Oh, for the love of— Taylor stifled a groan. He dutifully added the description under “More Details,” and then put the pen down. “That all?”
“Yessir.” Henry stood up and plopped the cowboy hat onto his head. “Thanks for taking the time to hear me out.”
“I appreciate you coming in,” said Taylor. He stood up, too, and rounded the desk to shake Henry’s hand. Then he walked the man out of his office and into the main foyer. “You headed back to the store?”
“Yep.”
“Tell Maureen I said hello.”
“Will do.”
Taylor watched the man leave, and then glanced at Arlene’s desk, just as big and old as his own. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to see everything in its place. The office had been changed here and there over the years but, like most things in Nevermore, it had stayed mostly the same. He liked the continuity of it all, the way this building and all that it housed had been used by those who’d stood vigil over the town before him.
Arlene kept everything spotless and orderly, just the way he liked it. The black and white checkered linoleum floor gleamed despite its age. He suspected Arlene bought magic-enhanced cleaners, which was fine by him. He didn’t want to dip into the coffers to replace anything, for one thing, and for another, he wasn’t a big fan of new and different.
New and different meant trouble.
He thought about Lucinda Rackmore—well, Lucinda Calhoun now. She was all kinds of new and different. She’d turned Gray’s world upside down, not to mention that of the whole town, and it seemed like—though he didn’t much fancy admitting it—everything was somehow better.
Taylor clasped his hands behind his back and looked around. Off to the left of Arlene’s desk was a locked door that led to the archives. Only Arlene ventured inside there, and not even he risked invading that domain. To the right of the foyer was the entrance to his office, which faced Main Street. The picture window allowed him a proper view of downtown, not that there was much to watch.
He did a quick check around, a habit motivated by Ren’s betrayal. The deputy had used his access to the office to rifle through files, break into Taylor’s safe, and paw through Arlene’s precious archives.
A narrow hallway led to the former deputy’s office, a supply closet, the bathrooms, the break room, and the back door that opened onto the alley. Beyond the break room was the secured door that led down to the basement, and to the rarely used jail cells. One had been built especially to dampen the powers of magicals, but he’d never had cause to use it.
Satisfied with his inspection, Taylor returned to the foyer and breathed deeply. Yep. Life was all right so long as it had order.
He checked his watch and frowned. Arlene had been gone for more than half an hour. A couple of times a day she’d go across the street and check on Atwood Stephens; the man, who looked like an exhausted rhinoceros, owned both the town garbage service and the weekly paper, Nevermore News. His health had been deteriorating rapidly, and not even Lucinda’s gift of healing had been able to do much more than slow the decline. Atwood’s nephew Trent Whytefeather had been taking over more and more of his uncle’s responsibilities. He was a senior in high school, and despite the burdens of his home life, was still a straight-A student.
Taylor turned to go into his office, but he heard the rattle of the front door, so he turned back. He expected to see Arlene chug inside, already complaining about Atwood’s stubborn hide, but to his surprise, he saw Gray Calhoun. The wizard still wore his hair long, but these days he kept it neatly trimmed. His nose crooked in the middle, and the angles of his face were as sharp as blades, as sharp as the look in his blue eyes. A faded scar on the left side of his face twirled from his temple down his neck, hiding beneath the collar of his T-shirt.
“Gray,” he said, offering a congenial nod.
“Hey, Taylor,” said Gray, smiling.
He did that a lot these days. He was the happiest son of a bitch in town, and Taylor felt, well, jealous of his friend’s connubial bliss. It made him feel petty, so he shook Gray’s hand heartily and said, “C’mon. Arlene finessed that damned machine into a fresh batch of coffee.”
“You might want something stronger,” said Gray as he followed Taylor down the hall and into the break room. “I just got word that my mother will be here in time for our Samhain celebration. With all twelve of her lictors.”
“A dozen bodyguards?” Taylor gestured for his friend to sit at the table, and Gray grabbed a chair and slid into it. “I thought she traveled with only three.”
“Every Consul has been encouraged to keep all their lictors close. Things are tense in political circles,” said Gray. “There are rumors that the House of Ravens might secede from the Grand Court.”
