Never Again (5 page)
Lucinda immediately tapped into her aquamancy, directing her magic toward the rain. She aimed the swirling blue power toward the raindrops sluicing between her and the car.
“Ice!” she screamed.
Instantly, the drops turned as sharp as daggers. She directed the shards toward the tires. Hundreds of the sharp icy drops dove into the treads.
The car was about twenty feet away when all four tires exploded.
Lucinda dropped her arms and ran across the street, her duffel bouncing on her backside, her heart pounding. Magic trailed in her wake because she hadn’t properly released it. She slipped on the wet sidewalk and skidded toward the building. She grabbed the corner to right herself and then turned around, pressing her back against the purple brick. She called the magic back to her, releasing the glowing blue ropes of power, and offering a quick prayer of thanks to the living things from which she’d borrowed energy.
The spinning car screeched to a halt in middle of the intersection.
The front end pointed directly at her as though it were a compass and she were north. The windows were tinted so darkly, she couldn’t see who was in the car, or how many might be inside. Its engine revved ominously. The driver was letting her know he’d fully intended to mow her down, and given another opportunity, he would do so again.
Yet, he wasn’t so brave that he was getting out of his car to challenge her directly.
“Screw you,” she muttered. She flipped off the Mustang, and whoever the hell was in it, then scuttled toward the door to the tea shop and bolted inside. She wasn’t feeling so brave today, either.
“Well, now. Here you are.” The odd statement tinged with a Jamaican accent was issued by a cocoa-skinned woman standing a mere foot away.
Lucinda warily wondered if the lady had witnessed what had happened outside, and then she wondered if she should explain—or maybe even report the incident. After a moment of consideration, she decided it’d be better to pretend like nothing had happened.
The woman smiled widely, showing off a set of sparkling pearly whites. She wore a pair of purple-tinted glasses. Actually, one side was purple tinted, and the other was blacked out completely. She was at least six feet tall and wore a purple dress that clung to her curvaceous form, and a pair of black high-heeled boots with purple roses stitched on the toes. Her long hair was a mass of tiny braids in various shades of purple, and those not purple were jet-black.
“I’m sensing a theme,” said Lucinda as she stared at the woman. Then she grimaced. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“Was it, now?” asked the woman. “Purple’s me color.’Tis my magic, my ju
ju
, you see? Ain’t no shame in embracing who I am.”
ju
, you see? Ain’t no shame in embracing who I am.”
“I envy that.”
“Well,” said the woman as she sized up Lucinda. “Got to know who you are first before
you
can embrace
you
.” She nodded. “I’m Ember. Come in and rest.”
you
can embrace
you
.” She nodded. “I’m Ember. Come in and rest.”
The simple but heartfelt invitation blindsided her. “Th-thank you.”
“Oh, now. We need some TLC right here.” Ember took the duffel right out of Lucinda’s hand. “C’mon, chil’. I’ll get you fixed right on up.”
“I . . . ” Lucinda froze. Her savior turned and marched toward the back, leaving her no choice but to follow. Yet, she hesitated. The tea shop was dimly lit, and there were swirls of fabric everywhere, but it offered coziness . . . no, more like tranquillity. The small foyer where she stood was a couple feet away from a long counter lined with black leather seats. It looked like a bar, but the bottles lining the glass shelves on the wall behind it had nothing to do with alcohol. It smelled earthy in here, no doubt due to the incense burning at regular intervals.
Then she noticed she had the scrutiny of someone sitting at the bar. He was a big man, not an ounce of fat on him, either. He glared at her from underneath a worn black cowboy hat. His uniform was tan outlined in black, a gold five-point star glittering from the upper right side of his chest. He wore a big black belt with typical law enforcement tools: a gun, handcuffs, a baton, and a pouch, no doubt filled with justice gems or other approved magical items.
She swallowed the knot in her throat.
“New in town?” he said in a gravelly voice. “You check in with our visitors’ center yet?”
