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Raintree: Oracle
Linda Winstead Jones


Out of control…For years Echo Raintree has battled against the visions of disaster that sweep over her without warning. Now she’s determined to vanquish them. And there’s only one man who can help: wizard Ryder Duncan.Ryder has one objective: protect his daughter, Cassidy, from those who would use her exceptional powers for evil. Trusting Echo, with her ties to the infamous Raintree clan, seems reckless. But when Ryder’s village is invaded, Echo could be Ryder’s only hope of keeping his daughter safe. And, as the pair work together to defend Cassidy, an unexpected and fierce desire begins to burn between them…







When are you going to kiss me again?

The answer to that unasked question should be never. But damn, there was something irresistible about Echo Raintree. Instead of being horrified, she actually gave in to a small, secret smile that spoke volumes. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. The only difference was she had no idea how dangerous a deepening connection between them might be. For her. Dammit, he had to keep the woman out of his brain!

As powerful as she was—and lack of control aside, she was quite powerful—she could be more. The weather power that revealed her mood; her ability to see into his mind; her clear empathic abilities. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was like him. A sponge. A receptor.

A dangerous creature.

The two of them together could rule the world. Or burn it down around them.

“Echo …” Should he send her away or embrace her? Teach or shun? Pull her to him or make sure there were always thousands of miles between them?


LINDA WINSTEAD JONES is a bestselling author of more than fifty romance books in several subgenres—historical, fairy tale, paranormal, contemporary and romantic suspense. She is also a six-time RITA


Award winner and (writing as Linda Fallon) winner of the 2004 RITA


Award for paranormal romance. Linda lives in north Alabama with her husband of fifty-two years. She can be reached via lindawinsteadjones.com (http://lindawinsteadjones.com).


Raintree: Oracle

Linda Winstead Jones




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Linda Howard, fabulous writer, partner in crime,

travel buddy, and most of all, good friend.


Contents

Cover (#uf004a375-1f54-54b4-8cc1-b2a8c8474721)

Excerpt (#u0e5086fa-625f-5354-9b3a-1dd818d5037c)

About the Author (#u12013368-2d2f-58de-813a-23a227e412de)

Title Page (#u326e883b-0f97-51ba-ab20-7145028d2cd1)

Dedication (#u70b41664-e565-515a-813e-aac30a0a65fd)

Prologue (#uf3eb9bd6-9991-561e-883d-213325057c52)

Chapter 1 (#u262d6309-b21d-5d7d-be4e-48fbe225dd61)

Chapter 2 (#u627ea326-5d56-5b6a-834b-67698d652c63)

Chapter 3 (#u81735ebf-d6d5-5a48-8004-f6faf2a8473e)

Chapter 4 (#u0df7dfaa-82df-52cb-a020-7fc731784d3b)

Chapter 5 (#u7e5aebd6-6e58-5bf3-9f9f-cc5df88c0983)

Chapter 6 (#ude142991-87ba-5a2b-9777-64d380ddbf5e)

Chapter 7 (#ufb478dd0-ed2e-5700-babd-82c7a7dece86)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_5ed6aab7-4298-525b-b6d2-05a241d0fd8f)

Autumn in the North Carolina mountains was always special. Even after serving six years as keeper of the Raintree Sanctuary, the beauty of the place and the season was not lost on Echo. The days were cooler now, and she liked that. The leaves on the trees had turned enticing shades of gold, orange and red. These early-morning walks along a wooded trail were for her and her alone. The rest of the day might be spent handling Sanctuary business, but each day began just this way, with a long walk and blessed solitude.

Suddenly her vision dimmed, and an instant later a burst of bright light blinded her. Echo dropped to her knees, hard, then fell forward, grasping at the dirt and small stones on the trail with her fingertips, trying to hold on so the world wouldn’t spin out from under her. For a split second she was able to think, and what initially came to her was I’m too young to have a stroke! But then thought was gone, the images bombarded her and she realized this was no stroke.

There was water, lots of it. Icy-cold salt water filled her nose and her mouth; she choked on it. It burned. She could not breathe. The two worlds—hers and theirs—merged. She was prone on a dirt trail on Sanctuary land, holding on for dear life, but she was also there. And she was drowning.

The boat was sinking, going down fast. Water rushed in, sweeping people off their feet and away, pushing them under the cold water. The forceful and icy water swirled around her legs, pushing and pulling until she, too, fell and was washed deep into the sea. She screamed, and water filled her lungs.

There were one hundred and three souls on board; she knew that in a way she could not explain. Though she was underwater and for all intents and purposes drowning as so many already were, she heard the panicked cries of those who had not yet been swept under the dark waters. They were all screaming for help, and they were all going to die...

And then it was over.

Echo felt as if she’d been kicked by a mule, but she blinked twice, three times. She caught her breath and rolled onto her back. Her entire body trembled; her knees were weak, and she remained cold. So cold. She wasn’t sure how long the vision had lasted. Even though it had seemed like seconds while she’d been caught up in it, she noticed that the sun had moved a bit higher in the sky. The morning was growing warmer.

She didn’t sob, but silent tears streamed down her face. Her lower lip bled; she’d either cut it when she fell or had bitten it during the vision.

All her life she’d dreamed of disasters as they were happening. Sometimes she’d go a few days without a nightmare, but she’d never gone more than a week, maybe eight days, without one. Now and then she might see a disaster before it took place, but not often. Not nearly often enough.

This was new. For the third time in a little over a month, a vision had come to her while she was awake. Each one had stopped her dead in her tracks, had thrown her to the ground—or the floor—and had twisted her body and mind as she suffered along with the victims. She’d always hated the nightmares; she’d dreaded them. But this...this was so much harder. This particular vision had been far more vivid than any of the others, much too real. What if they were getting worse?

If she had not been pulled out of the vision in time, would she have drowned with the others? Would she have died on the trail that had, until a short time ago, been such a place of peace?

As with the other instances she would go back to the house, sit at her computer and try to piece together when and where the disaster was happening. Or had already happened. In her heart she knew that once again she would be too late. Her true curse was that she was always too late.

Being keeper of the Raintree Sanctuary—this blessed land that was so special and necessary to her family, her clan—had not been her idea, but she’d done her best to embrace the assignment. She’d left the band she’d loved and quit her waitress job. She didn’t miss the job, but she did miss the band and the girls she’d played with. Most of all she missed Sherry, her friend and roommate, a pretty good drummer who’d died in her place. Sherry had been murdered by a psycho Ansara soldier who’d thought she was killing Echo Raintree. A lot had happened six years ago, when the Ansara had attempted to take on the Raintree clan. Changes, upheaval, the beginning of a new era. The end of the evil leadership of the Ansara clan, the beginning of a new Rainsara clan with Mercy, Echo’s cousin, the previous keeper of this Sanctuary, at the helm with her husband.

At the time, getting away from it all had seemed like a good enough idea. Some days she could almost forget that the idea hadn’t been hers.

Even though she had initially argued a bit—she’d never been a fan of being told what to do—she’d thought being here, living in this safe place, would help her learn to control her ability. Being honest with herself, she admitted that her “control” wasn’t just poor, it was nonexistent. Instead of learning, she was getting worse.

The Raintree clan was by far the most successful—and powerful—in the magical world most people had no idea existed. There were other clans, other groups held together by blood and by bond, but none were as old or as organized as the Raintree. Echo’s cousin Dante was Dranir, leader of the Raintree clan. With her husband, Judah, cousin Mercy led the closely affiliated Rainsara clan. Gideon was always there to help his siblings, if help was needed. That branch of the family was all amazingly powerful. Why couldn’t she control fire, or lightning, or heal the sick and wounded? Why was this her so-called gift?

Echo jogged back to the house, breathless and hurting, her knees knocking. It was always possible that this time was different. Maybe she wasn’t too late.

By the time she pieced together the clues, the story was on the newsfeed. Russian Ship Sinks, Search for Survivors Under Way. Echo’s heart dropped. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the words on the computer screen. “There are no survivors,” she whispered to the screen, and then, without a second thought, she wiped away her tears, snagged her cell phone off the desk and thumbed her way to the contacts list.

Her cousin picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Echo. What’s up?”

Gideon sounded cheerful. He was so happy with his life! Too bad she was about to ruin his day.

“Are you busy?” she asked, as if this were an ordinary call. Her heart pounded; her breath caught in her throat as she suffered second thoughts. This was her family, after all. She loved them; they loved her. She would do anything not to hurt them or cause them distress. Almost anything.

“I have a few minutes,” Gideon said. “Everything okay there?”

She probably should have called Dante directly, since this was about to be his problem, but she was closer to Gideon. They lived in close proximity and had for years. He was the one she always turned to in times of trouble. Gideon was only a dozen years older than she was, but he was more of a father to her than her real father had ever been. Half the time she never knew where her parents were, and she had learned long ago not to bother them with her troubles. They didn’t like it. Her troubles put a damper on their fun.

Besides, cousin or not, Dante scared her a little when he was mad. And this was definitely going to make him mad.

She started with a casual, “How are Hope and the kids?”

“Everybody’s fine,” Gideon said. “Emma is playing softball this year. Fall ball, they call it. Tournament this weekend. She’d love if it you came to a game.” He laughed. “I promise you, softball at this age is absolutely hilarious. It’ll be worth the trip.”

Unfortunately, hilarity was not in her immediate future. Echo hesitated. She ran a lone, dirty fingernail across the top of her desk. She’d always been a little bit of a rebel, but this...this was going to take real courage. “Any chance Emma is ready to take on her role as caretaker of the Sanctuary?” she asked. After all, Emma was destined to one day take on this job. It was what she’d been born to do.

Gideon’s tone changed; she could hear the seriousness over the phone lines, could feel it even before he spoke. “She’s five years old, so no. Not yet.” His voice lowered, making her wonder if there was anyone else around. “Dammit, Echo, she deserves as normal a childhood as we can give her.”

Echo paused. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No one was going to be happy about this, but what choice did she have?

She’d never had control over her powers of prophesy, and she’d actively fought the empathic powers her cousins insisted she possessed. Powers they said would grow in time. She didn’t want to be an empath, didn’t want to suffer the feelings of others. She didn’t want to be a prophet, either, suffering their disasters, as well, but there wasn’t much to be done for that. Was it too much to want control over her life? No, it was not. For all she knew the same magic that made this land a safe haven for others in her clan was causing the distressing shift in her abilities.

She had to start somewhere and this was it.

“Call Dante and tell him there’s a position to fill,” she said, calling on every ounce of bravery she possessed. She took another deep breath. “I quit.”


Chapter 1 (#ulink_b9198d7b-48f4-5105-9829-4c13b2d14be6)

One year later

Ireland. Echo had always wanted to visit, it was on her short bucket list, and now here she was. This trip was hardly a vacation, though. She was on a mission. She needed help, the kind of help her cousins had tried—and failed—to give her.

The village of Cloughban was well off the beaten path. She’d gotten turned around three times trying to find her way here. The GPS on her phone seemed to think the place didn’t exist, but she had a map. An actual paper map that was so old she handled it carefully so as not to tear it along the folds. Still, she’d taken more wrong turns than she cared to admit to. She’d almost given up once, but at this point she couldn’t afford surrender.

