Raintree: Oracle

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.”