Never Again (9 page)
She nodded. “Right. So everything you say and do during the game is the opposite of what you mean. But for Lucy, it’s no game. She freed herself from a bad situation. Bad people. She learned to believe she has no worth. So, when someone is kind to her . . . ” She trailed off and looked at him.
Gray felt like Ember had punched him in the stomach. Lucy had expected him to be a jerk, even though some small part of her had hoped he would be different from everyone else who’d rejected and shamed her.
“You were nice to her,” he said softly, “and she couldn’t handle it.”
“Opposite game,” Ember murmured. “She need some time to figure out how to right her world.” She looked at him, one dark eye visible through the single purple lens of her weird glasses. “Maybe she not the only one.”
“Maybe,” agreed Gray.
“Well, then!” Ember broke into a broad smile and patted his arm. “You stayin’ for some tea, Guardian? I got just dey ting for you.”
“I’ll come back,” he promised. “Right now, I have an errand to run.”
“ ’Course you do. That’s her booth. Maybe she leave something behind.” Ember slipped her hand out the crook of his arm, gave him one last pat, and turned away. He watched her go through a swinging door marked KITCHEN ENTRANCE, and then she was gone.
Gray examined the booth. He knelt on the right side, where Lucy’s presence felt strongest, and bent low to see if she’d left anything he could use to create a tracking spell. Despite his detailed investigation, he found nothing, not even a thread from her robe or lint from her duffel.
“Shit.” He backed out of the booth and looked down at the table. It was still wet from . . .
oh
. Lucy had left something behind all right.
oh
. Lucy had left something behind all right.
Her tears.
“Stupid,” said Lucinda as the rain pelted her. The wind was getting in on the beat-the-witch action, too, slicing at her like machetes. As she trudged down the gravel shoulder of the road, her threadbare tennis shoes soaked, her robe failing to keep off the sluicing water, her body chilled and shivering, she berated herself again.
Stupid. So freaking stupid.
She shouldn’t have left the warmth and safety of neutral ground—especially with people like that old bat from the café and that moron in the hot rod gunning for her. Her time with Bernard taught her to trust her instincts . . . at least when it came to sensing an attack. Instincts honed as she’d wandered around for the last three months, tracking down anyone who might help her. Goddess! When she thought about all those times she let Bernard—
No
.
No
.
Maybe she’d been a fool. But she couldn’t blame anyone but herself for putting up with Bernard. And for what? Security? Yeah, that had worked out well. Pretty clothes, luxurious surroundings, exotic trips . . . she’d handed over her dignity and self-esteem for baubles. There was only slight satisfaction in realizing she’d literally been under a spell, too. Compulsory magic worked best with the already willing.
The Rackmore whore.
Nice how that rhymed. Made it just roll off the tongue.
Lucinda redirected her thoughts. The past was the past. Over, over,
over
.
over
.
She pulled the robe tighter around her, but the clasp had broken, so it was a useless gesture. She’d enjoyed its dry warmth, at least for the first thirty seconds of her walk. In no time at all, the rain had pummeled her clothing into wet submission.
The nanosecond Ember handed over the fresh-fromthe-dryer robe and excused herself to the kitchen, Lucinda bolted. She felt bad that she hadn’t stayed long enough to have tea, but Ember’s kindness felt strange—like finding a plate of chocolate-chip cookies after falling into a pit of vipers.
Besides, she didn’t want to bring any misfortune to the tea shop.
It was hard not to think of herself as a plague, even though she knew her curse couldn’t infect others. One of the simplest laws of magic was that like attracted like. It was why witches and wizards were taught since birth about keeping the balance. Granted, cursed people had little choice in what they attracted, but there were still ways to offset it. And not every magical was interested in keeping the balance at all.
She snorted. Bernard had lost his official position in the House of Ravens, but he still had a hand in it. She’d never been sure exactly what he was doing for his former cohorts, but no doubt it had something to do with overthrowing a small country or controlling drugs or killing kittens.
