Never Again (8 page)

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Authors: Michele Bardsley

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

BOOK: Never Again
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Trent stopped next to Gray, and leaned on the counter, his insolent brown gaze on Cathleen. “She called a couple months ago complaining about the service fees. She told the boss she wasn’t gonna pay for pickup anymore, so he told us to skip her on our route.”
“Why wasn’t this brought to my attention?” asked Gray.
Trent’s gaze flicked to his. “Why would it?” The question held puzzlement, not resentment. He tossed a tenspot onto the counter and saluted Cathleen.
“You’re not welcome here no more!” she screeched. “I won’t serve you again, you half-breed bastard!”
Trent grinned and wiggled his fingers at her. “I prefer Ember’s anyway. It smells too much like old bitch in here.” He left, the door slamming shut behind him, the bell over the doorway jingling loudly in the ensuing silence.
The kid had balls. Gray liked him. He turned toward Cathleen, relishing her look of outrage.
“Cathleen Munch, I find you in contempt of the city ordinance 3.125, proper disposal of refuse.” Gray was kinda surprised he remembered the actual ordinance. Maybe he wasn’t so out of practice, after all. “I order you to remove the garbage from the alley, and hereby give you verbal notice of inspection. As specified by our laws, you have forty-eight hours to prepare for the arrival of myself and my appointed inspectors. Until then, I’m closing the café.”
Cathleen’s eyes went wide, her mouth flopping open. Then she started to sputter, her arms waving. “You can’t! You’ll ruin me! I demand a lawyer!”
“If you do not wish to abide by Dragon law,” said Gray evenly, “then do not live in a Dragon town.” He turned to the patrons still sitting at their seats and staring at him. “The café is closed.
Leave.
” Everyone knew a Guardian command when they heard it. They scrambled from their seats, nearly trampling one another to get out of the café.
“Wait!” screamed Cathleen. “Y’all still gotta pay!
Wait!
”
No one paid attention to the screeching purple-faced woman. Her fury hit Gray’s shields like hot grease, sizzling and popping. Gray was too strong a wizard and Cathleen too much a mundane for her emotions to affect him magically, but he was still amazed by the strength of her hatred. It almost had its own heartbeat.
Soon, everyone was gone, except the overworked short-order cook. Josie Gomez ambled out of the kitchen holding her big red purse under her arm. Gray had gone to school with her. She’d been a sophomore when he was a senior, worked hard not only in her classes but on her family farm. She was one of three girls, with two much younger sisters, and she was also one of the few kids who never talked about getting out of Nevermore. She liked her family, the town, and her life, in general. She was short and curvy, her caramel skin radiant, even though she’d just spent hours in a hot kitchen. Her black hair was twisted into a long braid.
“Gray,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”
“Don’t you talk to him,” screeched Cathleen. “He’s shut down my business. And I ain’t paying you, neither. You don’t work, you don’t get paid. I don’t care how sick your daddy is.”
Fire erupted from Gray’s fingertips. Josie’s eyebrows went up. “I understand the feeling,” she said. “But she’s not worth it.”
It was an effort to put out the flames. His anger was almost tangible.
Josie turned to Cathleen. “I’ve put up with a year’s worth of bullshit from you. You’re a bitter, mean woman with a shriveled soul. You’re going to die alone, Cathleen. And no one will ever mourn you.”
Cathleen sucked in a shocked breath, her chubby little body quivering with fury. “How dare you!”
“How dare
you
!” said Josie. “I quit.”
Cathleen huffed in outrage and crossed her arms, apparently thinking about what kind of meanness she could do next. Or maybe she was grappling with the idea of losing the only cook willing to work for her sorry ass.
Gray touched Josie’s shoulder. “Angel’s sick?”
“Cancer. He’s getting treatments. We have hope.” She gave him a quick hug. “Drop by if you can. He’d love to see you.”
Gray felt another pang of guilt. He sucked as Guardian. Big-time. He nodded to Josie, and then watched her leave. Fury boiling, he turned toward Cathleen. She was still reeling from Josie’s exit speech, but he didn’t give a ripe shit.
“I’ll return in forty-eight hours to complete the inspection,” he said. “If even the teeniest tiniest thing is out of place, if you’re within a hair’s violation of any city code or Dragon law, I’ll close the café permanently.”
“You wouldn’t,” she sneered. “This is the only place in town to eat. It’s been here since the beginning. People’ll get mad if you do something stupid, Guardian.”
Gray leaned over the counter and captured her gaze. “I will close the café,” he repeated, “and then I will ban you.”
Something like fear slithered across her expression, but Gray got the odd feeling it wasn’t because of him.
“Fine,” she spit out.
He left the items he’d purchased on the counter. Thinking about eating anything made in this joint turned his stomach. As he turned to go, Cathleen hissed, “Now that you’re done botherin’ decent folks, you gonna do something about that Rackmore bitch?”
“I am the Guardian,” he said in low, steely voice. “I suggest you remember that I am capable of much more than merely closing your place of business and bespelling you into leaving.”
This time when fear flashed in her eyes, Gray knew it was because of him. She stepped back from the counter, her expression uncertain. It was as if she’d realized the puppy she’d been teasing was really a hellhound. He had no doubt she was remembering that he was not only a Dragon but also a wizard who’d literally been to the domain of the Dark One—and returned to tell the tale.
“You wouldn’t disappear me,” she said, her voice thin with terror.
His lips split into a feral grin. “The hell I wouldn’t.” He turned to go, and then he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Just so you know, I’m extending Lucinda Rackmore magical privileges and residency in Nevermore. The next time you see her, I suggest you be polite.”
Chapter 3
 