“Visitors’ center” was the nice way of saying “magic checkpoint.” Big cities usually had embassies from all the Houses. However, many smaller towns like Nevermore allied themselves with a certain House, in order to receive funding and protection. Any town under the auspices of magicals had to live under the laws enacted by the appointed Guardian.
Nevermore was a Dragon town, and the Calhouns had been its Guardians since day one. Gray didn’t care what happened to her; she seriously doubted he would intervene if the sheriff decided she needed quarantine.
“I’m not staying,” she said. “Just passing through.” She shrugged. “Visiting an old friend, actually. Gray Calhoun.”
His eyes were a bright shade of green, much lighter than her own, and filled with suspicion. He narrowed his gaze. “You know Gray?”
She’d thought throwing Gray’s name out there might buy her a pass from the sheriff’s scrutiny, but she’d been wrong. She’d garnered even more of his attention.
Her tongue felt glued to her mouth. Right. Like she would admit to anyone that she’d come to Texas to beg the protection of her ex-brother-in-law—you know, the man her sister had all but killed more than a decade ago. And she sure as hell wouldn’t admit that she was a Rackmore. It seemed like everyone she’d run into since the great reckoning had a Rackmore to thank for some kind of misery.
“Shut it, Mooreland. You’re scarin’ me chickie to death,” said Ember as she returned. She wasn’t holding the duffel. Lucinda wanted to trust the woman, but her stomach squeezed at the idea that her worldly possessions were no longer within her view. She didn’t have much, and she didn’t want to lose what few things she had left.
Mooreland looked unrepentant. “Just don’t want any trouble.”
“Then quit makin’ some,” chastised Ember. “My place is neutral ground. You got no jurisdiction here. Drink your tea and meditate on improvin’ your people skills.”
Mooreland’s gaze flicked down at the steaming mug in front of him. He looked at Lucinda as if to say, “I’m watching you, sunshine,” then promptly ignored her. She was surprised he hadn’t responded to Ember’s baiting. Then again, she could throw him out without consequence. Only the holder of the deed determined what happened on neutral ground.
“C’mon.” Ember took Lucinda’s hand and tugged her through a series of small tables, past a stage with flowing purple and silver curtains, and tucked her into the back booth, which kept her hidden from prying eyes. “Let’s get that cloak off you. I’ll throw it in the dryer.”
“You have a dryer?”
“My apartment’s upstairs,” she said. “Me and my husband, Rilton, bought this building a few months ago.”
“You’re new here?” she asked. “And people were nice to you?”
“I don’t move to dis town ’cause I want to meet nice people. I come ’cause dis where I’m supposed to be. We all got destinies, chil’, and mine is here.” Ember’s accent had thickened considerably.
“It’s truly neutral ground?” Gratefully Lucinda slid into the booth, right next to her duffel. She wanted to cuddle up to it and sleep, but it was wet and lumpy and filthy, and she wasn’t exhausted enough to not notice.
“All who enter here are safe.” Ember draped the wet cloak over her arm. “Now. I’ll bring you something, something just right.”
“Wait.” Lucinda unzipped a pocket on her duffel and dug into it. Her fingers poked through a hole that hadn’t been there earlier. The four dollars and eleven cents she had left was gone.
She should be used to it by now, but she still found herself devastated by the loss. “I don’t have any money.”
“Seems like you don’t got a lot of things,” said Ember. “Don’t you worry about payin’ me.”
“No menus?” asked Lucinda, and then wondered why she’d posed the question.
Ember laughed. “Why do people need menus in here? Dey don’t know what’s good for dem.”
“But you do?”
“Of course, chil’.” She smiled. “Sit dere and relax. I bring you just da ting.”
“Ember.” Lucinda swallowed the knot in her throat. “I’ll never have money. Not ever. My name’s Lucinda Rackmore.” She waited for the inevitable expression of distaste, waited for Ember to invite her to leave, waited for the rejection that always came.
“Hello dere, Lucinda Rackmore. Welcome, welcome.” Ember reached down and patted her on the shoulder, then turned and sauntered through the door a couple feet away. It swung open and allowed out the sounds of food preparation as well as the sweet smells of baked goods.