Shock stilled his movements. He didn’t much pay attention to things outside Nevermore, but damn, that was bad news all the way around. “Can they do that?”
“There’s no precedent,” said Gray. “Not in two thousand years since the Houses and the first Grand Court was formed. If the Ravens withdraw from the current governing structure, it may well start a war.”
“That would mean a whole lot of scrambling for the mundanes, too. Nonmagicals won’t like the idea of rogue witches and wizards.”
“Let’s hope the current Consuls can make the Ravens see reason.”
“Yeah,” said Taylor. “Let’s hope.” He paused. “So, you got enough room in that house for your visitors?”
“Not for twelve giants and certainly not for my mother’s angst. When I told her about marrying Lucinda, I think her head exploded.”
“Well, you did marry the sister of your ex-wife, who sold your soul to a demon lord.”
“I’m aware,” said Gray dryly.
Taylor handed the Guardian a mug and then took the spot across from him. “I’m surprised Leticia didn’t come down long before now.”
“No doubt she stayed away so she could plot in private.” He shook his head. “That’s not fair. I know she’s upset, but once she meets Lucy, she’ll be fine with it.”
Taylor wasn’t so sure. Leticia was a spectacular woman, but she was also as stubborn as the day was long. “How long is your mother staying?”
Gray blinked. “Ah. Well, through the Winter Solstice Festival.”
“So she’ll be here for . . .” Taylor narrowed his gaze. “Oh crap. You haven’t told her?”
“No. Other than you, Ember, and Rilton, we haven’t told anyone.”
“Well, you don’t have to,” said Taylor, rolling his eyes. “Not with all the reports I’ve been getting.”
“Sorry. We try to be discreet, but it’s not easy.”
“Shifting into a dragon is no small feat.” He gave Gray a level gaze. “And neither is flying around with Lucy on your back.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah, oops.”
“After the Winter Solstice, everyone will know.”
“Not sure that’s a good thing,” said Taylor. “All those stories about the magical ancestors being shifters . . . Well, people think they’re myths. And you’re gonna go prove ’em wrong. Everyone will know you’re Jaed’s champion.”
“You’re worried people will figure out that Nevermore is a goddess fountain.”
“Bound to come out eventually.”
“We have to trust the Goddess, Taylor.”
Taylor nodded, but he looked away. He wasn’t a magical. He lived with them, was related to them, and worked for them, but he was a mundane. And he didn’t like the idea of a magical war. It would be bad for everyone, but especially for those without magic.
Gray drained his coffee mug. “I gotta get back to Lucy. The Halloween party is more than two weeks away, but she’s already futzing over the decorations. You’ll be there, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Taylor. “I’m gonna win that pumpkin-carving contest.”
Gray laughed, smacked Taylor on the shoulder, and then he left, giving Taylor one last wave before he headed out.
<
br /> Taylor took their mugs to the sink and rinsed them.
Pain shot from his temples to the center of his forehead, throbbing in a circle of agony. He dropped the mug, barely hearing its protesting clatter. He staggered forward, pressing his palm against his head. Gods be damned! Bright light danced behind his eyes and he groaned. Then he heard a swooshing sound, like wings.
Accept what belongs to you, Taylor.
Then the pain disappeared.
He slowly straightened, wiping the sweat beading on his brow, and tried to get back his equilibrium.
What the hell?
He took a few deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists. With some effort, he pushed away the dread squeezing him as tightly as a constricting python.
“Taylor!”
The panicked voice of Arlene had him shaking off the fear, the ghosts of pain, and rushing out of the break room, down the hall, and into the main office. He found her in the lobby, chest heaving, a quivering hand pressed against her throat. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
“It’s Atwood!” she cried. “The dumb son of a bitch went and killed himself!”
OTHER BOOKS BY MICHELE BARDSLEY
Paranormal Romances
Never Again
Cross Your Heart
Come Hell or High Water
Over My Dead Body
Because Your Vampire Said So
Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home
Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire
I’m the Vampire, That’s Why
Erotica
Cupid Inc.
Fantasyland
1
Direct descendents of the five families who founded Broken Heart: the McCrees, the LeRoys, the Silverstones, the Allens, and the Clarks.
Must Love Lycans Page 28