Raintree: Oracle. Linda Winstead Jones

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