Never Again

by Michele Bardsley

  “You want to what?” asked Taylor.

  Gray stood up. “I want to go home to my wife.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’ll start the spellwork tomorrow.”

  Taylor shook his head. “Already whipped. It’s such a shame. You should probably turn in your man-club card.”

  “Jealous bastards like you aren’t on the man-club committee.”

  Ren chuckled. “Gray, you going alone tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Ren shrugged. “I think one of us should go with you, is all.”

  “He’s right,” said Taylor. “We know Marcy’s killer probably wanted the eye, but we don’t know why, and we don’t know what else he or she wants. I’m coming with you. Ren can hold the fort for three days.”

  “Yep,” said Ren. “Dad doesn’t need me at the farm much anyway. He’s hired a couple of local kids to help with chores. It would suit me to stay in town.”

  “All right,” said Gray. He looked at Taylor and grinned. “I’ll see you at five a.m. We should start the first spell at dawn—I’m thinking the lake area first.”

  “Fine. See you at five a.m. Your place,” said Taylor. “But you have to make the coffee.”

  “Deal.”

  Gray said his good-nights and headed outside. He’d taken the truck into town, so it took him only a couple of minutes to get home. Right away he figured out something was different.

  For one thing, several vehicles were parked on the street in front of his house. For another, the porch light was on, blazing like a welcome sign. Not only had the porch been swept, but two whitewashed rocking chairs occupied the space near the picture window. The living room lights were on, too, shining merrily through lacy white curtains.

  As he reached for the front door, he heard female laughter.

  A lot of it.

  He entered the house, and stopped.

  Everything sparkled, and it smelled like lemons and lavender. The wood floors shone, as did the railing and the stairs. He looked to his left and found himself staring at a hall tree. He didn’t even know he had one of those. Jackets were lined up on the pegs, too, and purses had been piled on the top of the storage bench.

  He couldn’t begin to fathom the amount of estrogen currently flitting around his house—and Goddess help him, they were cleaning.

  Panic began to well.

  More laughter and noise—happy, cooking-type noise—filtered from the kitchen, which was straight ahead. He veered left into the living room.

  Just as he thought—the curtains were new, and the walls scrubbed, the mantel polished, the fireplace transformed. The furniture had been moved: Two couches faced the coffee table, which had a stack of marble coasters and a couple of oversized hardcovers angled at one end. Near the hearth, a small, colorful table stood between two fancy chairs. The bookshelves on either side of the fireplace gleamed, their books straightened, and the knickknacks posed. Huh. He had a lot of dragons.

  “Gray!”

  He turned around and saw Lucy standing in the entryway staring at him. Her gaze lit up and she ran to him, leaping into his arms. Gray caught her and swung her around. Her happiness zinged through him like a lightning bolt.

  He laughed, holding her tight as she tried to squeeze the life out of him.

  “You’re home!” She kissed him. “I didn’t think you were coming back tonight.”

  Gray’s heart clutched. All that happiness glowing from her was for him. “I missed you.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You did?”

  “Can’t a man miss his wife?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it’s a rule.”

  “If it’s not, I’ll make it one.” He kissed her again. He loved the feel of her lips caressing his, and the way she felt wrapped around him. How had that kind of joy managed to infiltrate his rusty, cobwebbed heart again? No, not again. These feelings were different from those he’d once had for Kerren. He’d felt prideful about his new wife, as though her beauty and charm somehow amplified his own importance. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked. “I promise I didn’t move the furniture.”

  “Good. And yes, it’s amazing.” Dirt smudged her face and she smelled like pine, but she was the most beautiful creature. He felt like he’d captured a fairy, and if he wasn’t careful, she’d fly away.

  “Maureen dropped by,” she said, “and then she activated a calling tree—I’m still not sure what that means. But then all these women showed up!” She laughed, and her joy wound through Gray. “Those two rooms are still a mess upstairs, but the library . . . oh, Gray, why didn’t you tell me you had soul books?”

