Never Again

by Michele Bardsley

  “Kahl.” Bernard couldn’t help but admire such beautifully orchestrated treachery. “Why Gray? Did you toss some names into a hat and draw his? Or did you choose him for a particular reason?” He tapped his lips with his forefinger. “Maybe it was to keep him away from your sister.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Give the heart to the dragon, so he can protect all that is all, in this world and the next, nevermore.”

  “You’re quoting me tripe from the Goddess Scrolls?”

  “What’s so important in Nevermore?”

  “Ugh. This isn’t an episode of Torchwood.”

  “Why can I kill your sister now, Kerren?”

  “Oh, for the love of Kahl! You are so whiny. Okay, already. She had a protection spell on her,” she admitted. “My mother wasn’t a fool. But her lover kept the purse strings tight. She couldn’t afford more than a few years’ worth. When Lucinda turned twenty-five, the spell ended.”

  “That’s when she completely broke free of my compelling spells, too. Then you gave me the cursing magic.” Bernard considered how freely Kerren was sharing information. “Where are you on the bigger chessboard? I wonder.”

  “Watch yourself, Bernard.”

  “What do I have to lose?” he asked. “I’m already a dead man.”

  “You still have a soul, a soul that belongs to the underworld. If you think you’re suffering now, just wait until you enter the Dark One’s domain. I’ll give you a personal introduction to my husband.”

  It was a weak threat. No doubt she had the power to draw his soul into the lair of her husband, but he suspected she didn’t have the kind of power she wanted him to believe. She was dangerous, yes, but controlled by Kahl. Why would the demon lord bother tormenting an old enemy of his wife’s?

  “Tell me the truth about Nevermore.”

  For a moment, he didn’t think she would answer. Then she sighed. “In the world there are several magical hot spots—believers call them ‘Goddess fountains.’ Nevermore is one of them.”

  Bernard huffed with impatience. “I’ve never heard of these hot spots.”

  “Why would you? They’re secret for a reason. Magic is amplified, no matter how minute. Why do you think the Goddess figured out where these hot spots were and put in protectors?” She considered him, like a scientist might examine a plague germ under a microscope. Then she rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. The curse can be redirected. If we transferred it to one of your kids, I could make it so that the curse followed the bloodline of the mother.”

  “You want me to sacrifice one of my children?”

  “Don’t play the father card with me,” said Kerren. “There’s no love in that shriveled little heart of yours. Besides, once my sister is dead, the curse will be, too. Your sacrificial lamb will live.”

  “And what about Nevermore?”

  “If you manage to kill Lucinda and Gray, you can have it.”

  “Become the new protector?” He glared at her suspiciously. “Just like that?”

  “Sure. Every now and then Kahl might ask a favor of you. No big deal, right?”

  The shoe had finally dropped. For some reason neither Kerren nor Kahl was eager to get near Nevermore. He couldn’t trust that once he’d killed off her sister and ex-husband, Kerren wouldn’t show up and try to yank the rug out from under him. But if she was right about how to nullify the curse, and serious about the amplification of magic within Nevermore, then he would be strong enough to fend her off. At least until he could figure out how to permanently nullify her as a threat.

  It was worth the risk.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “Good luck. And hey, give me a ring-a-ling . . . if you live.”

  She cut off the connection. Bernard resisted the urge to punch at the water, mostly because he had no desire to get his Armani suit wet. One day, he’d make sure Kerren got all she deserved and more. He’d watch her suffer, maybe even watch her die—damn her immortality—and laugh in her face as she met her very bloody, painful end.

  He needed to rest. Then he would make plans. He had a new life to begin, a second chance to take.

  As he moved to stand, leaning heavily on the silver cane he’d had commissioned, the bowl of water issued red sparkles. Someone else was calling?

  Bernard nearly walked away, but he couldn’t leave business unattended. He might feel weak, but he’d be damned if he showed it.

  “What?” he snapped at the unfamiliar man peering up at him. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Your new best friend.”