Echo parked her rental car in a small space beside the village pub—the Drunken Stone, a name which made no sense at all—exited the vehicle with purpose and walked toward the center of town. It felt good to stretch her legs, as she tried to decide how to proceed from here.

In spite of her troubles, she was instantly charmed. She’d left behind the stifling humidity of a North Carolina autumn heat wave for a cool breeze and...this.

The village might’ve come right off a postcard. The road was narrow, barely wide enough for two small cars. There wasn’t a single building in town taller than two stories high. They were all very old, that was evident in the weathered stone-and-brick walls. The buildings were dull grays and browns, but the doors had been painted bright colors—red, purple, blue and green—and there were flowers everywhere. In window boxes and large tubs along the sidewalk. Hanging near shop entrances, stems loaded with blooms flowing from earthenware pots to the ground. She slowed her step, momentarily caught up in the simple beauty of the place.

The windows of the shops along the main road were all enticing, their offerings tempting. Candy, colorful scarves, hats and jackets, cheeses and wines. Ice cream and coffee. If she stayed here for a while, if she found what she was looking for, that might become her favorite establishment.

The sun was shining, but thanks to an increasingly stiff breeze it was cooler than Echo had expected. She hugged her arms to herself, wishing she’d grabbed her lightweight jacket out of her duffel bag. She didn’t want to go back to the car to get it. The walk back would hardly be a long one, but if all went well she might be here for a while, and she needed to be properly equipped for the weather. This trip was not much more than a whim, and in a fit of frustration she’d just thrown a few clothes into her red duffel without giving much thought to the weather. She stopped in front of a boutique with her eye on a dark blue sweater in the window.

How did a store like this survive in a town so small? She supposed the locals had to have a place to shop other than the next town over, but still, through the window the boutique looked to be stuffed to the gills with really nice, upscale merchandise.

Echo stepped into the shop, which was smaller than she’d thought it would be as she’d peeked through the window. Small, but crammed with shelves and racks of colorful clothing. And hats! There was a very interesting collection of hats on a rack at the back of the store. The clerk behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with reddish-blond hair and an easy, wide smile, said, “Hello. Can I help you?” Her accent was lovely, lilting and almost musical. Echo realized she was the one with the accent here.

“I saw a beautiful blue sweater in the window.”

The woman waved her hand dismissively as she stepped around the counter. “Ah, you don’t want that sweater. It’s far too expensive and the color is all wrong for you. It’s too dark. You’ll look best in pastels or jewel tones. Definitely jewel tones.” She crossed the small space between the counter and the rack near where Echo stood and grabbed a green sweater. “This one will suit you much better.” She lifted the price tag. “And it’s on sale. What luck.”

The green was a better color for her, she supposed, and who could pass up a sale? Half price. It was meant to be. Echo bought the sweater, which was folded neatly and with great care before being placed in a brown paper bag. Already she was eyeing a raincoat and a matching hat, but she supposed she should wait and see how long she’d be here before she made any more investment.

The cashier cleared her throat and asked, her tone a bit too carefree, “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you new to Cloughban? Are you visiting a relative or a friend?”

“Just visiting,” Echo said simply as she counted out the euros.

“My name is Brigid,” the saleslady said. “I hope you’ll come back while you’re here and look around some more. Do you expect to be here for a while or will yours be a short visit?”

“I don’t know yet,” Echo said honestly.

“Well, do come again.”

“Thank you, Brigid. I’m Echo Raintree, by the way. It’s very nice to meet you.” She didn’t have any idea how long she’d be here, or if she’d need more clothes, but it was a good sign that she’d made a friend right off the bat. She offered her hand for a handshake. Was that the protocol here? It seemed like the right thing to do, and since Brigid took the offered hand for a shake, she figured she wasn’t too out of line.

The handshake didn’t last long. It was, in fact, oddly brief. Brigid’s smile faded.

Echo left the pleasantries behind and got down to business. “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a man named Ryder Duncan. Do you by any chance know where I might find him?” Cloughban was a small enough town. Maybe it was one of those places where everyone knew everyone else.

The once-friendly woman’s smile faded; the change in her mood was instantaneous and complete. “No, sorry. I can’t help you.” Brigid’s speech was clipped, the crisp words passing through pursed lips. Gone was the wide smile. Her eyes narrowed. “You’d best be on your way. I’m about to close for lunch.”

Echo was ushered from the store, all but thrown out as if she were a bum and Brigid a brawny bouncer. In seconds she found herself on the sidewalk, shopping bag in hand and her head spinning from the rejection. All she’d done was mention Ryder Duncan’s name!

Duncan was, if her research was correct, a powerful and rare teacher. A professor of magic. A wizard, a sorcerer, a shaman. He was a stray, unaffiliated with the Raintree or the Rainsara or the now-defunct Ansara clan. It wasn’t as if you could use Google to search his name and come up with “wizard” but if you knew where to look, and she did, a small amount of information did exist. Not enough to paint an accurate picture, but enough for her to know that she had to at least try to find him. His last known place of residence was here in Cloughban. White Stone.

Being keeper of the Sanctuary had put her in control of a vast number of proprietary computer records. After she’d announced her resignation, she’d started her research.

In the past year, her cousins had tried to help her control her abilities so she could live a somewhat normal life. With books, charmed amulets and a number of meditation techniques, they had tried. A couple of times she’d actually thought it was working, but the results eventually faded away. Maybe they were too close to her. Maybe she needed to work with someone who was not family.

She hoped.

Echo stopped on the sidewalk and pulled her new sweater from the brown bag. Brigid had been nice enough to cut off all the tags, so all she had to do was pull it on and toss the bag in a nearby trash bin. That done, she glanced around again. Either everyone in this village took lunch at the same time, or there was an impressively fast phone tree and she was being shunned. Closed for Lunch signs were posted on doors and windows. As she walked around the small town square she heard locks being thrown, one after another. Why would an ice cream shop close for lunch? She couldn’t be the only person who occasionally opted for an ice cream sundae.

Just as alarming, where were the pedestrians who’d been on the square when she’d walked into the clothing shop? They were all gone. All.

Frustrated, she turned about, around and around, looking for a sign of life. Any sign. She saw no one. She could almost swear a gray pall had fallen over the entire town in a matter of seconds. Even the once-bright colors seemed dimmer, though she knew that was impossible. The square no longer resembled the picture on an inviting postcard. Instead, it looked like a place wide-eyed pale children with axes and an appetite for brains might live. Great, just what she needed. She turned toward the rental car, trying to decide what to do. If the very mention of Duncan’s name caused this kind of reaction...

No. It was coincidence. Nothing more. With the sale done there was no more reason for the clerk to be friendly. It was lunchtime. Maybe Brigid was hungry. Maybe everyone was hungry! The weather had simply taken a turn. Everything that had happened in the past few minutes was explainable. She’d just have to wait out lunchtime and ask again. Someone else, this time. Someone not so sharp.

She’d almost reached the car when the first drop fell.

If you could call it a drop. Soft Irish rain, more mist than true rain, was cool on her face. It felt good, she had to admit, though she had no desire to be soaked to the skin. Not in this cool weather. She should’ve bought the raincoat instead of the sweater.

Echo’s stomach growled. With the time difference she didn’t know what meal her body was asking for, but it was definitely time to eat. Given the way the town square had suddenly become deserted, it would be a waste of time to head back that way. Instead of getting behind the wheel of the rental car she turned left and ducked into the pub with the weird name. The stone building, which didn’t have a single first-story window, wasn’t exactly what she’d call inviting, but surely the pub served food of some kind. At this point anything would do. Maybe her head would clear once she’d had something to eat.

The Drunken Stone was dimly lit, all dark wood and dark leather and beer advertisements. One table in the far corner was occupied by three older, gray-haired men. Was Ryder Duncan sitting there? Not that any one of them looked like a powerful wizard. She didn’t look much like a prophet, so what did appearances mean? Nothing, really.

While she had found mention of Duncan in the Raintree records, there weren’t many details. There definitely hadn’t been a photo. All she really knew was that he was a teacher, and he lived in—or at least had once lived in—Cloughban.

One of the men actually looked like a garden gnome come to life, with a squished face and a tremendous nose, but he was a bit taller than any gnome she’d ever seen—just a bit—and he didn’t wear a pointed hat. The other two were thinnish and looked enough alike to be brothers, or maybe cousins. The similarity was in the nose and the slant of the eyes.

The man behind the bar was not older, gray-haired or gnomelike. He was good-looking, tall and lean with wide shoulders in a snug gray Henley. She’d guess he was in his mid-thirties, just a few years older than she. He had a nice head of thick, dark hair that hung just a little too long. There was a bit of wave in that hair that looked as if it was begging for a woman’s fingers to straighten a few misbehaving strands. Adding to the mystery was a leather cord just barely peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and a leather cuff on his right wrist.

He was, in fact, quite nice to look at. Just what she needed.

No, just what she didn’t need! She had the worst tastes in men. Her romantic history was more tragedy than comedy, and in the past year she had not even dared to get involved with a man. After a lifetime of dealing with her own so-called gift, when it came to men she much preferred those who were unencumbered by magic. She didn’t even want them to believe that true magic existed. It would be easier that way. But what if she allowed herself to hook up with a serious boyfriend and had an episode in front of him? How would she explain it away?

“Can I help you?” the too-good-looking barkeep asked.

Considering the reception she’d gotten when she’d initially asked about Duncan, she decided not to go there just yet. She’d passed a lot of nothing on her way to Cloughban. If the bartender was no friendlier than Brigid, it would take her at least an hour to find her way to the next small town. And that was if she didn’t get turned around again.

“I’m starving. What do you recommend?”

“I recommend a very nice café in Killarney,” he said, his Irish accent not as pronounced as Brigid’s had been. And then he continued. “Are you lost, then?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“You’re American, and we are far off the beaten path. You won’t see a tour bus on the streets of Cloughban.”

No tour bus would be able to make it down the narrow, winding road she’d taken to get here, but that was beside the point.

She stepped to the bar and took a stool. No matter what, she was not going all the way to Killarney for lunch! This was a public place—a pub—and she was hungry. If the bartender tried to send her away, she’d plant her feet and insist on being served.

Well, it was never a good idea to piss off the people who were going to handle your food, but still...

“I’m looking for someone, but first I really want something to eat. A sandwich should be safe enough. Please,” she added as sweetly as she could manage.

He smiled at her, but the smile did not touch his dark eyes. Not Irish eyes, she knew in an instant. Not entirely. There was a bit of Romany in those eyes. Tinker, to those less kind. She shook off the empathic abilities that had been trying to come to the surface in the past several years. Dammit, she didn’t want them.

“Safe enough, I suppose,” the hunk and a half said in a voice of surrender. He didn’t try again to send her to Killarney. “Beer?”

“Tea,” she said. “Sugar, no milk.” She needed to be completely clearheaded for what was coming, judging by what she’d encountered so far.

* * *

Rye hadn’t known who the woman was, not when she’d first walked through the door, but it hadn’t taken long for his instincts to kick in and alert him to the trouble she was bringing his way. His instinctive reaction had been to suggest that she lunch far from his humble establishment. For all the good that was going to do. She was a stubborn one; he saw that right off.

