Raintree: Oracle

When are you going to kiss me again?

The answer to that unasked question should be never. But damn, there was something irresistible about Echo Raintree. Instead of being horrified, she actually gave in to a small, secret smile that spoke volumes. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. The only difference was she had no idea how dangerous a deepening connection between them might be. For her. Dammit, he had to keep the woman out of his brain!

As powerful as she was—and lack of control aside, she was quite powerful—she could be more. The weather power that revealed her mood; her ability to see into his mind; her clear empathic abilities. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was like him. A sponge. A receptor.

A dangerous creature.

The two of them together could rule the world. Or burn it down around them.

“Echo …” Should he send her away or embrace her? Teach or shun? Pull her to him or make sure there were always thousands of miles between them?

LINDA WINSTEAD JONES is a bestselling author of more than fifty romance books in several subgenres—historical, fairy tale, paranormal, contemporary and romantic suspense. She is also a six-time RITA® Award winner and (writing as Linda Fallon) winner of the 2004 RITA® Award for paranormal romance. Linda lives in north Alabama with her husband of fifty-two years. She can be reached via lindawinsteadjones.com.

Raintree: Oracle

Linda Winstead Jones

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Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Autumn in the North Carolina mountains was always special. Even after serving six years as keeper of the Raintree Sanctuary, the beauty of the place and the season was not lost on Echo. The days were cooler now, and she liked that. The leaves on the trees had turned enticing shades of gold, orange and red. These early-morning walks along a wooded trail were for her and her alone. The rest of the day might be spent handling Sanctuary business, but each day began just this way, with a long walk and blessed solitude.

Suddenly her vision dimmed, and an instant later a burst of bright light blinded her. Echo dropped to her knees, hard, then fell forward, grasping at the dirt and small stones on the trail with her fingertips, trying to hold on so the world wouldn’t spin out from under her. For a split second she was able to think, and what initially came to her was I’m too young to have a stroke! But then thought was gone, the images bombarded her and she realized this was no stroke.

There was water, lots of it. Icy-cold salt water filled her nose and her mouth; she choked on it. It burned. She could not breathe. The two worlds—hers and theirs—merged. She was prone on a dirt trail on Sanctuary land, holding on for dear life, but she was also there. And she was drowning.

The boat was sinking, going down fast. Water rushed in, sweeping people off their feet and away, pushing them under the cold water. The forceful and icy water swirled around her legs, pushing and pulling until she, too, fell and was washed deep into the sea. She screamed, and water filled her lungs.

There were one hundred and three souls on board; she knew that in a way she could not explain. Though she was underwater and for all intents and purposes drowning as so many already were, she heard the panicked cries of those who had not yet been swept under the dark waters. They were all screaming for help, and they were all going to die...

And then it was over.

Echo felt as if she’d been kicked by a mule, but she blinked twice, three times. She caught her breath and rolled onto her back. Her entire body trembled; her knees were weak, and she remained cold. So cold. She wasn’t sure how long the vision had lasted. Even though it had seemed like seconds while she’d been caught up in it, she noticed that the sun had moved a bit higher in the sky. The morning was growing warmer.

She didn’t sob, but silent tears streamed down her face. Her lower lip bled; she’d either cut it when she fell or had bitten it during the vision.

All her life she’d dreamed of disasters as they were happening. Sometimes she’d go a few days without a nightmare, but she’d never gone more than a week, maybe eight days, without one. Now and then she might see a disaster before it took place, but not often. Not nearly often enough.

This was new. For the third time in a little over a month, a vision had come to her while she was awake. Each one had stopped her dead in her tracks, had thrown her to the ground—or the floor—and had twisted her body and mind as she suffered along with the victims. She’d always hated the nightmares; she’d dreaded them. But this...this was so much harder. This particular vision had been far more vivid than any of the others, much too real. What if they were getting worse?

If she had not been pulled out of the vision in time, would she have drowned with the others? Would she have died on the trail that had, until a short time ago, been such a place of peace?

As with the other instances she would go back to the house, sit at her computer and try to piece together when and where the disaster was happening. Or had already happened. In her heart she knew that once again she would be too late. Her true curse was that she was always too late.

Being keeper of the Raintree Sanctuary—this blessed land that was so special and necessary to her family, her clan—had not been her idea, but she’d done her best to embrace the assignment. She’d left the band she’d loved and quit her waitress job. She didn’t miss the job, but she did miss the band and the girls she’d played with. Most of all she missed Sherry, her friend and roommate, a pretty good drummer who’d died in her place. Sherry had been murdered by a psycho Ansara soldier who’d thought she was killing Echo Raintree. A lot had happened six years ago, when the Ansara had attempted to take on the Raintree clan. Changes, upheaval, the beginning of a new era. The end of the evil leadership of the Ansara clan, the beginning of a new Rainsara clan with Mercy, Echo’s cousin, the previous keeper of this Sanctuary, at the helm with her husband.

At the time, getting away from it all had seemed like a good enough idea. Some days she could almost forget that the idea hadn’t been hers.

Even though she had initially argued a bit—she’d never been a fan of being told what to do—she’d thought being here, living in this safe place, would help her learn to control her ability. Being honest with herself, she admitted that her “control” wasn’t just poor, it was nonexistent. Instead of learning, she was getting worse.

The Raintree clan was by far the most successful—and powerful—in the magical world most people had no idea existed. There were other clans, other groups held together by blood and by bond, but none were as old or as organized as the Raintree. Echo’s cousin Dante was Dranir, leader of the Raintree clan. With her husband, Judah, cousin Mercy led the closely affiliated Rainsara clan. Gideon was always there to help his siblings, if help was needed. That branch of the family was all amazingly powerful. Why couldn’t she control fire, or lightning, or heal the sick and wounded? Why was this her so-called gift?

