While he stepped over the threshold, Diana rummaged inside her bag for the flashlight. Once it was in hand, she flipped on the light and was immediately glad she thought to bring it.
Darien quickly returned and took Diana by the hand, leading her around a particularly large hole in the floor that she hadn’t noticed just beyond the doorway, even with the flashlight.
The majority of the ground floor was in a general state of rot and decay—cracked and splintered floorboards, pieces of the ceiling that had fallen to the floor or atop the worn furniture. It was if an entire nation of termites had made the house their home for decades.
“Watch your step,” Darien warned, not once letting go of Diana’s hand.
“I’m pretty much only going to step where you tell me to,” she replied.
“That is probably for the best. Manipulating wood and timber is beyond my abilities, but I can slightly sense which areas are the most stable.”
“That’s useful.”
The ground floor contained nothing of interest, and was mostly empty of furnishings altogether. Flinders apparently hadn’t lived in the house for quite some time before he died. Other than a few cans of extremely old beans in the kitchen pantry, there were no signs of human occupation.
They found the basement just as empty save for some old wine casks, broken bottles, and an old wooden table that had long ago been eaten up by termites. Darien lost much of his boyish excitement when they admitted defeat in the less-than-exciting basement.
“Hopefully there’s something up here,” Diana assured him as they carefully ascended the large staircase leading to the second floor. She fought the urge to grab a hold of the bannister as it would most likely just fall apart and send Diana sprawling to her doom.
“Perhaps,” Darien replied, sounding unhopeful. “Though anything substantial would have been hidden in the basement somewhere.”
“I know, I know,” she replied sardonically. “You thought for sure you’d felt an anomaly down there, but there wasn’t anything. Even the great Seeker, Endymion Stoneheart, can be wrong about his hunches from time to time.”
“Well then, Seeker Diana,” Darien said playfully, hiding his irritation. “You can lead our investigation for the remainder of the evening.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed with a nod. “And tone down the sass, mister.”
Darien just smirked smugly in reply and Diana opened the first door she came to at the top of the stairs.
Her mouth agape in wonder, Diana gazed on the considerably not-empty room before her—it appeared to be Foxwell Flinders’ personal library.
Though left to rot for decades, it was still a sight to behold. Shelves of books lined the walls, as well as cases of various antiques and artifacts, and Diana couldn’t help but recognize how similar the room was to Darien’s study back at the university. Even their large antique wooden desks looked to have been made by the same craftsman.
Darien quickly walked past Diana and then stood in the center of the room to look around.
“It looks remarkably like his study in England,” he said. “I visited it several times when I was searching for him.”
“Did you hire his decorator while you were there?” Diana asked with a grin.
Darien shrugged his shoulders. “If I’m going to live like a human, it might as well be one I respected.”
Already lost in his own thoughts, Darien walked over to the desk and began pushing around the pile of aged yellow papers. “What happened to you, Foxwell?” he muttered to himself.
Diana decided to let Darien be alone with his memories and musings. With growing excitement, she swiftly made her way to the bookshelves.
The collection was considerably smaller than the corpus of books that Flinders had bequeathed to the university, though Diana did recognize a few duplicates. From the eclectic mix of subjects, this particular library must have contained the man’s most personal favorites and the books not meant for the university. She saw tomes on the British Empire and other European countries, histories of Africa, the Middle East, China, and Japan, and even books on religious and philosophical thought such as the works of Plato and Aristotle. The majority of the collection, however, was fiction. Flinders must have owned every famous work of literature to have been written, from the epics of Homer, all the way to the first edition of The Great Gatsby sitting on the end table next to the reading couch.
Considering the masterpiece of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Diana wondered if it was the last book to have been read within that room. Looking to the shelves again, she didn’t recognize a single book published after 1930.
“Oh my god.” Diana said in surprise.
“What is it?” Darien asked, intrigued. “Did you find something we can use?”
“Even better,” Diana replied, her excitement spreading into a wide smile. “First editions of Pride & Prejudice and Northanger Abbey—my favorite Jane Austen novels!”
She grabbed the two books off of the shelf and held them in her arms like the precious treasures that they were.
Darien stared at her in disbelief.
“What?” Diana said, her expression all defense. “It’s not stealing. Flinders died a long time ago and no one came to claim his estate—that’s a clear-cut case of Finders versus Keepers.”
She smiled wide in triumph.
Darien shook his head. “We have more important things to do than collect old novels, Diana. If Flinders left anything behind that will lead us to the Chalice, it’s likely in this room.”
“But—but it’s Jane…” Diana said with feigned disbelief that Darien didn’t care one bit about first edition Jane Austen novels.
“Fine,” Darien consented, “You can take them; just put them in your bag until we’re done. I need your wits about you.”
Diana gently placed her new treasures into her bag and then took a seat on the couch to contemplate the situation.
She closed her eyes and pondered where she might leave a clue if she were Foxwell Flinders. He had been an English gentleman scholar—a self-taught man who had funded his own research and investigations. According to Darien, the man fell into obscurity for over a decade following the First World War, only to emerge later as a religious leader in Ohio.
