Never Again (11 page)
To communicate with the sheriff, he needed aqueous material, and spied a puddle close by. He didn’t want to leave Lucy, but it wasn’t like he was doing her much good. He’d never felt so helpless before. . . . Okay, not true. Nothing would ever make him feel more helpless than waking up chained to a stone slab with his wife pressing a knife to his chest.
But this was damned close.
He wanted to touch Lucy, to console her, but it would be worse for her if he did. Franco had covered all the angles with his curse, bringing Lucy not only physical torment but apparently the inability to accept any gestures meant to comfort or allay her pain.
Gray stood up, strode to the puddle, and then knelt next to it. He gathered magic, created the communication spell quickly, and sent it toward the water. The muddy liquid accepted the red sparkles, absorbing the purpose of the magic, and within moments, he saw Taylor Mooreland’s face peering at him. Gray spotted a coffee cup and spoon off to the side and realized the spell had found the sheriff doing dishes in his kitchen.
“What’s wrong, Gray?”
“Marcy’s dead,” he said. “And Lucy . . . Lucinda Rackmore is injured.”
“Where are you?” Taylor’s expression was all business. Only his eyes revealed the ghosts of his concern.
“Off Cedar Road, near the highway exit ramp.”
“There’s a portal near there,” said Taylor. “It’ll take me less than ten minutes to get to the one at the office.”
Gray nodded. The transport portals were old magic, created by the Dragons to help the people of Nevermore travel quickly between their farms and town. No one really used them much anymore, and some locations had even been lost over time.
“Hold tight,” said Taylor. “I’ll be right there.”
Another thought had been circling, and Gray’s instincts urged him to go with the odd idea. “Taylor?”
Impatience flashed across the sheriff’s face. “Yeah?”
“Bring Ember.”
Taylor’s eyes widened a fraction, but he didn’t argue. He nodded, and disappeared from view. Within moments, the image floating on the water faded.
Gray returned to Lucy. She was soaked, from both rain and sweat, her body shaking, her teeth gritted. Her eyes were closed, too, but there was no escaping her torment. Franco had made sure of that.
“Gray?” Her voice was a mere whisper.
“Here, baby. I’m here.” He sat down, not giving a shit about the uncomfortable ground or wet earth. God, he wanted to touch her. Just to pluck one strand of hair, or to brush his thumb over her cheek.
Her eyes flickered open. The shadows smudging the delicate skin underneath those pain-filled orbs bespoke exhaustion and starvation. Looking at her now, he could see how frail she looked, how thin and pale. She’d been near collapse when she’d reached him this afternoon, and still she’d managed to soldier on.
How could he have turned her away?
“I’m so sorry.” Tears leaked from her devastated gaze. She shuddered, and he realized the effort to talk was costing her more pain. Guilt battered at him. He’d been such a self-centered prick.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said tightly. “For anything.”
“I shouldn’t have come here.” Her body jerked, and she hissed, her hands clenching into fists.
“Don’t talk!” he demanded roughly. He gentled his tone. “Don’t make it worse.”
She actually laughed. She stared up at him, her body contorted with pain, but a sliver of humor glinting in her gaze. He was amazed. Lucinda Rackmore was a survivor. He would’ve never guessed the spoiled girl he’d known so long ago had a core of steel.
“Look what I’ve done,” she said. “Marcy . . . she was just a kid.” She swallowed, hard, and he saw her legs twitch. Was she serious? Lucy herself was only twenty-five. But he knew both the great reckoning and Franco had aged Lucy far past her years. She spoke with a bitter, resigned tone no one should use, least of all a girl with so much power, so much potential. Mostly, though, he heard the overwhelming exhaustion dripping from her words. She was close to giving up—he could feel it.
Even steel melted under the right conditions.
“This isn’t your fault,” he said, but even he heard the doubt in his own voice. He didn’t know what had happened. Maybe it was her fault. He didn’t think she would do anything to harm Marcy on purpose, but what if Marcy had suffered because Lucy had brought tragedy with her?
Her blood-streaked face turned away, and he felt as though he’d failed her again. He tried to drum up the old indignation at her audacity of seeking him out—he even tried for the apathy that had previously served him so well—but he couldn’t. Damn it all. Lucy had no one.
Not even him.
“Gray!”