Echo jogged back to the house, breathless and hurting, her knees knocking. It was always possible that this time was different. Maybe she wasn’t too late.

By the time she pieced together the clues, the story was on the newsfeed. Russian Ship Sinks, Search for Survivors Under Way. Echo’s heart dropped. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the words on the computer screen. “There are no survivors,” she whispered to the screen, and then, without a second thought, she wiped away her tears, snagged her cell phone off the desk and thumbed her way to the contacts list.

Her cousin picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Echo. What’s up?”

Gideon sounded cheerful. He was so happy with his life! Too bad she was about to ruin his day.

“Are you busy?” she asked, as if this were an ordinary call. Her heart pounded; her breath caught in her throat as she suffered second thoughts. This was her family, after all. She loved them; they loved her. She would do anything not to hurt them or cause them distress. Almost anything.

“I have a few minutes,” Gideon said. “Everything okay there?”

She probably should have called Dante directly, since this was about to be his problem, but she was closer to Gideon. They lived in close proximity and had for years. He was the one she always turned to in times of trouble. Gideon was only a dozen years older than she was, but he was more of a father to her than her real father had ever been. Half the time she never knew where her parents were, and she had learned long ago not to bother them with her troubles. They didn’t like it. Her troubles put a damper on their fun.

Besides, cousin or not, Dante scared her a little when he was mad. And this was definitely going to make him mad.

She started with a casual, “How are Hope and the kids?”

“Everybody’s fine,” Gideon said. “Emma is playing softball this year. Fall ball, they call it. Tournament this weekend. She’d love if it you came to a game.” He laughed. “I promise you, softball at this age is absolutely hilarious. It’ll be worth the trip.”

Unfortunately, hilarity was not in her immediate future. Echo hesitated. She ran a lone, dirty fingernail across the top of her desk. She’d always been a little bit of a rebel, but this...this was going to take real courage. “Any chance Emma is ready to take on her role as caretaker of the Sanctuary?” she asked. After all, Emma was destined to one day take on this job. It was what she’d been born to do.

Gideon’s tone changed; she could hear the seriousness over the phone lines, could feel it even before he spoke. “She’s five years old, so no. Not yet.” His voice lowered, making her wonder if there was anyone else around. “Dammit, Echo, she deserves as normal a childhood as we can give her.”

Echo paused. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No one was going to be happy about this, but what choice did she have?

She’d never had control over her powers of prophesy, and she’d actively fought the empathic powers her cousins insisted she possessed. Powers they said would grow in time. She didn’t want to be an empath, didn’t want to suffer the feelings of others. She didn’t want to be a prophet, either, suffering their disasters, as well, but there wasn’t much to be done for that. Was it too much to want control over her life? No, it was not. For all she knew the same magic that made this land a safe haven for others in her clan was causing the distressing shift in her abilities.

She had to start somewhere and this was it.

“Call Dante and tell him there’s a position to fill,” she said, calling on every ounce of bravery she possessed. She took another deep breath. “I quit.”

Chapter 1

One year later

Ireland. Echo had always wanted to visit, it was on her short bucket list, and now here she was. This trip was hardly a vacation, though. She was on a mission. She needed help, the kind of help her cousins had tried—and failed—to give her.

The village of Cloughban was well off the beaten path. She’d gotten turned around three times trying to find her way here. The GPS on her phone seemed to think the place didn’t exist, but she had a map. An actual paper map that was so old she handled it carefully so as not to tear it along the folds. Still, she’d taken more wrong turns than she cared to admit to. She’d almost given up once, but at this point she couldn’t afford surrender.

Echo parked 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 not so sharp.

She’d almost reached the car when the first drop fell.

If you could call it a drop. Soft Irish rain, more mist than true rain, was cool on her face. It felt good, she had to admit, though she had no desire to be soaked to the skin. Not in this cool weather. She should’ve bought the raincoat instead of the sweater.

Echo’s stomach growled. With the time difference she didn’t know what meal her body was asking for, but it was definitely time to eat. Given the way the town square had suddenly become deserted, it would be a waste of time to head back that way. Instead of getting behind the wheel of the rental car she turned left and ducked into the pub with the weird name. The stone building, which didn’t have a single first-story window, wasn’t exactly what she’d call inviting, but surely the pub served food of some kind. At this point anything would do. Maybe her head would clear once she’d had something to eat.

The Drunken Stone was dimly lit, all dark wood and dark leather and beer advertisements. One table in the far corner was occupied by three older, gray-haired men. Was Ryder Duncan sitting there? Not that any one of them looked like a powerful wizard. She didn’t look much like a prophet, so what did appearances mean? Nothing, really.

While she had found mention of Duncan in the Raintree records, there weren’t many details. There definitely hadn’t been a photo. All she really knew was that he was a teacher, and he lived in—or at least had once lived in—Cloughban.

One of the men actually looked like a garden gnome come to life, with a squished face and a tremendous nose, but he was a bit taller than any gnome she’d ever seen—just a bit—and he didn’t wear a pointed hat. The other two were thinnish and looked enough alike to be brothers, or maybe cousins. The similarity was in the nose and the slant of the eyes.

The man behind the bar was not older, gray-haired or gnomelike. He was good-looking, tall and lean with wide shoulders in a snug gray Henley. She’d guess he was in his mid-thirties, just a few years older than she. He had a nice head of thick, dark hair that hung just a little too long. There was a bit of wave in that hair that looked as if it was begging for a woman’s fingers to straighten a few misbehaving strands. Adding to the mystery was a leather cord just barely peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and a leather cuff on his right wrist.