Never Again (7 page)
He parked in front of the Piney Woods Café. If Lucy had dared to go inside, she wouldn’t have received a warm welcome. Cathleen Munch was a bitter woman, and it was definitely a case of the apple not falling far from the tree. She and her mother, Cora, had lived in a run-down trailer by the lake. Apparently, Cathleen’s father had drowned in the lake, though that happened before his time. Losing her husband turned Cora mean. She raised her daughter to hate everyone and everything as much as she did.
The café was the only place in town to catch a bite, so even people who didn’t like Cathleen or the imbalance of energy around the place would stop by—mostly to order their food to go. But Cathleen didn’t care about making friends. She liked money.
Another reason she would’ve tossed penniless Lucy out on her ass.
He sucked in some deep breaths and reinforced his magic shields. He didn’t want anything he picked up in the café sticking to him. The shield acted like Teflon to bad vibes. And Cathleen had plenty to go around.
Gray hurried through the rain and ducked inside. He stopped in the foyer, shaking off the drops that clung to his duster, and nodded to Cathleen. She sat, as usual, behind the register smoking a cigarette and perusing a gossip rag.
“Get something for you, Guardian?” she asked. Her voice echoed with a sneer, but she tempered it with a thin smile.
He knew better than not to order. Nothing made Cathleen surlier than someone trying to breathe her oxygen for free. Luckily, the food was actually good. “Piece of coconut cream pie,” he said. “You got any doughnuts?”
“Late in the day for those,” she said, lips puckering. “But I think there’re some jelly ones left.”
Gray grinned. “I’ll take ’em.” The grin was for what would result when he plopped noncake doughnuts in front of Grit and Dutch, and boy, was he looking forward to that, but Cathleen straightened on her stool and fluffed her hair.
He toned down his smile, and looked away, catching a glimpse of Marcy dashing through the door marked RESTROOMS. Her distress seeped through his shields.
“That girl,” snapped Cathleen, “deserves everything she gets. You know, she tried to help that Rackmore bitch?”
Gray resisted the urge to aim a fireball at Cathleen’s head. Instead, he kept his smile, and turned. “Rackmore?”
“Yeah. Came in earlier all wanting me to feed her. I made Marcy mop the foyer. Didn’t want no Rackmore germs infecting my place.” She sniffed. “You gonna do something about her? Went over to Ember’s. Walked herself right into that hoodoo bitch’s shop.”
It seemed that all women, other than herself, qualified as bitches in Cathleen’s estimation. He hadn’t met Ember, much less been in her tea shop. He’d asked the sheriff to welcome the new residents in his stead.
His gut twisted again. Had he really the nerve to think he’d been doing his job? Guilt crawled over him like red ants, stinging him endlessly. He didn’t like feeling this way. He didn’t like feeling
any
way.
any
way.
“How’s that pie and those doughnuts coming?” he asked.
Cathleen realized that her only help had stepped out, so she would have to wait on him. She wasn’t happy about it, but since Gray had jurisdiction above all others in town, she reluctantly slid off her stool to go fill his order.
He decided to track down Marcy. It bothered him that she seemed upset, and bothered him even more that her stepmother seemed to think she deserved to suffer. The door marked RESTROOMS opened into a dark, narrow hallway with paneled walls and dusty pictures of the café as it had looked when it first opened in 1845. It was one of the first businesses built by the mundanes, and Gray remembered the previous owner, Cathleen’s father-in-law, Wilber Munch, with a lot of fondness. His son, Leland, had been a nice guy, a little too malleable when it came to the whims of women.
On either side of the hallway were the doors to the men’s and women’s restrooms. And all the way at the back was a black metal door with a big red EXIT sign above it. He assumed it was an emergency door, broken no doubt, because Cathleen was too cheap to fix up the place.
He pushed through it. The rank smells of garbage hit him so hard he gagged. Goddess almighty! The last time he checked, the town had trash service. As he stumbled outside and looked around for Marcy, he noted how refuse overfilled both Dumpsters tucked into the tiny alley.
