Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore (7 page)

“Nothing,” said Taylor. “It’s almost as if she can’t.”

That statement got Gray’s and Lucy’s attention, too.

“What do you mean?” asked Gray.

“She didn’t say a word. She cried without making a sound. It was as though her voice were turned off.”

Ember nodded. “Dat’s what I thought. Somebody don’ wan’ her to talk, so dey bound her voice.”

“That kind of spell would be strong,” mused Gray, “but limited. Probably a few days at most.”

“Unless it was demon magic,” said Lucy softly. She’d been cursed with Pit magic and had barely survived. Taylor knew how badly she had suffered—and how difficult it had been to get free of that evil. His stomach clenched as he gazed at the pale face of his mystery woman. He sent a quick prayer to the Goddess that she was not suffering from demon-wrought spellwork.

“Not demon,” said Ember, shaking her head. “Dis magic Raven.”

“Well, that’s not much better,” said Gray. “Why would the Ravens want to hurt her?”

“How’d they get into Nevermore?” asked Taylor. “Into
my
forest? And into the
nemeton
?”

Three pairs of eyes zeroed in on him.

“What?” Gray frowned. “There’s a
nemeton
in your woods?”

Even Gray, who basically protected and governed all of Nevermore, understood that Taylor’s land, and those mysterious woods, belonged to the sheriff. Taylor rubbed his face. What was wrong with him? He was doing this whole thing ass-backward. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from
her
, and he couldn’t keep his thoughts straight, either. He sucked in a steady breath. Then he told the story—skipping the part about his nightmares and hearing his mother’s voice.

After he was finished, silence blanketed the room.

“The raven was white,” repeated Gray incredulously. “And it actually said Lenore?”

Taylor nodded toward the girl. “I think it might be her name.”

“Well,” said Lucy, “that’s just…weird.”

“Raven magic, raven bird, raven poem,” said Ember. Her gaze drifted over the prone female. “Raven girl.”

Taylor stared at Ember. What the hell did all that mean?

“Let Lucy and Ember heal her,” said Gray. “You show me the
nemeton
. Then we’ll figure out how the bastards got in, and we’ll seal the gaps.”

“All right,” said Taylor.

Gray kissed his wife and then clapped Taylor on the shoulder. “C’mon.”

Taylor cast a final look at the woman tucked underneath his mother’s quilt, his heart clenching, and then he followed his friend and boss out the door.

After Taylor put on a clean shirt, he grabbed his pistol, even though having Gray along was like carrying a magical bazooka. He was a very powerful wizard and the only shape-shifter in the world—probably. Who knew what secrets other magicals held? Gray had only figured out the ability a few months ago, and Taylor still didn’t quite understand how it all worked. But he’d seen Gray as the dragon, and it was damned impressive. There were plenty of myths about magicals who could shift into animals—tales as bold and unbelievable as any of the ancient stories archived in the Great Library. It seemed those legends had grown from seeds of truth.

He’d grabbed his flashlight, too, but as he, Gray, and Ant made their way into the forest, Gray whispered a spell that created a basketball-sized orb of light. It bobbed on the path ahead of them. When they got to the half-dead tree, Taylor sucked in a steadying breath and dove once again into the dark, tangled forest.

He had no idea how he managed to lead the other men to the
nemeton
. But he was able to get them there,
and his skin started to prickle again as they reached the entrance. He realized now that it was an actual entryway; a stone arch covered with moss that was tightly wedged between two oaks. He hadn’t even noticed before—he’d been too distracted by the unexpected discovery of the
nemeton
.

Gray went first, and then Taylor. Ant followed. They all stopped to admire the massive ring of blue-gray stones.

“Holy shit,” said Ant.

Gray flicked a look at him. “You didn’t sense it at all?”

Ant shook his head. “It’s as if a big Do Not Disturb sign hovers over this place. It repels people on purpose. Except Taylor, apparently.”

“He’s the deed holder to the land,” said Gray. “Ol’ Joe gifted him more than just a farm. He’s been the unknowing guardian of it.”

“Terrific,” muttered Taylor. Why hadn’t the old man ever said anything?

Gray started forward, the magic light pushing through the gap between the stones. Taylor followed, and his little brother entered last.

Ant whistled.

“Six stones,” said Gray. The orb rose into the air and made a slow circuit. “Look. Symbols of the Houses.”

