Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore (3 page)

BOOK: Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore
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“Are you feeding her?” Black Robe asked.

The guards shuffled their feet. “We try to, but she won’t eat.”

“She can’t die before the ceremony, damn it.” Black Robe sighed. “Very well. It’s obvious that she requires care other than yours now.”

“Aw right. You want us to clean up here?” asked the bald guy. He made the sound of an explosion. “Y’know, like we did the other places?”

“I can take it from here.” Black Robe grabbed Norie, sweeping her against his chest and raising one hand toward the startled men. Through her graying vision, she saw the fireball emerge, split in two, and hit each of her guards square in the chest. She wasn’t exactly sorry to see the bastards burn.

They screamed and flailed, falling onto the floor and trying to roll around. But the fire was born of magic, and it wasn’t like a mundane-created fire. It couldn’t be doused or suffocated.

Black Robe threw her over his shoulder and walked away. She realized vaguely she’d been holed up in a warehouse. She could smell the sea air, which wasn’t
exactly refreshing, what with all the dead-fish and garbage stink. Nausea roiled. She almost wished she would throw up, so she could ruin His Highness’s robe.

The building started to flame; in moments, it was completely on fire. Norie stared dazedly at the flames licking the wood and snaking toward the wharf. The whole dock would be on fire soon. Someone from Magic Protection Services would have to be called in to combat the spell. And the bastard holding her like a moldy old sack of potatoes probably didn’t give a shit if he burned down the whole city.

Black Robe tossed her into the back of the limousine. By the time she hit the seat, Norie was nearly unconscious.

“Everyone has a destiny,” said her tormentor again, “and you will fulfill yours.”

Those were the last words she heard before darkness claimed her.

Sheriff Taylor Mooreland slammed shut the door to his crotchety old SUV, grimacing at the creaking sounds of rusted springs and tired metal. He ought to put in for a new vehicle, but doing so would mean yet another change. And there’d already been a lot of changes around Nevermore, Texas.

It made life unnerving, damn it.

He liked routine. Order. Knowing that what happened
today would probably happen tomorrow. He took comfort in consistency.

He pulled his thick wool coat tighter, zipping it up to the neck. Then he leaned against the side of the SUV and stared up at the twinkling stars.

It wasn’t even dawn, for fuck’s sake.

He scrubbed his face, trying to wipe off the tired, but he still felt like a zombie. He needed more coffee, and that meant hauling his ass up to his office and wrestling with that new-fangled machine. His assistant, Arlene, had requisitioned a new coffeemaker, and Gray Calhoun, Dragon wizard and the town’s current Guardian, had had one imported from Italy. Italy! The thing was huge and shiny and filled with a thousand dials and spouts. It looked like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. These days, Gray took his job as Guardian seriously, getting involved in every aspect of protecting the town and its citizens, not to mention governing as well.

The wind whipped at Taylor’s coat and brought with it the ashy-sweet scent of incense—from the temple, no doubt.

He shifted and paused. The wind carried another scent, too—a wonderful smell that brought back memories of his mother in the kitchen baking. Grief sliced through him. She’d been gone almost six years now. And not a day went by that he didn’t miss her.

He sniffed the air.
Well, I’ll be.
It sure did smell like cookies.

Sugar cookies.

His favorite.

He looked around, but Main Street was dark and quiet. The brick buildings looked the same as ever, and so did the sidewalks and the street, and there, where Main Street ended in a large cul-de-sac, gleamed the shining brass dragon, and behind it, the Temple of Light. People showed up every week to pay homage to the Goddess and to their Dragon forebear, Jaed. The big wooden doors were always unlocked—allowing supplicants into the inner chamber with its polished oak pews and shining stained-glass windows. Magic kept the torches on the walls burning red and orange, the colors of Jaed—the colors of dragons. The temple was open to anyone, night or day.

He felt a sudden urge to walk down there, to slide into one of the pews, and to ask the Goddess for guidance. He’d always had a goal, a purpose. But lately, he’d felt unbalanced, as if the ground beneath his feet were about to shift and swallow him whole.

Damned nightmares. He hadn’t had a single good night’s rest in the last six days. He didn’t want to admit that the nightmares were costing him physically and emotionally. All the same, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Ember. She was a good friend who ran the local tea shop, and she had an herbal remedy for everything; surely she could whip up something tasty and magical to help him sleep.