She’d been well into the room before he’d realized more precisely who she was. What she was. Up close the eyes gave her away. Her brilliant green eyes and the voice that whispered in his head. Raintree princess.

Too bad. She was a pretty girl, petite and fair, with soft, pale blond hair cut to hang to her jawline. He didn’t normally care for short hair on a woman, but he had to admit, the neck revealed was nicely tempting. Long and pale and flawless. She had amazing eyes, a very nice ass and breasts high and firm and just the right size for his hand.

He’d feed her, but then she had to go. Killarney was likely not far enough away.

Doyle Mullen was working in the kitchen today, as he did six days a week. He cooked, swept and manned the bar when Rye had to step away for a few minutes. His was not a particularly demanding job, but it was one that had to be done. The pub menu was limited. The single laminated page offered ham and cheese sandwiches, chips, vegetable soup and brown bread. There was also fish and chips, but he could not in good conscience recommend them to anyone. Not even her.

After delivering the order to Doyle, Rye returned to the bar and made the tea himself. It gave him the opportunity to turn his back on the Raintree woman for a few minutes. Dammit, he could still feel her eyes on him.

She hadn’t said so, not yet, but she was here for him. He felt it as surely as he would feel rain on his face if he were to step outside. The question was, why? What did she want?

Even without the talismans he wore, Rye was not the most powerful psychic in the world, not by a long shot. He had learned as much or more as he’d been born with, learned at the knee of his Romany mother. Sometimes knowledge slammed into him and he knew it was truth. Other truths were muddy, or hidden from him entirely. He’d often thought it would be better to see nothing at all than to be given only the occasional glimpse. It would ease his frustration considerably.

He had other gifts, gifts he kept dampened, but his psychic ability had never been his strength. If he were honest, he’d admit it was often more annoying than helpful.

He delivered the Raintree woman’s tea, then went into the kitchen to check on her meal. It was not quite ready, so he waited there until it was. Doyle tried to make conversation but Rye was in no mood to participate. Eventually the cook went silent. No one else came into the pub; he knew without watching the door. No magic was involved in that knowledge. A bell sounded when the front door opened. Usually a shopkeeper or two stopped in for a bowl of stew or a sandwich about this time of day, but so far all was quiet. Because she was here.

They knew. Someone among them had realized who she was and the word had spread like wildfire. He wondered if the pretty girl realized that her family name had the power to strike fear into the hearts of others. They would hide from her if they could. If she wasn’t careful, someone might do more than hide.

His life here in Cloughban was orderly. Predictable. He liked it that way. More than that, it was necessary. Thanks to an ancient protection spell, stray tourists didn’t find their way here. Only those who possessed magic could make their way to this special village. If anyone—tourist or wandering Irishman—was going to get lost, they got lost on another road in another county. But then, the Raintree woman wasn’t exactly lost, was she?

When the sandwich was done Rye delivered it as he had the tea, but again, he did not linger. While the Raintree woman ate he left his station at the bar to check on the regulars in the corner. Three grumpy old men who had been a part of this community for as long as anyone could remember. In a town population that was ever changing, these three were constant.

He stood close to the table and crossed his arms across his chest. “Are you fellas ever going to buy anything? Do I have to depend on strangers to wander into the place in order to make a living?” Tully, Nevan and McManus had been fixtures in this pub since long before Rye had taken it over. They’d probably be here long after he was gone.

Nevan, who was short and squat and looked as if his face had been scrunched together by two overly large hands, grinned. Not a pretty sight, considering that the old man was ugly as sin. “There’ll be a good enough crowd here tonight, and you know it. You don’t need our business in the middle of the day.”

His friends agreed with him.

“Maybe I shouldn’t open until four, then. I could sleep late if it suited me.”

Tully nodded. “That would be fine. I still have a key to the back door. You haven’t changed the locks, have you, son?”

Rye scowled and took a bar towel to empty tables, just so he wouldn’t have to face the Raintree woman. If he were lucky, she would eat, pay and leave.

He didn’t feel at all lucky today. She was trouble, and in his experience when trouble came for him it never walked away. It usually planted its feet and stayed awhile. He hadn’t experienced trouble of her sort for a long time. A very long time.

Her stool scraped across the floor as she pushed it back so she could stand. Coins were carefully counted out and placed on the counter.

And then she walked to the corner. All three old goats smiled at her; he saw that out of the corner of his eye.

“Perhaps you gentlemen can help me,” she said.

Rye stifled a snort. They would be instantly charmed. They would tell her whatever she wanted to know. To a point.

“I’m looking for a man,” she said.

McManus cackled. “Lucky lass, you’ve found three.”

She smiled. Good Lord. Dimples. “I’m actually looking for a particular man. Ryder Duncan. Do you know him?”

“I do,” Tully said in a booming voice. “And so do you, pet.”

Rye turned, ready to face the inevitable. Nevan pointed a crooked finger in his direction. The Raintree woman turned around slowly. Maybe she paled a little.

There was no running from it, he supposed.

“I’m Duncan. What the hell do you want?” he asked sharply.

Yes, she definitely paled. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

If someone was going to come for him—for the child more likely—why her? She was alone, she was not particularly powerful in that special Raintree way, nor was she physically strong. But she was a woman, and a pretty one at that. Did the Raintree think he was that weak?

More importantly, did they know?


Chapter 2 (#ulink_16a5a7cd-c821-5825-90ae-782fa0ddc9a6)

Oh, no. Not him! Echo was no fool. Well, she was occasionally a fool, especially where men were concerned. She already knew it would not be a good idea for her to spend too much time with this one. There had been an instant attraction. Nothing she couldn’t handle, of course. He was kind of a jerk but he was a pretty, sexy jerk.

He was also her last chance. She hadn’t come all this way to flake out because Ryder Duncan was not at all what she’d expected him to be.

“Maybe we can have a word in private?”

“No need,” he said sharply. “You can say whatever you need to say here and now, before you’re on your way.”

Yes, definitely a jerk. “I’m looking for a...a...” How much could she say in front of the three older men? Duncan wouldn’t expect her to know who and what he was, so he wouldn’t be worried about what she might say. “A teacher,” she finally said. “A trainer.”

“For you?” He all but scoffed. His lip curled a little.

She wanted to call him a very bad name and walk out with her head held high. But then what? Where would she go from here? Maybe he wasn’t her absolute last chance, but she didn’t have a plan B at this moment. She took a deep breath, swallowed her pride and said, “Yes, for me.” More swallowing. “I need your help.”

He turned and walked toward the bar, calling out as he went, “I don’t do that anymore.”

The three old men listened closely. They no longer bothered to even pretend to engage in their own conversation. The one on the far end must be hard of hearing, because he leaned over as far as he could, tipping in her direction.

Echo didn’t want to say anything that might give her true intent away. It was best to keep magical abilities hidden from those who did not have them. That was a bridge difficult to cross, and anyone who found themselves human in a supernatural world almost always became resentful, in time. In the end, they wanted what they could not have. No ordinary human could ever understand her desire, her need, to be rid of all magic.

Gideon’s wife, Hope, was the exception to that rule. Ungifted to the bone, with a husband and two little girls who were anything but, she was fine with who she was. More than that, she didn’t want magical abilities. She said she had her hands full enough as it was. And she wasn’t wrong.

Echo followed Duncan to the bar. Slinking away after one or two rebukes was not her style. “You’re too young to be retired. I’ll pay you.” This was one purchase she would gladly dip into Raintree family money for. “I’ll pay you well.”

He didn’t even bother to turn to look at her, which offered an interesting view. Echo tried not to notice the nicely shaped butt, the way his gray shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the thick, wavy hair.

“I don’t need your money, and I certainly don’t need the hassle,” he said as he rounded the bar.

“But I need...”

From behind long expanse of scarred wood that stretched between them, he turned to look her in the eye. Big hands on the bar, he leaned forward in a way that was unmistakably threatening. His expression alone stopped her words, made them freeze in her throat. “You need. You want. You have my answer, love, now be on your way.”

She lowered her voice, edging toward desperation. She had no idea what might come next if he continued to refuse her. “You don’t even know why I’m here, what I need.”

He was unmoved. “I don’t care.”

Echo turned, mustering what little pride she had left to walk out the door before the tears came. She could not speak another word without losing what little control she had left. Dammit, she would not cry in front of that jerk! He wasn’t her last chance, couldn’t be. There had to be another way.

She just didn’t have any idea where to look for it.

Once she was outside, the heavy wooden door closed solidly behind her, the rain began to fall harder. It was still what they’d call a soft rain, but she’d get soaked in the short walk to her car. Just as well that she wait a few minutes. She needed to calm down before she got behind the wheel. And went...and went where?

Echo backed against the rock wall of the pub, protected by a small but sufficient overhang above. She leaned there, boneless and shaking with a mixture of anger and frustration. She looked to the right. The square was still deserted, but given the rain that was not unusual. In her mind she continued to ask, Now what? No answer came to her. None.

She was lost. Far from home, alone, desperate for help—and lost. Worse than simply turned around, she didn’t know where to turn next, didn’t know which direction to take. She’d come to Cloughban so sure Ryder Duncan would help her. She hadn’t realized how deeply she’d believed him to be her last and only hope. Now what?

“Hello.” The small voice from Echo’s left-hand side startled her so much she twitched as she turned to glance down. The voice belonged to a child, maybe ten years old, with an impressive head of curly red hair, a smile that would surely light up any room and deep chocolate-brown eyes. As ordinary as she appeared to be, it was definitely odd that in spite of the steady rain, the little girl was not wet.

“Hello,” Echo responded. “Who are you?”

The question went unanswered. “You’re American,” the girl responded. “I can tell by your accent. Sometimes I watch American television.”

Yes, she was the one with the accent here. “You’re right, I am American.” The fact that the girl had come out of nowhere and was oddly dry was the least of her worries. The kid was, at the moment, a welcome distraction. “My name is Echo.”

“I love that name,” the child said with enthusiasm. “My name is Cassidy, but most of my friends at school just call me Cass. I like Cassidy better, but I don’t want to tell them. It might hurt their feelings. There’s no way to shorten Echo! You’re so lucky. No one will ever call you Ech.”

In spite of herself, Echo found herself smiling. “While I’m here I’ll call you Cassidy, since that’s the name you prefer.” Again, there was that uncomfortable sensation of being lost and not knowing what came next. Her voice was lower, less steady, as she said, “Though I’m afraid I won’t be here much longer.” The rain was letting up a bit. It would end soon, and she’d have no reason to stand here and wait. No, not wait, procrastinate.

“Yes, you will,” Cassidy said. “You’re going to be here for a very long time.” She seemed sure of herself, but then she was a child, a child who knew nothing about what had brought Echo to this place. Or what—who—was sending her away.

Cassidy leaned toward Echo a little and lowered her voice. “You need to go back inside. He will help you, he’s just scared. Only a little scared, but still scared.”

For a long moment Echo couldn’t speak. How did the kid know about Duncan and his refusal to help? Duh, the child had been listening in somehow. That’s why she wasn’t wet. Cassidy hadn’t appeared out of nowhere; she’d been inside, hiding in a dark corner or behind a booth, and had slipped out of the pub quietly either right before or right after Echo.