  “You met Grit and Dutch?”

  “Yes. They’re adorable.”

  “Not the adjective I would use,” muttered Gray.

  “Oh, stop.” She playfully slapped his shoulder. “They were very happy when we cleaned the library. I found book stands for them both.” She paused. “They said you had a lab out in the backyard—in that big shed?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You didn’t—”

  “No way. A wizard’s spell-working sanctuary is his alone.”

  “Yep. And it sure doesn’t need all those girl cooties.”

  “Why, you—”

  He swung her around again. She clung to him tightly, her laughter twining with his.

  Ember stepped back from the doorway. Love had found a way between those two broken souls, and that was a joyful thing. She only hoped that they both got strength from their new bond to face what was coming—and though she didn’t know what the challenge was, she did know it would arrive soon.

  Show me the path, Creator Mother, she prayed, and give me the strength to walk it.

  He hadn’t meant to kill her.

  Shit.

  He dragged the body into the kitchen and positioned it near the stoves. Think. He had to think. He moved to the other side of the preparation station and paced.

  If only she hadn’t attacked him . . .

  It was Cathleen’s fault he’d squeezed the life from her blubbery neck. She’d wanted revenge on the Calhouns in the worst way, a hatred seeded by her mother, who blamed Grit for the death of her husband.

  He’d been curious enough to cull through the public records at the library. He found the report easily enough. Jed Little liked his whiskey more than his selfrespect. He had a long arrest record filled with public drunkenness and domestic violence, and he’d been cited numerous times for harassing Dove Calhoun. These days, it was called stalking.

  The night before Jed got snockered and walked his fool self into the lake, he’d tried to kidnap Dove, and gotten walloped by Grit. Then the Guardian had banned him—and given him twenty-four hours to leave town. Cora filed a report claiming that the Guardian had bespelled her husband into killing himself. On paper, Jed didn’t seem the type of person willing to give up his own life so that his wife and daughter could have theirs. It could well be that Grit had gotten rid of his wife’s attacker.

  He stared down at Cathleen’s porcine body, and felt his gorge rise. He turned away, leaning against the stove, and sucked in a breath. It wasn’t like he hated the Calhouns. He’d grown up with Grit as the Guardian and he’d done a better job than his grandson ever could. Gray didn’t deserve his position—it wasn’t fair he had a birthright, one he could claim proudly, without fear of reprisals. I was a secret. Fury burned through him. It was fitting that Gray would pay the blood price so he could have his, out in the open, right and proper.

  “She wanted them to suffer, the way Daddy suffered. I promised her. Right before she died, that I’d see our justice done.” She’d gotten so agitated that he’d poured her some more whiskey. She downed three shots in quick succession.

  Cathleen giggled. “You think the Dark One’s satisfied with ruling over death? He’s been trying since the beginning of time to get hisself a piece of this world.”

  A being as powerful as the Dark One wasn’t remotely interested in a place like Never
more. That was when he realized Cathleen had gone all the way crazy. Her mother had spent a lifetime filling her head with lies, and she couldn’t figure out the truth from her ass. All those years of living in a place that had destroyed her family, being the kind of person no one liked, giving in to greed and desperation every single day—it had all finally unraveled her.

  He wanted magic and Nevermore, but maybe his dreams were too small. Living in this place had made him feel that way his whole life. Five years ago, when he learned the truth about his heritage, he’d felt minuscule. Like nothing.

  He sure as hell didn’t want to end up like Cathleen Munch.

  “They ain’t getting a happy ending. No, no, no! You kill him, y’hear? We’re owed! My family is owed!” She’d thrown the whiskey bottle. It crashed against the wall and broke, the amber liquid dripping down the wall and puddling on the floor.

  “It’s not time to kill Gray,” he’d said.