Gray moved away from the stench-filled morass and toward the end of the alley. He spied Marcy easily enough, since she was wearing a bright yellow dress. She huddled in the corner, under a portico that offered little shelter from the sluicing rain, her hands covering her face. “Marcy?”
Startled, she looked up, hiccuping sobs. He saw the shiner on her left eye. It was fresh, as was her split lip, which was still bleeding. Anger burst through the remnants of his apathy. Had he stopped so thoroughly giving a shit about anyone else that he let the whole town go to hell?
“What happened?”
“N-nothing. I . . . uh, ran into a door.”
“Either you tell me what happened,” he said softly, “or I’ll do a truth spell on the entire café to find out who hurt you. I’ll learn everybody’s secrets, including yours.”
“Guardian. Please.” She shook her head. “I c-can’t.”
“You can trust me, Marcy.”
She stared at him, eyes wide, and opened her mouth. Then she shuddered and shook her head. Gray was astounded that she was more afraid of who hurt her than she was of him. He realized that, somewhere along the way, the town had lost faith in him. He couldn’t actually remember the last time someone had come willingly to him with a problem or concern. He had assumed that all was well because no one bothered him.
It seemed that no one bothered him because they’d realized he didn’t care. A point he’d driven home by performing perfunctory magic, showing up only on festival days, and doing his yearly pilgrimage to the House in Dallas to reaffirm the town’s loyalty to the Dragons. He never came to Nevermore otherwise, never mingled with the residents, never tried to be more than the Dragon Guardian who lived in his big house on the hill.
I’m not just an asshole. I’m the biggest asshole on the planet.
If Lucy hadn’t shown up and stabbed his conscience, he wouldn’t be out here. He wouldn’t even know about Marcy’s trouble or that the café was in near ruins. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to the little witch or be even more pissed at her. He studied Marcy’s young, pale face, and decided Lucy deserved thanks. And, he supposed, his help.
But he wasn’t going to marry her.
“Tell me who hurt you, Marcy.” He didn’t want to touch her, didn’t want to make her fear that he would hurt her, too. Instead, he looked deeply into her eyes, and held her gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her mouth quivered.
“What will you do to him if I tell you?”
Kill him. Maim him. Kick his balls into his throat.
“You know the rules, Marcy. The Guardian decides punishment for transgressions within the town’s borders.”
“You know the rules, Marcy. The Guardian decides punishment for transgressions within the town’s borders.”
“Y-you’ll have to h-hear both sides of the s-story?”
He nodded. That, too, was part of the process.
“I love him,” she whispered. She looked at Gray, her expression haunted. “How is it possible to love someone who can do such awful things?”
His heart clenched—the same heart Kerren had skewered with her betrayal and then her dagger. “Sometimes we’re blinded by our emotions. But we always have choices.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s true.”
“Then tell me his name, and I’ll protect you.”
“Protect yourself!” She shoved him away, and ran. Gray stumbled backward into a soggy stack of wet cardboard boxes and fell on his ass. Cursing, he rolled to his side and staggered to his feet—just in time to watch Marcy stop at the corner of the café, turn, and yell, “Save the witch, too. She’s in trouble. We all are!”
Then she disappeared.
Gray took off after her, but when he reached the street, she was gone. The rain washed everything away, any trace she might’ve left to create a tracking spell, though he could probably find something of hers in the café. Or he could just go to the house she shared with Cathleen and catch her there. He clutched the corner of the building, his side aching, and thought about what to do next. He doubted Marcy wanted to be found, but too damned bad. And what was with all the warnings about saving Lucy and everyone being in trouble?
He hated to feel indecisive, especially when being pummeled by cold rain and the stench of the café’s refuse. Well, he might not be able to do anything about either Marcy or Lucy right this second, but he sure as hell could remind the citizens he was the Guardian of Nevermore.
