“Yes, I’m awake at least. My sleep is so fitful, I’d rather be awake or fully asleep. Did you hear that ferocious storm last night?”
Lyra shuddered. “I sure did. It was close.”
“I saw branches tossing around and scrapping my window. We need to hire someone to trim the trees and bushes. Can you see to that, dear?”
“I will. No problem.” She paused to sip her brew. Its rich flavor awakened her taste buds. She looked at the window, curious if the demon appeared there as well. “Did you see branches or did something fly into the glass?”
“Not sure, dear. For an instant it looked like the twigs shaped into a face, but I doubt that. These medications play with my mind.”
Lyra sat bolt upright. She was now more certain the dark force of Dragonspeir had followed her to the upstairs bay window. Much worse, if it attempted to frighten Aunt Jean who already faced too much hardship.
“Mmm. Good coffee, Lyra.” Aunt Jean eased back against her pillows. “This makes my day.” Thankfully, the apparition didn’t seem to bother her.
“You’re welcome,” Lyra replied with a slight smile, sad such a small happiness formed a focal point for her aunt. Life, filled with so many wonders, now left Jean only a few. It passed her by too, during the last few years while occupied with grief. But not any longer. Gulping another swallow of coffee, she set her jaw with resolve to take on life and fully experience whatever it offered—even last night’s frightful time.
“What are you going to do today, Lyra? Can you entertain me with your adventures since I can’t get out.”
“I need to work on writing my novel for awhile, and I’ll probably go visit that bookstore I told you about. Drake’s.” As soon as the words left her mouth, guilt welled inside her for not including the elderly lady. “I can work in here to give you some company.”
“I’d like that. At least until Nancy drives you crazy. I won’t keep you here to endure my warden.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a weak smile.
Lyra laughed. “Okay. She won’t be here for three hours. Let me gather some things.”
***
With her laptop perched on the side table, Lyra seated herself in one of the straight-backed occasional chairs. First, she scribbled notes on index cards and then lowered herself onto the rose-patterned rug, spreading and arranging. She badly wanted to talk with Cullen about last night; concentration proved difficult.
“What are the ideas on your cards, dear?” Jean asked, her eyes following her every move.
Lyra twisted a strand of hair while she formed a plausible answer. “I’ve created a fairy tale of sorts.” Jean knew she loved fantasy, so any such tale would be believable. One by one she lifted up and explained character dossiers, except that she was the main character.
“Such an imagination, Lyra. You’ve created fascinating creatures.” Aunt Jean chuckled softly. “I especially like Kenzo the owl. I understand him, always trying to do more to compensate for what he isn’t as good at—that’s me, an overachiever.”
Lyra did the same for cards describing various settings. Since this activity brought pleasure to Aunt Jean, she continued and tried to arrange the cards in sequence to create a plot, but failed. Try as she might, the order evaded her. Why? All the other details came to her clearly. Sliding cards back and forth, as though something controlled her mind, she could only focus upon the pattern in the rug, delicate pink roses trailing along a vine. Frustrated, she shoved the cards into a messy deck.
She looked up at the elderly lady, not wanting to disappoint her. Jean’s head tipped back onto the pillow, eyes closed, and fast asleep. Lyra sighed, glad for the peaceful rest to give her aunt respite from suffering. Again, the steel bars and solid frame of that bed bothered her. It looked like an outcast against a backdrop of cheerful, feminine décor and memories of happier days, fleeting times.
She gathered her computer and papers, and put them in her room. The cards she stuffed into her purse. Writing proved futile without a storyline. She needed Cullen’s help.
Lyra quickly changed to cropped pants and a halter top, applied a bit of make-up, and brushed her hair. Back downstairs and ready to go, she paced the kitchen floor, waiting the last minutes before ten o’clock. Always punctual to a fault, the nurse drove up precisely on the hour. They passed in the doorway. “I recorded Jean’s vitals and other observations. It’s on the counter.”
