Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore (2 page)
Read Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore Online
Authors: Michele Bardsley
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 appeared to die 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. And their opposites also existed, rarer beings still, known as thanaturges—magicals who could manipulate death, in all its forms.
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 the darkness and the light.
Twenty-five years ago…
Somewhere in Washington, D.C.…
Millicent Dover loved children.
She would never, ever be able to have any of her own, so she funneled all that motherly tenderness to her charges at the Raven’s Heart orphanage.
Raven’s Heart was a repository for those darlings who were too different to succeed in their mundane families. Should an infant begin to show signs of magical heritage or be born with hex marks or, in some sad cases, otherworldly extremities—tails being the most common—the parents could drop off their newborns, or any child up to the age of four, to Raven’s Heart.
No questions asked.
A death certificate would be issued, and if necessary, a coroner’s report.
And the poor dears would be left in Millicent’s care.
Since the House of Ravens funded the orphanage, their members received priority access to the young magicals. Even so, she worked very hard to place the children in good homes, and she worked even harder to make sure the children were well mannered, strong in mind and in body, and above all, obedient.
Millicent didn’t tolerate sass.
If the children at Raven’s Heart had not been adopted by the age of five, they were sent to workhouses in Mexico or gifted to European businesses that catered to a…well,
particular
clientele.
And then there were Millicent’s angels.
Like the adorable cherub who held her hand so tightly now.
She was such a good girl—smart, pretty, duteous. There was just something about her. She had a…sparkle. Millicent loved her angels the best, she really did, but it seemed as though Lenore had more to offer this world.
Well, thought Millicent, perhaps that shine would serve her well on the other side. Yes. Sweet little Lenore would be the brightest of all the angels.
Millicent opened the door to the special room. Only her angels were allowed to see it. It was all pink and ruffles and lace. Cheerful. Like walking into a pile of cotton candy.
In the corner sat a white chaise lounge, the perfect
spot for an angel’s repose. They always looked peaceful as they lay down to rest. It was a point of pride for her that they never suffered. She photographed their final moments and put those pictures into the scrapbooks she kept. Sometimes she would take her dinner breaks in this room and remember all the children she had loved, and who had loved her.
“It’s very pretty in here, Miss Millicent.”
“Thank you, dear.” She patted the girl’s bouncy black curls. “Go sit in the chair. We’ll have cookies and tea. And while you enjoy your treats, I’ll read you a story.”
The tea service was already set up; so was the plate arrangement of paper-thin cookies.
Lenore took her seat and waited for Millicent to take hers.
“One lump of sugar, or two?” asked Millicent as she picked up the teapot.
“Two, please.”
Oh, she was so polite. Such a treasure. Millicent smiled as she poured the fragrant liquid into the delicate china cups. “You must drink all of your tea before taking a cookie.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The girl placed the edge of the cup to her lips, and for the tiniest moment, Millicent had the urge to knock it out of her hand.
No. She’d been given her directive. The girl’s father himself had insisted his five-year-old daughter be put into Millicent’s care; and more specifically, that Lenore be given angelic treatment. Even though it was rare for magicals to give up their own children, especially a powerful Raven like Lenore’s father, it wasn’t exactly unheard of, either. She’d seen the disappointment in the father’s eyes as he looked at his daughter.
Mundanes gave up their children for being too magical.
Lenore’s father had given her up because she was not magical enough.
Such a shame, too, because the girl was otherwise perfect. But Millicent had long ago learned that she should not question her betters. Her life was devoted to the children at Raven’s Heart. And though she was experiencing unusual doubts about seeing Lenore to the other side, she would do her duty.
The girl took the barest of sips before grimacing. “Miss Millicent, this tastes funny.”
Startled, Millicent stared at Lenore’s light blue eyes. She’d seen a crystal like that once, such a light blue it was nearly white. Like ice.
Like judgment.
A chill stole through Millicent, but she would not be cowed by the girl. She frowned. “It’s very rude to make disparaging comments about what your hostess is serving. You are a guest, Lenore.”
“I apologize,” she said in a soft, penitent voice. “But isn’t it rude of the hostess to put death into the tea?”
Millicent blinked. The brew was her own special blend of herbs and alprazolam. She used just the right amount of jasmine and magic to disguise the taste.
“I would like to go home,” said Lenore. She put down the full cup, then folded her hands in her lap. She stared unblinkingly at Millicent. Those glacier eyes seemed more tinted now, more blue, more…magical.
The back of Millicent’s neck prickled, and sweat beaded her brow. Lenore really was the most amazing child. None of her angels had ever suspected the tea was doctored. None had ever uttered a complaint.
“I’m afraid you can’t go home,” said Millicent.
She nodded, then sighed. “Father does not want me.”
“You really should drink the tea, dear. It’s for the best.”
The girl glanced at the cup. “No, thank you. May I go now?”
“Where would you go?”