Beep! Beep!
Startled by the honking car roaring up behind her (so much for those well-honed attack instincts), Lucinda spun around, heart hammering. The worn soles of her tennis shoes slipped in the mud, and she caught a look at the braking lights of a yellow VW Bug as she tried to find some purchase. Her arms pinwheeled as she grappled for balance, but she couldn’t compensate for the weight of the bag slung over her shoulder.
For a couple of seconds, she had the sickening sensation of weightlessness as she toppled backward into the ditch. She landed on her side on top of the duffel. The swirling water was deep enough to douse her completely, but not enough, unfortunately, to drown her.
Because death would be an upgrade to her luck right now.
Pain radiated up her hip, and the arm squished between her body and the duffel felt numb. Water swirled up her jeans and under her shirt, and grabbed at the end of her robe. Maybe if she lay here long enough, the earth would open up and swallow her.
Was that too much to ask?
Apparently so.
Aching and tired, Lucinda sat up, dragging her duffel with her. It had been heavy before, but thanks to its thorough dunking, it now felt like someone had tucked an anvil inside it.
“Oh, my gosh!”
In all the wind and rain, the words sounded like a whisper. Lucinda looked up and saw the waitress from the café kneeling at the edge of the ditch and offering her hand.
“What happened to you?” asked Lucinda as she zeroed in on the girl’s black eye and split lip.
“Me?” The girl’s eyes widened. “What about you?”
“It’s just water,” said Lucinda. She stood up, irritated. She looked at the muddy liquid swirling around her ankles, gathered her magic, and yelled, “Part!”
The water moved aside to reveal the soggy, rockstrewn bottom of the ditch. She shoved the duffel up the slope, and the waitress grabbed the handles, hauling it up onto the shoulder.
As soon as Lucinda got to the top, she released the magic, silently thanking nature for the little borrow of energy.
“I’m Lucinda.” She held out her not too muddy hand to the waitress, trying not to take offense while the girl considered whether to offer hers in return.
Finally, she squared her shoulders and shook Lucinda’s hand. “I’m Marcy. Marcy Munch.” She flinched. “I know. Munch is a dumb last name. High school was a real bitch.”
“So’s life,” said Lucinda. “Who hit you?”
Marcy’s gaze slid away. “You need a ride? I’m leaving for good. I got enough money to get to the border.”
“You’re going to Mexico?” Lucinda couldn’t wipe the suspicion from her voice. Her experience had become this: If something good happened, it was just a setup for the really bad thing headed her way. She didn’t like the coincidence of needing a ride and Marcy’s sudden departure from town—to the same desired destination.
“Let’s get in the car, okay?” asked Marcy. “This weather is crazy.”
Lucinda watched as the waitress turned and made her way toward the Volkswagen. Her choice was to slog through the rain until someone else took pity on her, or to get into a warm, dry car right now.
She followed the girl around to the front of the tiny car. Marcy opened the hood and Lucinda threw her duffel into the empty space. Then they got into the car and secured their seat belts. The heat was cranked up—thank the Goddess—because they both were soaked and shivering.
“You didn’t pack anything?” asked Lucinda as Marcy put the Bug into gear and coasted onto the road. She noted the grease spatters on the girl’s white apron with its still-bulging pockets and breathed in the food smells not even the rain had been able to wash away. “You didn’t change clothes.”
“No time,” said Marcy. “It’s good we’re leaving. Nevermore’s . . .” She paused, apparently unable to come up with an appropriate adjective, and shrugged.
“What about your mom?”
“Cathleen,” Marcy hissed, “is not my mother—even though she insists I call her ‘mama.’ She likes to remind me that she raised me, but she didn’t. She married Daddy when I was ten. He went and died four years later and left her the café. Her! She’s not even a real Munch!” She blew out a breath and pushed back her wet hair. “My family has owned the café since the town was founded. It’s horrible! I’d change everything. If Daddy had just trusted me . . . but I guess he didn’t think he’d die. Who does, right?”
