Never Again (25 page)
“Yep.”
Ant went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup. Unlike Taylor, he didn’t mind being in the kitchen. Taylor couldn’t understand why it was so easy for Ant to be at peace with their mother’s death. Or maybe he wasn’t. They didn’t exactly talk about it.
Ant returned to the foyer. “Any word about Lennie’s funeral?”
“The doc’s coming in on Monday to do the death certificate,” said Taylor. “Then I can release his body to the Archers. You talk to Lennie much?”
“Not really,” said Ant. He plopped down a couple stairs below where Taylor sat. “There were what? Twenty-two of us in the senior class? Mordi would’ve been, too, if she hadn’t done accelerated studies.” He blew on the hot coffee. “You got any idea who hurt Marcy?”
“Not a damned clue,” said Taylor.
“Gotta be someone in town.”
Taylor grimaced. He didn’t like thinking about who might have motive to kill Marcy. Not a person came to mind, other than Cathleen. Had the old bat paid someone to do it? As despicable as she was, she needed Marcy, not only to be her slave waitress, but to pick on. Making other people miserable made Cathleen happy. And she was too selfish to oust the person she had any control over. Marcy was the only waitress at the café because nobody else would work there.
Who else would have a reason to kill the girl? He thought about the magical item locked away in his safe, the one that Marcy had been trying to smuggle out of town. Was that the reason she’d died? Or did it have something to do with Lucinda Rackmore? Shit. Calhoun. She was Lucinda Calhoun now. He needed to question her. Damn it! Gray couldn’t shield his wife forever.
“Not many magicals left around here.” He stared down into his empty mug. “Just us mundanes.”
“So?”
He shook his head. “Just seems important is all. I don’t know why. Not yet.”
“You’ll figure it out,” said Ant. “You always do.”
“Maybe.” He put down his mug. “You know Trent?”
“Atwood’s nephew? Yeah. I see him every now and again. He’s okay, I guess.”
“He ever hang out with Lennie?”
Ant shrugged. “You know how it is around here, Taylor. People can’t be too picky about their friendships. We don’t have a lot to choose from. I’ve seen him at Dragon’s Keep on the weekends. Lennie spent a lot of time there, but hell, so does everyone else. You know, he used to date Marcy.”
“So did Ren, as I recall, back in high school.”
“I did, too, for all of a minute. She was nice,” said Ant. “She deserved better.”
“She damned sure did.” He sighed. “Don’t suppose Bran’s serving alcohol to minors?”
“You mean does Trent have a beer?” Ant laughed. “C’mon, Taylor. Bran serves everyone.”
“Doesn’t mean that it’s right. The drinking age in Nevermore is eighteen.”
“And you waited till then?”
Taylor looked away, trying to hide his smile. He’d been sixteen, an arrogant kid with too much swagger and not enough sense. He’d gone straight for tequila. Ended the night puking his guts up in the bathroom and passing out on Bran’s couch in the back room. Bran shook him awake the next day and made him drink a god-awful concoction that wiped away the hangover. Bran was a magical—a powerful aquamancer, one who had not claimed a House. He’d built his home and his business on an old river barge. Dragon’s Keep was anchored off the shore of Lake Huginn.
Bran never seemed to age, either. He looked like a strong, fit, silver-haired fifty-year-old. He always had, and Taylor suspected he always would. He couldn’t prove it, and the old man had never admitted it, but Taylor believed Bran was immortal. Magicals usually lived longer, perpetuated by the energies they could so easily tap into, but most weren’t immortal. In fact, very few were.
“Truck coming.” Ant nodded to the windows that flanked the front door. “Looks like Ren’s.”
Taylor carried his coffee out to the porch and waited for Ren to arrive. To his surprise, Trent was with him. The boy was obviously off work today because he was head-to-toe goth—from kohl rimming his eyes to the black shirt with safety pins around its collar.
Ren rolled down the window. “Figured you’d be at the office already.”
“Nope. What is it?”
“Gremlins.” He slanted his gaze toward Trent. “Atwood’s place is crawling with them.”
“Does nobody remember how to use a phone?” asked Taylor. “The whole town has landlines set up.”
“I tried calling here before I left the office,” said Ren. “Got a busy signal.”
Trent leaned out the opened passenger’s-side window. “My unc’s pissing himself. Ran to Ember’s screaming like a little girl.”
“Ember go down to his office and work some juju?” Trent shook his head. “She said—and I quote—‘Oh, no, chil’. I don’t mess wit da gremlins.’”
Taylor snorted a laugh. “All right. I’ll meet you at Atwood’s. And somebody call Gray. We’ll need his magic to seal up the crack that let those little bastards in.”
“Gremlins,” said Lucinda. She lounged in bed, feeling almost boneless. She’d have to get up, though. She had wifely duties to perform. “Really?”
“Yeah. I was hoping something like this wouldn’t happen. The town’s so out of alignment, it’s a wonder we haven’t gotten ’em before.” Gray hunted through his dresser. He’d taken a shower, so his hair was still damp, and he pulled on a pair of faded jeans. The bedroom, like every other room in the house, was a terrible mess. How he’d found the jeans was a mystery to her.
“Ha! ” Triumphant, he drew out a blue shirt and put it on. He turned toward her, grinning.
Her heart tripped and she felt something soft and bright wrap around her. He made her feel safe. And strong. And . . . loved.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He strode toward the bed and sat down,putting a hand on her thigh. “You feeling okay?”
“More than okay,” she said. Not love, she thought desperately. Just great sex. Great sex and safety felt like . . . well, she didn’t really know, now, did she? Her gratitude mixed in with everything else was just making her feel good. Gray didn’t want the
L
word anywhere near their relationship.
L
word anywhere near their relationship.