The story of Flinders was bizarre, to say the least. No one knew anything about Flinders’ lost years—except for Charlotte, apparently.
Diana’s gaze went to The Great Gatsby again and the book ignited a curious notion. Each book was published before 1930—the same year that, according to her grandmother, Charlotte suddenly took ill and died.
Diana quickly stood up from the couch and headed for the door.
Darien seemed startled. “Where are you going?” he asked. “We haven’t finished our search in here.”
“I have,” she replied. “Stay here and keep looking. I’m going to look for a bedroom.” She didn’t stay long enough to hear Darien’s reply and assumed it was something positive.
Diana figured the master bedroom to be the last door down the hall—the only room that still had its door on its hinges. She went to open it, surprised to find it had been left locked.
Even so, the years of rot made it easy for Diana to push the door open with a little force.
She was right—it was a bedroom, and it wasn’t nearly as derelict as the rest of the house. Surprisingly, everything appeared to have been left tidy and in order. The bed was even made.
Knowing that the bedroom must have been the very picture of British elegance and charm at one time, Diana couldn’t help but feel at home within. It somehow reminded her of Miri’s room—a notion that prompted her to notice the large wooden vanity next to the walk-in closet. It still had a string of pearls draped across one side of the mirror.
A woman lived in this room—it must have been Charlotte.
Diana carefully stepped inside and the smell of rotting timber and dust filled her nose, reminding her of a musty old barn. Other than the smell of decayed wood, the room se
emed like it hadn’t been touched since the last person locked the door.
She slowly walked to the closet and opened the panel doors. Just as expected, it was filled with woman’s clothes of a circa 1920’s fashion. Diana’s fear of what might be living in those clothes kept her from inspecting them further, however.
She closed the door and began to investigate the vanity instead. The musty air inside the house had not been kind to the mirrors, the decades of dirt and grime clouding them until nothing could be recognized in their reflection.
With no small amount of trepidation, Diana slowly sat down on the small upholstered stool, fully expecting it to fall apart beneath her. She was more than surprised to find that it didn’t. Safely seated, Diana opened the jewelry box of polished wood and a song began to play. Her heart ached at the soft metallic notes.
I know that melody—it’s one of Grandma’s dream songs. As the notes played on, Diana’s memory transported her back to those nights of Veil nightmares and her grandmother lulling her to sleep with the mandolin.
Diana longed to be hear her grandmother’s songs again; she missed the kisses on her forehead and the warm hugs that signaled that the night’s terrors could not harm her if she just sang with her heart.
Diana felt the tears welling up in her eyes and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her jacket. You’ll be proud of me, Grandma. I’m going to find out what really happened to Aunt Charlotte. You’ll both be able to rest in peace.
Diana rummaged around in the jewelry box, finding what one would expect—a few pairs of earrings, necklaces, and various rings.
Then she saw it—an exquisitely crafted silver brooch of a lily.
Lily… Diana had to know for sure.
She quickly stood from the stool, hardened herself against the fear, and went back into the closet. Flashing the light all over the cramped, dark, space, Diana eventually discovered a light blue scarf hanging on a hook—it had white letters stitched on the end of it. She swiftly made her way to the scarf, ignoring the possibility of spiders or other creepy crawlies, and yanked it free before scrambling out of the closet and shutting the panel doors behind her.
After taking a much needed deep breath to regain her composure, Diana inspected the letters on the scarf. C. G.—Charlotte Green. These were her things!
Diana began to feel a strange sense of awe standing within her aunt’s old room. Much of Charlotte’s life remained a mystery to her, just as it had to Diana’s grandmother, but now, she finally felt connected to her great-aunt in a way she never had before.
Diana looked down to the silver lily brooch. Did Charlotte mean to give this to Grandma Lily, but never had the chance?
Taking the keepsake into her hands, Diana felt a strange sense of peace fall over her. No amount of glittering gold or shimmering rubies could amount to the treasure she now held—a gift from the past.
The squeaking of the wooden floor brought Diana to attention and she turned around to see Darien walking into the room.
“I found nothing of interest in Flinders’ study,” he said, looking irritated and defeated. “Did you find anything significant in here?”
“I think this was my Aunt Charlotte’s room,” Diana said with wonder. “I found this monogrammed scarf with her initials on it.” She held it up, shining the light onto it so Darien could see the letters. “There’s no evidence that Flinders shared the room with her, though. There aren’t any men’s clothes in the closet and the room only has feminine items in it.”
Diana pondered over her thoughts a moment before continuing.
“I’m pretty sure this room wasn’t used for some time before Flinders’ death. Everything is neat and tidy and kept in place—like one of those historical room exhibits they have in museums. Also, the door was locked. The rot made it easy to open.”
“Interesting,” Darien said as he brought his hand to rub the sides of his mouth, digesting the new information. “Something must have happened to your aunt.”
His words caught Diana off guard. She’d been suspecting whether or not Darien had been keeping Charlotte’s true fate a secret; she was more than a little relieved to know that he hadn’t been lying to her all these weeks.