For a long moment Taylor stared at the temple, a beacon of solace in the darkness, and then he turned toward the steps that led up to the sheriff’s office. It wasn’t that he had anything against the Goddess, or religion for that matter. He deeply respected not only the faith of believers but also the right of every individual to worship whatever deities he liked. But he wasn’t a church kind of guy.

Pain throbbed in the center of his forehead, and he rubbed at the aching spot. It looked like aspirin was in order, too. After a final sweeping glance of the empty street, he headed up the stairs and unlocked the door.

The smell of sugar cookies followed him inside.

“Please describe the…er, creature,” said Sheriff Mooreland. His pen was poised above the form his assistant, Arlene Tanner, had created specifically for this particular situation. He glanced up at the man sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs facing Taylor’s oversized antique desk.

“Red,” said Henry Archer. “Definitely red.” His cowboy hat was perched on his knee, his fingers tapping the crown. His gaze was steady, same as his manner, but the man’s expression kept wavering between disbelief and shock. “Scaly, too.”

Taylor nodded, then looked down at the form with its neat rows of check boxes. His pen scratched over the crisp paper. “What else?”

“Wings,” admitted Henry. “It was a big son of a bitch. Blotted out the moon, Sheriff. Startled me so badly last night, I tripped over my own two feet and went ass over teakettle into Maureen’s begonias.”

Taylor’s lips quirked. “And how’d she take that?”

“ ’Bout as well as you might think,” said Henry, smiling, too. “Don’t suppose Ant might be willing to come over and see if they can be coaxed back to life?”

“I’m sure my brother could be talked into it,” said Taylor. “Especially if it means he can get within snatching distance of one of Maureen’s apple pies.”

“Three were cooling in the kitchen when I left,” said Henry. “The more agitated my wife gets, the more pies she makes.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I rile her up just so I can get some of her blackberry cobbler.”

Taylor’s smile widened as he looked over the report. “All right, then, Henry. Anything else?”

Henry hesitated, and then he sighed. “I saw a dragon, Sheriff. It was almost as if the statue in our town square had come to life. You don’t think one of the magicals did a spell on it or something?”

Henry was looking for an explanation—other than, yeah, he’d seen a dragon flying around Nevermore’s skies. In a world where some people could talk to the dead, control the elements, or, like Taylor’s little brother, grow a garden from barren soil, the idea of an honest-to-goddess dragon still freaked people out.

“The statue’s protected. No one could pull a prank
like that even if they were fool enough to try,” said Taylor. He studied his friend. His instincts were humming, and he knew Henry was holding something back. “What else?”

Henry grimaced. “I swear I wasn’t drinking,” he said. “We got into the habit of not keeping alcohol in the house because Lennie…Well, you know. We never was much for the hard stuff anyway.” He paused, his gaze dropping.

Taylor let the man have a moment. Eight months ago, Henry and Maureen’s youngest son, Lennie, had been killed. The young man’s demise was one of three deaths that had been facilitated by Taylor’s former deputy and half brother, Ren Banton. Ren had been killed, too, and that was just as well. Hell’s bells. By the time it was all said and done, six people had gone to early graves. The whole debacle still weighed heavily on Taylor’s mind, but at least life had gotten back to normal—if life in Nevermore could ever really be called
normal
.

“Anyway,” said Henry, “I saw someone on its back.”

Taylor blinked. “You saw a person
riding
the dragon?”

Henry nodded. “A woman. I think she was wearing…uh, you know—a nightie.”

Oh, for the love of—
Taylor stifled a groan. He dutifully added the description under “More Details,” and then put the pen down. “That all?”

“Yessir.” Henry stood up and plopped the cowboy
hat onto his head. “Thanks for taking the time to hear me out.”

“I appreciate your coming in,” said Taylor. He stood up, too, and rounded the desk to shake Henry’s hand. Then he walked the man out of his office and into the main foyer. “You headed back to the store?”

“Yep.”

“Tell Maureen I said hello.”

“Will do.”

