Never Again (26 page)
Lucinda led her to the living room and watched as Maureen took in the boxes, cobwebs, and crowded mantel. “Haven’t been in here in years. Grit and Dove used to have such wonderful parties.”
“Dove?”
“His wife. She passed away when Gray was, oh, about five years old. Grit never remarried.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that much about the family. Please excuse me for just a moment.” Lucinda put the pie in the kitchen, and realized she didn’t know where the tea or coffee was kept—or even if Gray had any. Ember’s tea was still on the stove, and there were clean mugs from her first attempt at washing dishes. She poured tea into the mugs and nuked them in the microwave, and then brought them to the living room.
Maureen was standing near the fireplace studying the pictures. She turned as Lucinda entered the room, her expression a mixture of confusion and pain.
“Nevermore used to be a happier place,” said Maureen. She pointed to a framed photo. “That was taken more than twenty years ago at the winter festival. Back then, we’d dress up the town square, and after services, we’d eat and dance until the wee hours.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“Oh, it was. Me and Henry are in this photo. And there’s Gray’s mama. And Sarah and Edward Mooreland, before he left town with . . . well, with another woman.” She smiled softly. “Lara and Harley. A May-December romance. When she committed suicide, it broke him. Only thing he had to live for was his son. Ren,” she clarified. She waved her hand around. “It’s a small place. Won’t take you too long at all to get to know everyone.”
They settled on one of the couches and Lucinda pressed a mug of tea into Maureen’s hands. She sipped on it, and nodded. “Ember’s, right? She makes the best cuppa.”
“I like her,” said Lucinda.
“I do, too,” said Maureen. “She’s good people.” She looked around some more, clutching the mug, and Lucinda figured that she was trying to work up the courage to spill whatever she’d come to say.
Finally, she put the mug onto the coffee table, obviously too unsettled to enjoy it. She met Lucinda’s gaze. “Is it true you’re a thaumaturge?”
“Yes. And no,” said Lucinda. “I am. Untrained. But . . . I’m unable to use that ability.” She hated the idea of ruining the beginnings of a potential friendship, but she refused to live in lies. “I was cursed. And there’s no way out of it.”
“You tried anyway, though.”
“With Marcy,” admitted Lucinda. “But I was too late.”
“Doing something is better than doing nothing. Marcy was a troubled soul. My Lennie was troubled, too. And so selfish. Him and that car of his.” She dashed away tears, then clasped her hands together. “But he was my son. I loved him.”
Lucinda put down her mug and reached over to take Maureen’s hands. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I loved him,” she repeated, “but there’s this . . . Oh, Goddess, this
relief
that he’s gone.” Her gaze was haunted. “It’s horrible for a mother to feel that way, isn’t it?”
relief
that he’s gone.” Her gaze was haunted. “It’s horrible for a mother to feel that way, isn’t it?”
“No. You feel what you feel. Relationships are complicated, especially those between mothers and their children.”
Maureen nodded, but Lucinda knew the woman was devastated by feeling any sort of relief, no matter how minuscule, at the death of her son. Lucinda couldn’t help but wonder what kind of child Lennie was that his own mother would feel that way for even a second.
“We raised five children. Four went out into the world and created good lives. And Lennie . . . he could just never get the hang of it. He wore me and Henry down. He drank and did drugs and got into fights. He stopped respecting everyone, even himself.” Maureen gripped Lucinda’s hands. “I think everyone’s worth saving, don’t you?”
Lucinda’s throat clogged. She nodded because she couldn’t get the words over that damned knot.
“Everyone’s worth saving,” said Maureen again fiercely, “but not everyone can be saved.” She sucked in a breath, her eyes filling with tears. “I couldn’t save my son. And I knew you’d understand. ’Cause of Marcy.”
“I do,” she offered softly. She had understood that kind of anguish even before Marcy. “I understand.”
Maureen’s lips trembled, and then she fell into Lucinda’s arms and wept.
Gray collapsed into the leather wingback across from Taylor’s desk. “I hate gremlins.”
“We’re lucky you sealed the crack before any more of ’em escaped.” Taylor leaned back in his chair and tipped up his hat. “How’d the portal open?”
Gray frowned. “I don’t know. The town’s off magical kilter. My fault. I haven’t been paying attention.”
Taylor said nothing, and Gray was grateful his friend passed on the I-told-you-so moment. He deserved the lecture and more, but he was determined to honor his Guardian role now. Nevermore would get its sparkle back—he’d make sure of it.
“I’m going to do a cleansing ritual,” said Gray. “The whole town and then the farms. But first, I’m going to reinforce the magical protections around the perimeter.”
“You afraid Bernard Franco will come after Lucinda?”
“She seems to think so.”
“I hate gremlins.” Ren strode into the office and dropped into the other leather wingback. “Little bastards. You think we got ’em all?”
“I hope so,” said Gray. “After I regenerate the town’s protection spells, and do a cleansing, it should keep them out. We really have to shift the alignment, get everything back into balance, or we’re gonna have more problems.”
“Sounds good,” said Ren. “When are you starting?”
“Well, I planned to head out right after we dealt with the gremlins, but hell, it’s after eight already. I’m tired, and I really just want to—” He broke off, stunned. He wanted to go home to Lucy. He felt like a part of him was missing because she wasn’t around. It wasn’t just the sex, either. Although he had to admit, the sex was spectacular. It was more . . . her smile, her voice, how she touched his hair or snuggled into his arms. He liked the way she made him feel. And he liked the way he could make her feel.
“You want to what?” asked Taylor.
Gray stood up. “I want to go home to my wife.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’ll start the spellwork tomorrow.”
Taylor shook his head. “Already whipped. It’s such a shame. You should probably turn in your man-club card.”