“No, I can’t stay here.”

Cassidy was not at all put off by that statement. “Yes, you can. You will! Besides, you really shouldn’t drive in your condition.”

“My...”

Echo stopped speaking because Cassidy disappeared. The kid didn’t run away; she literally vanished into thin air. Here one second, then poof, gone the next.

Was Cassidy a vision of what would be, like those Gideon had once had of his eldest daughter? A delusion, brought on by her own frustration? An incredibly gifted child? She’d never known anyone to be able to disappear that way.

It was possible the child had not been there in body at all, but had somehow manifested from a distance. Or didn’t exist at all. Yes, she was right back to delusions. Great.

You shouldn’t drive in your condition.

If she had an episode while she was on the road...

It began with a sensation of intense heat. She felt that heat on her face and in her blood. Instinctively she raised her hands up to protect her face. Her vision dimmed, her knees went weak. Echo turned clumsily. It took all her strength to throw open the pub door. It didn’t matter that Ryder Duncan had sent her away; she would not fall to the wet sidewalk. She would not expose herself that way.

She lurched into the pub and took four steps before she fell to her knees. Her last clear look at the here and now was of Duncan’s unhappy face.

* * *

Rye was about to ask the Raintree woman what the hell she was doing back in his pub when she dropped to her knees. Hard.

“Not now,” she whispered.

“Not now what?” he snapped. “If this is some kind of a trick to get me to change my mind, forget it.”

She fell forward, drew in her knees and covered her head with her hands, drawing herself into a ball. She shook violently. What the hell?

McManus lifted up slightly and peered over the top of the table to get a better view. “I think she’s having a fit.”

“Sure looks it,” Nevan said.

“Looks like a seizure to me,” Tully said.

Nevan chimed in again. “What’s the difference between a seizure and a fit?”

“What difference does it make?” Rye dropped beside the Raintree woman, placing a hand on her shoulder. She felt hot, as if she had a fever, and she continued to shake. Hard. Dammit, she’d been fine when she’d left a few minutes ago.

Whatever was going on, she was not faking.

He let loose a stream of foul language that had Tully laughing and Nevan crossing himself. She was light enough, easy to pick off the floor and carry to the back of the public room.

“One of you fetch Doyle from the kitchen and tell him to watch the place for a bit,” he said. All three men agreed, without question. Not that he expected any actual customers this afternoon. They knew to steer clear; they would know Raintree was here.

That was why no one but her had come in for lunch. Did Echo know her family name sometimes elicited fear in others of their kind? In the past, Raintree royalty had sometimes been imperious and even dangerous. Not in the past couple hundred years, maybe, but independents remembered their history, they had heard the stories. They came here, more often than not, to be left alone.

Rye dipped down just enough to open the unmarked door at the back of the room. Steep, narrow stairs loomed ahead. He carried the Raintree woman up, into the room where he slept some nights, and lowered her to the unmade bed. Dull afternoon light streamed through the windows.

Already she was cooler, and the trembling was lessening. He backed away from the bed to stand by the door, arms crossed and scowl in place. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman in this bed. Just his luck, she was not there for a pleasant reason.

What the hell did she really want with him? Why was she here? No Raintree, especially not one of the royals, would need his help. None of them would leave the clan looking for a teacher when they were surrounded by some of the most gifted individuals in the world. No, she wanted something else.

Rye hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he didn’t teach anymore. He no longer had the patience for it, and besides, his attention had to be focused elsewhere. He was also no longer wild about bringing strangers into his circle, even for a few days. The last time, a good four years earlier, things had not ended well. He had to be so careful.

It wasn’t long at all before the woman on his bed opened her eyes and looked at him with tear-filled, hope-filled, impossible eyes. Those eyes had a way of cutting through him, of touching him deep down in a way he did not wish to be touched. He knew he was screwed even before she whispered, “Please, make it stop.”


Chapter 3 (#ulink_f0676b4b-d3a4-5c42-9d08-9f39ea3fa390)

Fire. She hated the visions of fire more than anything else. This one—a true inferno—had taken place in a warehouse of some kind. China, Echo thought. Not that it mattered. The disaster was over. The fire had been waning as she’d fallen to the floor.

She looked at Ryder Duncan as she pulled herself back to the present. Straightening her sweater was as much a nervous gesture as anything else. It was a way to remind herself that this place and time were real. She was real, and safe. Unburned, no smoke in her lungs...

As was usual, she felt as if she were caught between a dream and reality, as if she were dreaming that she was awake but wasn’t quite there yet. The feeling would pass, she knew, but it usually took several minutes. She clutched the sheet beneath her hands, holding on to this world for dear life.

Her greatest fear was that one day she’d leave this world behind for much more than a few minutes. What if she stayed within a vision of disaster? Drowning or on fire, caught up in a violent earthquake or a trapped in a war zone. Would she die with those around her? It was that fear that had driven her here, away from her family, away from home and her responsibilities. The only way to handle that fear was to gain enough control so that she knew she’d always come back to herself.

Duncan had been her last sight before the vision, and now he was her first sight after. Even in her distressed state, she could appreciate that annoying as he was, he was a fine sight. Focusing on him allowed her to leave her fears behind. For now.

Normally she was alone when she came out of a vision. She’d always thought that was best. Her dreams of disasters, her visions of pain and suffering, they weren’t meant to be shared. Who would want to share them? Still, she had to admit, it was nice to see Duncan’s face waiting. Even if he did look pissed.

He was not at all what she’d expected when she’d flown to Ireland. It had been silly of her to expect anything at all! She hadn’t been able to find much in the way of detail about him. A mention in a story from ten years before, a second-or thirdhand account. In the real world, the world she lived in, “wizard” didn’t necessarily mean an old man with a long gray robe and long white hair and a magical staff. Though that was not impossible...

She sat up, uncomfortable to be on what was obviously his bed but too weak to stand just yet.

He continued their conversation as if there had been no break, no pause for her vision.

“Make what stop?” he asked, his voice cold.

She was probably wasting her time, explaining why she’d come to him for help. He’d already turned her down flat! But he had asked the question—make what stop?—and she knew better than to lie to him. She didn’t know exactly what powers he had, what gifts he possessed. He might realize she was lying; he might already know why she had come.

The truth. What else did she have to offer?

“My name is Echo Raintree. I’m called the Raintree prophet, but everyone knows I’m a poor excuse for a prophet.” That was her curse, as much as the visions. Always a disappointment, always less than she should be. “My visions come too late. There’s never anything I can do to help the people I see and hear...and feel. There was a time when I only saw these horrible things in my dreams, but as you just witnessed that is no longer true.” She shivered, then pulled the front of her sweater closed as if that might warm her. “They come all the time now, day and night, without warning, just...” She shuddered. “I don’t know what to do.”

He did not move closer or drop his arms. Jaw tight, dark eyes cold, he responded. Somehow, his Irish accent was more pronounced than it had been before as he asked, “You want me to train you to be a better prophet?”

Her heart leaped. In the beginning, even just a few moments ago, that had been her plan. But as she lay on his bed, shaking, feeling as if she’d blink and be back in the burning building, she realized she wanted more than control. Much more.

“No. I want the visions gone. I want them wiped away, erased. I want...help. The kind of help only you can offer.”

There was an uncomfortably long pause before he responded. “You want a lot,” he said without emotion.

“Yes, I do.”

Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Are you telling me there are no Raintrees who can help you?”

Again, she had to stick with the truth. If she lied to him and he found out, there would be hell to pay. One did not try to pull the wool over the eyes of a wizard. “They’ve tried, but...no luck.” Not knowing how much he knew, how much he saw, she had to tell all. “My cousins have attempted to teach me to control the visions. When I asked they said it was impossible to get rid of them entirely.” Gideon had refused to even discuss that possibility. “Maybe I’m too close to them, too connected. A st—” She caught herself. “Someone outside the clans seems like a better option, at this point.”

He didn’t respond for a few drawn-out seconds, and then he said in a lowered voice, “Poor Raintree princess can’t get her way at home so she flies across the pond to ask a stray for help.”

Her chin came up a bit. “I didn’t call you a stray.” Though she almost had. Caught. Echo swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain her strength. If only her knees would stop knocking. It was impossible to be strong when her entire body was weak, shaking, drained. She didn’t want Duncan to see her as weak. Not that she should care what he thought of her. She’d never see him again, once she drove away from Cloughban.

Which would probably be very soon. It was looking as if her trip had been a complete waste of time, as if Ryder Duncan was not all he’d been rumored to be. Any decent teacher would see that she needed help and offer it!

“No, not out loud,” he said. “But isn’t that what you call those with magic who are unaffiliated with your clans?”

She stood. Anger helped her find her legs. “Okay, fine. I almost called you a stray. Sorry if that offends you. What would you prefer?”

“Independent.”

He remained angry; he’d called her a princess with disdain...yes, this trip had been a waste of time. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide from those dark, condemning eyes. “Stray seems more appropriate to me.” She walked toward the door he blocked, trying not to let him see how devastating his refusal was. She would not beg!

“Sorry to have bothered you.” She thought about the little girl—real or imagined—she’d been talking to before the vision began. Beneath her breath she mumbled, “I guess Cassidy was wrong.”

Duncan didn’t move away from the door. Echo had to stop a couple of feet short. It was that or physically move him, and given his size and very nice solidness, that wasn’t going to happen. After a few seconds, she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. He still did not move. Dammit, did he want her to go or not?

“Cassidy?” he said in a lowered voice.

Echo sighed. “A little girl that was probably all in my head. I saw her, or imagined her, outside the pub right before this latest vision. She said I’d be here for a long time.” Wishful thinking, a real child with magic, a new precursor to the visions? She didn’t know. Cassidy had obviously been wrong when she’d said that Duncan would help her.

“What did she look like?” he asked.

She wanted out of here before she started to cry. She wanted to walk out with her head high and a smidgen of her dignity intact. A smidgen was all she could hope for at this point. If she stood here too long, neither would happen. “What difference does it make?”

“Indulge me.”

Echo backed away a little. Duncan could get under her skin much too easily. Just standing close to him made her shiver. Then again, maybe that was no more than lingering physical weakness thanks to her latest episode. Might as well give him what he wanted so she could boogie on out of here and have her nervous breakdown in private.

“Curly red hair, dark eyes, a few freckles. Maybe ten years old. She was on the sidewalk and then...she wasn’t.” She didn’t feel the need to explain anything more to him.

Instead of ushering her out of the room and down the stairs, Duncan stayed in place. He seemed to be contemplating her. Why? He’d already turned her down. Not once but two or three or four times.

“You give up far too easily, princess. Don’t you want to hear my answer?” he asked, and for the first time there was some humor in his voice. Dark humor, but at least a bit of his anger was gone.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms, much as he had. “Give me your answer.” Maybe it would make him feel better to tell her off before he let her go. Jerk.

“I will not strip away your gifts.”

“You wouldn’t call this a gift if you had it,” she snapped.

He held up a stilling hand. “It’s possible—I won’t tell you it’s not—but it isn’t an easy process. There would be a high price to pay. Your cousins were right to dismiss that option if they care for you at all.”

