Never Again (4 page)
Bernard had been busy making sure no wizard from any House would look at her, much less share the same sidewalk with her. Worse, the minute she was spotted anywhere, her location was reported to Bernard.
He almost caught up to her twice. That was when she went off the grid. No using IDs, no staying in motels or renting cars, no hitchhiking on main roads, and using magic only when necessary. It had been three months since she’d escaped, but he wasn’t a man who let go of his possessions. Not ever.
She’d embarrassed him. Hurt him. And then she’d stolen from him.
Gray had been right: She was poison and would be until Bernard could be forced to remove the spell, but more than that, she wanted to be free of him. She wouldn’t go back to the penthouse, to him, ever.
Marrying Gray would not nullify the curse, but it would ensure her protection. Not even Bernard would risk the wrath of a Wizard of Honor—the highest level bestowed on any magic wielder—especially one from the House of Dragons. Even though Gray hadn’t been active in years, he was still very well respected. Gray may have given up his place in the House, but the talent, power, and skill that had originally earned him the honorific were still his to command.
Besides, some things you couldn’t give back.
Tucking her chin down and pulling up the hood of her green cloak, Lucinda hurried down the rickety stairs and splashed through the puddles dotting the cracked walkway. In the first week of March, winter still held dominion in Texas. The rain splattered coldly on her face and dribbled mercilessly into her shoes. She trudged away from the Victorian and headed toward the street, which she could follow to downtown. She had enough cash left for a simple meal. Maybe resting for a bit and eating something would clear her mind enough to figure out what to do next.
Anguish filled her as she trudged down the sidewalk. Holy hell, she’d gotten herself into trouble. Nobody who wanted to live got on the wrong side of Bernard Franco. At first, Lucinda had genuinely believed that he’d cared about her. For a while, he’d indulged her fantasy of a real relationship. She hadn’t known she was one among many mistresses—his little harem of horrors. Lucinda realized too late he was incapable of love, just like he was incapable of mercy.
How did I not know?
Even at the end, when she’d figured out what he’d done to her, she had no one to blame but herself. She was in Nevermore begging at the door of Gray Calhoun because of the choices she’d made.
Everything had a price. And now, she was paying what was owed.
Did she really deserve anything less?
Mexico was the only viable option now. Bernard had enemies there, so he would be less likely to follow her into the country. She could stick close to the beaches and use her aquamancy to earn a living. Very few from the House of Sharks lived landlocked, choosing to live in seaside towns or on islands or on boats. Her water gift wasn’t strong enough for her to seek refuge from the House—and Sharks tended to be cold, far too practical, not to mention predatory. People with her level of skills found themselves either in the entertainment business or as glorified dishwashers.
At this point, she was so broke that she was more than willing to wash dishes for a few bucks. It was better to barter for the things she needed than to try to earn coin to pay for them. She could trade her skills for food and shelter in Mexico. Magic wasn’t as regulated, and it would be easier to hide there, too.
Up ahead, Lucinda saw the square brick buildings that lined Main Street. Unlike most small towns, Nevermore hadn’t embraced modern progress. There weren’t any strip malls or fast-food joints like those that plagued other places. Most small towns attempted to preserve some of their heritage, mostly for the sake of tourism, while inviting in as much big city as they could handle.
Nevermore probably looked the same now as it had in 1845.
She hadn’t seen a car or a person since she’d left Gray’s home. It was lonely out here.
The gentle rain changed its intensity and rhythm. It slashed down, cold and angry. Adjusting the strap, Lucinda heaved the duffel bag over her shoulder and quickened her pace. By the time she reached the Piney Woods Café, which sat on a corner intersected by Brujo Boulevard and Main Street, she was soaked to the skin. Above the row of fogged plate glass windows was a peeling hand-painted sign. A shower of gold sparks spit out around a scraggly bunch of pines shaped to form the name of the restaurant. She assumed the sparks were supposed to represent magic, but instead it looked like the trees were going up in flames. Beneath this travesty of art was the claim that the diner had been serving Nevermore for more than a hundred and fifty years.