“Jealous bastards like you aren’t on the man-club committee.”
Ren chuckled. “Gray, you going alone tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Ren shrugged. “I think one of us should go with you, is all.”
“He’s right,” said Taylor. “We know Marcy’s killer probably wanted the eye, but we don’t know why, and we don’t know what else he or she wants. I’m coming with you. Ren can hold the fort for three days.”
“Yep,” said Ren. “Dad doesn’t need me at the farm much anyway. He’s hired a couple of local kids to help with chores. It would suit me to stay in town.”
“All right,” said Gray. He looked at Taylor and grinned. “I’ll see you at five a.m. We should start the first spell at dawn—I’m thinking the lake area first.”
“Fine. See you at five a.m. Your place,” said Taylor. “But you have to make the coffee.”
“Deal.”
Gray said his good-nights and headed outside. He’d taken the truck into town, so it took him only a couple of minutes to get home. Right away he figured out something was different.
For one thing, several vehicles were parked on the street in front of his house. For another, the porch light was on, blazing like a welcome sign. Not only had the porch been swept, but two whitewashed rocking chairs occupied the space near the picture window. The living room lights were on, too, shining merrily through lacy white curtains.
As he reached for the front door, he heard female laughter.
A lot of it.
He entered the house, and stopped.
Everything sparkled, and it smelled like lemons and lavender. The wood floors shone, as did the railing and the stairs. He looked to his left and found himself staring at a hall tree. He didn’t even know he had one of those. Jackets were lined up on the pegs, too, and purses had been piled on the top of the storage bench.
He couldn’t begin to fathom the amount of estrogen currently flitting around his house—and Goddess help him, they were
cleaning
.
cleaning
.
Panic began to well.
More laughter and noise—happy, cooking-type noise—filtered from the kitchen, which was straight ahead. He veered left into the living room.
Just as he thought—the curtains were new, and the walls scrubbed, the mantel polished, the fireplace transformed. The furniture had been moved: Two couches faced the coffee table, which had a stack of marble coasters and a couple of oversized hardcovers angled at one end. Near the hearth, a small, colorful table stood between two fancy chairs. The bookshelves on either side of the fireplace gleamed, their books straightened, and the knickknacks posed. Huh. He had a lot of dragons.
“Gray!”
He turned around and saw Lucy standing in the entryway staring at him. Her gaze lit up and she ran to him, leaping into his arms. Gray caught her and swung her around. Her happiness zinged through him like a lightning bolt.
He laughed, holding her tight as she tried to squeeze the life out of him.
“You’re home!” She kissed him. “I didn’t think you were coming back tonight.”
Gray’s heart clutched. All that happiness glowing from her was for him. “I missed you.”
Her eyes went wide. “You did?”
“Can’t a man miss his wife?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it’s a rule.”
“If it’s not, I’ll make it one.” He kissed her again. He loved the feel of her lips caressing his, and the way she felt wrapped around him. How had that kind of joy managed to infiltrate his rusty, cobwebbed heart again? No, not again. These feelings were different from those he’d once had for Kerren. He’d felt prideful about his new wife, as though her beauty and charm somehow amplified his own importance. “You’ve been busy.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked. “I promise I didn’t move the furniture.”
“Good. And yes, it’s amazing.” Dirt smudged her face and she smelled like pine, but she was the most beautiful creature. He felt like he’d captured a fairy, and if he wasn’t careful, she’d fly away.
“Maureen dropped by,” she said, “and then she activated a calling tree—I’m still not sure what that means. But then all these women showed up!” She laughed, and her joy wound through Gray. “Those two rooms are still a mess upstairs, but the library . . . oh, Gray, why didn’t you tell me you had soul books?”
“You met Grit and Dutch?”
“Yes. They’re adorable.”
“Not the adjective I would use,” muttered Gray.
“Oh, stop.” She playfully slapped his shoulder. “They were very happy when we cleaned the library. I found book stands for them both.” She paused. “They said you had a lab out in the backyard—in that big shed?”
“Yes,” he said. “You didn’t—”
“No way. A wizard’s spell-working sanctuary is his alone.”
“Yep. And it sure doesn’t need all those girl cooties.”
“Why, you—”
He swung her around again. She clung to him tightly, her laughter twining with his.
Ember stepped back from the doorway. Love had found a way between those two broken souls, and that was a joyful thing. She only hoped that they both got strength from their new bond to face what was coming—and though she didn’t know what the challenge was, she did know it would arrive soon.
Show me the path, Creator Mother,
she prayed,
and give me the strength to walk it.
she prayed,
and give me the strength to walk it.
He hadn’t meant to kill her.
Shit.
He dragged the body into the kitchen and positioned it near the stoves. Think. He had to think. He moved to the other side of the preparation station and paced.
If only she hadn’t attacked him . . .
It was Cathleen’s fault he’d squeezed the life from her blubbery neck. She’d wanted revenge on the Calhouns in the worst way, a hatred seeded by her mother, who blamed Grit for the death of her husband.
He’d been curious enough to cull through the public records at the library. He found the report easily enough. Jed Little liked his whiskey more than his selfrespect. He had a long arrest record filled with public drunkenness and domestic violence, and he’d been cited numerous times for harassing Dove Calhoun. These days, it was called stalking.
The night before Jed got snockered and walked his fool self into the lake, he’d tried to kidnap Dove, and gotten walloped by Grit. Then the Guardian had banned him—and given him twenty-four hours to leave town. Cora filed a report claiming that the Guardian had bespelled her husband into killing himself. On paper, Jed didn’t seem the type of person willing to give up his own life so that his wife and daughter could have theirs. It could well be that Grit had gotten rid of his wife’s attacker.
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