Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore (20 page)

Gray nodded, shifting his gaze. “That’s true.” He offered
her a smile, though it didn’t convey a lot of comfort. “But I don’t know if that’s the case here. I need to check out a few references and put my thoughts together. Maybe then we can figure out what the Ravens really want and why.”

“They want war,” said Taylor.

“No,” said Gray. “They want to win a war. They want to change the entire landscape of the world and create one that has demons living among us.” He looked at her. “Are you familiar with Kahl?”

Norie shook her head.

“He’s a very powerful demon lord,” said Gray. “I’ve had run-ins with him before. Trust me when I say that his stepping just a hoof onto the earthly plane is a bad thing.”

“Well, we can’t allow that to happen,” said Norie. She sat up and pushed off the blanket. “I might not buy into all this destiny crap, but I’ll tell you this: I won’t let the Ravens use me to bring Kahl and his minions onto the earth.”

“Good,” said Gray. “Neither will we.” He paused. “Do you remember anything about the night Taylor found you in the
nemeton
?”

Norie couldn’t stop the flinch. She had been hoping no one would ask her that question. It seemed with the restoration of her voice, she’d also been given the gift of remembering the horrible events that had unfolded the night the Ravens tried to sacrifice her. She owed
Taylor and Gray no less than the truth—especially after everything they’d done for her. No, she wouldn’t lie or avoid. It wasn’t her style anyway.

Norie took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I remember.”

Both men seemed taken aback, and then their gazes were riveted to her. There was no reason to explain about the dream with the raven familiar; she hadn’t quite figured out what that all meant anyway. It wasn’t as if the damned bird had shown up again. She knew that the white raven had drawn Taylor to her, not because he’d said anything. She just knew. And if that so-called familiar appeared in dreams and in—well, reality—she didn’t know what to make of it.

So she plunged in. “I woke up on the altar. Um, naked. I remember that the stone felt cold. Really cold. Six, maybe seven black-robed people were around me. They all had blades.” She stopped and drew in a shuddering breath. She hated being a wuss, but visualizing what had happened made her feel the terror all over again. “Anyway, the biggest asshole was at the top, I guess. Right by my head. He was the one directing the incantations and the…the other stuff. I don’t remember exactly what they said. It was a different language.”

“Most spells are in Latin,” said Gray. “The Romans translated many of the ancient texts and spells. They work the same because it’s the wizard’s intention—and
the ability to access his powers—that make magic work.”

“Not Latin,” said Norie. “I don’t know what it was. I’d never heard it before—and I don’t have any real comparisons about what it sounded like, either. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” said Taylor. “Doesn’t sound like the important part. Tell us the rest, Norie.”

She nodded, drew in another long, deep breath, and kept her gaze on Taylor. He made her feel steady. She knew in her core she could rely on him—and it was more than just the knowledge he continued to save her, and for whatever reason seemed to care about what happened to her. No, it was an innate quality. His sense of duty, reliability—that was Taylor’s true magic.

“They cut me,” she said. “It hurt. I screamed. Then I felt this pressure on my chest. No, in it. Then it was as if my insides had been set on fire. I heard other voices. Cold ones—like the ghosts here. There was a burst of light.…I could see it pouring off me. Then
they
were screaming. Pushed away from the altar as if they’d been swatted away by a giant’s hand. I—I saw one hit the blue stone and just explode into ash. I closed my eyes after that. I was tired and scared and…” She shuddered. It was showing weakness, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. This kind of abject fear wasn’t easily controlled. She’d fight. She would. But she hated the
idea that Black Robe would find her again and use her to bring evil into the world. Dying didn’t scare her. The suffering did—all that pain, all that fear…so unbearable.

A memory flickered, and she tried to snag it. A room in pink. An older woman screeching at her. The urgent whispers of children all around her.

What the hell?

Norie tried to hang on to the image, to the odd feeling of being someone different. No, of being a child. Maybe she’d once had a destiny—that felt right, true. But her life had shifted. It had somehow turned a corner and been shoved into a space not truly hers. The truth was that Norie had never felt like she belonged anywhere. How could she when she’d never lived anywhere long enough to feel she’d found home? Taylor’s house was the closest she’d ever felt to…She sighed. It was useless to think about Taylor and that house, and their so-called relationship. Her curse had made it impossible to find someone who could love her, who could make her feel whole, normal.