  “My last best friend tried to take off my head with a sword,” he said. “So I’m sure you understand that I have trust issues.”

  “A gift, then, to show my trustworthiness.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Lucinda Rackmore.”

  Shock made Bernard reel internally. He immediately thought about Kerren and her knack for treachery, her need for games. “That gift has already been given, I’m afraid.”

  The man didn’t quite manage to hide his surprise and his disappointment. But he wasn’t deterred. “If you’re coming to get her, you’ll need me. I’ve managed to delay him somewhat, but in the next couple of days, the Guardian will start reinforcing the protections on our borders—specifically to prevent you from getting within a mile of his new wife.”

  He could tell that the man had hoped the news of the marriage would rattle him. No such luck, not since Kerren had already taken all her potshots. “You can get me in?”

  “Yes. And I can hide you until we’re ready to act.”

  The idiot had no idea “we” did not exist. Bernard didn’t share anything, or anyone, certainly not with a mundane. He had no doubts the man staring up at him was not a magical, though how he’d managed to enact a communication spell was mildly impressive. “What do you want in return for my friendship?”

  “Gray Calhoun. And your help to summon Kahl.”

  If the fool wanted to kill Gray, that was one less thing for Bernard’s to-do list. As for calling forth the demon lord—no fucking way. Eh. He could say anything. Promises were made to be broken. “Why do you want an introduction to Kahl?”

  “It’s a personal matter.”

  “I see. I have my own private concerns dealing with Lucinda.”

  “We understand each other, then.”

  “Yes,” said Bernard pleasantly. “It looks like we can be friends after all.”

  Chapter 12

  At breakfast, Lucinda found herself at the kitchen table, watching Gray scrape the black crust off their toast. He looked up at her, and grinned sheepishly. He was a worse cook than she was. Given the contents of the freezer, she’d guessed he usually nuked most of his meals. However, thanks to the efficient ladies of Nevermore, they had enough casseroles and pies to last the next two weeks.

  Besides, Gray had other admirable qualities. He was noble and kind and affectionate. He hummed when he brushed his teeth, which she thought was adorable, and he remembered that she liked three teaspoons of honey in her tea. He gave her foot massages. He made her laugh. And the man liked to snuggle.

  Who could resist a snuggler?

  Last night, after the fire was out and the body, which everyone believed to be Cathleen’s, had been recovered, Maureen gave them a lift home.

  “Another wake,” she’d said. “Another funeral. Goddess help us. I don’t want to bury anyone else, Gray. You have to figure out what’s going on and fix it.”

  “I will,” he’d promised.

  After they’d gotten upstairs and discarded their smoke-stained clothes, Gray had taken her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He made love to her right there—and she hadn’t even minded that the water was too tepid and the tiles were cold against her backside. Then he dried her off and lobbed her onto the bed, and ravished her again.

  She’d woken up late, and found him attempting to make scrambled eggs and bacon in the newly restored and terrifyingly organized kitchen. While he tried not
to set the stove on fire, they talked about restoring the garden out back, and he discussed his ideas for updating his wizard lab. It was nice to think about such normal activities.

  Gray had washed their clothes while she was still sleeping, and since the sheriff had yet to release her duffel bag, she had only one outfit to wear—unless she wanted to wander around in her mother-in-law’s too-big clothes. The soot smell wasn’t quite out of the material, but it seemed to mix nicely with the lavender washing detergent. Okay, not really. It was sorta like throwing bouquets onto brimstone.

  “You look glowy,” said Gray as he crossed from the stove to the table carrying two plates.

  “I do?” She touched her face. “I don’t know why.”

  He leaned down, putting the plate in front of her, and kissed her. “It’s an inner glow, baby. It’s nice to see you happy.”

  “Because of you.”

  He smiled, but she saw the way his gaze flickered. No doubt he was worried she wasn’t keeping their bargain. No love between them—just pleasurable business. That concept didn’t particularly appeal to her now. But she wouldn’t ask for more from Gray, not when he’d already given her so much.

