Raintree: Oracle

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

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

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.