wasn’t happy about it, but since Gray had jurisdiction above all others in town, she reluctantly slid off her stool to go fill his order.
He decided to track down Marcy. It bothered him that she seemed upset, and bothered him even more that her stepmother seemed to think she deserved to suffer. The door marked RESTROOMS opened into a dark, narrow hallway with paneled walls and dusty pictures of the café as it had looked when it first opened in 1845. It was one of the first businesses built by the mundanes, and Gray remembered the previous owner, Cathleen’s father-in-law, Wilber Munch, with a lot of fondness. His son, Leland, had been a nice guy, a little too malleable when it came to the whims of women.
On either side of the hallway were the doors to the men’s and women’s restrooms. And all the way at the back was a black metal door with a big red EXIT sign above it. He assumed it was an emergency door, broken no doubt, because Cathleen was too cheap to fix up the place.
He pushed through it. The rank smells of garbage hit him so hard he gagged. Goddess almighty! The last time he checked, the town had trash service. As he stumbled outside and looked around for Marcy, he noted how refuse overfilled both Dumpsters tucked into the tiny alley.
Gray moved away from the stench-filled morass and toward the end of the alley. He spied Marcy easily enough, since she was wearing a bright yellow dress. She huddled in the corner, under a portico that offered little shelter from the sluicing rain, her hands covering her face. “Marcy?”
Startled, she looked up, hiccuping sobs. He saw the shiner on her left eye. It was fresh, as was her split lip, which was still bleeding. Anger burst through the remnants of his apathy. Had he stopped so thoroughly giving a shit about anyone else that he let the whole town go to hell?
“What happened?”
“N-nothing. I . . . uh, ran into a door.”
“Either you tell me what happened,” he said softly, “or I’ll do a truth spell on the entire café to find out who hurt you. I’ll learn everybody’s secrets, including yours.”
“Guardian. Please.” She shook her head. “I c-can’t.”
“You can trust me, Marcy.”
She stared at him, eyes wide, and opened her mouth. Then she shuddered and shook her head. Gray was astounded that she was more afraid of who hurt her than she was of him. He realized that, somewhere along the way, the town had lost faith in him. He couldn’t actually remember the last time someone had come willingly to him with a problem or concern. He had assumed that all was well because no one bothered him.
It seemed that no one bothered him because they’d realized he didn’t care. A point he’d driven home by performing perfunctory magic, showing up only on festival days, and doing his yearly pilgrimage to the House in Dallas to reaffirm the town’s loyalty to the Dragons. He never came to Nevermore otherwise, never mingled with the residents, never tried to be more than the Dragon Guardian who lived in his big house on the hill.
I’m not just an asshole. I’m the biggest asshole on the planet.
If Lucy hadn’t shown up and stabbed his conscience, he wouldn’t be out here. He wouldn’t even know about Marcy’s trouble or that the café was in near ruins. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to the little witch or be even more pissed at her. He studied Marcy’s young, pale face, and decided Lucy deserved thanks. And, he supposed, his help.
But he wasn’t going to marry her.
“Tell me who hurt you, Marcy.” He didn’t want to touch her, didn’t want to make her fear that he would hurt her, too. Instead, he looked deeply into her eyes, and held her gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her mouth quivered.
“What will you do to him if I tell you?”
Kill him. Maim him. Kick his balls into his throat. “You know the rules, Marcy. The Guardian decides punishment for transgressions within the town’s borders.”
“Y-you’ll have
He decided to track down Marcy. It bothered him that she seemed upset, and bothered him even more that her stepmother seemed to think she deserved to suffer. The door marked RESTROOMS opened into a dark, narrow hallway with paneled walls and dusty pictures of the café as it had looked when it first opened in 1845. It was one of the first businesses built by the mundanes, and Gray remembered the previous owner, Cathleen’s father-in-law, Wilber Munch, with a lot of fondness. His son, Leland, had been a nice guy, a little too malleable when it came to the whims of women.
On either side of the hallway were the doors to the men’s and women’s restrooms. And all the way at the back was a black metal door with a big red EXIT sign above it. He assumed it was an emergency door, broken no doubt, because Cathleen was too cheap to fix up the place.
He pushed through it. The rank smells of garbage hit him so hard he gagged. Goddess almighty! The last time he checked, the town had trash service. As he stumbled outside and looked around for Marcy, he noted how refuse overfilled both Dumpsters tucked into the tiny alley.
Gray moved away from the stench-filled morass and toward the end of the alley. He spied Marcy easily enough, since she was wearing a bright yellow dress. She huddled in the corner, under a portico that offered little shelter from the sluicing rain, her hands covering her face. “Marcy?”
Startled, she looked up, hiccuping sobs. He saw the shiner on her left eye. It was fresh, as was her split lip, which was still bleeding. Anger burst through the remnants of his apathy. Had he stopped so thoroughly giving a shit about anyone else that he let the whole town go to hell?
“What happened?”
“N-nothing. I . . . uh, ran into a door.”
“Either you tell me what happened,” he said softly, “or I’ll do a truth spell on the entire café to find out who hurt you. I’ll learn everybody’s secrets, including yours.”
“Guardian. Please.” She shook her head. “I c-can’t.”
“You can trust me, Marcy.”
She stared at him, eyes wide, and opened her mouth. Then she shuddered and shook her head. Gray was astounded that she was more afraid of who hurt her than she was of him. He realized that, somewhere along the way, the town had lost faith in him. He couldn’t actually remember the last time someone had come willingly to him with a problem or concern. He had assumed that all was well because no one bothered him.
It seemed that no one bothered him because they’d realized he didn’t care. A point he’d driven home by performing perfunctory magic, showing up only on festival days, and doing his yearly pilgrimage to the House in Dallas to reaffirm the town’s loyalty to the Dragons. He never came to Nevermore otherwise, never mingled with the residents, never tried to be more than the Dragon Guardian who lived in his big house on the hill.
I’m not just an asshole. I’m the biggest asshole on the planet.
If Lucy hadn’t shown up and stabbed his conscience, he wouldn’t be out here. He wouldn’t even know about Marcy’s trouble or that the café was in near ruins. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to the little witch or be even more pissed at her. He studied Marcy’s young, pale face, and decided Lucy deserved thanks. And, he supposed, his help.
But he wasn’t going to marry her.
“Tell me who hurt you, Marcy.” He didn’t want to touch her, didn’t want to make her fear that he would hurt her, too. Instead, he looked deeply into her eyes, and held her gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her mouth quivered.
“What will you do to him if I tell you?”
Kill him. Maim him. Kick his balls into his throat. “You know the rules, Marcy. The Guardian decides punishment for transgressions within the town’s borders.”
“Y-you’ll have
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