Never Again (28 page)
As she munched her snack, she saw the twin beams of headlights. The truck had obviously just come from the highway exit, and as it passed by, she saw that the bed was filled with trees and big bags of soil. Then she saw the brake lights. The truck made a slow U-turn, and then pulled up close to where she was sitting.
A young guy leaned over and looked at her from underneath a ragged cowboy hat. His eyes were as dark as chocolate and twinkled the way her mom’s used to before she . . . Happy swallowed the sudden, awful knot in her throat.
Her stomach started to hurt, and she closed up the box and tossed it back into her pack.
“Need a ride?”
“Sure.” Happy stood up and hitched the backpack over her shoulder. “But I can’t give you any money. And I won’t give you any pussy.”
His eyes went wide, and his mouth formed a shocked O. “Your mama know you talk like that?”
“My mama’s dead.” She squinted at him. “You giving me a ride, or what?”
“I ought to give you a spanking,” he said. “C’mon, Sassy Mouth.”
She opened the door and jumped inside the cab. He wheeled the truck around and headed toward Nevermore.
“Everyone calls me Ant,” he said.
“Why?”
“ ’Cause I use to be short and scrawny.”
Happy glanced at him. He wasn’t either of those things anymore. He was probably six feet tall, if not taller, and he was buff. His jeans and T-shirt were worn and she could see the dirt under his fingernails. He smelled like earth and freshly cut grass. It was nice.
“My name’s Happy,” she said.
“Seriously?”
“If I was gonna give you a fake name, would I choose that one?”
“Good point. How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“I’m twenty.”
Ant snorted. “Try again, Sassy Mouth. I have four sisters. I can spot a female lie at fifteen paces.” He looked her over for a sec. “You’re sixteen.”
“I’ll be seventeen in a couple months.” She flinched because she sounded whiny. “If I was a magical like you, I’d be legal.” She smirked at him. “We could date and everything.”
“I’m not a magical,” he said. “And I don’t date girls with potty mouths.”
“Why? You expect girls to do something else with their mouths?”
“You’re not legal enough to find out.”
That pissed her off. And shut her up. She wasn’t too young to do anything. If she’d been born a real magical like her douche bag father, she’d be considered an adult. Sixteen was the age of majority, not eighteen like for the mundanes, ’cause they
matured
faster, and P.S. lived longer, too. Whatevs. She didn’t know why Ant was being so stupid about his powers. She had no power of her own, but she could sense the powers of others. And
he
had powers.
matured
faster, and P.S. lived longer, too. Whatevs. She didn’t know why Ant was being so stupid about his powers. She had no power of her own, but she could sense the powers of others. And
he
had powers.
Annoyed, she stared at the pastureland. The wind whipped into the cab through the rolled-down windows. It smelled like earth out there, too. She wrinkled her nose as the scent of manure wafted in. She saw the source—cattle near the fence line. Their soft brown gazes lifted toward the truck as it shot by.
It was so quiet out here. So peaceful. Maybe she and Lucy could stay in Nevermore together. Maybe it was safe, even without Bernard dead.
He’ll never give up, Happy. Never. We have to separate. If I can come for you, I will.
If.
Lucy left her with the nuns because as long as Happy was with her, they could be tracked. But the convent had been built on neutral ground, and neither witch nor wizard could set foot on the property without the permission of the nuns. She’d known then that Lucy would probably never come back for her. Not because she didn’t want to, but because Bernard wouldn’t let her.
She stayed with the nuns but only because she was afraid that Lucy might be so worried about her, she would make mistakes and Bernard would find her. He’d been really mad at Lucy, and at Happy. He wouldn’t hurt Happy. . . . Well, not much, anyway. But he would’ve hurt Lucy a lot. He was the meanest person she’d ever known.
Her stomach squeezed, and she felt like she was gonna hurl.