Taylor had thus far been immune to her bad luck. Maybe he was different.

Her gaze flicked to Taylor. He was looking at her, his expression inscrutable. Why did she feel as though he could be the one? It was almost as if she’d been waiting for him. What a ridiculous thought. She should know better. But it didn’t change the feeling.

Maybe she was suffering from some kind of magical hangover. She didn’t quite feel herself, but she really hadn’t been herself for the last few months, not since the night she’d been kidnapped.

“I’m going to do some research in the Great Library,” said Gray. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Then we’ll head back to Nevermore.” He patted Norie on the shoulder. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

She offered him a smile. She wasn’t exactly feeling better. She actually felt raw, exposed, and scared. What would happen to her? What if the Ravens found her again? Could Taylor and Gray really protect her?

Norie wished she knew more about her abilities. Surely having access to the magic would offer her a way to protect herself. If magicals were after her, then she needed to know how to harness her own magic. She needed to learn some defensive moves, but she couldn’t trust Emmett to teach her. He was too excitable. And Taylor didn’t know enough about his own magical changes to give her any advice. That left Gray, and he was gone.

“Are you really all right?” asked Taylor. “You still look peaked to me.”

“Peaked?”

He smiled. “It’s the Texas way of saying you look on the pale side is all. Maybe you should try to nap while Gray’s in the library.”

“I don’t really feel like sleeping,” she said. His smile
was gorgeous. It made him even more handsome. Her stomach fluttered. Whew. She had it bad for the man.

“I could show you around,” said Emmett. He’d somehow popped back into the room but had enough self-preservation that he stayed clear of Taylor.

To Taylor’s credit, he didn’t draw his weapon, though Norie saw his hand twitch toward his weapons belt. Instead, he looked at the young man and asked, “Y’all got a cafeteria?”

Emmett nodded. “Well, we don’t call it that. It’s more along the lines of a five-star restaurant. It’s really good. We have this chef from—”

“If the place serves iced tea and steaks, then it’s good enough. Norie, you up for eating something?”

“Yeah,” said Norie. Suddenly, she was starving, and a steak sounded like carnivore nirvana.

“I don’t know much about the steaks,” said Emmett in a superior tone. “I’m a vegan.”

“Of course you are,” muttered Taylor.

“Do you eat meat, Norie?” asked Emmett.

Her gaze collided with Taylor’s, and she had to choke back a laugh. Taylor lifted one brow, his eyes sparkling with the same naughty thought she’d had.

“I do love meat,” she said with a straight face. “Sorry, Emmett.”

His face fell. “Oh. That’s okay, I guess. Lots of my friends eat animals, even though it’s really, really wrong.”

“No lectures,” said Taylor as he eyed the young wizard, “or I will shoot you.”

Emmett turned his wide-eyed gaze to Norie, obviously looking for either support or reassurance.

Norie smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it won’t be a kill shot.”

Emmett’s eyes went even wider, and Taylor laughed.

And for a moment, everything was right with the world.

Orley Ryerson stood in the middle of the dilapidated barn, staring up at the huge hole in the roof. The edges were blackened, as though there had been a fire. Indeed, there was plenty of broken and burned debris on the hay-strewn floor that supported this theory; yet the building had somehow escaped damage. He studied the area some more. Obviously, the barn had fallen into disrepair long ago. It smelled awful, not only because of the manure and moldy hay, but because of the magic undertones. Whatever had happened here left a taint that seemed to film the air. That slightly greasy resonance had penetrated his lungs, and that undetermined stench coated his nostrils.

Yes, there was an oddness in the atmosphere. And it was exactly that kind of peculiarity he looked for during investigations. Magic had been dispersed here—lots of it. Raven and Dragon and…something else. There was a tinge of gold, too. Ah, yes. Lucinda Calhoun was
a thaumaturge. So, she had been here during the event that caused the issues.

Of course, it was all theory now.

