Never Again (38 page)

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Authors: Michele Bardsley

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Paranormal, #Romance

BOOK: Never Again
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“Yes,” said Lenore.
Millicent turned toward the bookshelf. Not only did the tall, pink case house a well-stocked array of children’s titles, but 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 it 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, dropped 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, and turned. “Not me,” she said, her voice filled with such sorrow. “You.”
The syringe never made contact.
Lenore’s odd blue eyes 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 white chaise, her eyes wide, her mouth opened 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 so very much, she saw Lenore Thelma White give her one last pitying look, and walk out of the room.
The quiet
snick
of the door closing was the last sound Millicent heard.
 
Present day . . .
 
Sheriff Taylor Mooreland glanced at his ever-efficient assistant’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 mostly stayed 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, for one thing, and for another, he wasn’t a big fan of new and different.
New and different meant trouble.
He thought about Lucinda Rackmore—well, Lucinda Calhoun now. She was all kinds of new and different. She turned Gray’s world upside down, not to mention the whole town, and it seemed like—though he didn’t much like admitting it—everything was somehow better.
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.
He did a quick check around, a habit motivated by Ren’s betrayal. The deputy had used his access to the office to cull through files, break into Taylor’s safe, and paw through Arlene’s precious archives.
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 with his inspection, Taylor returned the foyer, and breathed deeply. Yep. Life was all right so long as it had order.
He checked 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, and he’d still managed to get straight As in all his classes. School had let out a week ago, so at least the kid didn’t have to worry about studying
and
working over the summer.
Taylor turned to go into his office, but he heard the rattle of the entrance door open, 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.
“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 a sliver of 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. I’ve got fresh 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 on Friday. 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 only traveled with three.”
“Things are tense in the Grand Court,” said Gray. “Especially after Leopold White’s arrest. Every Consul has been encouraged to keep all their
lictors
close, at least until the fallout can be assessed.”
“You got enough room in that house?”
“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, the one who sold your soul to Kahl to keep her wealth.”
“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. She’s upset, I know, but once she meets Lucy, she’ll be fine with it.” He gave Taylor a sly grin. “And I have an ace in the hole.”
“Oh?”
“I get to play the ‘mother of your only grandchild’ card,” said Gray, “because Lucy’s pregnant.”
Taylor almost dropped his mug. Instead, he put it on the table, and reached over to smack Gray’s shoulder. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks.”
For a moment, Gray looked dazed, and then he offered such a goofy grin, Taylor couldn’t help but laugh.
“How long is your mother staying?” he asked.
Gray blinked. “Ah. Well, through the Summer Solstice festival.”
“So, she’ll be here for . . . ” Taylor narrowed his gaze. “Oh, crap. You haven’t told her?”
“No. Other than you and Ember, we haven’t told anyone.”
“Well, you don’t have to,” said Taylor, rolling his eyes. “Not with all the reports I’ve been getting.”
“Sorry. We try to be discreet, but it’s not easy.”
Taylor smiled. “Shifting into a dragon is no small feat.” He sent Gray a level gaze. “And neither is flying around with Lucy on your back.”
 
Even vampires can be afraid of ghosts . . .
 
After the death of her husband—and the end of her dreams of
motherhood—Elizabeth Bretton returned to the family estate
in Broken Heart, Oklahoma. Little did she know she would
also give up her life as the Silverstone heiress.
 
But escaping the past isn’t that easy—especially with a
vengeful ghost trying to kill her, a 150-year-old mystery to
solve, and an outrageously hot were-jaguar named “Tez”
trying to get into her boudoir . . .
 
Available wherever books are sold or at
penguin.com
S0163
 
 
Everybody makes mistakes—and my first one was named Connor, a heart-stealing Scottish hottie. I thought our night together was the beginning of a love story, which turned out to be my second mistake. I, Phoebe Allen, lifelong Broken Heart resident and vampire, am now mated to a half-demon.
 
Thankfully Phoebe’s four-year-old son Danny is safely away
at Disneyworld with his human father. Because Phoebe is
right in the middle of major paranormal drama, helping
Connor and his rag-tag group of friends retrieve part of an
ancient talisman in order to ward off Connor’s vicious
stepmother, an über-demon named Lilith. Phoebe swears she
isn’t falling for any of Connor’s demon charm. But still, he’s
willing to do anything to protect her and prevent demons
from storming into Broken Heart. And her undead heart
can’t resist a bad boy with identity issues . . .
 
Available wherever books are sold or at
penguin.com
 
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