Well, that was interesting. Apparently what she wanted most of all was possible. She hadn’t been entirely sure. “What kind of price?” No price was too high; she’d do anything.

He ignored her. “I can teach you to control your abilities.”

Echo sighed. “I’ve tried, I really have. That’s not...”

“Of course it’s not what you want,” he interrupted. “You’re spoiled and undisciplined, and I suspect you have been all your life, princess. The gift of prophesy is rare and difficult and precious, and you have squandered it. I will not strip your abilities away, but if you do precisely as I say I will help you learn to master them.”

That was what she’d planned to ask for when she’d walked into the pub, but now she realized it was not enough. Duncan would do no more than her cousins had done for her, and that wouldn’t do. She’d tried talismans, meditations, exercises. In this case she’d have to face him each and every day, and she didn’t think she could take it. Besides, she did take a perverse pleasure in being the one to walk away. She’d bet no woman had ever told Duncan no.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” This time when she shooed him aside, he moved. She opened the door, started down the long, narrow stairway. Her knees were still shaky, and she had no idea where she’d go from here. Ryder Duncan was not who she’d thought him to be, and she could not, would not, put herself in his hands. One good thing had come out of the encounter. He wouldn’t do it, her cousins wouldn’t do it, but someone could remove her abilities entirely.

She had almost reached the bottom of the stairs when his soft voice stopped her. “It will only get worse.”

She didn’t turn to face him, but she listened.

“The pain, the frequency and intensity of the events. Because you fight it, because you are spoiled and untrained, because you fear your gift rather than embracing it, what’s happening will eventually kill you.”

After a moment of complete silence, Echo turned and looked up. She didn’t know Duncan at all, she didn’t even like him much, but she didn’t doubt the truth of his words. “You can take it away. You said...”

“I said there was a price you and those who care for you would not wish to pay for such a miracle.”

It wasn’t what she wanted, but what choice did she have? She had nowhere else to turn. Besides, when he discovered that she could not master this curse no matter how hard she tried, maybe he’d agree to strip it away. No price would be too high.

“When do we start?”

* * *

Rye sat at a table with the woman on the other side. The old men had left, and so had Doyle. They were alone, though that would not last. In an hour or so the late-afternoon crowd would start to arrive.

He should’ve sent Echo Raintree on her way, should’ve let her go to another part of the world searching for another stray who might be willing to do as she asked. He could’ve and should’ve sat back and allowed her to implode. It wasn’t as if he had any love for the Raintree clan.

But apparently Cassidy had said Echo would be here for a while. Cassidy was never wrong.

Echo rambled. About her problems, about her struggles with her abilities. There was something about a band, and parents who liked to gad about more than care for their only child. She was tired of seeing horrible things and never being able to do anything to stop them or influence them. He listened, but he was also distracted. Beautiful face, feminine figure, bright eyes. Any man might be understandably distracted.

He knew a bit about control, more than he was willing to share with her or anyone else. It was the reason he clung to routine, one of the reasons he remained in this quiet, enchanted village. The question was, could he teach control again? It had been more than four years since he’d taken on a student, and the last time hadn’t ended so well. There had been successes in the past, but were even a hundred successes worth the risk of a catastrophic failure?

Finally he interrupted her. “You’re stalling.”

She looked guilty. Rye had spent so much of his life hiding who and what he was, her easy-to-read expressions were a puzzle to him. The Raintree woman was an open book. How had she survived to this point? He knew she was twenty-nine years old. At one point in her rambling she’d said something about starting a new life at the age of thirty. A life without visions, a life without nightmares.

She was a mere six years younger than he was, but listening to her...it was as if they were not even of the same generation. Their lives to this point had been so very different.

He would help her if he could, but he couldn’t promise her a life without nightmares.

“Sorry,” she said in a lowered voice. “I didn’t mean to go on and on. We need to focus on the future, not the past. How do we begin?” She looked more than a little apprehensive.

“We don’t, not yet.”

“But you said...”

“I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Our first step is to get acquainted.”

Now the open book was suspicious.

“That doesn’t mean I want to get you into bed,” he clarified. “Though I imagine nearly every man you’ve ever met has tried.”

“I didn’t say I thought...”

“You didn’t have to.”

She pursed her lips. “I didn’t know mind reading was one of your abilities.”

He started to say, It’s not, but kept that piece of knowledge to himself. True, some thoughts jumped out at him on occasion, but it was damned hard work to go around reading the minds of others. It was also potentially dangerous.

But perhaps it would be a good idea to let her believe he could peek into her head at will. Did she not know she was an open book? Did she not realize that everything she thought was written on her pretty face for the world to see?

“So, there’s not a file on me back at Raintree headquarters?”

He expected her to laugh at the idea of Raintree headquarters and files on independents, but she didn’t. “Not much of one,” she admitted. “I didn’t have an easy time finding any detailed information on you.”

“Good.” Before she left he’d find out what—where and how—she had discovered about him, and make sure no one else could follow in her footsteps. He couldn’t make it impossible for someone gifted to find him—those with special abilities found their way to Cloughban all the time—but if there was any kind of a paper or electronic trail it would have to be eliminated.

She straightened her spine. “So, how do we get to know each other?”

“Among the many jobs you’ve had, have you ever waited tables?”

“Many times. When my band was playing in Wilmington...”

Not that again. “I don’t need to know the details,” he snapped. “You start tonight, princess.” With that, he slid from his seat and stood. He’d spent too much time looking at her. She was starting to get under his skin, and that was the last thing he needed.

She stood, too, more than a little angry. “I’ve had about enough of that. You can call me Echo or Raintree or pain in the ass, but do not call me princess.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what you are, a Raintree princess?”

Echo lifted her chin in obvious defiance. She’d probably deck him if he told her she was cute when she was mad.

“Some might say so, but that’s not who I want to be. I just want... I just want...”

A normal life. A life without pain. Ordinary worries, ordinary dreams. He knew very well what she wanted. “It doesn’t matter what you want, love.”

“Besides, you make princess sound like an insult.”

“Maybe it is,” he admitted.

She took a step closer, angrier, tense. “And another thing—you can stop interrupting me.”

“If you would get to the point in a timely manner, love, I wouldn’t need to.”

She punched him in the chest. “And love is no better than princess. I am not your love. I am not your princess. If you can’t call me Echo or Raintree, don’t call me anything at all. I’ll be happy to answer to hey, you.”

“As you wish. Be back here ready to work in two hours. You’ll need a place to stay. Maeve Quinlan rents out rooms by the week. She should have a vacancy.” He gave her directions, which were quick and easy. The Quinlan house was within walking distance, as was everything in Cloughban.

“How long will I need that room?” Echo asked. “One week? Two?”

One week or even two might be manageable, but he was not optimistic about that timeline. What had Cassidy meant by a long time? To an eleven-year-old, a month might be a very long time.

“I haven’t any idea.” He still wanted to send Echo Raintree on her way, but why fight it?

Like it or not, his daughter was never wrong.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_aadcc27e-0861-5c4e-b3c0-83e6f7fcb432)

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, leaving Cloughban looking freshly washed, sparkling and clean. Echo drove the short distance to the bed-and-breakfast. It would be an easy enough walk—she could see the two-story house from the pub—but she needed to park her rental car. Duncan had told her there was parking available behind the boardinghouse.

It would cost her a small fortune to keep the rental car indefinitely, but what choice did she have? It would be a day’s trip to return the car to the Dublin airport and then get back to town. She didn’t know anyone in Cloughban well enough to ask for that kind of favor.

She would’ve been better off to fly into the Shannon airport, but it wasn’t as if she’d taken her time and planned this trip well. The flight to Dublin had been the next with an available seat, and she’d taken it.

Besides, she didn’t want to be stuck without an easy and immediate mode of transport. If things didn’t go well she could leave at any time.

Always have an escape route...

Echo carried her bag up the narrow stairway, half listening to her new landlady, who led the way with a sway of her hips and a bright smile she occasionally cast over her shoulder. Maeve Quinlan was fiftyish, tall and pleasant looking with salt-and-pepper hair and a sturdy build. She wore a calf-length skirt in a girlish pink print, a matching blouse and a white cardigan. She could easily pass for a 1950s housewife.

“Breakfast is at seven.” Mrs. Quinlan’s voice was as bright as her smile. As soon as she’d confirmed Duncan had sent Echo, she’d been much more welcoming. “If you’re not an early riser there are always pastries in the kitchen, and you’re welcome to help yourself. I make a fabulous lemon blueberry scone.” The word fabulous was accompanied by an expressive wave of her hand. “Lunch is on your own, but you’re welcome to join us for dinner if you’d like. Just be sure to let me know if you’ll be here so I can set a place at the table for you. There’s nothing sadder than an empty place at the table, is there?” She walked briskly down the second-floor hallway to open the second door on the right. “Here you are, love. I hope the room suits you.”

The easy way love rolled off the lady’s tongue made Echo cringe. Duncan’s love had probably been meant in much the same way. These people used love the way her Southern aunts used honey. Anyone and everyone was called honey. Great. She’d made a fool out of herself insisting that he not call her love.

Well, it wasn’t the first time she’d been a fool. Wouldn’t be the last.

“It’s lovely, Mrs. Quinlan.”

Again, that expressive wave of a hand. “Call me Maeve, pet.” Before Echo could respond she continued with, “The bath is at the end of the hall. You’ll be sharing with Maisy Payne, who’s staying in the room next door. She’s our new librarian. Not that the Cloughban library is much to brag about, but we do have one. Maisy is a lovely girl. I’m sure the two of you will be the best of friends.”

Echo refrained from telling her new landlady that she didn’t need or want any new friends. She needed to get what she’d come here for and then get the hell out of town.

Maeve left her new tenant on her own, in her rented room. A small but nicely furnished room that, with any luck, would be home for a short while. Echo stared longingly at the narrow bed that was pushed up against one wall. She dropped her duffel on the floor and plopped down on the bed. Not too hard, not too soft. Just right.

Echo sat there for a moment, bouncing gently. It had been a long day. The longest. She’d slept on the plane, but that had been hours ago! With that in mind she laid back, stretching out. She might as well rest while she could. The time difference was going to be a bear, and the vision of the fire had drained her.

She was here and she’d found Duncan. It was too early to know if she’d get what she needed from him or not, but there was at least a chance. That was more than she’d had yesterday.

The bed was narrow and short, but it was also really comfortable. She’d just close her eyes for a few minutes...she’d take a moment and unwind a bit...

A banging on the door woke her. Disoriented, she noted a couple of things at once. She’d been sleeping hard. It was dark outside and it was completely dark in her new room, until the door flew open and someone switched on the overhead light. Echo’s instinct was not to be afraid. Instead, she was annoyed. Who would do such a terrible thing? The light was far too bright. She pulled the pillow over her face to block it.

Someone snatched that pillow away.

“If you’re going to work for me, it’s best not to be two hours late for your first shift.”

Duncan. Of course.

“I fell asleep.”

“Thank you for informing me,” he said dryly. “I never would’ve figured that out for myself.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.” She opened one eye. Too bad he was such a jerk. He was more than a little cute. No, not cute. Handsome. Sexy. Brooding, like her own Rochester.

