Never Again (2 page)
First Printing, March 2011
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eISBN : 978-1-101-47744-1
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For Reid
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank Claire Zion for asking me, “Do you have another series idea?” and for letting me answer that question with the Wizards of Nevermore.
I’m extremely grateful to Agent Awesome, aka Stephanie Kip Rostan, and the wonderful Monika Verma, who handle the hard parts of the business and let me write (and whine . . . er, a lot).
I adore my editor, Laura Cifelli, and the scarily efficient Jesse Feldman. They are the reason I write better books. In fact, I owe a world of thanks to all of Team NAL. They are dedicated and brilliant. As the song (
Glee
version, of course) says, “My life would suck without you.”
Glee
version, of course) says, “My life would suck without you.”
I would like to express my eternal gratitude to my Minions and to all my fans everywhere. Because of you, I live my dream every day. I write. You read. We make a good team, you know? And finally I would like to thank my children. You make life interesting, and best of all, you make me laugh. Not always on purpose, but still . . . I love you beyond reason. Even when you’re making me freaking crazy. (No, really. Love you lots.)
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!
—From “The Raven,” Edgar Allan Poe
Origins of the Magicals and the Mundanes
Once, all humans could touch magic.
Then the world fell into terror and ruin. Magic became a weapon of cruelty, of war.
The heart of the Goddess broke.
It was She who severed the link between humans and magic. But the world did not become a better place. Humans born without the innate ability to connect to the sacred energies were even more susceptible to the Dark One’s influence.
The Goddess decided to return magic through the bloodlines of six champions, pure in heart and in spirit. To keep the balance, She gave each a specific element to use and to protect. So that they would remember their responsibilities to the earth and its creatures, She asked them to choose a symbol.
Jaed, keeper of fire, chose dragon; Olin, keeper of air, picked hawk; Kry, keeper of water, took shark; Leta, keeper of earth, asked for wolf; Drun, keeper of life, wanted sun; and Ekro, keeper of death, chose raven.
The Goddess imbued each symbol with the essence of the living things that represented Her Chosen. These emblems were etched into the very flesh of the champions, that they might remember their purpose—to protect life and keep the balance.
Only their progeny could access the sacred energies, and they became known as magicals. Those who had no elemental connections became known as mundanes.
As time passed, the purity of the Chosen’s lines was weakened, compromised, changed. Powers intermixed, and the line of Drun nearly died out completely. However, every so often, a magical would be born with the ability to control life, and these rare beings became known as thaumaturges.
Two thousand years ago, the Romans created five Houses: House of Dragons, House of Hawks, House of Wolves, House of Sharks, and House of Ravens. They also created the first Grand Court, made up of representatives from the Houses, to govern all magicals. The original building in Rome is still used today. (Not long after the American Revolution, a second Grand Court was established in Washington, D.C.) Children who showed strong connections with a particular element aligned with the appropriate House and were trained by Masters in the magical arts. As a sign of loyalty to both their heritage and their House, all members were tattooed with the symbols chosen by their ancestors—a tradition still strongly adhered to.
Though governed separately, most magicals and mundanes live side by side all over the world. Some choose to live within communities created to serve only their own kind, and others align with a particular House to gain their protections.
Whether magical or mundane, there is one truth that binds all: It is the heart of human struggle to seek balance between good and evil.
Prologue
Ten years ago . . .
Gray Calhoun shut the front door behind him and paused in the foyer, his skin prickling. The entire house was dark and quiet. Typically, their housekeeper greeted him, standing as his wife’s sentry to make sure he took off his shoes and put away his Court robes. It was strange not to hear Cook’s usual dinner-preparation noises—pots banging and Swedish curse words flying.
The silence—and the sense of emptiness—unsettled him.
“Kerren?” he called out.
“Upstairs,” she answered.
He breathed a sigh of relief. This morning, after the shocking revelation about the Rackmores hit the Grand Court’s chambers, she’d called him before he’d even gotten their home number dialed.
“Stay there, Gray. Do your job. I’m fine. I have you, remember?”
“Stay there, Gray. Do your job. I’m fine. I have you, remember?”
“Damn the Grand Court,”
he’d said, and she’d laughed, then made him promise not to come home early. He wanted to hold his wife, and tell her he didn’t care that she was a Rackmore. He loved her—and love meant loyalty. His heart aching, he moved toward the staircase.
he’d said, and she’d laughed, then made him promise not to come home early. He wanted to hold his wife, and tell her he didn’t care that she was a Rackmore. He loved her—and love meant loyalty. His heart aching, he moved toward the staircase.