He looked up and saw the sheriff and Ember striding across the road. Behind them sparkled the oval doorway of the portal, which closed like a big winking eye. Relief washed over him. He wasn’t alone dealing with this mess anymore. The sheriff offered Lucy a cursory glance, then turned and strode toward Marcy’s body.
Ember knelt beside Lucy and looked down at her with such compassion, Gray was reminded yet again of his own emotional inadequacies.
“Don’t touch her,” he said. “It worsens the pain.”
“I know dis curse,” she said softly. “It’s demon juju.”
Gray felt as though she’d struck him.
“What?”
“What?”
“You don’t tink dey Goddess give such magic to us, do you?” She shook her head. “Magic neutral, Guardian. You know dis. Dat’s why dey’s got to be balance.” She sniffed. “But da Dark One don’t play by nobody’s rules but his own.”
Demon magic.
Shit.
Fear slicked his spine. “You’re sure?”
Shit.
Fear slicked his spine. “You’re sure?”
“I don’t say such tings lightly.”
It had never occurred to him that Franco had tapped into the powers of hell. Of course, it made sense. It explained the complexity and horror of Lucy’s curse. If Franco was messing with Pit magic and Gray could prove it, he’d have the bastard by the balls.
“Can you help her?” he asked.
Ember looked pensive. Then she slowly, sadly shook her head. “She got to do the sufferin’.”
He blanched. “She said it would take three days.”
“I’m sorry, Guardian. Ain’t no fix for dis.”
“Gray,” called the sheriff.
He looked over his shoulder and saw Taylor crouched near Marcy. He waved him over. Gray hesitated, reluctant to leave Lucy.
“Go on,” said Ember. “I’ll stay.”
The sheriff and Marcy’s corpse were only a few feet away, but as Gray crossed the distance, it felt like miles. He didn’t want to examine his need to stay near Lucy. It felt too much like giving a damn.
Gray felt even more like a failure as he stared at the crumpled form of a girl who hadn’t really had a chance to live. If only Marcy had trusted him, he might’ve been able to save her. She’d been so scared. Scared of the person who’d hit her—and likely the same person who’d finished the job.
Save the witch,
she’d said. Then she’d gone and tried to save Lucy all by herself.
Save the witch,
she’d said. Then she’d gone and tried to save Lucy all by herself.
“The witch do this?” asked Taylor.
Gray’s head shot up. “What?”
“Your friend.” Taylor’s expression revealed nothing and his tone was as flat as the Texas panhandle. “Marcy’s dead, and she’s not.”
“Go take a real good look at Lucy,” said Gray, fury boiling through him. “Tell me if you believe she had the strength to beat a girl to death. And then, you sanctimonious ass, tell me her motive for hurting the person trying to help her.”
The sheriff was too professional to let Gray’s animosity get to him, but he couldn’t stop the surprise widening his gaze. Yeah, well, he wasn’t the only one surprised. Gray’s rusty protective instincts had been roused.
Taylor tipped his hat back in the aw-shucks move Gray knew was calculated. “Sorry,” he said with that country-boy sincerity, “but I’ll have to question her.”
“Sure,” he gritted out. “If she fucking survives, you can fucking question her.”
Taylor said nothing. Instead, he reached out and clasped Gray’s shoulder. Gray didn’t appreciate the attempt to calm him. He pulled away from his friend’s grip.
“You didn’t see her—what she did. Lucy almost died trying to bring Marcy back. She’s a thaumaturge.”
This time the sheriff couldn’t stifle his shock. “Holy shit. Why didn’t it work?”
“Because Marcy was already gone. Bernard Franco used demon magic to curse Lucy,” said Gray. “She used her thaumaturgy, and now she’ll be in agonizing pain for days. You think she’d risk that if she’d murdered Marcy?”
“Maybe she didn’t mean to kill her, and was trying to bring her back.” But the sheriff didn’t sound too sure.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you look for some evidence before coming up with your theory? And try not to let your prejudice against Rackmores get in the way.”
Taylor flushed, his gaze narrowing. “You think I’d arrest her just because she’s a Rackmore?”
“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?”
Taylor’s nostrils flared, and he took a step forward, his hand resting on his gun belt. Gray wanted the sheriff to try and punch him. He’d like nothing better than a low-down dirty fight, because he really wanted to hit something.