Yeah, because every modern woman needed a boyfriend who kept a crazy wife in the attic...

“Can’t I start tomorrow?” She yawned and began to stretch again. Then she squealed as Duncan picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. The world spun. How dare he!

“No, you may not,” he said as he carried her from the room, slamming the door shut with one foot. “This is exactly what I was talking about when I said you were spoiled and undisciplined. You will be on time. You will do as you are told. You will not be late again!”

“Great. You’re one of those bosses.”

“One who expects his employees to actually do their jobs? Yes!”

She bounced hard as he started down the stairs. Hanging on to the back of his shirt for support was necessary.

“Wait. Wait!” she called as she tightened her grip.

He stopped in the middle of the staircase, and Echo took a deep breath. “Let me wash my face and brush my teeth, maybe throw on a clean shirt.” And pee. Not that she would share that detail with him.

Duncan turned and carried her up the stairs. He moved more slowly this time, giving her a moment to appreciate the solidness of the body against hers and the tempting wave of his hair. He had a nice neck, she admitted to herself, a strong jaw and broad shoulders. He carried her as if she weighed nothing. It would be beyond foolish to get involved with him, and since he obviously didn’t like her much that wasn’t a concern. That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate his finer attributes. Not that she would ever admit aloud that he had any.

He placed her on her feet near the door to her room. “You have five minutes.”

“Five?” The expression on his face stopped her from saying more. “Fine, five minutes.”

And then he tossed a black shirt that had been slung over his shoulder—much as she had been—in her direction. “Wear this.”

* * *

If she had any objections to wearing the tight black T-shirt with the pub logo on it, she hadn’t said a word. He’d realized it was a bit too small when he’d chosen it from the stack of shirts in the storeroom, but it did show off Echo Raintree’s fine figure to its best advantage.

The customers didn’t complain, either. Every eye of every male in the place, young and old, married and not, followed her as she served drinks and food and brilliant smiles. Complete with dimples.

Yes, she’d done this before. He might think her a fine employee if she hadn’t slept through the first two hours of her first shift.

He could’ve cut her some slack, he supposed. She’d had a long day. He’d been to the States a time or two himself and he knew very well that the trip was a challenging one. He could empathize. To a point.

If he cut her some slack, they’d never be finished. And he wanted to be finished. He wanted to get this done and send her on her way. If she got too curious, as his last student had, she’d have to go. Finished or not, on the verge of an ugly death for a pretty young woman or not, it was a risk he could not, would not, take.

The crowd began to clear out half an hour before closing time. It was a weeknight, after all. Echo cleaned tables without being told. She handled a bar towel like someone who’d done it before. The way she moved was oddly tempting. Graceful but strong. She flowed from one table to another, easy and, at least for now, unworried. Yes, tempting.

He could not afford to be tempted, not by her. If he was ever stupid enough to get involved with a woman again, if he allowed his body’s demands to override his brain, it would not be someone with the last name Raintree.

One thing he could say for her. Princess or not, she did not shy away from work.

As the last customer left, Echo walked to the counter and took a stool there, directly across from Rye.

“If I was wearing a shirt this tight at home I’d get a ton of tips. Here? Nada.”

“We don’t tip.”

She pursed her lips in what he assumed was mock displeasure before saying, “So I noticed. I think tipping is a practice that should be instituted ASAP. Barmaids across Ireland would be ecstatic.”

In spite of himself, he smiled. Her complaint was lighthearted, and had been delivered with her own smile.

He didn’t allow his smile to last. She was not his friend; she was not going to stay in Cloughban.

“Be here tomorrow at eleven.”

“I’ll be working a split shift?”

He nodded.

“It’s not like you do any business at lunchtime,” she argued. “You don’t need me.”

He glared at her, just a little.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be here by eleven.”

If tonight’s reception to her was any indication, his noontime business was about to pick up. Not that he would tell her that. She might take it as a compliment. As they got to know her, his customers seemed to forget that her last name was Raintree. Most of them, anyway.

“Don’t be late.”

She headed to the back of the room to grab her sweater. “Never again, boss, I swear. I’ll be here early. I’ll stay all day. Whatever it takes to convince you that I am not spoiled and undisciplined, I’ll do it.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Good night, Raintree.”

“Night, boss.” She exited by the front door, and when she was gone the pub felt suddenly and completely empty.

* * *

Even satellite phones were not entirely secure, but all things considered...there was no other choice.

“There’s a Raintree in Cloughban.”

After a short pause, the man on the other end of the line asked, “Which one?”

“Echo, the prophet.”

The sigh of relief on the other end of the line could be heard from miles away. Hundreds or thousands of miles? That was a mystery. “She’s no threat. They worried about her during the conflict with the Ansara, but she was not a factor.”

The Raintree clan was always a factor! “I can kill her if you’d like.” It was a thrill to watch someone die, and a Raintree! Not just any Raintree, either, but their prophet. The keeper of their Sanctuary. At least, she used to be keeper. What was she now? Why was she here?

“No!” The sharp command left no room for argument. “A suspicious death would only bring in more of them. Just watch, for now. Alert me to any unusual activity.”

Too bad.

There was a short pause, then, “Does she know?”

“I don’t believe so.”

A pause, a gentle hum. “Perhaps she’s there to recruit Duncan.”

That was a startling thought. Ryder Duncan, part of the Raintree clan? That would be a disaster for all who opposed them. “If you let me kill her...”

Again, “No.”

In the past, hundreds of strays had been called to Cloughban. No, not hundreds. Thousands. This place, the stones that fed the energy that surrounded and flooded it, had been here for thousands of years. Maybe longer than anyone knew. Was it possible that Echo had been called here by the power of the stones, as others had? If she knew everything, if she suspected, she would not have come here on her own.

Echo Raintree walked toward the house where she was renting a room. Her stride was slow and easy. Was her presence here really a coincidence? She didn’t seem to be on alert, and she was here alone. If she knew what was coming, if any of them knew, others would be with her. An army of Raintree would be swarming the countryside.

“Keep an eye on her for now.”

“Of course.”

The call ended abruptly. It was just business, after all.

Echo walked into the house. A few moments later, the light in a second-floor window came on. She was there. Right there. On her own and unprepared. It would be so easy...

Maybe killing the Raintree woman wasn’t approved just yet, but a good scare to make her leave town would probably be seen as clever initiative.

The whisper was caught on the wind that picked up. “I’ll be watching.”


Chapter 5 (#ulink_75acf111-611d-5bb4-bddf-5f1cbf9be233)

Echo walked through the front door of the pub, ready to get to work. Already the place felt a little like home to her. The warm atmosphere, the smell of ale and wood polish, gave a kind of comfortable aura. Ryder Duncan stood behind the bar in his usual place, and he did not look happy. He glanced up, shot some seriously dark eye daggers her way, then shook his head.

The Drunken Stone was a lot busier than it had been yesterday. The same three old men were in what was probably their usual spot, but today four other tables were occupied. At this time of day there was more food and tea being served than cider and beer. It truly was a village gathering place. Every town needed a place like this one.

She dropped her sweater and purse in the back room, then headed toward a grumpy Duncan. “What’s up?”

“You’re twenty-three minutes late,” he said in a sharp voice.

“That’s specific.” She looked around and saw no clock. He wasn’t wearing a watch. One of his things, she imagined.

“What happened to ‘I’ll be on time, boss’?”

“I wanted to look around town, and it’s not like you do a lot of lunch business.”

Duncan swept his hand out to indicate the customers.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?”

“Table four’s order is up,” he snapped as Doyle walked out of the kitchen.

Echo got to work without delay. Thank goodness the customers were a lot friendlier than her boss. They were a little distant—they didn’t treat her as if she were one of their own—but they weren’t outwardly rude the way Brigid had been when Echo had mentioned her name.

A couple of them called her love, and she did not chastise them. Their intent seemed to be cordial enough. Duncan hadn’t called her love since she’d told him not to. If he called her anything at all it was Raintree. On his lips, her surname sounded like a curse.

The early lunch crowd was all male, but just after noon three women came in together. It was obvious that they were here to see her. One of the three was Brigid, the woman who’d sold Echo her green sweater before getting all snippy. The way the women glared at her, with interest and more than a touch of antagonism...apparently they didn’t get a lot of new people in Cloughban. Apparently they didn’t want new people.

It didn’t take any special abilities to tell that these ladies didn’t like her. Gideon kept insisting she was a powerful empath, but Echo had fought that curse tooth and nail. Endure the feelings of those around her as well as her own? Experience their hate, love, heartbreak and fear as if it was her own? No, thanks. Whenever she felt that ability drift to the surface, she did her best to beat it down.

As she was cleaning up a recently vacated booth, she heard one woman say to Brigid, “I asked Rye about hiring Shay a few months back, and he said he wasn’t busy enough to take on a waitress. Apparently this Echo has special skills that my Shay doesn’t possess.”

The innuendo was so blatant it couldn’t even be called innuendo. It was an out-and-out insult. Echo considered setting the woman straight, but Duncan insisted that she learn discipline. She supposed letting something like that slide was the height of discipline. She’d show him.

While the women waited for their food to be prepared, Echo managed to stay busy elsewhere. She chatted with a couple of customers, and cleaned tables that didn’t really need to be cleaned. When it was ready, she delivered thick vegetable soup and ham and cheese sandwiches to the table. She managed to keep a smile on her face, a smile that was not returned. She even nodded to Brigid, an acknowledgment that they had met. Echo was no fool. The tight T-shirt had been intended to appeal to Duncan’s male customers. It only seemed to piss the women off.

It was odd. Yesterday, right after she’d arrived, everything in town had seemed so bright. The flowers, the shop windows, the people. Brigid wore a nice outfit she’d surely gotten at her own shop, but it was a drab gray green. The other two were dressed plainly; they wore little or no makeup, and but for plain wedding rings they wore no jewelry, either. If there were Children of the Corn nearby, she was looking at their mothers.

The wind picked up. Echo heard it howling around the building, rattling the door, as she placed a fresh pitcher of water on the table. The wind whistled, danced and howled. The wooden sign that read Drunken Stone, a sign that hung outside near the entrance, clanked loudly against the side of the building. One of the women jumped. The other two ignored the howl and whistle of the wind. Maybe it was normal, for Cloughban. She hadn’t been here long enough to know.

They ate, but did not linger afterward. The woman who had mentioned “her Shay” gave Echo one last glare as she walked out the door and into the wind, which caught her dark hair and made it stand straight up for one weird moment.

When the last of the lunchtime customers had left, Echo sat at the bar and faced Duncan. Again.

“Sorry I was late,” she said with sincerity. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

She couldn’t very well argue with him. She had been late.

There was so much she wanted to know about the man before her. The questions that filled her head as she looked at him were all personal. Are you married, boss? Got a girlfriend? I didn’t see a gym on my way into town, so how do you keep those muscles? I see Romany in you and I know the Irish are not fans of tinkers, so how did you get here?

None of those were wise questions, so she said simply, “Tell me about Cloughban.”

His response was immediate and rather cool. “Why?”

