Raintree: Oracle. Linda Winstead Jones

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.