“Dat enough!” Ember popped up and marched toward them. “Dis ain’t no playground, and you not children. We got tings to do. Important tings.” She knelt next to Marcy and muttered something incomprehensible, a prayer maybe, then closed the girl’s eyes. Her gaze flickered to the sheriff. “Don’ tell me not to touch da evidence, neither. Child all crumpled up on the road like a used tissue. And what you do? Throw temper tantrums like spoiled boys. Shame on you both!”
Taylor looked away, and cleared his throat.
Gray felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck. Ember was right. He was acting like a jerk. Again. Taylor was good at his job, even if he had a blind spot for Rackmores. At the end of the day, he trusted his friend to do the right thing.
“Don’t call her ‘the witch’ in that snide tone again,” Gray said. “Her name is Lucy.” He turned on his heel and returned to his pain-stricken charge. He crouched down, studying her. She was a mess—a shivering, filthy, courageous fucking mess.
After a short conversation with the sheriff, Ember joined him.
“Use the portal,” she said, her accent nearly gone. It seemed the stronger her emotions, the more her Jamaican showed. She was getting back in control of herself, and Gray needed to do the same. “I’ll drive your truck back to your house.”
“Thank you.” Goddess above, he didn’t want to pick up Lucy. How much agony would that cause? He glanced at Ember and knew from her expression she understood his dilemma. “Isn’t there any other way?”
“ ’Fraid not.” That one dark eye peeking from behind the purple lens studied him. “You a dream walker, aren’t you?”
Startled, he stared at her. “What?”
Her smile was full of secrets. “What
what
? You are a Dragon, aren’t you?”
what
? You are a Dragon, aren’t you?”
He got the strange feeling she wasn’t talking about his House designation. A cold sweat broke out, and he shook his head. Then he nodded. Of course, she meant his House. What else could she mean?
Not many wizards outside of the Dragon Order of the Moon, a strict, religious order of magicals devoted to dream walking, even tried it. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, which was why most Dragons didn’t bother with trying to learn the intricacies. He’d tested well on dream walking for his high school entrance exams, and the summer before he started ninth grade, his mother had sent him to one of the order’s temples in California to study the art of entering another’s subconscious. It had been years since he had done it—it was too easy to get lost inside dreams, to forget about the real world.
“I can’t stop my chickie’s pain,” she said softly. “But soon, her body will give out and she’ll sleep. Not for long. That curse too strong to give her much relief. You dream walk with her, give her strength, hope.”
Gray nodded, though he was unsure if he could manage it. Yet, if he could alleviate a little of her torment, give her something to hold on to as she suffered through Franco’s curse, it was worth a try.
“Pick her up, and go,” said Ember. “Nothing gonna make it better ’cept to do it fast.” She aimed her palm toward the field across the road. He felt a shift in the atmosphere, the tingle of powerful magic, and the portal opened. How the hell had she managed that? Portals required keys, and she didn’t have one. Or hell, maybe she did. It was just another nail in the coffin of his own apathy.
I’ll make it up to Nevermore. To everyone. Especially to Lucy.
Sucking in a steadying breath, he leaned down and scooped up Lucy. She wailed, and his stomach clenched.
Please, give her succor, Goddess.
He couldn’t stand that he was hurting her. He ran across the road, trying not to jostle her, but failing miserably.
Please, give her succor, Goddess.
He couldn’t stand that he was hurting her. He ran across the road, trying not to jostle her, but failing miserably.
Her shrieks turned to choked sobs as he stepped through the portal. Magic tingled around him and he felt a rush of wind and then, almost instantly, light. He hadn’t even considered that he might end up at the sheriff’s office and have to transport her farther. But somehow, Ember had managed to send them to his house. She’d known his home had a portal—actually it had several—but he couldn’t worry about Ember’s uncanny knowledge. He almost cried himself when he stepped through into his bedroom. He hurried to his big, unmade bed, and as gently as he could, he put Lucy down on top of his black coverlet. She looked like a broken ceramic doll tossed into a tar pit. He risked tucking a pillow under her head. She flinched and moaned, but at least she didn’t issue one of those heartrending screams. He didn’t dare risk trying to tuck her in. He didn’t want to add any more pain.
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