Heading to her car on the driveway, Lyra heard Nancy’s monotonous voice fading behind her.
Chapter Ten: To a Magical Jasmine Vine
Having no patience to walk, Lyra drove into the tiny business district, turned from Main Street onto Oak and pulled into a parking spot just past the bookshop at its new location. How had she known to drive onto this street? Now the Sani-Swift dry cleaners neighbored the elusive building. She no longer needed to search randomly. What changed—her, the store, or her world? Even more questions for Cullen.
She quickly stepped up to the same door with its leaded glass window. A sign said, “Closed,” but she expected him to be there anyway, busy with some magical work. The brass knob refused to turn. She knocked and nothing moved inside. Panic swept over her. She needed answers to be able to record the adventure as the good folk of Dragonspeir expected. Leaning against the doorframe, she stared blankly at the row of shops across the way. Then, an idea sprang to mind.
She sprint-walked down the street, turned right, and over two blocks to Pine. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She pushed open the door to the perfumery and approached the clerk at the counter.
“May I help you?” the middle-aged woman asked.
“I hope so,” Lyra said between gasps for air. “Do you still have the jasmine scent you featured as a special yesterday?”
The plump clerk’s eyebrows rose. “Have a seat on that counter stool there and catch your breath while I go look. A busload of tourists swamped us in the afternoon and bought most of it.”
Lyra perched on the edge of the seat, too anxious to sit and relax. She must have a bottle of that fragrance to draw her back to the scent of those bushes in Dragonspeir. By chance, it might enhance her memory and allow her to sequence events of the journey into a plot. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the work area.
Finally, the lady waddled back. “I’m sorry, I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find one bottle. Those shoppers cleaned us out since it was on sale. Can I help you find a similar scent? If you like jasmine, perhaps honeysuckle would please you.” She leaned across the counter, grabbing up a sample.
“No, I really wanted the jasmine.”
“Here. Try a sniff of the honeysuckle.” The clerk wielded an atomizer near Lyra’s arm.
She leaned back. “No. No, don’t spray me with that!” A different scent might further confuse her perception.
The clerk pursued and leaned over the counter. “I think you’ll like it. Those are very much alike. This is a popular fragrance now, especially for summer. Are you sure you wouldn’t like…”
“I said no!” Lyra slid away from the stool and took a step toward the exit.
“What is the matter, young lady?” A gray-haired gentleman entered the sales area from the back. “Can I help you?”
“I came in for a bottle of the jasmine scent you featured yesterday.”
The woman shrugged and said, “I couldn’t find any.”
“Hmm. How much do you need?” He rubbed a hand along his chin. “I believe I refilled my reference stock bottle when I made that batch. I can pour about a quarter ounce from it.”
Lyra smiled. “That will be fine. Thank you.”
He nodded and retreated to the workroom. The clerk smiled politely and kept her distance while they waited. In a couple minutes he returned. “There you be. I even found a tiny spray bottle.”
She gladly accepted and thanked the shop owner. Purchase in hand, she walked back to her car and to look for Cullen.
The door remained locked. She leaned a shoulder against his door. What should she
do? Standing on the street offered no help.
She got back into her car and called him. No answer. Talking to his voicemail she said, “Hi Cullen. It’s Lyra. I need to talk with you. Strange things have been happening. I drove straight to the bookstore without searching, like somehow I knew where it moved to. And, a face appeared outside the windows of my house last night. I think it was the Black Dragon. It was terrifying! I barely slept. I don’t feel safe and I need your help. Call me.” She closed the phone and stared at it for several minutes, willing it to ring. A meter maid tapped on her window and asked if she intended to leave.
With no other chore to keep her away, she returned to the cottage. Perhaps, the jasmine perfume would align her memory and make it possible to get some productive writing done.
***
In order to avoid the nurse, Lyra opened the door as quietly as possible and made for the stairs.
