It probably makes you feel the same way I feel when I see the laelia flower or smell cocoa butter. Your mother used to use cocoa butter–scented skin protectant on you when you went to the beach. Even though you progressed in your adolescent years to more sophisticated perfumes, cocoa butter will ever and always remind me of you.
Ah, Madalina. How I wish I had more time. There are so many things I want to tell you. Show you. I honestly hope some of these travels have instilled a love for places other than home. I hope you continue to explore and expand your horizons. Remember me in the sunsets and the sunrises of far-off countries, in the storms that may or may not have been wrought by the Rain Dragon. Remember the laelia, the bustle of Rio, the soaring view from the mountaintop.
Most of all, my dear, remember that we will meet again someday. By then I’ll have mapped out my new domain, and we’ll start over again on the other side.
I’ll be waiting.
All my love,
Your doting grandfather, Walcot Nagel
It might have been the whimsy or the reminders or the kick of nostalgia that pushed Madalina over the edge. She lowered the letter, the final good-bye, and turned into Cole’s embrace. Tears dampened the front of his shirt. She clutched him as if her life depended on it, caught in an overwhelming tide of emotion.
Whether she liked it or not, the time had come to say good-bye. There were no more letters, no more secrets in far-off destinations. No more stories and no more trinkets.
And, she realized, no more stone dragons.
EPILOGUE
Summer gave way to fall, but not without a fight. Ninety-degree days persisted in Southern California when other parts of the country saw definitive changes in the leaves and weather. Sweaters and boots were a long way off as far as Madalina was concerned. In the weeks since her return from Brazil, she’d been distracted by all the events that led her to this point in time. From the aftermath of agents and rogue attacks, to the absence of dragons and hidden rooms.
Cole had been a rock, supportive and understanding. They’d spent two more days at the house in Brazil before flying home, and in the weeks since, had gotten back to their regular routine. She went to work at the boutique every morning, while Cole left on missions he couldn’t tell her about. He always returned within a few days, as if he knew she needed him close to home. Every single minute he was away, she wondered what he was doing. How much danger he was in. And sometimes, sometimes, she wanted to be there with him solving puzzles and figuring out mysteries.
Her earlier anger at his leaving her behind resolved itself after a heart-to-heart conversation in which she explained a few pertinent things: that she needed him to trust her enough to fill her in on everything, no matter what, even if he suspected she would try to throw up a roadblock; and that although she had reconciled herself to the dangers of his job, she would always want to know the facts, rather than be left guessing. Cole had responded with, “I can’t make promises, gypsy girl, but I’ll try my best.” She was satisfied with that.
Today was Cole’s first day off on a new job and her only day off from the boutique this week. Sitting in the sunroom overlooking the manicured backyard, tablet on her lap and pen in her hand, she began what she hoped would become the new start of an old tradition.
You’ll have to forgive this awkward beginning. You see, I’m new to the idea of writing things for people who do not yet exist. Someday, I hope, I’ll be able to show you everything I’m about to learn. This may be confusing now, but it won’t be confusing later. I intend to write more, express more, share more. That was a lesson I learned from a man named Walcot Nagel, a man with insurmountable wanderlust that I did not unfortunately inherit.
But I’m learning.
I’m learning . . .
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank my editor, Maria, for all her support and understanding. You’ve been such a joy to work with! I’d also like to thank Charlotte, my developmental editor, for being so willing to allow my vision to shine through. I’ve learned so much from both of these ladies.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2013 Bruce Heinsius
Danielle Bourdon is the author of twenty-three novels and nine short stories. Her bestselling series, the Latvala Royals, has sold more than 350,000 copies worldwide. Born in Corona, California, she now resides in Texas with her husband, two sons, and a black cat named Sheba. Besides writing, she loves traveling, photography, football, and strawberry margaritas.
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