“I know it’s home for you, but to me Cloughban is entirely different from anywhere I’ve ever lived. It’s so far off the beaten path I had a hard time finding it. I kept getting turned around.” She couldn’t keep looking into his eyes, which were so dark and deep and angry they made her shiver. “I know there are farms nearby—I saw a ton of sheep on the way in—but...why does anyone live here? Why live so far away from everything?”

“You don’t see the charm?” Again, his sarcasm.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice enough, in a ‘I want to remove myself from society’ kind of way, but where’s the nightlife? What do the people of Cloughban do for fun?”

“Fun?” he asked, as if the concept were a foreign one.

“Music, theater, sports. Good heavens, Duncan, I haven’t even found a hint of Wi-Fi anywhere in town.” She’d walked around town all morning with her cell phone set to Wi-Fi and held high above her head as she watched for a flicker of a connection. Nada.

“Ah, the internet. I’ve heard of that.”

She gasped, shocked, then almost instantly realized he was pulling her leg. So he did have a sense of humor in there. Somewhere.

“I pretty much figured there would be no cell service here.” If she’d planned this trip more carefully, she would’ve invested in a satellite phone. But she hadn’t so she was off the grid, so to speak. “And as I said, no Wi-Fi.”

He leaned against the bar, casual but still wound tight. “You live in a world of electronics. We don’t. Instead of playing computer games, we play cards or board games. Instead of chatting with people online, we chat with actual living, breathing people. Face-to-face. For escapist entertainment we have books, and storytellers.”

“Storytellers?”

“They tell the tales of fairies and leprechauns, of dark magic and light. Nevan is a quite talented seanachai. Why do we have need of Wi-Fi?”

“In this day and age it’s barbaric to be without it,” she said softly.

Duncan smiled. He did have a nice smile. Among other attributes. Her heart did a little extraexcited pitter-pat. Wait, no, that was not just her heart.

Damn, this was bad. Why couldn’t he be an old white-haired man with stooped shoulders and yellow teeth? Why couldn’t Nevan be the local wizard? She’d never be tempted to just sit and look at him.

“What about music?” she asked.

“There’s music in church on Sunday morning, and on occasion the schoolchildren will put on a show.”

She’d seen the quaint two-room schoolhouse as she’d driven into town. Judging by the size of the building and the number of people she’d seen out and about, there probably wouldn’t be much more than a dozen children in that school. How good could they be?

Music was essential to life. It was a way to express joy and sorrow. The right song at the right time had the power to lift her spirits even on the worst day. She couldn’t live without it, and didn’t want to try. Whether listening or singing herself, she needed music.

Gathering her courage, she said, “I sing.”

Duncan was not impressed. “Many people do. Crazy old Tully sings all the time. He can’t carry a tune, though, so don’t encourage him.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Why had she expected that he would? Everything about Duncan was difficult. “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “Is there a guitar in this town?”

“Of course there is.”

There was no “of course” about it. She could take nothing for granted here.

Echo felt as if she was definitely experiencing some of the worst days of her life. A difficult and reluctant teacher. An imaginary little girl. No Wi-Fi! She needed music. It was the one thing she was good at that was normal, that required no magic. When she sang she had nothing to hide from the world.

“Tonight, instead of just waiting tables, how about you let me sing for your customers?”

For the first time since she’d met him, Duncan looked genuinely surprised. “Why?”

She leaned slightly over the bar, excited in a way she hadn’t been in quite a while. “Trust me, boss.”

He leaned toward her. Holy crappola, he smelled like fresh-cut grass and spring rain and man. Why did he have to smell good? Why couldn’t he stink?

His voice was emotionless as he asked, “When you have a job that includes singing, do you show up on time?”

“Always.”

“Then we have a deal.” He offered his hand for a shake, and she took it. They shook once, then quickly released. Echo’s hand continued to tingle long after he’d let it go. She could still feel his touch as she stepped outside. Must be a wizard thing, she decided as she headed back toward her rented room, a couple of fresh Drunken Stone T-shirts clutched in her hand.

She was almost there when she realized that the wind had died down. It was actually quite a lovely day. Cool, but sunny and clear. She’d teased Duncan about living here, and she did feel as if she’d lost a limb without her phone, but there were moments when she very clearly saw the appeal. It was almost like stepping back in time to the fifties or the sixties. She didn’t have to worry about email or phone messages, and she hadn’t even turned on the small television in her room.

There was one problem, though. Her cousins would have a fit if she just disappeared without a word. The last thing she needed was Gideon, Mercy, and Dante searching for her. They were busy with their own families, their own hectic lives, but eventually they would miss her. She’d be easy enough to follow to a certain point, through the plane ticket and car rental, and she had no doubt that they could find her here if they tried.

She did not want her cousins and Duncan to come face-to-face with her in the middle. No way. Not ever. Her family could and would find her if they put their minds to it. She’d told them she wanted to be on her own for a while, so there was no reason for them to search for her right away, but still...maybe she should make sure.

Echo decided she’d change clothes and then head into town for a few postcards and stamps. She didn’t need to say much. A simple “I’m fine, need some time alone” should do the trick.

* * *

Rye sat in the rear booth Nevan and his pals usually occupied for a good part of the day, his legs thrust beneath the table. Even they were gone. Echo and Doyle wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours; he had the place to himself.

He grasped the small, warm stone in his hand and closed his eyes, and there she was. Echo, a picture in his mind. A picture as clear as if she truly stood before him. She’d changed clothes. She wore jeans still, but now she wore boots and a loose-fitting long-sleeved purple shirt instead of a Drunken Stone T-shirt and comfortable tennis shoes. She smiled at the young man who sold her three postcards. He was smitten. She had no idea.

The smile was real, even though the pain of her gift tormented her. He’d seen her suffer; he knew she was tormented by the visions. Visions that commanded her, when it should be the other way around. Waking nightmares that tore at her very soul. He should not want to help her, should not care. But he did.

He’d tried to help Sybil, hadn’t he? He’d seen her suffering and had done everything he could to save her. That attempt to help had ended so very badly... No, he could not let his mind go there, could not relive failures of the past. This time would be different. There would be no personal involvement.

If he failed, if she died, he would be able to move on without feeling as if the entire world had been ripped apart beneath his feet.

So why was he watching her? Why did he sit in a dark corner and use his abilities to spy on her as she engaged in perfectly ordinary activities? She sat at an empty table outside the coffee shop, took a pen from her purse and began to write on the postcards. Three short notes.

Her activities were ordinary—there was nothing for him to be alarmed about—but he did not stop watching, did not release the stone and clear his mind of her even though he knew he should. Echo was nothing like Sybil, not in looks or in temperament. She wasn’t like his last student, either, an eager young man who’d wanted much more than he’d initially revealed.

Echo was an open book; she hid nothing from him.

Everyone in Cloughban knew what he was; they knew what he could do. Some of it, anyway. No one knew all, though he was certain a few suspected. Most of them were not entirely normal themselves, though no others had earned the designation wizard. Touched with magic, they had been drawn here as his ancestors had been. Some stayed for a year or two and moved on. Others were lifelong residents. A few came just for a few weeks, curious or needing a short refuge.

Echo asked why anyone would live here, and he had not been able to give her a truthful answer. Here, I am with my kind. Here, I am safe from prying eyes. And most importantly, Here, I feed on the power of the stones.

He never should’ve agreed to help her, never should’ve allowed himself to get caught up in her troubles. It was not too late to remedy that mistake, no matter what Cassidy had told her. Very little in this life was written in stone. He was in charge. He could and would change what was, perhaps, meant to be.

All he had to do was tell Echo he’d changed his mind about helping and send her away. All he had to do was look her in the eye and say, “No.” Sounded simple enough, but as he watched her from a distance, he wondered if it would be that easy.


Chapter 6 (#ulink_cfe2ddca-2c7e-5113-938e-aedf7241ad09)

Postcards mailed, Echo walked back toward the Quinlan house. She wondered if she had time for a nap. No, if she overslept and was late for work again, Duncan would kill her!

The white clapboard bed-and-breakfast was as charming as everything else in Cloughban, outside and in. It was well maintained, in spite of its obvious age. The porch, the lace curtains in the downstairs windows, the plain furnishings—everything was spotless. The kitchen was small but functional, as was the dining room. Mrs. Quinlan—there was never any mention of a Mr. Quinlan and Echo didn’t feel she knew her landlady well enough to ask—slept in the single downstairs bedroom, while upstairs there were three bedrooms and a shared bath for her paying customers. At the moment, only two of those rooms were occupied. Since Echo and Maisy kept very different hours, they didn’t see each other often. Just as well. As far as Echo could see, Maisy had preferred having the second floor to herself.

Maybe she disliked sharing a bathroom.

Maybe she was like those women who’d come into the pub simply to glare at the new woman in town. Maisy was very pretty, tall and dark-haired and definitely a D-cup, so Echo didn’t see how she could see one more female in the mix as a threat, but...they were definitely not becoming friends.

There were several shelves of books in the downstairs parlor. As she passed by, Echo thought that maybe she’d grab one of those and read awhile. Then again, maybe she’d turn on the television in her room and see if it picked up more than one or two stations.

But, oh, a nap sounded so good. She still hadn’t adjusted to the time change.

Echo passed on the book, deciding to check first to see if there was anything on the television. She ran up the stairs, more energetic than she should be, all things considered, and threw open the door to her room. It wasn’t locked. What did she have to safeguard?

The first thing she noticed was that her bed had been neatly made. The next thing she saw was a manila envelope propped on her pillow. Maybe Maeve had dropped off the recipe for her scones, which Echo had praised that very morning.

She snatched the envelope off the bed, plopped down in the faded blue wing chair by the window and removed the contents.

Her heart nearly stopped. The single sheet in the envelope was not a recipe.

It was a recent photograph of her parents.

Echo had accepted a long time ago—somewhere around the age of nine—that her mother and father were useless in a crisis. They were not great parents and never had been. A child had never been in their plans. They liked to travel, to party at any opportunity. Her father’s gifts had never been very strong. He could read minds, when he worked at it. Her mother had been a stray—an independent, Duncan called them—who had the occasional bit of insight into what was to come.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to say they were useless. They did love her. Difficult as they were, she’d never doubted that. But they had never really known what to do with a daughter who had nightmares about disasters, a daughter who woke screaming in the night. A daughter who was much more powerful than they had ever been or could ever hope to be.

She knew the photo was recent because her mother’s haircut—shared in an email a few weeks back—was new. It looked as if they were in Paris. Yes, that was definitely Paris.

In the photo, the eyes of both her parents had been crossed out, messily and completely, with a ballpoint pen.

Her hands began to shake, her breath would not come. This was a blatant threat to their lives, she understood that much, but why here and why now? Who even knew she was here?

She’d just sent postcards to her cousins insisting that all was well. Postcards they wouldn’t receive for days. Maybe weeks, considering where they’d been mailed from. Now this.

For a few long seconds she sat there, horrifying picture grasped in her hands, heart beating so hard she could feel it pounding against her chest as if it wanted to escape. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know who to turn to. One word came to mind, as she began to recover from the shock.

Duncan.

* * *

Not only was Echo not late, she was more than an hour early. And she was not dressed for work. She was dressed as she had been that afternoon as she’d wandered about town with that easy smile on her face. For a moment Rye thought she’d shown up early to demand that they begin their lessons. That would be the time to tell her that he’d changed his mind.