“I’m sorry if that was insensitive, Diana,” he said, likely noticing her stunned expression.
“It’s fine,” she replied. “Honestly, I started expecting foul play the morning after the gala.”
“Why is that?” Darien asked, looking rather suspicious. “You’ve never mentioned this before.”
Diana felt her guard rising but she quickly dismissed it. There was no sense in keeping things from him any longer.
“My grandma’s stories, mostly,” Diana replied. “In the ‘Tales of Fox and Lotte,’ Charlotte and Flinders are usually being hunted by bad guys for some reason or another. After I saw the stele, I figured they both knew more than they should about the Chalice of the Moon and that those ‘bad guys’ were likely Shadowstalkers. Charlotte even knew that the Holy Grail was really the Chalice—she wrote a whole epic poem about it.” Diana shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, it’s all in Flinders’ huge book of Grail Lore.”
“His what?” Darien asked, his eyes blinking with disbelief.
“You know, that big leather-bound book at the library. It’s part of the Foxwell Flinders special collections.”
At her words, Darien’s eyes twitched and his lip began to quiver ever-so-slightly. He hadn’t known the book existed. Diana could only stare at him with disbelief. “You didn’t know it was there?”
“I have read every book and excavation report that man published, and I can assure you that Flinders never published a corpus of Grail lore; I would know.”
“Well it’s there; I’ve read it.” Feeling a bit defensive, Diana crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe he only had the one made for his personal collection.”
From the slight look of childish shame in his eyes, Darien knew she was probably right.
“Forgive me, Diana. I didn’t mean to imply you were lying. Honestly, I’m just upset with myself; I should have found that book decades ago.”
“It’s alright; I figured as much.” Feeling the tension fade, Diana relaxed and held the lily brooch up to look at again, wondering at her aunt’s true fate.
“What is that?” Darien asked, noticing her keepsake.
“It’s a silver brooch of a lily that I found in the jewelry box over there; I think Charlotte meant for my grandmother to have it. I felt compelled to take it.”
A look of pained curiosity crept into Darien’s eyes. He seemed troubled by the brooch. “I’m finding all of this a bit strange,” he said. “These stories you mentioned; are they the reason you came to study at the university?”
Diana nodded. “It’s why I applied, at least. Flinders wasn’t my first choice of schools, but they offered me a full ride. I couldn’t really choose to go anywhere else.”
“I see,” he replied, considering her words. “What were Foxwell and Charlotte searching for in these stories? Did your grandmother ever mention anything that could be the Chalice?”
She shook her head. “No cups or grails; usually just items meant to unlock a tomb or something.” Diana shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t actually know how the stories ended, or if they ever found what they were searching for. It’s just a coincidence that I met you and stumbled upon this whole business of the Naphalei and the Chalice of the Moon.”
Though he still looked intensely curious, Darien did not seem pained. Instead, Diana felt a flutter of his excitement within her own chest. He drew near to her, taking her hands into his own.
“I rarely believe in chance and coincidence,” he said with an amused smile. “Fate is what we make it—to be sure—but each person’s destiny is just a thread in the weaving of history. Our fates have become intertwined; that much I know. What I don’t know, is at what point. Forgive the cliché, Diana, but when I first laid eyes on you, you took my breath away.”
Diana’s heart leapt at his words and her mouth smiled of its own volition.
“My heart knew you were special to me before I did. The fact that you are human caused an intense bout of inner turmoil at first, let me tell you.”
Her smile dropped, as did her hands, and she pulled away from him.
“I didn’t mean my words to offend.”
His words had offended her, and ruined a terribly romantic moment. “That’s what every girl wants to hear—that she fills her boyfriend with inner turmoil.”
Darien’s pale cheeks reddened and he looked apologetic. “Forgive me; I just mean that, regardless of how my people view humans, the heart desires what the heart desires, and there isn’t much we can do about it. My heart desired yours and our threads have been woven together.”
Diana’s smile returned. He managed to salvage the moment, but barely. “Well, tell your heart thanks. It’s that head of yours that’s on my list.”
Pleased that he’d softened the situation a little, Darien took his eyes from hers to look out the window and then sighed in frustration. “We best make our leave. It will be black as pitch soon.” He extended his hand to Diana and she took it.
With caution, Darien led her by the hand back down the hallway. Before they descended the rickety staircase, Diana rushed into the study to grab her bag and the treasured Austen first editions that had most likely once belonged to Charlotte—a fact that made the books even more precious to Diana.
“At least this adventure wasn’t a total loss,” she said with a wide smile and Darien simply shook his head.
When they reached the car, Darien opened the door for her. “It’s a shame we were lost for so long. I would have liked that extra hour to continue our search.” He quickly made his way to the passenger’s side of the car.
“I’m just glad we found evidence that my aunt lived here with Flinders,” Diana replied as Darien sat down and she fumbled around in her pack for the keys. “Before, my grandma’s stories were the only proof I had that Charlotte was even connected to him.”
Moonshadow Page 18