She’d be damned if she would ruin her marriage by falling in love with her own husband.
“I was thinking that I could get the house in order. At least, I could start somewhere. The living room, maybe.”
He frowned, and disappointment crowded out all those good feelings swirling through her. He didn’t want her touching his stuff. She was a fake wife, and they both knew it. All that talk about sharing responsibilities, and he didn’t mean it. This wasn’t truly her home. What had she been thinking?
“I don’t want you to tire yourself out.” He cupped her face and rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “Don’t move anything too heavy. If you want to rearrange furniture, wait until I get home.”
She stared at him. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind? This is your home, Lucinda. And you have the right to live in beauty and comfort. I’m sorry everything is a mess. I’ll help you as soon as I get back, okay?”
“Okay.” She turned her face and kissed his palm. Then she peeked at him. “I can really rearrange the furniture?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, Gray!” She sprang out of the covers and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”
He hugged her, and then he pulled back just a little. “I don’t know why you’re so excited about cleaning up that crap. I feel rotten that you’re gonna have to wade through it all. It’s not fair.”
“I want to contribute,” said Lucinda. “I don’t have much to give you.”
“That’s not true. You think too little of yourself, baby.” He kissed her. “I have to meet Taylor. After I seal the underworld crack the gremlins escaped from, I’m going to reinforce the town’s protections. It’ll take about three days, though. I’ll have to go around the perimeter to perform the magic.”
“You’re not coming home?”
“It’ll be better to camp out and get it all done at once, so the spells stay strong.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll call you every night. I’m not abandoning you.”
Lucinda felt that inner glow again—warm, soft, safe. “No,” she teased. “You’ve just figured out a way to not help me clean.”
“You got me.” He looked down at her naked flesh, and sighed. “Now get under the covers. You’re distracting.”
“It’s too bad you’re in such a hurry.” She fell back against the covers and stretched, giving Gray a full view of her body. His gaze latched on to her breasts. “I guess I’ll see you in . . . three days, you said?”
“Taylor can wait.”
Then he dove on top of her.
Gray kissed her good-bye at the door. After she shut the door behind him, she leaned against it, and smiled. What a normal thing to do: kiss her husband as he went off to work.
She laughed, her heart full.
Safety felt wonderful.
And so did being Gray’s wife.
She was determined to do him proud. She attacked the living room first. She hated that she still felt so weak. She had to take breaks far too often, but even so, she managed to get through the entire mess. By the afternoon, she had gone through every box, half of which were empty, thrown away obvious trash, and created two piles. One was for those items she thought would be good for charitable donations, and the other for items that seemed important or that she wasn’t sure about. She put everything into labeled boxes, aligned them against the stairwell wall, and began cleaning in earnest.
Two hours later, the mahogany coffee table and Burmese sideboard were polished to a high shine, the two red silk camelback settees were vacuumed—as was the Persian rug—and she’d uncovered the fireplace. Oh, that was a travesty. The mantel was the same mahogany as the table, and littered with framed photos, dragon statues, and melted candles. Ash overflowed onto the brick hearth, and soot stained the edges.
She’d found two Victorian spoon-back chairs in decent shape, and she thought they’d look nice facing the fireplace with the Chinese cloisonné pedestal table between them.
Still, she’d promised Gray to wait on furniture rearrangement, even though she very much wanted to surprise him with at least one finished room.
She missed him.
Lucinda dropped onto one of the settees, and sighed. It was stupid to feel the way that she did. She needed to remember that gratitude was not the same thing as romantic love. Gray was being dutiful, and nothing more.
Her gaze traveled over the room. She still had so much more to do. The windows needed cleaning, the curtains needed burning, and the cobwebs dangling from the corners needed removal. The wood floor required a good refinish—not to mention the walls. The white chair rail could do with a little TLC, but the floral wallpaper had yellowed too much for saving. So, new wallpaper was needed—or better yet, a paint job. Hmm. A soft beige with small red horizontal stripes.
It’s not your house.
Lucinda snapped out of her daydreaming. Cleaning as a contribution to their mutual living space was one thing—trying to make her mark on Gray’s family home was another. There would be no repainting, or updating, or anything. She couldn’t fall into the trap of caring about Gray, about his home. Not when they would be hers for only a little while. She couldn’t begin to hope that he would want to keep her around after she got free of Bernard.
Knock, knock, knock.
Lucinda’s gaze snapped to the front door and she jolted to her feet, heart hammering. She checked the mantel clock—it seemed to be keeping appropriate time despite its long-term abandonment. It was just past four o’clock.
She was a mess. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and her clothes were stained with dirt and cleaning solutions. She wasn’t even wearing shoes.
Knock, knock, knock.
Just because she didn’t look like a hostess didn’t mean she couldn’t act like one. She ran her hands over her T-shirt and jeans, squared her shoulders, and answered the door.
The woman standing on the porch looked vaguely familiar. Lucinda realized she’d seen her at the wake, but she didn’t remember her name.
“Hello,” said Lucinda.
“Glad it’s you,” said the woman. “I’m Maureen Archer.” She handed Lucinda a plastic-wrapped pie. “Welcome to Nevermore, Mrs. Calhoun.”
Lucinda took the pie, and stared at it. Emotions crowded out her ability to speak. The silence dragged on so long, Maureen cleared her throat.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect . . . ” Lucinda smiled at her, touched by the woman’s sincere gesture of welcome. “It’s such a kind thing to do. Thank you.”
Maureen nodded, and then looked away. Lucinda noticed the sheen of tears in her eyes, and realized the woman had come to the Guardian’s home for more than welcoming his new bride.
“Please come in,” said Lucinda as she stepped back from the doorway. “I apologize for the mess. I’m afraid I couldn’t wait to start removing the stamp of bachelor living.”
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