  “Thank you.” She grabbed her fork and let it hover over the mess. The eggs were too wet, and the bacon was unrecognizable char, but she ate it anyway. “When will you leave to do the border protections?”

  “Not for a few days,” he said. “I have to cleanse the café’s site. Ember’s going to help me, but there’s a lot of negative vibes to dissipate. We might as well continue the cleansing for the whole town. And the farms, of course.”

  “That makes sense. It seems like the magic here is on a teeter-totter.”

  “You feel it, too?”

  “Yes.”

  They ate in comfortable silence, and then Lucy put down her fork. She’d been thinking about Maureen, and the town, and ways to help everyone. “Gray, is Nevermore poor?”

  “Not everyone is on the same financial footing,” said Gray. “But it does seem like more folks are struggling.”

  “I meant the town itself.”

  “No, it’s not poor. Not at all.” He frowned. “I handle the banking. Honestly? Taylor told me what the town needed, and I wrote a check. He took care of it. Everything. I’ve been a terrible Guardian. I let everyone down because I couldn’t let go of my pain. . . . No, it’s more than that. I’ve been ashamed.”

  “There is no shame in loving the wrong person. At least you had that.”

  “It was an illusion.”

  “Your love wasn’t. Hers was. I gave myself to Bernard without any love at all. I traded my body and my dignity for room and board. That’s shameful.”

  “You were doing what you had to for survival.”

  “Actually, I was doing what I had to for Dolce and Gabbana.”

  “So if I offered to buy you Dolce and Gabbana everything, you’d want it?”

  Lucinda shook her head. “No. I’d want you to spend it on the general store.” Gray was staring at her in a sorta what-crazy-pill-did-you-swallow kind of way. She licked her lips, and gathered her courage. “I talked to Maureen for a long time last night. You should’ve heard her talk about the general store. It was her husband’s legacy, and after his great-grandfather gambled it all away, no one could ever afford to buy it back.” Her words were tumbling out faster now, and she was practically tripping over her own tongue. “She said there was no place to shop here, that people had to order online or drive for hours to get to Dallas. The store is right there. It’s got all that space, shelves, registers . . . Who knows what else? Maureen and Henry want to do more than just exist here. They want to contribute.”

  Gray didn’t say anything for a long time. Lucinda got so nervous that she thought her eggs might make a return trip.

  “I own it,” Gray said hoarsely.

  “The store?”

  He nodded. “When Nevermore was founded, the Guardian granted deeds to the families who were running the businesses. Everyone owned their land and their building, but they had to pay a percentage of their profits into the town coffers. It’s kinda like taxes, I guess. That’s the money Nevermore uses to pay its bills, take care of street work, and so on. If a family defaults on their payments, their deed reverts back to the Guardian.”

  “That’s how Ember got her tea shop—the place that’s the neutral ground.”

  “Yeah. I sold it to her, or rather Taylor did. He probably didn’t realize she was going to paint it purple. That building she bought was empty for so long that no one remembers what it used to be. I didn’t realize it was neutral ground until I pulled the deed.”

  “Do you pay the town for the general store? The taxes, I mean?”

  “No. It’s a little hard to explain. I am the town, and the town is me—that’s what Grit used to say all the time. I oversee the town’s money.”

  “You’re the bank.”

  “For the town, not for its citizens.” He pushed his plate away. “If a property is no longer contributing, it’s not used. There’s no reason to have utilities turned on or have garbage service.”

  “Are you poor?”

  He blinked at her. “Um, no.”

  “Because the Archers are. I don’t know if they could afford the taxes, or whatever you want to call ’em, much less the utility bills. Not right away.”

  “You want me to give the Archers a personal loan?”