If she’d pressed Lucy really hard, she would’ve caved and not left her. Lucy didn’t have anyone, either. And Happy loved her. It had to be hard to give up someone who loved you. Lucy had made a hard choice for them both.
And now Happy had to do the same.
“Who are you visiting?”
For a moment, Happy had the crazy urge to give in to tears and tell him everything. She wanted to tell someone the truth about herself, about her life. But she didn’t know him, and who could trust a guy named Ant, anyway?
“None of your business,” she finally said.
“Well, I’m not gonna just drop you off on a corner.”
“Why not? I’m not your responsibility.”
“It’s the hitchhiking rule,” said Ant amiably. “The pickupper—that’s me—must ensure the safe delivery of the pickuppee—that’s you—or he risks the wrath of the Nevermore mamas.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Obviously, you’ve never met a Nevermore mama. They’re scary. And they’re hell with a rolling pin.”
“I bet you got smacked with one a lot.”
“I sure did,” he admitted with a grin. “But not because I stranded a pickuppee on the side of the road.”
“How many have you delivered?”
“None,” he said. “You’re my first hitchhiker. So you see the importance of me making sure you arrive to your destination safely.”
“You mean the part where you avoid getting smacked by rolling pins?”
He laughed. “Damn straight.”
Happy’s entire body went tingly and hot. The sudden, fierce sensations overwhelmed her. She stiffened, sucking in deep breaths. What was happening?
“Shit.” Ant pulled over to the shoulder and flipped on the overhead lights. He studied her, concern lighting his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“Magic,” she whispered. “Lots and lots of it.”
“You said you weren’t a magical.”
“I can sense it. Not use it.”
“You gonna be okay?”
“This has never happened before. It’s like . . . when your leg goes to sleep and you try to walk on it too soon. Only a hundred times worse.”
“What can I do?”
“You’re too nice,” she said as her teeth started to chatter. “It kinda freaks me out.”
“Tell me where to take you. Tell me who your people are.”
“My p-people?”
“Your kin, Happy. Who are you coming to see?”
“I want to t-trust you,” she said. She broke out in a cold sweat, and her stomach twisted. “I k-kinda hurt.”
Then the world caved in, and she fell into sudden, icy blackness.
Happy floated in the twilight between awake and asleep. She felt warm and safe, but she didn’t know why. She heard two men talking, their voices fading in and out. She grabbed only snatches of their conversation.
“Didn’t know what to do. She passed out . . . probably just needs rest.”
Happy realized they were talking about her. She felt fine now. No more tingles. She just wanted to sleep. To keep feeling that wonderful warmth. Safe. Oh, she felt so safe. Like no one could ever hurt her again.
“Someone set the fire at the café on purpose. Damn, you should’ve seen Lucy. If her aquamancy is a minor power, I can’t imagine what her thaumaturgy must be like.”
Lucy! Her friend was okay. Happy heard the admiration in the older man’s voice. He liked her. And he should. Everyone should love Lucy as much as Happy did.
“Cathleen must’ve done it out of spite. . . . Found her body . . . least we think it’s her.”
She didn’t like these words, so she blocked them out. People dying made her sad, and she was really tired of feeling sad. Happy drifted back into the soft dark, welcoming the oblivion of sleep.
“What do
you
want?” Bernard Franco looked into the oversized bowl of scented water at the face of Kerren Rackmore.
you
want?” Bernard Franco looked into the oversized bowl of scented water at the face of Kerren Rackmore.
“Aw. You sound like you’re unhappy to hear from me, and after all I’ve done for you.”
“You mean
to
me.”
to
me.”
“Same difference.” She smiled, and the calculation behind it made him pause. What was she up to now? Gods-be-damned. She looked exactly the same as she had ten years ago at the age of twenty-two, when she’d traded her soul, and her wizard husband’s, to be the immortal consort of a demon lord.