  That was when she lost it completely, screeching while she tried to gouge out his eyes. She kicked at him and spit on him, all the while ranting incoherently. Damn it! He’d just wanted her to shut up. She’d rattled him with that nonsense about the Dark One. Everyone knew that the Creator Mother and the Destroyer Father could only influence their children. Not rule them. Basic magical law: Every living thing is created out of the same fabric woven by dark and by light, and are one with the All in All. The Dark One invading the mortal realm would be like a human trying to switch around his arms and legs—pointless.

  “Stupid bitch.” He returned to the body, anger coiling in his guts. Cathleen was just as ugly in death as she had been in life. Her chubby body stuffed into those pink sweats—ugh. She looked liked a badly made sausage.

  Nausea rose again, and he turned, walking out of the kitchen. He leaned against the Formica counter, his head in his hands.

  Eleven days until the new moon.

  Gray planned to start the protections tomorrow. With the borders reinforced, it would be a lot harder, if not impossible, to open the portal for Kahl.

  He just had to figure out a way to delay the Guardian.

  The acrid smell of the whiskey made his barely contained nausea swish around his stomach. Then an idea began to form. He straightened and turned toward the mess of glass and liquid.

  Perfect.

  Chapter 11

  It was just past midnight when the ladies gathered their supplies and readied to leave.

  Lucy stood next to Gray in the foyer wishing everyone farewell. She was exhausted and happy, and so grateful to all the kindhearted women who’d come to help her.

  Maureen explained that it was the way of Nevermore to reach out to someone in need—didn’t matter how small or large the cause. Lucy was humbled by their willingness to offer assistance, especially when they received nothing in return. Her name had been added to the calling tree. The next time the women of Nevermore needed one another, she would be there, too, giving what she could.

  She hugged Maureen, and doing so started a whole hugging fest. Ember was next, then Josie Gomez, Arlene, and Ronna Thomson, who was the wife of the town mechanic, Joseph Thomson, and her daughter, Alice, and then there the Wilson twins, whose organizational skills were almost supernatural. They’d berated Gray about the state of his books, especially those in the library, and he’d taken the scolding good-naturedly.

  She hoped Gray, who seemed so apart from the rest of the town, didn’t resent the intrusion into his home.

  After the last person said good-bye, Gray shut the door. Lucy slid into his arms and rested her head against his chest. “They are so nice. I wish—”

  Gray’s hands stroked her back. She wondered if he was aware of how often he did those kinds of comforting gestures. She bet it was an automatic response—trying to soothe perceived distress. Or maybe he liked affection as much as she did.

  “What do you wish, baby?”

  She very much wanted to host a party—like the ones Dove and Grit used to have. It would be a thank-you to the women and to the community—maybe it would repair relations between the Guardian and the townspeople. Gray had been alone, his choice, yes, but there seemed to be so many who wanted to reach out to him. They could be a genuine part of the town, and not just the wizard and witch who lived above it.

  “Lucy?”

  “A party,” she blurted. She pulled back a little so she could look into his eyes. “We could have food—and maybe some dancing. Oh, and the kids could come. And we could do games! Maybe give out silly prizes, or . . . ” She licked her lips. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I should’ve called and asked if they could come over. Are you upset?”

  He frowned, and her heart skipped a beat. He was angry. “Why would I be upset? You don’t have to second-guess yourself, Lucy.”

  Guilt wiggled through her. He’s not Bernard, she scolded herself, so quit acting as if he is.

  “I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I still feel like I’m walking on shaky ground.”

  “Is that how he made you feel? Like the earth might give way any second?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly it.”

  “You’re safe,” said Gray, hugging her tightly. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Lucinda wasn’t sure he could keep that promise, but she knew he would try, and for now, that was enough. “And the party?”

  “It’s a great idea.”

  She looked up at him and grinned; he swooped down for another kiss. Instantly tenderness turned into seduction. She melted against him, her body electric with anticipation.

  Someone pounded on the door.

  They broke apart. Gray grimaced. “Damn it.” Then he turned and opened the door.

  Maureen stood on the other side, her face pale, her eyes wide. “There’s a fire in town!”