“We’re fucked.” The panicked voice echoed through the dimly lit basement as the big man clambered down the stairs, scuffling toward the table filled with magical objects. “We gotta bolt.”
“No, Lennie.” The black-robed figure reached out and stilled the movements of his friend, who was gathering up the items and stuffing them into his pockets. “We’ll move up the timeline.”
“Two days!” screeched his companion. “Are you shitstupid? The portal—”
“Is already starting to open.”
“It is?” He paused. “We’ll be rich then. Right?”
“You’ll be showered with gold,” he lied. Oh, there would be wealth galore, but not the kind that could be spent. Magic. He needed it. Craved it.
Deserved
it. And demon magic was the most powerful. All he had to do was call forth a demon lord and barter for it. Soon, Gray Calhoun would be in hell where he belonged . . . and the Guardian’s magic would belong to him.
It had taken him five long years to gather the items so carelessly stuffed into his friend’s pockets. His power had been too diluted with mundane blood to use without some sort of amplification. Once he had the magic, he wouldn’t be so gods-be-damned weak. Then he could close the circle. What had been started in his childhood could be finished. When he was strong, stronger than any of
them
, they would all know the truth, and they would bow before him—no, scrape and beg. He would make a far better Guardian than whiny, pathetic Gray Calhoun.
“I’m worried.”
His big, dumb, naive friend was such a nuisance.
“No need. Everything’s under control.”
“Miss Ember said—”
His sigh cut off the statement. “I told you not to listen to Ember’s ramblings.” He patted Lennie on the shoulder. “Is that why you tried to run the witch over?”
“Thought I could take care of her, you know? We don’t need a Rackmore here messing things up.”
We don’t need you messing them up, either,
he thought. Bringing his old buddy on board had been a mistake born from sentimentality. Had he not learned his lessons about hardening his heart? His friend had been useful, but he feared he would soon be nothing more than hindrance.
“Put the objects back. I have another errand for you.”
Reluctantly, the man put back all the items he’d taken, straightening them out in neat rows. “I thought we had everything we needed.”
“We did.” He looked down at the table, at the power that glowed among the magic-made artifacts. He needed only one more—the key to making them all work. The one that had been taken from him. “You must promise not to hurt the witch. I need her.”
“For what?”
His gaze flicked over his friend’s suspicious expression. So many ignorant people believed the Rackmore curse was like the plague—if you touched a witch, you might lose your money, too. They didn’t understand the intricacies of the demon magic, the beauty and precision of the spellwork required to divest thousands of Rackmores of their wealth and keep them from it forever. He appreciated the artistry of the curse, the cruel orchestration required to create such a delicate, unbreakable web of misfortune. He was fascinated by it, admired it, and wanted, above all, to learn how to master it.
“I promise you,” he said, “that the witch will not live. But before she dies, she will serve our purposes well.”
“If you say so. Well, what crazy-assed thing do you want me to do now?”
He smiled, drew big, dumb Lennie away from the table, away from the magic they’d stolen, and told him what to do next.
 
“Well, now. Here you are,” said a female’s Jamaicantinged voice. A tall, voluptuous black woman stood in the foyer. She was draped in shades of purple and black, her beringed hands clasped in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” Gray said. “Were you expecting me?”
Her deep-throated laughter threw him off guard. Unsettled, he watched as she slapped her thigh and hooted. “Expecting you. Oh, da Goddess, She has a sense of humor, dat one.
Expectin’
you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t see the humor,” said Gray.
“No,” she offered, her merriment tapering off, “you wouldn’t. When’s the last time you found anything to smile about, Guardian?”
It seemed no one in this town, not even the new residents, respected his position. He’d admit he hadn’t exactly been the best Guardian, but he was determined to do better. The town and its citizens deserved no less. Still. His ego was taking a bruising today—and he had no one to blame but himself.
“Oh, now. Don’t you worry,” she said, stepping forward to grasp the crook of his elbow. “Everything works out for a reason. Just not always the reason you like. Or want. But sometimes, you can’t see what’s best for you.” She tapped her left temple, which drew his attention to the blackened side of her strange eyewear. He sensed the magic of the lenses, but he also realized that she had shields up, too. He reached out, trying to figure out what was so odd about her power, but she made a
tsk
ing sound and waved a finger in a you’re-being-naughty gesture.
“Now, now. You stop dat. I promise I only bring good juju to Nevermore.”
“You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical.”
She chuckled. “Not so skeptical dat you didn’t come to meet me and my Rilton face-to-face. Not so worried then, were you?”
He noticed her accent strengthened every so often, sorta like a radio station that kept fading in and out. He didn’t like that she was right about him skipping her intake interview. He’d let Taylor handle processing the new magicals. But Taylor was a thorough bastard, even more skeptical than Gray, and hated change, especially when it included adding new people to the town’s roster. If Ember and her husband passed his inspection, then they must’ve impressed the hell out of the sheriff.
“So. You lettin’ her stay.” Ember’s statement startled him into realizing she’d been leading him toward the back of the tea shop. She hadn’t phrased a question, and he had no problem figuring out “her” meant “Lucy.”
“She’s here?”
Ember stopped in front of an empty booth and looked down at it. Gray offered a cursory examination, but noted only that the table was wet and there were lingering smells of rain and earth. He opened his senses wider, and emotions filtered through his shields: desperation, relief, panic.
Lucy.
“Where did she go?”
“Don’t know.” She shook her head. “Sometimes, when people are damaged, dey view tings from upside down.”
Gray’s brows went up. “What does that mean?”
She sighed, as if he’d disappointed her. Irritation flashed through him. He wasn’t a damned novice, and he hated that she made him feel like one. Battling his own impatience, he kept his gaze on her and waited.
“You ever play the opposite game?” she asked.
“Sure,” said Gray, “when I was a kid.”

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