Lenore considered this question, one finger perched on her chin. “Away,” she said. “Far, far away.”
“That’s not a destination,” said Millicent. She rose, smoothed out her dress, and smiled at the girl. “While you decide where you would like to go, I will get the book. Do you like the story of Cinderella?”
“Yes,” said Lenore.
Millicent turned toward the bookshelf. Not only did the tall pink case house a well-stocked array of children’s titles; the bejeweled box on the upper shelf held a syringe. It was her plan B. Thirty-four angels she’d sent to the other side, and she’d never had to use it.
Lenore was an amazing child, indeed.
She opened the box and withdrew the syringe, cupping the cylinder in her hand to hide it, and then she pulled the oversized pop-up book from its place on a lower shelf.
“Now,” she said brightly as she turned, “let’s—”
Lenore stood by the table, looking at Millicent with such a sad gaze. “You really aren’t very nice,” she said. She looked around the room. “They’re all here. And they’re mad.”
Millicent swallowed the sudden, tight knot in her throat. She brought the book up to her chest, almost as though it might serve as a shield. “Who’s here, Lenore?”
“The children you murdered. They told me about the tea. They told me what you did.”
“I would never, ever hurt my angels,” she said sharply.
Pity entered Lenore’s gaze. She had such an adult look about her. And she was so eerily calm.
“Good-bye, Miss Millicent.”
She turned to go. She was even so bold as to take steps toward the door. Millicent was stunned by the
chit’s gall. Lenore actually believed she could walk out of here? Leave the only person who would ever,
ever
love her?
Rage thrummed through Millicent. She uttered a cry, dropping the book, and raised the syringe. She’d been wrong about Lenore. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t amazing. She was a horrid, horrid child. She didn’t deserve to be an angel. Not ever.
“Evil girl,” she hissed as her arm came down. “You will burn in hell.”
Lenore stopped, then turned. “Not me,” she said, her voice filled with sorrow. “You.”
The syringe never made contact.
Lenore’s odd blue gaze blazed as hard and cold as crystal, as ice…as death.
Violent wind came out of nowhere. It shattered the china, knocked books off the shelves, ripped the lace curtains. Lenore stood in the middle of the chaos, watching with distant eyes as Millicent was flung backward, the syringe falling uselessly to the pink shag carpet.
She landed on the chaise, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a silent scream. Pressure from little hands crushed her chest, and tiny fingers scratched at her windpipe.
Her lungs flattened.
Her heart slowed.
Her vision grayed.
She saw her angels then, all around her, pushing and shoving and clawing.
And as she struggled for her life, to escape from the vengeance of those she had loved, she saw Lenore give her one last pitying look and walk out of the room.
The quiet snick of the door’s closing was the last sound Millicent ever heard.
Present day…
“She’s filthy.”
Norie Whyte stared dully at the man in the black robe, his tall, bulky form hidden by the layers of shining cloth. The hood covered his face, but even through the mush that was currently her mind, she recognized the man’s voice. He was the one who kept showing up and bossing everyone else around. The two guys holding her up were leaning away as much as possible. She’d gotten used to the stench, just as she’d gotten used to sleeping on the floor and defecating in a bucket and being naked—and being stoned out of her mind.
“You said to make sure she couldn’t escape again. You didn’t say nothing about keeping her clean.” This protest rang out from the bald guy on the left, the one who liked to stare at her breasts and touch himself. He knew better than to try to get his jollies with her. She used to have
three guards, but one had made the mistake of trying to rape her.
The man in the black robe had punched a hole in his chest with his fist and magic, and then he had coldly watched the horny bastard bleed out on the floor. Then he’d used his magic to turn the body into ash. Just…
poof
. No more rapist. Then he’d looked at the other two, who’d both pissed themselves, and said calmly, “Do you also require an explanation of what ‘virgin sacrifice’ means?”
They didn’t.
She didn’t know Black Robe’s name, his title, his House, or his face. But she knew one thing quite well: He was an asshole.
“I won’t do it.” She wasn’t sure if the words actually made it past her throat. Then Black Robe swung toward her, and she knew he’d heard the hoarse protest.
“It’s your destiny, Norie.”
“Bullshit.” Her voice was stronger this time, but it still sounded like a rusted hinge.
He slapped her hard across the face. She felt the shock of that blow all the way to her toes, and she would’ve fallen had it not been for her captors’ holding her so tightly. Her cheek bloomed with wicked pain, but she still managed to turn her head and stare at Black Robe with as much defiance as she could muster.
Gods-be-damned! She wanted to punch him. She wanted to knee his balls and claw his face and pull out
his hair. But she hadn’t the energy, and her anger was sliding away, into the fog of apathy, into the resignation that was nearly as familiar as all the other wretched things about the turn her life had taken. She knew then that the newest dose of magic-laced drugs was kicking in. Her tongue felt thick, and her head felt stuffed with cotton.