She stood outside, shivering, unable to seek the warmth and shelter she needed. She was so tired of being judged and rejected. Not one person she’d asked had helped her. Going to her sister had been out of the question. Kerren had always been a bitch, but the night she sacrificed Gray, she became something worse: a half demon. She apparently hadn’t read the fine print on her marriage to Kahl. Three days every month, Kerren returned to her human form and the earthly plane, usually to wreak havoc on her husband’s behalf—and hit whatever shopping mecca was nearby.
Lucinda swung open the door, cringing as a bell clanged above her head. Was it too much to ask to walk into a place without gaining every occupant’s immediate notice? Not that she could’ve hidden the fact she was wet, a witch, or a stranger.
She remembered how Gray had often spoken about the coziness of small-town living, but he’d also said most everyone knew your business—sometimes before you did.
That did not appeal to her.
Back then, Gray always had a twinkle in his eye and a kind word for everyone. She’d been too caught up in her own teenage drama to pay him much mind. He’d been her older sister’s boyfriend, and therefore someone to be dismissed. His and Kerren’s wedding had taken place at a small venue with family and close friends: A battle Gray had won, since her sister had very much wanted a huge, glamorous affair. She remembered very little about the nuptials—only that they had interrupted her own, more important plans for a Saturday afternoon.
She shuddered to think about the girl she’d been. And the woman she’d become hadn’t been much better.
Maybe she, more than any other, deserved the Rackmore curse.
Now that Lucinda stood inside the establishment, she wasn’t sure what to do next. The utter silence frayed her nerves. Water from her soaked cloak dripped onto the cracked linoleum, and she watched the drops splatter. Courage fled, but she managed to peek from underneath her hood.
Everyone was staring at her.
“Sorry. We’re closed.” The speaker was a chubby woman sitting behind the counter, a magazine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She wore a pink jogging suit and a pair of scuffed white Keds. Her hair was a tight cap of dull gray curls, her eyes icy blue, and her mouth a thin line of censure.
Lucinda’s gaze flicked to the full café, and back to the woman.
“I’ll wait for a table,” she said.
“No need,” said the woman. “We ain’t serving.”
Lucinda could smell the typical comfort fare—crispy fried chicken, meat loaf with tomato sauce, and even the peppered gravy that topped homemade mashed potatoes. And she definitely heard the clattering sounds of people in the kitchen whipping up all that wonderful food. Her mouth started to water, and her stomach growled.
“Go on, now,” said the woman, nodding toward the door. “Git.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lucinda stubbornly. Only she did understand. They knew she was a Rackmore, and they wanted nothing to do with her. News in small towns really did travel fast.
“This here is private property. I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone,” said the woman. Her eyes flashed with disgust. “We don’t got nothing here for you.” She smiled grimly. “Maybe you should head on over to Ember’s. Bet that crazy bitch would welcome you with open arms.”
“Mama!” A young woman bustled forward, smiling. The rude lady rolled her eyes and took a drag off the cigarette. The girl was rail thin—opposite in form and manner to her mother. She wore a yellow waitress outfit covered by a frilly white apron. Order pads and pens stuck out of the pockets on the front. Her brown hair was tugged into a ponytail and her blue eyes were much kinder. She sent Lucy an apologetic look. “Welcome to Nevermore,” she said. Then she flinched, obviously not wanting to sound too friendly. “Are you staying in town?”
“No,” said Lucinda.
She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip. Her glance flicked to her mother, and then back to Lucinda. “I’m so sorry. Really.”
“Don’t apologize,” chastised her mother. “She ain’t got no cause to be here.”
“Ember’s tea shop is just across the street,” said the girl. “Her place is neutral ground.”