With her foot on the first step, the familiar voice called out, “Glad to see you back. Your aunt started murmuring in her sleep about someone named Kenzo, could have been a man or possibly an owl or some other bird, I think with big silver striped wings, who flew fast as light to make up for his insufficient magic he felt insecure about. Seemed odd, but then people are affected differently by those meds, like some cry out as if they’re in pain and I know they’re not, while others have dreams about their childhood, or about war times, or even happy moments like the births of their children. I’ve seen plenty of strange reactions my patients have, like when one man started singing as though he was Frank Sinatra and another time when one woman…”
Unable to endure more, Lyra nodded and pretended to listen while she slowly ascended step by step.
As she reached the landing, Nancy’s voice droned on, “…always do my best to be with them when they go through those moments since many consider me their best friend and like to know what I do with my time off, like where I get my hair done and…” Poor woman must be terribly lonely, but that constant talk didn’t make Lyra want to befriend her.
Once in her room, she shut the door and laid her purse on the desk. Holding her breath, she withdrew the bottle out of its package. After letting out a rough exhale, she sniffed at the top. No smell at all—darned spray nozzle. She’d have to squirt some out, but where? Onto her skin or a piece of paper? There was so little, wasting a drop on paper seemed wrong. But what if it caused harmful magic upon contact? She didn’t know how to find Cullen if something unusual happened.
She cautiously depressed the nozzle by only half, and a tiny mist hit her forearm. After she placed the bottle on the desk, her first sniff, taken too eagerly, gave her little more than the smell of the alcohol base. Then, the familiar warm floral of jasmine drifted to her nose. Another whiff provided a better analysis. Under the heady, seductive jasmine lay a subtle note she couldn’t identify. Exotic and oriental, lightly spiced with coriander and clove plus a deep hint of woodsy sandalwood.
The vine in Dragonspeir smelled identical. Lyra sat on the edge of the bed, shut her eyes, and let the scent spill over her mind. Sleep teased her tired body. As though watching a movie in her mind, she viewed a procession of the scenes for her storyline. She tried to open her eyes and record those ideas, but sleep held her fast within the dream.
The ring of her cell phone woke her. Eyes still half-shut, she looked around the room to figure out where she was. Recognition hit. She snatched the phone up and answered.
Cullen responded, his voice a bit strained, “Hi! I just got back. I was practicing new spells with Kenzo. What’s wrong?”
Lyra cleared her throat. “Last night the storm woke me. When I looked outside, a demon’s head with sharp teeth and piercing eyes stared back at me. It chased me from window to window as I shut the blinds. Aunt Jean said she saw a similar face downstairs. It was terrifying, gnashing its teeth at me. What was it? Do you know?”
“Incredible!” His tone relaxed to a warmer pitch. “I didn’t think you’d possess enough magic to allow these things to happen. When the Unicorn healed your injuries from the Screeching Forest, he must have gifted you with power. I should have expected that.”
“You seem to think it’s interesting, but I don’t feel safe,” she quipped with a shrill voice, twisting a strand of hair into a tortured knot. “Can you do anything?”
“Nothing to worry about. I can help. It should be simple. Can you come over to the store?”
“Umm.” She paused to look at the bedside clock. It startled her to read four o’clock. Strange how she had slept for hours and it had seemed like only a few minutes. “No, it’s almost time for the nurse to leave. Can you come here later, after my aunt’s asleep?”
“When would that be?”
“Just after sunset, around nine.”
“Great. See you then.”
Lyra closed the phone. She only wanted to sleep at night without being chased by a demon. Then it hit her; she just invited Cullen to her home for the first time. Many things needed to done— tidy the house; prepare dinner; clean herself up; attempt writing. She jumped off the bed in a frenzy and struggled to multitask while still groggy.