She was beautiful, the way a glacier was beautiful. Cold. Sharp-edged. Dangerous. It was too bad her eyes were not the same forest green as her sister’s. Instead, she’d inherited the muddy brown gaze of their father, a color unsuited to ice. Her hair made up for it, though, glossy strands of white blond hair that snaked down her slim back. He’d had her once—when he’d made the deal to seduce and imprison Lucinda.
Kerren had damned near kill him, but it was the best sex he’d ever had.
If only her eyes could be fixed . . .
“Well? Don’t you want to hear my news?”
Before he could respond, a cough racked him and he fell back against the chair, shoulders heaving as the fit seized him. Rusty liquid filled his mouth, and he pressed the cloth against his quivering lips, wiping away the blood. He was getting worse. He’d been to countless medical doctors and mage healers, but none could help him. They all said the same thing: He was reaping what he’d sown, and there was nothing they could do.
He leaned over the bowl again and saw Kerren peering at him. She sought amusements wherever she could find them, and no doubt his misery gave her pleasure. She’d certainly delighted in how he’d tormented Lucinda. Sometimes, she’d watched—she’d even given him spells or techniques to help him. In fact, she’d given him the cursing magic to bind Lucinda’s thaumaturgy. She’d failed to mention the repercussions it would have for him.
“You did this to me,” he spit.
Her peals of laughter felt like acid splattering him. “You did it to yourself. No one forced you to use the curse. It’s that lousy temper of yours, Bernard. It’s finally killed you.”
“You gave me the magic,” he said. “You told me—”
“There was a price to be paid for everything,” she interrupted. “You should’ve asked me what it would cost.”
“How do I fix it?”
She tilted her head coquettishly. “I suppose you could kill Lucy,” she said. “That might do it.”
Something had changed. When Kerren had first contacted him about “securing” her sister, she’d made it clear Lucinda could not be killed. Tortured, mind-fucked, and emotionally traumatized had been fine, though. Lucinda had been a very good puppet. One of his favorite toys. Until she’d betrayed him. Until she tapped into that damned power of hers and blatantly ignored his express wishes. Lucinda had been a trial at the end. And when she escaped—and had stolen from him—he wanted nothing more than to kill her very, very slowly.
Kerren, on the other hand, was a completely different creature. She wasn’t driven by a conscience and didn’t worry about the morality of her own actions. Whatever she wanted, she went out and got. He had no doubt Kerren wanted him to dance to whatever new tune she was playing, but he wouldn’t be her fool again.
“What happens if I die?” he asked Kerren.
“Lucinda can’t remove the curse without you. Take heart, Bernard. If you croak before you find her, at least you’ll have the consolation of knowing she can never use her thaumaturgy.” She studied him, her ugly eyes as empty as her soul. “Ironic, isn’t it, that she’s the one person who might be able to cure you . . . if you hadn’t bound up that very power.”
“You wanted me to.” He felt so weary. The only thing that kept him going these days was the bright, steady flame of his fury. Lucinda would pay for what she’d done to him—and if he could manage it, so would Kerren. “No thaumaturge will see me, and there are only a few who exist. You and your games! If her gift was such a threat, then why didn’t you just kill her?”
“Kill my own sister?” she asked in mock horror. “Sure, I could rip out her heart, but after doing that a dozen or so times, the act really loses its charm.”
“Instead, you gave her to me.”
“Really, Bernard! Melodramatic much?”
“Will ending her life save mine?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Where do you think the energy comes from to sustain the magic? It’s being drained from you.”
“But you said if I died, she would still suffer.”
“It’s a curse, you moron. If you die, the magic will find your closest blood relative to feed itself. So long as Lucy lives, you and your heirs will ensure her curse does, too.”
Cold horror swept through Bernard. Kerren had known that the curse would drain his life force, and those of his family, when she’d given him the magic and the instructions for using it. It had been only three months since the cursing, and he was already dying. At this rate the entire Franco line could be wiped out in less than five years. Gods-be-damned, Kerren! He wanted to reach through the water and choke the life from her.
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