Raintree: Oracle

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

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.”