Taylor watched the man leave and then glanced at Arlene’s desk, just as big and old as his own. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to see everything in its place. The office had been changed here and there over the years, but, like most things in Nevermore, it had stayed largely the same. He liked the continuity of it all, the way this building and all that it housed had been used by those who’d stood vigil over the town before him.

Arlene kept everything spotless and orderly, just the way he liked it. The black-and-white-checkered linoleum floor gleamed despite its age. He suspected Arlene bought magic-enhanced cleaners, which was fine by him. He didn’t want to dip into the coffers to replace anything if he didn’t have to.

Taylor clasped his hands behind his back and looked around. Off to the left of Arlene’s desk was a locked door that led to the archives. Only Arlene ventured inside there, and not even he risked invading that domain.
To the right of the foyer was the entrance to his own office, which faced Main Street. The picture window allowed him a proper view of downtown, not that there was much to watch.

A narrow hallway led to the former deputy’s office, a supply closet, the bathrooms, and the break room, and the back door that opened onto the alley. Beyond the break room was the secured door that led down to the basement, and to the rarely used jail cells. One had been built especially to dampen the powers of magicals, but he’d never had cause to use it.

Satisfied that all was in order, Taylor returned to the foyer and breathed deeply. Before he could enjoy the satisfaction for very long, he caught sight of his watch and frowned. Arlene had been gone for more than half an hour. A couple times a day she’d go across the street and check on Atwood Stephens; the man, who looked like an exhausted rhinoceros, owned both the town garbage service and the weekly paper,
Nevermore News
. His health had been deteriorating rapidly, and not even Lucinda’s gift of healing had been able to do much more than slow the decline. Atwood’s nephew, Trent Whitefeather, had been taking over more and more of his uncle’s responsibilities. He was a senior in high school, and despite the burdens of his home life, was still a straight-A student.

Taylor headed for his office, but he heard the rattle of the front door, so he turned back. He expected to see
Arlene chug inside, already complaining about Atwood’s stubborn hide, but, to his surprise, he saw Gray Calhoun. The wizard still wore his hair long, but these days, he kept it neatly trimmed. His nose crooked in the middle; the angles of his face were sharp as blades, as sharp as the look in his blue eyes. A faded scar on the left side of his face twirled from his temple down his neck, hiding beneath the collar of his T-shirt.

“Gray,” he said, offering a congenial nod.

“Hey, Taylor,” said Gray, smiling.

He did that a lot these days. He was the happiest son of a bitch in town, and Taylor felt, well, jealous of his friend’s connubial bliss. It made him feel petty, so he heartily shook Gray’s hand, and said, “C’mon. Arlene finessed that damned machine into a fresh batch of coffee.”

“You might want something stronger,” said Gray as he followed Taylor down the hall and into the break room. “I just got word that my mother will be here in time for our Samhain celebration. With all twelve of her lictors.”

“A dozen bodyguards?” Taylor gestured for his friend to sit at the table, and Gray grabbed a chair and slid into it. “I thought she traveled with only three.”

“All the Consuls have been encouraged to keep their lictors close. Things are tense in political circles,” said Gray. “There are rumors that the House of Ravens might secede from the Grand Court.”

Shock stilled Taylor’s movements. He didn’t much pay attention to things outside Nevermore, but damn, that was bad news all the way around. “Can they do that?”

“There’s no precedence,” said Gray. “Not in two thousand years since the Houses and the first Grand Court were formed. If the Ravens withdraw from the current governing structure, it may well start a war.”

“That would mean a whole lot of scrambling for the mundanes, too. Nonmagicals won’t like the idea of rogue witches and wizards.”

“Let’s hope the current Consuls can make the Ravens see reason.”

“Yeah,” said Taylor. “Let’s hope.” He paused. “So, you got enough room in that house for your visitors?”

“Not for twelve giants and certainly not for my mother’s angst. When I told her about marrying Lucinda, I think her head exploded.”

“Well, you did marry the sister of your ex-wife, who sold your soul to a demon lord.”

“I’m aware,” said Gray drily.

Taylor handed the Guardian a mug and then took the spot across from him. “I’m surprised Leticia didn’t come down long before now.”

“No doubt she stayed away so she could plot in private.” He shook his head. “That’s not fair of me. She’s upset, I know, but once she meets Lucy, she’ll be fine with it.”

BOOK: Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore
5.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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