

  The face disappeared, and the water went blank. Orley moved away from the copper bowl and withdrew a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his robe. He blotted the moisture off his face. He’d been given this task because he’d proven his loyalty to the cause. He was organized, methodical, and without conscience. Indeed, he was the perfect man to carry out the master’s orders. There would soon be a new world, one shaped by the Ravens and Kahl. It would be glorious.

  And if the start of that reign meant killing Cullen Deshane…well, so be it. He wouldn’t be the first human to die in the coming war. As far as Orley was concerned, the mundanes weren’t equals and never would be. They were fit enough to be slaves, he supposed, but really they had no purpose. It didn’t matter if they all perished in the flames of Kahl’s insurrection.

  “The bowl’s ringing,” said Lucinda.

  Blearily, Gray looked up from his perusal of Prophecies of the Magicals and stared blankly at his wife. She leaned against the doorway of the library, looking as beautiful as ever. He grinned at her.

  She offered a smile and then nodded at him. “Honey?”

  “What?”

  “The bowl. The one next to your elbow. It’s still ringing.”

  The tinkling noise that indicated an incoming magical communication penetrated the fuzziness in his skull. He caught the magic, dispersed it, and leaned over the bowl. Taylor’s pale, concerned face appeared in the water.

  “About damned time,” grumbled the sheriff. “Your magical rock isn’t working, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I got a situation.”

  “The gun?” asked Gray.

  “No. The girl. And me. I’m a damned key, and she’s comatose.”

  “None of that made sense,” said Gray. “You’re a key? What kind of key?”

  “How the hell do I know? One minute, we’re trying to get the magical globs off Norie’s vocal cords, the next minute she’s getting attacked by spirits, and now I have tattoos.”

  Gray looked up at his wife. She offered him an I-have-no-idea-what-he-means shrug. “And the gun?”

  “It’s taken care of,” said Taylor. “Locked up in one of the most secure vaults they have here. Or so says Emmett, who’s a taco short of a combination platter, if you ask me. Well? You coming, or what?”

  “To Dallas?”

  “Yes,” said Taylor, his tone full of exasperation. “Get your scaly ass to the Dragon embassy in Dallas.”

  Taylor disappeared, and the water wavered until it reflected nothing more than Gray’s dazed expression. “You understand any of that?” he asked.

  “Just that Taylor needs you.”

  Gray shut the book and leaned back in the chair. “Scaly ass, huh? He wants me to go dragon. Flying, I could probably get there in an hour.”

  “It’s nearly seven o’clock now,” said Lucinda. “By the time you get there and fix whatever it is…”

  “We’ll have to drive back tonight. I can’t miss my mother’s arrival. She’ll kill me if I’m not here.”

  “I can handle her,” said Lucinda.

  “I know.” He stood up, rounded the desk, and crossed to his wife. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her lightly.

  Lucinda cupped his face. “Be safe, Gray.”

  “I will, babe.” He went in for a longer kiss, the kind that made a man think about scooping up his wife and taking her to their bedroom. His arms tightened, but Lucinda knew him too well. She broke the contact and gazed up at him, her eyes shining.

  “There’ll be time for that when you get back,” she said. “I have a thousand things to do before your mother gets here, so…go already.”

  Gray kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Ant leaned against the old oak tree, the one that had been part of Nevermore since its founding. It stood, once proud, once protective, at the crossroads. The road to the left led to the lake, the one to the right went to the cemetery, and on past that was Daisy Estates. He often communed with Tree, sitting against its trunk and taking solace in its calm, steady presence. Tree had been through a lot, not only recently, but also throughout the history of Nevermore. It was a symbol of the town, of its continuity, its importance to stand strong against adversity.

  Tree was dying.

  Ant could feel the chill stealing into its limbs. It was weary. It knew it had a purpose, an
important purpose, but it was old and had been too abused, too ignored. No one had known its worth until Ant.

  Not a single one of Ant’s spells or earth-healing gifts had given Tree what it needed for renewal. Sometimes, death could not be deterred.

  All living things had essences, but only people had souls. Plants didn’t have consciousness, not in the way a human being did. And when a plant, or a tree, died, it released that energy, that pure essence, back into the world, a gift for new life.

  But Tree had been around for so long, it had developed a consciousness. Hell, Tree had a personality. And it knew it was dying. Being sad serves no purpose, friend.

  That had been its message for the last week.

  Ant put his hand onto the base of its trunk. Yes, death still whispered there. He was going to lose his friend. Not today. But soon.

  Tree was practical. Its concern was not for its own life, but for abandoning its purpose. The founders had given it life, and put it in this location, for a vital reason. Ant did not know what, exactly, Tree was meant to do. It would not tell him.

  “Ant.”

  Startled, Ant looked up and saw Mordi standing next to Tree. She wore a dress the color of sunrise, and her blond hair was pulled into a long, sleek ponytail. She offered him a lovely, distant smile as she placed a hand on the trunk and stroked. He swore Tree purred.

  “Can you hear it?” he asked. “I mean, does Tree talk to you, too?”

  “That’s your gift,” she said. “But I know death. And I feel it here.”

  “Do you know you how long before…?”

  She shook her head. “How can anyone know when his time is over?”

  “Now, there’s a question.” Ant glanced up, staring at Tree’s foliage. Sunlight played peekaboo between the broad, leafy limbs.

  “When do you leave for your training?” asked Mordi.

  “I’m still testing,” said Ant. “Elandra’s pretty hard-core.”

  “You’ll pass,” said Mordi. “You’re going to the House of Wolves. You’ll be a great wizard, Ant. One of the greatest, I think.”

  “Thanks.” He peered up at her. “You seem kinda sure about all that.”