  The blaze was easily seen from their vantage point. And so were the people scrambling toward the burning building.

  “It’s the café,” said Lucinda, horrified. “The gremlins?”

  “We got them all, but fire isn’t their style. They like picking things apart piece by piece.” Gray turned to her and in his eyes she saw both guilt and determination. How could he blame himself for the blaze?

  “Arlene already called Taylor,” said Maureen, her voice shaking.

  “Good,” said Gray. He turned to Lucy. “Stay here, baby. I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Find someone else with aquamancy?”

  He blinked down at her, as if he’d forgotten she could magic water. “We have Bran.”

  “Except he’s not answering his phone,” said Maureen. “Arlene’s already on her way to Dragon’s Keep to track him down.”

  “All right. Get your shoes,” said Gray.

  Lucinda took precious seconds to pull on her worn sneakers; then they bolted out the door and followed Maureen to her still-running car. Gray and Lucinda slid in the backseat, and Maureen threw the car into drive and slammed on the gas. She made downtown in two minutes flat, and parked by Ember’s. They piled out, racing across the street.

  The intense heat rolled over them. Smoke clogged Lucinda’s lungs, and she coughed, backing away.

  “Can’t get the water main open,” huffed Ren. He held a huge pipe wrench. His face and clothes were stained with soot. He’d obviously been roused from bed, given the state of his hair and the fact he was in a white T-shirt, pajama bottoms, and no shoes. He noticed her perusal of his clothing. “I was crashing at Trent’s. He’s the one who noticed the fire first.”

  “You get hold of Taylor?” asked Gray.

  “He’s on the way.”

  “I can open it,” said Lucinda.

  Ren’s eyebrows winged upward. “No offense, Lucinda, but . . . you’re a girl.”

  “I don’t need muscles.” She hurried to the plug. Fire hoses lay like dead snakes around it. The bolts were rusted shut, but the deep scratches on the faded paint showed Ren’s valiant effort.

  Lucinda touched the plug and opened herself to the magic that pulsed a
ll around. She used it to reach for the water . . . through the pipes . . . into the ground . . . there! She grabbed the water and pulled it up with a quick, hard jerk.

  The top exploded upward, spinning into the air before slamming into the sidewalk. Water blasted—a fierce, huge geyser. Lucinda aimed her hands at it, called upon the sacred energies, and commanded, “Douse.”

  The water rose up, higher and higher. It fanned out, so powerful, so majestic, the blood of the earth, and then boom! It slammed down onto the café like an angry god’s fist.

  The fire vanished.

  The spray got everyone, and the street flooded, but folks didn’t care. Cheers went up, and Lucinda found herself surrounded—and nearly hugged to death.

  It was wonderful.

  Just past midnight, Happy trudged down the muddied shoulder of Cedar Road. Lucy wasn’t gonna be . . . well, happy to see her. She was breaking her promise, but it soooo wasn’t her fault. Okay, running away from the nuns was her fault, but not the reason.

  The vision had compelled her to leave safety and seek out Lucy. If she didn’t reach her friend in time, both she and that hot guy with the scar would die. The weird thing? Happy wasn’t a magical. But she knew the vision was real ’cause the Goddess told her so. She hadn’t been much of a believer before. Still. When the Goddess appeared with a vision of the future and asked for a message to be delivered, you did it.

  Happy felt guilty about ditching Sister Mary Frances. She was sure they were all frantic, but since they didn’t know where Lucy was, something she’d insisted on so Bernard couldn’t torture them into giving information, they wouldn’t be able to get a message to Lucy.

  Happy wanted so much to be with Lucy. She was the only person Happy trusted. The nuns were all right, even if they were weird, and wow, did they like rules. If Lucy wanted to send her back, she’d go, but not until she was sure Lucy was a hundred percent safe. She was on a mission sanctioned by the Goddess. Surely Lucy wouldn’t be too mad about her showing up.