“No,” said Ant as the light reflected an etching of the
sun. “Symbols of the first magicals. There is no House of Sun. Hell, there are no Sun magicals.”

“Unless you count Lucy,” said Gray. “Thaumaturges are as close as you can get to the line of Drun these days.”

They watched the light brush the other carved symbols.

“We can assume that the
nemeton
was built at the same time as the town,” said Ant. “Right? But these stones and that altar”—he paused to gather himself, his horrified gaze on the bloodstained rock—“are much older.”

“Ancient,” agreed Gray.

“Maybe carved even before the Romans reorganized the magicals and created the Houses,” said Ant.

They shared a look, and Taylor felt a shiver go up his spine. Shit. He had a feeling his life was about to get a lot more complicated. The image of Lenore, standing like a wounded goddess on the other side of the altar put a hitch in his step.
Stop it.
She’s a—a victim. That’s all. Now start acting like the sheriff, moron.

“It’s been desecrated,” said Gray tightly. Now they were all looking at the dark stains on the altar. “Someone tried to commit evil here. We’ll need to cleanse everything.” He peered closer and grimaced. “It seems your new friend was bound here. I can still see the remnants of the magic that kept her lashed to the stone.

“Let’s look around,” Gray continued. “Maybe we’ll be able to piece together some useful information.”

While Gray and Ant examined the stones for further clues, Taylor rounded the altar, studying the place where Lenore had lain. His stomach clenched at the blood that splattered the stone base and the grass. He clicked on his flashlight and swept the beam across the dewy grass. What had she been doing here? How had she gotten in? Surely she hadn’t been alone, or inflicted those wounds on her own body.
You can’t save her.

He was desperately trying not to focus on the nightmare, but it clung to his thoughts like a fungus. Dreams weren’t reality, damn it. He needed to keep his mind on the current situation.
So.
If someone had forcibly brought her to this location, how had he gotten through the town’s magic-protected perimeters without setting off any alarms? And how had he known about this place?

The flashlight’s beam caught the glint of Lenore’s silver dagger that he’d managed to wrest from her. It had landed flat in the grass. He carefully stepped to it and crouched, studying the bloodied blade. The hilt was ornately carved with a bunch of fancy swirls that surrounded the engraving of a raven.

Was Lenore a Raven witch?

If so, why would members of her own House bespell her? Or had other wizards done the deed, and if so, why? It always boiled down to why. Figure out the why, and everything else would fall into place. But
right now, he didn’t know if Lenore was one of the good guys. He’d learned a valuable lesson about trusting appearances. Sometimes, what was visible was a carefully constructed lie that gleamed like truth.

He stared at the blade, his thoughts whirling. What did she know that was so important her voice had to be taken? Why not just kill her and ensure permanent silence? Or maybe that was what they—whoever they were—had been trying to do.

The back of his neck was tingling again.

“What is that?” asked Ant as he crouched next to Taylor.

“Some kind of ritual dagger. She was holding it when I found her.”

Gray knelt across from them and examined the blade. “Raven,” he muttered. “Not too subtle.” He pointed at the hilt. “See that symbol under the raven? It’s the sign of rank in the House of Ravens.”

“So either someone high up in the Raven ranks was here,” offered Taylor, “or someone was ballsy enough to steal it to use here.”

“Sooooo…the Ravens were trying to sacrifice her?” asked Ant. “Why did she—or whoever—send a raven for help? I mean, isn’t it weird that she can wield the symbol of their House?”

“We don’t know anything yet,” said Taylor. “The only person who knows what went on here is unconscious.”

“And mute,” added Ant.

“We don’t really know that, either,” said Taylor. “Where are the signs of struggle? Or pursuit? Something about this situation is all wrong. If she came all this way by herself, then that means she crawled up on that altar and cut herself.”

“I don’t buy that,” said Ant.

“Me, either,” said Taylor. “She was terrified.”

“So, she’s connected to the Ravens,” said Gray.

“If by connected, you mean imprisoned,” said Ant.

“That’s a leap.” Taylor cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “Unless you’ve been talking to trees again?”

“As a matter of fact, I heard the stones whispering.”

Both Gray and Taylor gave Ant startled looks.

“You can talk to rocks?” asked Taylor.