Gray reentered the café through the emergency door and went into the men’s room to dry off. If he was anywhere else, he’d draw energy to create a drying spell, but with all the negative vibes here, he didn’t dare try. He might end up being engulfed in flames—because like attracted like, and evil created evil. Magic was about keeping balance, and most spells borrowed energy from whatever living things were around. Once the task was completed, wizards and witches had to release the energy again, and send it back.
Keeping the balance was important.
He’d let the café get out of sync. He’d let the whole town get out of sync. Come to think of it, he wasn’t exactly in balance himself, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t noticed the world around him crumbling away, shifting dangerously. Nevermore was vulnerable, and it was his fault. With the town out of magical alignment, portals could open—those that allowed in gremlins, which were annoying but mostly harmless, or those that invited in demons, which were also annoying, but a lot more dangerous. All of demonkind was magically bound to hell, and even if they managed to scrabble onto the earthly plane, either by portal shifts or by summoning spells, they could never stay for long. Still, it took no time at all for a demon to wreak havoc or, worse, make bargains with mundanes or magicals, and fuck up the sacred energies. Honestly, he was surprised a portal hadn’t popped open right in the middle of the café.
He’d put everyone in jeopardy, but he could fix it. Nothing bad had happened yet. Marcy’s warning still worried him, but he’d know if a portal had opened, or if demons were hanging around. That kind of magic couldn’t be hidden, especially not from him. He chased away the doubts filling his mind, the ones that said he was rusty, that he was blind, that he was too far gone, that it was too late.
It’s never too late.
Grit had lived by that phrase. And Gray had believed it, too—until Kerren showed him that sometimes, it damned sure was too late.
The duster had kept most of the rain off him, but his jeans were soaked from his fall, and his hair was a mess. He combed back the wet strands as best he could, and called it done. He didn’t spend too long staring at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t quite meet his own gaze, not yet ready to face his shame.
He exited the bathroom and returned to the front counter. Cathleen waited at the register, her impatience evident in her narrowed gaze and twitching fingers. Gray looked down at the small Styrofoam box and the greasy paper bag. He had no stomach for either the pie or the doughnuts.
Cathleen tapped the keys on the old-fashioned register. Magic tended to suffocate sophisticated gadgets, so most folks didn’t bother with technological upgrades, at least not in towns protected by magicals. Gray pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the cash.
“Five eleven,” said Cathleen. “I had Josie dip the doughnuts real quick, so they’re fresh.”
Gray handed over the bills, and grimaced. That explained the grease on the bag. The doughnuts had probably been sitting around in the back for Goddess knew how long, and that was why she’d thrown them in the fryer.
Cathleen carefully counted back his change, her expression morose, and then slammed the metal drawer shut. She still had enough respect for his position that she didn’t waddle over to her stool and pick up her magazine immediately.
“When’s the last time your garbage got picked up?” asked Gray.
She blinked at him, as if she couldn’t quite process the question. Her lips drooped into a limp frown. “What?”
“Your Dumpsters are overflowing. It’s against city code to litter.”
“I ain’t littering.”
“Have you been in the alley lately?” asked Gray pleasantly. “Nevermore has garbage service twice a week. It doesn’t look like the café’s trash has been picked up in a long while.”
Cathleen licked her lips nervously. Her gaze filled with uncertainty. “I can’t help it if my employees ain’t doing their jobs proper.”
“Actually,” said Gray in the same pleasant tone, “you can. Because you’re the proprietor—that makes you responsible for the well-being of this property, your employees, and your customers.”
“She canceled the garbage service.”
A young man extracted himself from a counter stool and sauntered toward Gray. The boy was tall and thin, dressed in a red coverall. On the upper right side was a small gold dragon with “Nevermore Sanitation” stitched above it, and below it, the name “Trent.” His hair was short and spiky, the tips colored neon red. A flame tattoo crawled up his neck. Gray could see multiple holes in his ears, and realized the boy probably wore piercings when he wasn’t on the job.
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