Ember’s kindness poked holes through Lucinda’s fragile control. Everyone she’d known had turned away from her, and this stranger had offered her both comfort and help—even after she’d revealed she was a Rackmore witch.
It was too much.
Lucinda laid her head down onto the table and wept.
Chapter 2
“That’s no way to talk to a lady, son,” called out a cranky old voice from the kitchen. The Texas accent twanged all the way through his words. “I expect better from my kin.”
“Yeah, dude,” chimed in another voice, this one younger and all 1980s California. “Total asshole move. You suck.”
Gray Calhoun rolled his eyes. He didn’t need advice from his grandfather, Grit, much less admonishment from Dutch the Surfer.
For the last five minutes, Gray had been leaning against the front door, trying to breathe. Narrow windows lined the heavy wood door, and he’d watched from one while Lucy trudged off the porch and down the street, the rain beating at her as she headed toward downtown. He almost expected her to turn back, to try again. It was obvious she had no pride left. He’d never seen anyone, much less the once haughty, spoiled Lucinda, so achingly desperate.
Even though he owed her nothing, he still felt guilty.
He shouldn’t have slammed the door in her face. At least he could’ve given her some lunch and allowed her to rest before sending her away. Hell, he could’ve even given her a ride to the bus station and gotten her a ticket to Dallas or Houston or wherever.
He really was an asshole.
His temple throbbed, and he reached up to trace the top of the scar. Lucy hadn’t given him the mark, or the bad memories, or the nightmares. She hadn’t condoned her sister’s actions or tried to do the same to anyone else to save herself. Not that he thought whoring for bastards like Bernard Franco made her any better. Still, she’d traded herself instead of someone she claimed to love. He couldn’t forget, either, that she’d been just a kid when the Rackmore curse initiated. She’d had to rely on her mother and then on her mother’s lover for survival. She’d never had to take care of herself. She knew only how to be taken care of . . . so how could she resist the slimy charms of a wealthy and powerful wizard like Franco?
Kerren, on the other hand, had been an adult—married to someone powerful, to someone who’d loved her. To
him
, damn it. He would’ve moved heaven and earth to help her, but she didn’t ask. She’d already put plans into motion to save all that she valued—and he had not been among those.
him
, damn it. He would’ve moved heaven and earth to help her, but she didn’t ask. She’d already put plans into motion to save all that she valued—and he had not been among those.
He’d completely misunderstood his wife’s true nature. All those quirks he thought so adorable were just manifestations of selfishness. Oh, she’d been good at pouting. Very good at using sex to soften him, or to thwart him. He’d been enamored by her beauty and her luscious body, but she was also a keenly intelligent woman, quick-witted and forward-thinking. He’d believed that he had found his match. Not even the night she’d killed him brought him such pain as the knowledge that she had not loved him. She had chosen him, and manipulated her way into his life, so that she would have the heart of a Dragon to give her demon lover.
Bitterness rose, tasting metallic and vile. Ten years. He should be over what happened. It wasn’t that he had any feelings left for Kerren. She could go to hell, or rather, she could stay there. What she had wrought by the ritual had exacted a price neither had expected. He still had nightmares, though they were few and far between.
Damn it.
He rubbed a hand over his face.
Having his past walk up to him and beg for help was the last thing he’d expected. And he’d had enough of surprises, especially surprises from the Rackmores. While he spent years trying to figure out what had happened to him, and how to control whatever had come out with him, the magicals dealt with the Rackmore fallout. The Houses revoked Rackmore memberships—and refused new members with Rackmore bloodlines. Lawsuits were filed. New laws were proposed, rejected, proposed again. Many Rackmores left the Houses of their own accord, and others held on to their positions tooth and nail while fighting for their rights.
Hundreds committed suicide.
Lucinda’s father had been among those casualties. Her mother, Wilmette, had soldiered on, taking on a wealthy lover to ensure the security of her youngest daughter. She had publicly disowned Kerren, going so far as to complete magical ritual and mundane paperwork to remove the woman from the Rackmore rolls.
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