“How do you know he didn’t trust you?” asked Lucinda.
Marcy slanted her a look of disbelief. “Because I don’t own the café. Maybe if I’d been older, he would’ve changed his will.”
Lucinda wondered if the café was supposed to belong to Marcy and her stepmother finagled control of it. What business was it of hers, anyway? She wasn’t a resident of Nevermore. And two hours in a place didn’t make her an expert on it, or the people who lived there. Still. She couldn’t dismiss that someone had used Marcy’s face as a punching bag.
“Who hit you?” Lucinda asked again.
“Doesn’t matter.” Marcy’s expression turned mulish. “It won’t happen again, anyway. I’m leaving. Mexico will be different. It’s safe there.”
“Depends on your definition of safe,” offered Lucinda.
“Why are
you
going there?” asked Marcy, her tone defensive.
you
going there?” asked Marcy, her tone defensive.
“To escape my ex-lover.”
“Oh.” She chewed her lower lip. “He’s a magical, too?”
“House of Ravens. A real asshole.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Lucinda turned to look out the passenger’s-side window. “When I get in trouble, I go big. All the way.”
Both women said nothing else, lost in their own thoughts. The buzzing noise of the car engine and the rain plinking against the windows filled up the silence. It seemed like the road stretched into infinity, an effect only reinforced by the overcast sky—and it was already dusk. Since there were no lights on this road, only the yellow glare of the VW’s headlights broke through the encroaching black.
Lucinda felt unnerved. The storm coupled with the increasing darkness, not to mention the lonely road and her distressed companion, made Lucinda feel like she was trapped in a horror movie. In a scene right before the monster lunged, or the car crashed, or the—
Shut it! Nothing bad will happen,
she thought sternly.
she thought sternly.
“Highway’s just a few more miles,” said Marcy. She flashed an uneasy smile. “It can get really creepy around here, especially at night.”
Lucinda felt the car lurch as it accelerated. She grimaced. “Maybe going faster is a bad idea.”
“We gotta make the highway before the sun sets.”
“Why?”
“Bad things happen. That’s the truth of it, everywhere. Bad things always hide in the dark.” She sucked in a breath. “Anyway. Even though this is all farmland, we’re still technically in Nevermore.” Marcy had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “The boundary ends at the highway. Once we’re on it, we’ll be safe.”
Lucinda turned in her seat and stared at Marcy. The green lights from the dashboard highlighted the girl’s pale face and worried expression. Foreboding crept up Lucinda’s spine like a wave of tiny spiders. “Safe from what?”
“Shit!” Marcy slammed on the brakes. The car skidded on the slick road, fishtailing.
Lucinda was thrown forward, the seat belt locking so hard it knocked the breath from her, and then she was thrust back, her skull bouncing off the headrest. Little white stars danced before her eyes, and her chest throbbed with pain.
The car stopped at an angle on the wrong side of the road, the headlights revealing a barbed wire fence.
Marcy had whacked her head on the steering wheel, as evidenced by the wound across her forehead. She was still conscious, though, and her terror so sharp, Lucinda felt cut by it.
“Did you see him? Right there? Goddess help us!” Marcy jammed in the clutch and shifted into first gear, but the car wouldn’t start. The key simply clicked. “Shit! No, no, no!”
“Calm down.” Lucinda unhooked her seat belt. “What happened? Who did you see?” She grabbed a fast-food napkin from the center console and tried to dab away the blood trickling down Marcy’s temple.
“Stop it!” screamed Marcy. She knocked away Lucinda’s hand. “The highway’s less than a mile. Can you magic the engine?”
Lucinda shook her head. Her reserves were too low to attempt it. Machinery didn’t appreciate magic, and required the kind of finesse she wasn’t capable of on her best day.
“We’ll have to run.” Marcy took off her seat belt and grabbed the handle of the door.
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