“I don’t know. But I can hear them. It’s as if…well, as if they’re alive.”

Taylor glanced at Gray’s expression. Even the guy who could turn into a dragon seemed daunted by Ant’s abilities. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but maybe you could go ask ’em a few questions?”

“See if they know the girl, who else might’ve been here, and confirm if we’ve got any lurkers to worry about.”

“That’s a start,” said Taylor.

“I’ll try the one with the wolf symbol,” said Ant. “Kindred magic an’ all.” He stood up and walked toward the right of the enclosure.

Taylor looked at Gray. “Can you hear them?”

“No. But I can feel the pulse of ancient magic. And I feel the recent presence of other magicals, but the imprints are too faint to get a real read.”

“Perfect,” muttered Taylor. He’d brought his gun but not his weapons belt. Without access to his gear, he couldn’t secure the dagger. “You got any spells that will seal the blade?”

“Yes. And I’ll transport it to your office.” Gray stood up, too, and started working the spells needed to protect the dagger—and whatever evidence clinging to it. Taylor got to his own feet and did another perimeter search. When he reached Ant, his brother stepped back and shook his head in puzzlement.

“We’re talking two different languages.”

“Maybe they got a Rosetta stone program for speaking rock,” said Taylor with a small grin.

“Har, har, bro.” Ant shook his head. “We might not be able to connect enough to really communicate, but I understand one thing. They’re Guardians.” He looked at Gray. “I think this is the Goddess fountain, Gray.”

“The Goddess fountain is all of Nevermore,” said Gray. “That much we’ve figured out. At least, the powerful magic is sealed within the town’s borders as far as we can tell. Ember and I have been looking for its access point, but…no wonder we couldn’t find it.”

“Well, how the hell did the Ravens find it?” asked Taylor. “And how did they know about the Goddess fountain?”

“Maybe they don’t,” offered Gray. “Maybe they just knew about the
nemeton
. They used to be all over the place in ancient times. Magicals used them to gather and strengthen their magic for rituals.”

“Or for war,” said Ant. “So they bring a girl here to be sacrificed—why?”

“Too many damned questions and not enough answers,” groused Taylor. “How do we find out if this is the Goddess fountain doorway, or whatever?”

Ant reached out and put a hand on the rock in front of him. Seconds ticked by, but Ant pulled back, shaking his head. “I can’t get a straight answer. They keep sorta muttering ‘stars’—I think.”

“Nice of Ol’ Joe to tell me about this place,” said Taylor. Not even the Guardian of Nevermore had known about the
nemeton
. Taylor rubbed a hand across his hair. “Why didn’t the previous Guardians leave some damned instructions?”

Ant rubbed the stone, almost as if smoothing it. “Well, whatever the Ravens—or whoever—were doing here, it was bad juju.” He grimaced. “They seem to be…waiting.”

Taylor felt his gut clench. He’d had the same kind of feeling, and he wasn’t even a magical. He didn’t want to be one, either. Look at the kinds of things you got sucked into. “For what?”

“I don’t know,” said Ant. His eyes filled with worry. “But whatever it is, it’s certainly not good.”

*  *  *

Trent Whitefeather pulled his motorcycle onto the paved road that led to the Elysian Fields Cemetery and cut the engine. It was barely six a.m., but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Being at the apartment felt too strange. His uncle hadn’t been an easy man, but he’d loved Trent in his way. The idea that the old man would just take his own life—just fucking kill himself—well, it was unbelievable.

After Sheriff Mooreland had broken the news, he’d gotten a pass to leave school. He went to his uncle’s office with its mess and its stench, and he wept like a little kid. He couldn’t bear to go into the archives where his uncle had been found. It didn’t matter, anyway. Taylor had told him not to go in there because that area was a crime scene. Was suicide a crime? He wondered. It wasn’t as if anyone could be convicted of it. There was no justice, no answer to the question why, when someone took his life. Damn it all. Atwood murdered himself. It was crime and punishment all in one terrible act.

Trent wasn’t done with grief—not by a long shot. His unc’s death had also refreshed the loss of his parents. His whole family was gone. For a moment, the loneliness cut at him like a blade, but he pushed it away; he pushed it back. He wasn’t a quitter. He had friends. A life. Goals. He’d continue on, head down, teeth gritted, heartsick, because he wasn’t a gods-be-damned quitter.