  Lucinda lifted her hands palms out. “I would, but you know . . . I literally don’t have any money. But I could work there for free—until they get everything settled and can afford to hire some help.” She couldn’t figure out what Gray thought about her idea. He wasn’t exactly leaping for joy over it. “The Archers wouldn’t take charity. They’d want to pay their bills same as everyone else in Nevermore. They just need a little assistance.”

  He cleared his throat. “Just so I have this straight . . . you want me, as the Guardian, to hand over the deed to the general store gratis to the Archers. Then, you want me, as Gray Calhoun, to loan them the money for start-up costs, and then you, my wife, will work there for free until they can afford to hire clerks.”

  “Please, Gray. Just think about it. Having that store back would make them so happy. And give them a purpose. Everyone needs a purpose. And Nevermore needs that store.”

  “You’re begging, aren’t you?”

  “I can get on my knees, if it’ll help.”

  “I can hear it in your voice.” He stood up, rounded the table, and then knelt before her. “You’re brilliant. I should’ve thought of it myself.” He shook his head. “Damn it all! I was so selfish. I could only see my own pain. Five years sitting in this house thinking only about myself. I was such a fool.”

  “You built walls to protect yourself,” she said, her heart growing fuller by the second. “I understand, Gray. You have to stop beating yourself up over past mistakes. You’re doing the right things now. That’s what people will remember.”

  “You would’ve begged me for their sake, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. If it meant they’d get their family legacy back, then yes, I would beg.”

  He sighed. “I’m not even gonna think about how insulting it is for my own wife to think she has to plead with me—on behalf of people I’ve known my whole life.” He picked up her hands and kissed her knuckles. “The world is yours, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

  Lucinda knew that wasn’t true. He couldn’t give her love. Or a baby. Or a real marriage. For all the healing his heart was doing now, there was no room in it for her dreams. Gray had his own path, and it was directly connected to Nevermore. He needed this town, and everyone in it needed him.

  One day, she would be gone from here, and she hoped to do some good before it was time to seek out her own new path.

  “I have some other ideas,” she said.

  “Okay. Let’s go in the library and talk.”

  “You want Grit’s advice?”

  “No, I want to annoy him.” He sto
od up and pulled Lucinda to her feet. “C’mon. Let’s go figure out how to change our little corner of the world.”

  Anthony rolled over in bed, and groaned. His eyes felt gritty and he was damned groggy from a bad night’s sleep, not least of which was caused by his inappropriate thoughts about Happy. She was sixteen, for Goddess’ sake! She was pretty—all that blond hair and those blue eyes framed by a heart-shaped face, not to mention she had a woman’s fulsome body. And when she smiled, she had dimples. Dimples! But her heart and her mind were still those of a girl. He felt like a lecherous old man just thinking about her in a sexual way.

  He needed coffee.

  And a cold shower.

  He’d gone to bed in his pajama bottoms, which was a concession to their female guest. Usually he wandered around in his underwear. He pulled on a T-shirt and went downstairs, heading into the living room to check on Happy. The couch was empty. He stared at the folded blanket carefully centered on the pillow. Her backpack was gone. And so was she.

  Shit.

  “She went outside.”

  Ant whirled around. Taylor stood in the foyer, a mug of coffee in his hand, dressed in full uniform.

  “Her stuff’s gone.”

  “She left it in the kitchen. I made extra pancakes, if you want any.”

  Ant’s mouth dropped open. “You stayed in the kitchen long enough to cook? And you made her breakfast?” He narrowed his gaze. “Who are you and what did you do with my big brother?”

  “Ha-ha. The kid was hungry. I fed her. End of story.”

  “You could’ve poured her a bowl of Lucky Charms.”

  “Mama would roll over in her grave,” said Taylor. “Happy’s polite, but closemouthed. Wouldn’t tell me why she came to town or who she’s looking for.” He sighed. “Maybe a good sit-down in the office will scare her into talking.”

  “I doubt it,” said Ant. He could see that Happy wore stubborn like other people wore coats.

  “Me, too. But I have a secret weapon.”

  “Arlene.”

  “Yep.”