Her gaze was filled with urgency, and Lucinda responded to it even though she had no idea why the girl would be so concerned about her welfare.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Hurry yourself on over there,” chirped the waitress, making shooing motions with her hands. She slanted a gaze toward the back of the restaurant, and then looked at Lucinda. “Get some of Ember’s chamomile tea. It’s real soothing.”
Her smile seemed more brittle than bright, and if Lucinda weren’t drowning in her own emotional morass, she might wonder what problems the girl had. It was obvious she wasn’t happy. Then again, dealing every day with that mother of hers would no doubt wear down any soul.
“Good day to you,” she said to the waitress, echoing the dismissal Gray had given her earlier. She pulled up the hood, dragged the duffel over her shoulder, and went back out into the storm.
Even though the rain pelted her relentlessly, she felt as though something heavy had been lifted off her shoulders. The Piney Woods Café had been oppressive, the atmosphere weighted down by the negative emotions of its owner. Though it was worse in the café, the energy imbalance affected the whole town. She’d felt the shift the moment she’d arrived. It was almost as if Nevermore were sliding up and down a teeter-totter. Still, it was a lovely place. Despite the magical quavering, there was an underlying sense of peace—masked, yes, but there. It seemed to be waiting. For what, she didn’t know. Lucinda trudged down the sidewalk. She’d hitched most of the way here, but with the sky wailing like a toddler amidst a temper tantrum, she wouldn’t get a ride to Dallas, much less one all the way to the Mexican border.
Her body shook, from cold, exhaustion, and lack of food. She gripped the strap of the duffel.
C’mon, Luce. You’ll be all right.
Sighing deeply, she stopped on the corner, and studied the bricked street. Two lines of black bricks laid in the opposite direction of the red ones delineated the crosswalk. There wasn’t a stoplight, or even a stop sign. She wondered how traffic was managed. Then again, how much traffic could a town with a population of 503 actually have?
C’mon, Luce. You’ll be all right.
Sighing deeply, she stopped on the corner, and studied the bricked street. Two lines of black bricks laid in the opposite direction of the red ones delineated the crosswalk. There wasn’t a stoplight, or even a stop sign. She wondered how traffic was managed. Then again, how much traffic could a town with a population of 503 actually have?
Feeling trepidation, Lucinda looked around. Her neck tingled, and she had the distinct impression someone was watching her. Probably a few people from the café had their noses pressed against the window waiting for her to get struck by lightning.
No one was on the street, and though several cars were parked along the curb, none were actually on the move. Nevermore was such a quiet place. What was it that Gray had once told her? Oh, yes. That as soon as the streetlights came on, Nevermore rolled up its sidewalks. After the excitement of living in Europe and New York City, she wouldn’t have thought she’d ever consider living in such a tiny town. No gourmet restaurants, or theater, or coffee shops, or Neiman Marcus anywhere in sight . . . mere months ago she would’ve been appalled. But today, with nothing except a few clothes and even fewer bucks to her name, and no one to give a damn, Nevermore seemed more like sanctuary. It was almost as if she could belong here.
Don’t be silly, Luce.
Even if Gray allowed it—and he wouldn’t—she could probably expect the same treatment she’d gotten at the café. At least in Mexico, no one would care who she was. A lot of outcasts ended up there because, like her, they had nowhere else to go.
Goddess, she was tired.
She stood on the curb, trying to decide if she should head toward the highway, or check out the tea shop—at least until the storm abated. Through the sheets of gray rain, she spied the place across the narrow two-lane street. The corner brick building was two stories, flat on the top, and painted purple. It looked as square and squat as a piece of birthday cake. The gold lettering on the single, large tinted window read:
Ember’s Tea and Pastries
All Are Welcome Here
“I hope you mean that,” muttered Lucinda. A hot cup of chamomile with a lemon scone sounded like heaven. She looked both ways, then stepped off the curb and started across the street.
When she got to the middle of the crosswalk, the roar of an engine startled her so badly, she stopped and swung toward the noise. Barreling down the street was a black Mustang with red-and-yellow flames painted on its hood.
It was headed straight for her.
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