Orley finished making his notes and then began to prepare for the complicated spell that would reveal what had happened. He’d followed Bernard’s magical energies, as faded as they were, to this location. Bernard hadn’t been in Nevermore for too long; at least that was Orley’s assumption, given how little of Bernard’s essence he’d been able to track. It was a testament to his own skill that he’d managed to find what he suspected was the point of origin for Bernard’s truth spell. It was likely that Bernard Franco, treacherous bastard that he was, had been murdered here. It seemed as if he’d chosen this abominable place to die. Not that Orley believed that Bernard intended to die. He wasn’t the type to circumvent his own agenda just to promote the Ravens’ righteous objectives. The only reason Bernard proved useful at all was because his own goals coincided with those of his House. Or maybe, as Orley had suspected, it was really Bernard who had set all that was unfolding into motion right now. With his death, yes, but that had probably not been his intention. No doubt he had plotted the course with the master, with the council, with those who would lead the rebellion. He aspired to be part of the coming new world order.

In the meantime, Orley had his own role to play, and
if he did it well and pleased the master, he would be rewarded. He liked being on the winning team. The perks were so much better. He started humming as he set up the magical instruments he would need to enact the complicated spell. It wasn’t often that he had to use this kind of hard-core magic. But he needed results—something he could show the smug Calhouns and get their attention. And if the situation somehow personally tainted Leticia Calhoun, too, then so much the better. That was the goal at any rate—she was too potent a force in her House, indeed in the whole of the Court, to be discounted. No, she was a powerful enemy—one they needed to either control or destroy.

He wondered who would get that honor.

It took more than half an hour to complete the setup. He stepped back and looked at the cauldron with its special ingredients, the candles placed at its four corners, and the large white crystal hanging on the bar above the black pot. It would be the anchor point for the magic.

Enacting this particular spell could be draining, so he took a moment to drink water and to eat a magically enhanced power bar.

Orley began the incantations that would engage the revelation magic.

The magic spread out like an unfurling blanket, covering the entire area. Orley felt sweat bead his temple as he directed the magic. He’d done this spell often
enough to understand how it worked, and what to expect, but for some reason this particular rendition required more concentration and more power than any other.

But he couldn’t worry about the discrepancies. Instead, he focused on the unfolding scene, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold on to the spellwork.

Everything became transparent—ghost images of what had come before.

He saw a young man with dark hair and a tan uniform. He was carrying an unconscious blond-haired girl—Happy. Behind them marched a rather irritated Bernard Franco. Actually, Bernard’s usual state of being was irritated. He directed the other man to lay Happy on a board that had been placed across two sawhorses.

The problem with this kind of reenactment spell was that while the images tended to remain consistent, getting audio was challenging. Sometimes, conversations, or more likely in these scenarios, arguments, would come in clearly; sometimes, they would fade in and out, and sometimes they would fail completely.

Even with all the magic he was exuding, and the power he was consuming to keep the spell on track, he couldn’t hear what Bernard and the boy—ah, Ren Banton, no doubt—were discussing. He’d known about the deputy’s death. His research had discovered that the deputy had died accidentally in a farming accident the same month that Bernard disappeared. Hmm. Given their expressions
and the fury-filled gesticulation, arguing was a more accurate term.

It ended abruptly when Bernard made a sweeping gesture with one arm and expelled a wave of glittering black magic. Ren flew into the air as though he’d been swatted by a giant hand. He disappeared into the darkness. Had there been sound, Orley knew he would’ve heard a crash, perhaps Ren’s screams of pain, perhaps even the grotesque sounds made by someone dying a violent death.

So, Bernard had killed Banton.

His stomach curdled.

The revulsion tingeing his insides caused his focus to waver. The spell loosened. For a terrifying second, he thought he might lose the hold on the magic. Even though the scene continued, he wasn’t able to watch what Bernard was doing to Happy. It seemed to be some kind of energy or magical exchange. He didn’t understand it because Happy was a mundane, and most mundanes couldn’t handle magic even in its lowest form. It took him a couple of minutes to regain control of the spell, and by the time he did, he was sweating bullets. Salty moisture dribbled into his eyes.