“Don’t you dare come up here with those shoes on!”
He looked down at the foot hovering over the first polished wood stair, and chuckled. The knots in his stomach unfurled. Feeling lighter in spirit, he returned to the foyer and toed off his shoes.
They’d been married for nearly two years, after a whirlwind six-month courtship. Kerren’s parents had welcomed their engagement announcement far more easily than his mother. Leticia Calhoun had thrown every excuse possible at him:
You’re too young. You’re too new to the Grand Court. You’re a Dragon. She’s a Raven.
And on and on. Eventually, though, she’d given her blessing.
You’re too young. You’re too new to the Grand Court. You’re a Dragon. She’s a Raven.
And on and on. Eventually, though, she’d given her blessing.
Despite his mother’s worries, he was happily married, and his career was on the fast track. His mediation of several ongoing internal disputes within the House of Dragons led to unheard-of cooperation, and creative resolutions. The success of those negotiations gained him many friends, a very few enemies, and, just last week, the highest accolade offered by any House: Wizard of Honor.
He put his shoes in the foyer closet, and took off his robes, hanging them up. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised that his wife had given the staff the day off. When the world felt the reverberations of what some were calling the “great reckoning,” all hell had broken loose.
The wealth of every single Rackmore had disappeared.
All day, details had been plucked from speculation and rumors until an enterprising scholar had dug through the Great Library’s archives. He’d found a single diary entry from Pickwith Rackmore, Earl of Mersey—a well-known Raven who’d risen in that House’s ranks quickly in the sixteenth century. Pride radiated in the words the man wrote about a ritual in which his entire family had called forth a demon lord. They’d made a bargain for wealth—a whole “spin straw into gold” scenario that would last five hundred years. The most sickening part detailed the sacrifice of the earl’s youngest daughter and her husband.
They hadn’t cared that later generations would reap what they had sown. Death magic and collusion with demons were the two biggest sins a magical could commit. And not only had the Earl of Mersey and his family done both, but they’d also forever intertwined themselves with the House of Ravens.
The fallout would be tremendous.
But those were worries for later. Now he wanted to focus on the needs of his beautiful wife. Kerren was strong-willed and practical. If there was any Rackmore who could weather the storm, it would be her.
Besides, she had him—and he would never abandon her.
Gray took the stairs two at a time. It was dark upstairs, too, but he managed to find his way. Kerren stood in the middle of their richly appointed bedroom, which was cast in shadows, thanks to the single bedside lamp she’d left on.
Kerren was dressed in a diaphanous silver gown that clung to her curves, and offered him a feast. He knew well what lay underneath that simple dress, and he couldn’t wait to take it off her. She was so lovely. Her long blond hair hung in silky curls that draped her shoulders. One hand reached out for him, while the other stayed behind her back.
“What are you hiding?” he asked, amused. It was a game they often played. Sometimes, she had a can of whipped cream or a jar of caramel, and other times, she presented him with trinkets she’d found on her shopping excursions.
“It’s a surprise,” she said coyly.
“Can’t wait,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips across hers. “How’s your family?”
“Oh, fine,” she said. “They’ve already made arrangements—but they did say thank you for offering them the spare rooms.”
“Our house is big enough for ten people.”
She sighed. “You’re not going to talk about having babies again, are you?”
“No,” said Gray, though he very much wanted to start a family. Kerren said she wanted children, but she always tabled the topic whenever he broached it. Instead of saying anything else, he lowered his head to give her a proper kiss.
“Gray,” she murmured, stalling his progress.
He looked up, brows raised. “Hmm?”
“You would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” he said instantly.
She stepped out of his embrace, but kept her hand on his forearm. Her eyes gleamed. “I had hoped to keep you,” she said with a regretful smile.
Before he could respond to such a strange declaration, she placed that pale, perfect hand against his chest and whispered, “Kahl.”
Pain radiated through him, clogging his throat, throbbing in his eyes, bubbling in his veins. He tried to scream, but no sound could escape through the agony crawling up his windpipe.
His vision grayed at the edges as he stared down at his wife.
“You said you’d do anything for me.” The arm she’d had tucked behind her swung up in a wide arc. In her hand, she clasped an obsidian cudgel. The smooth stone smacked him hard in the temple.
Stars exploded behind his eyes.
Then the world went black.
Gray awoke to the stench of sulfur, and the chill of stone beneath his bare skin. His wrists and ankles were manacled to the granite. He felt the dark magic pulsing in the metal, and the thick ugliness of it stifling the room. His right side burned, as though acid had been dribbled from his temple to his shoulder.
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