No, that wasn’t why she was here. Something was wrong. Her face was oddly pale; her hands shook. He wondered if she’d had another vision—or was about to—and then she shook a manila envelope in his direction and said, “I don’t know what to do.”

She sat in the nearest chair, her legs giving out from under her, and held the envelope up for him to take.

Rye walked slowly toward her. He’d spent the past hour trying to decide how to tell her that he’d made a mistake and she had to go. Now. Tonight. He couldn’t afford to care about her troubles, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be her knight in shining armor. He was the last man in the world to fill those shoes.

He grabbed the envelope and removed the single sheet inside. It was easy enough to tell that the attractive older woman in the picture was Echo’s mother. They favored quite a bit.

“It was on my bed,” she said. “Just...sitting there. I thought it was a recipe.” She took a couple of deep, too-fast breaths. He worried she was on the verge of hyperventilating. “It’s a threat to my parents, right? My cell phone is worthless here. I dug it out of my bag instinctively, then just stared at it for a moment. I can’t call anyone, can’t send an email or...or...” Her eyes widened. “Police. Are there police here? A constable? A...an inspector?”

“Of course, but...”

She stood, seemingly a bit stronger now that she had a plan. He didn’t dare to tell her that the single constable in Cloughban wouldn’t know what to do, wouldn’t care, wouldn’t help at all.

“I have to go,” she said. “That’s all there is to it. When I get to the next town over I’ll call my mom’s cell, and I’ll call Dante, too. Maybe Gideon. Definitely Gideon.” Mercy? No, Mercy was too far away to get immediately involved, though it was possible one or both of her brothers would call her. “I’m not that far from Paris, I can get there in...”

Rye placed his hands on her shoulders. A few hours ago he would’ve been relieved to hear those words. I have to go. He’d had the same thoughts all afternoon. Yes, Echo Raintree had to go. Out of his life, away from Cloughban. Away from Cassidy. Dammit.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Against his new plans, against his better judgment.

“But I...”

“I have a phone, a landline. You can use it to call whoever you need to call.”

“Okay, thank you.” She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips full and far too tempting. “I’ll do that, but then I have to go.”

He knew that was a bad idea. With magic and without, he knew that no matter how unwise it was for her to stay, leaving would be worse. Dammit, she was going to turn his life upside down.

“You’re going to stay here,” he insisted. “We’re not finished.”

She shook her head.

His temper got the best of him and he snapped, “You can’t tell me the entire Raintree clan can’t protect two of their own from whatever or whoever threatens them.”

“Oh!” Echo’s green eyes shone. Her tense shoulders dropped a little as she relaxed. “If they’re on Sanctuary land they’ll be fine. Maybe they can take over my old job for a while.”

“Your old job?”

She grimaced. “I was keeper of the Raintree Sanctuary.”

In his experience, she did not have the discipline to be the keeper of anything. She was a roamer, a butterfly. A princess, not a queen. “You were replaced?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I quit last year and left a few months ago. Dante was very unhappy, but others have filled in since then. My parents can be next in line.”

She relaxed; she smiled. “They won’t like it, but they’ll be safe there.” He could almost see her body unwinding. “Everyone else I care about can more than take care of themselves.”

Of course they could. Raintree.

On occasion Rye had to remind himself that Echo was no normal woman. No lost and mildly gifted stray looking for others like herself, no independent in need of his assistance.

Doyle arrived early tonight, too. He sauntered through the front door, squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the pub, smiled when he saw Echo. His shoulders squared. Holy God, the woman was trouble. Doyle had been a perfectly steady and reliable employee since coming to town eight months ago. The man was nearing thirty, as Echo was. He was handsome enough to have caught the interest of a handful of women in town, ordinary enough not to cause a stir. Like most of the others in Cloughban, Doyle was different. Telekinesis was his gift. Rye had caught him moving pots about the kitchen a time or two, but he didn’t like anyone to watch. Once, when Rye had walked in and caught Doyle playing—or practicing—several pots had wobbled in the air and then hit the floor at once. The stones fed Doyle’s gifts, as they fed those of the other independents—strays—in town.

Echo nodded in Doyle’s direction. “I have a couple of phone calls to make, but when I’m done can I get a bowl of soup and some brown bread? I think I’m getting addicted to your brown bread.”

Doyle beamed. “Aye, lass. I’ll get to it.”

“Thanks.”

Again, she looked up at Rye. “What are you scowling at, boss?”

“I’m not scowling. This way to the phone.” He gestured with one hand and she stood. For a moment, a second or two, she stood too close. He could feel her body heat, smell her shampoo, sense the tremendous energy that rolled off her very fine body. She held her breath, and so did he.

Powers he’d tamped down for years shimmered. They danced. A part of himself that he’d buried deep—for good reason—took a breath as it tried to come to life. It took all his control to push it back down again.

He could not afford to allow the wizard he had once been to return. The stones that fed his power, that made Cloughban such a special place, also allowed him to control what he was. What he had once been.

Echo would not like what he had once been.

Walking behind her he pushed down the urge to brush her soft blond hair aside and kiss her neck. For comfort. For her and for himself. Just because he damned well wanted to know what that tempting neck tasted like.

He had no prophetic gifts; he did not know what the future held. But he knew that, like it or not, he wasn’t going to get rid of her anytime soon.

* * *

In years past Echo had played for smaller crowds, but not often. She’d admit that in the early days her all-girl band had been, well, a little rough when it came to hitting all the right notes. That had changed with time, but in those first few months they hadn’t been able to draw much of a crowd beyond drunk guys who thought it would be hot to hook up with a bass player or a drummer. The band had gotten better and had eventually built a following, but it had taken time.

She’d never performed alone, not until now.

Tonight less than a dozen warm bodies were scattered about the pub. The size of the crowd was a little disappointing. Of course, it was a weeknight. Maybe weekends were livelier.

At least those who were present seemed to like what they were hearing. She didn’t have to call on her weak and unwanted empathic abilities to see that. Several customers in the room smiled, a few tapped their feet or patted fingers on a table in time to the music. They all faced the stage and listened.

For tonight Echo sang ballads, love songs, a couple of sappy songs she’d written herself. To really rock out she needed a band behind her. Drums, a bass guitar, an electric piano and amplifiers. At least two big amplifiers. One woman and one acoustic guitar made for a quieter, gentler form of entertainment.

What would happen if she had an episode while she was on the postage-stamp-size stage in the Drunken Stone? She hadn’t had to worry about that before, when the visions had only come in her dreams. She hadn’t dared to sing in public since her powers had shifted and she never knew when she might be affected. Driving was risk enough, though she’d always told herself she could sense a vision coming on in time to pull to the side of the road. Maybe.

Now, however, she did worry. A little. How was she supposed to live her life if Duncan couldn’t help her manage this? Not for the first time, she wondered why his method of ridding her of the ability was so dangerous.

Sometimes she liked to imagine the life she would live without the visions. The people she could meet, the things she could do. No more worry about others finding out who she was and what she could do. No more hiding. It would be worth any risk to live that life.

Echo loved to play the guitar; she loved to sing. The fact that her fingers had already begun to hurt were a clear indication that it had been too long. She’d lost her calluses.

Tonight there were no visions. There was just music and laughter and applause. Even Duncan seemed to enjoy her performance. Doyle came out of the kitchen a time or two to wait tables and lean against the bar to listen to her. He liked her a little, she knew, but he wasn’t her type. He was a nice guy. She’d never really gone for nice guys.

That was going to have to change. If she could manage a normal life without visions, without being called a prophet ever again, she’d eventually need a nice guy. The normal package—marriage, commitment, the whole wonderfully humdrum deal—didn’t work with the kind of bad boy she was usually attracted to.

Her mind went to her current family. Gideon was in charge of getting her parents to Sanctuary, and she had no doubt about his abilities to do so. The phone call had been tense, to say the least. He’d asked too many questions she couldn’t answer.

He’d been pissed to find out where she was; at least he didn’t know why she was here.

Halfway through her set, Maisy—the librarian the landlady had been so sure would be a great friend—came in with her good friend Shay. They were both pretty girls. Maisy had very dark brown hair; Shay’s was thick and a rich auburn. Dressed in their best—tight sweaters and short skirts and boots—they drew a lot of attention as they walked in.

It took no special powers to realize that neither of these women would ever be a friend to Echo. She got a sharp glance from both girls, then they gave their full piranha-like attention to the bar and the two men there.

Shay had her sights set firmly on Duncan; Maisy smiled coyly at Doyle. The poor guys didn’t stand a chance...

Outside the pub, the wind howled with a sudden burst. A few heads turned toward the rattling door. Echo continued to play without a hitch; this was a song she knew well.

Shay leaned over the counter, all but thrusting her breasts at Duncan. Hers were not as impressive as Maisy’s, but she didn’t have a boyish figure, either. Echo couldn’t care less, but really, did the woman have no shame?

The wind picked up and the old building creaked. The wind howled so loudly it drowned out a couple of words of her song. Everyone looked up and back; the door rattled as if an invisible hand was shaking it, trying desperately to get in.

This was a weird town, and Echo had to wonder if someone in the pub, or outside it, was responsible for the sudden wind. Someone who had a gift for manipulating the weather. Someone who could bring the wind and the rain.

Duncan caught her eye, and a voice—his voice—whispered in her head.

That someone is you, love.


Chapter 7 (#ulink_8f3c64aa-0211-5baa-aa9a-6780b34b177f)

“I don’t control the weather,” Echo said succinctly when she and Rye were finally alone. She’d been about to burst with questions for the past two hours, but she’d held it in until everyone else had left.

“There was little bleedin’ control involved, I’ll grant you that.” She’d come to him in order to master the visions she did not want, and it was clear that she fought natural empathic abilities, as well. Now this? What other surprises were hidden deep in that seemingly delicate body?

The guitar she’d borrowed from him lay abandoned on the small stage; all the customers, as well as Doyle, had gone home. As they’d left, a few had whispered that a fierce storm might be coming.

They were not entirely wrong.

“You were upset to see Maisy flirting with Doyle, I expect, and that...”

“I was not!” Echo snapped defensively.

No, it had not been Doyle. Rye had seen into her mind clearly enough to know better, but she didn’t need to know everything he saw or sensed. He didn’t like how easily he slipped into her mind, how oddly near her thoughts were to his. The ability to see so much wasn’t normal for him, not now. Even before, such connections had been all but impossible.

“Something upset you, and the wind came,” he said. “Was it a missed note? An unexpected thought of your parents?”

She leaned back, pursed her lips and then said, “I did think about my parents and wonder how long it would take Gideon to get them to Sanctuary.”

“That was likely it, then.”

Echo seemed to relax a little. “Maybe there was just a perfectly normal shift in the weather,” she argued.

“Wishful thinking, love.” The endearment slipped out. Love. Maybe she was so upset she’d miss it. “There was nothing normal about that change in the wind.”

She narrowed one eye. The expression was likely meant to be fearsome, but it was not. There was not a fearsome bone in her fine body. “By the way, speaking of not normal...stay out of my head!”

He remained calm. “You invited me in, or I could not have been there.”




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