Chapter Eleven: Bewitched Black Amber
A few minutes past nine, Lyra heard a knock on the door. Giddiness washed over her and she greeted Cullen with a too-wide smile. She took a deep breath, not wanting to act like a schoolgirl with a crush.
He stepped into the foyer. “Is your aunt afraid of wizards or is she asleep?” He grinned and leaned in for a quick kiss.
“She drifted off while reading a bit ago, but she’d be game to invite any guest other than the nurse who drives her crazy, even a wizard. You should to come for dinner with us sometime, when she’s feeling well enough.”
“I’d be pleased. So, show me where you saw the dark image. The magical connection will be easiest for me to trace from there.” He looked wonderful, although not at all like an Imperial Wizard. He dressed in khaki pants and a button-down shirt with cuffs rolled to his forearms. A lightweight tan jacket draped over one arm.
“I miss your cloak.” she laughed, leading him up the stairs.
“I could have brought it along.” He chuckled. “And you look lovely, even without the fancy gown.”
She smiled inside, glad she took time to select a favorite sundress in a blue print, to curl her hair, and put on a pair of lapis earrings. Her silver bracelets tinkled as she closed the bedroom door behind them.
He examined the bay window, passing his hand near each section. Even without her showing him, he paid careful attention to the one where the demon face followed the leading edge of the blind as she labored to close it.
“From what I can detect, I think I can cast a shielding spell on you.”
“What happened that let the dark magic connect to me?” She motioned him toward the brown tweed chair in the corner and pulled up the ladderback from the desk for herself.
“Thanks.” He placed his jacket over the arm and made himself comfortable. “The four Guardians do not have equal powers or roles. The Phoenix is the most limited, the Unicorn and Tortoise are equally higher, but each unique in abilities. The Imperial Dragon is the leader whose power is vast. When the Unicorn bestowed power upon you, it became a part of you, not only while in Dragonspeir. That is why I questioned if my magic would be retained if the world ceased to exist. Cranewort answered that, and I suspect he’s correct, but I intend to put the question to the Tortoise, who will know better than anyone.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he’s the Guardian who maintains and studies the ancient records.”
She’d have a few questions for the Tortoise also. “I have my own magic now? What does that mean?”
Cullen leaned forward in his chair. “Concerning the Black Dragon, he’s a master equal to the Imperial Dragon. He most likely detected your new power and placed a spell upon you before you departed. It blocks your thoughts of his choosing and causes your own magic to enable images of his choice to haunt you.”
&nb
sp; A light bulb of understanding hit her. “Kind of like a computer virus?”
“Exactly! You’ve got the idea. With his spell he can direct your magic to do his bidding. The stronger your magic, the more he has to work with to frighten you. He’s directing your power to conjure that demon face.”
“I assume he wants to scare me away from the quest. And another thing—my memory of yesterday’s journey is blocked like something’s holding me back. I bought some jasmine perfume to help trigger me to remember.”
“How did that work? Anything?”
“It made me dream of our journey in detail, and I tried to wake, so I could record the information, but felt like I was held asleep by an external force. Once I woke I could only link a few scenes together. Better than before, but I still can’t create a plot to write from. Is he responsible for that too?”
“Indeed. He will try anything to prevent you from scribing that story. He’s well aware what will occur if the book is written in entirety. His spell that invades your mind selectively blocks your writing. You did a fine job attempting to use the jasmine scent to encourage your magic. You can see it worked partially, but only in your dreams.” He smiled.
“What about how I could now go directly to the bookstore? Does he have anything to do with that?”
“He doesn’t. The book calls to you. Any Dragonspeir magic inside—me, Sheridan, or my ring—beckons you to the shop.”
“Is the book safe there? Could he destroy it?”
“Only if he can find a way to utilize your powers, or even mine, to do so. One of my assigned tasks is to prevent that.”
He seemed calm and sure of himself, which reassured Lyra. “What does Sheridan do for you?
“Makes me laugh!” He chuckled. “Otherwise, he’s a symbol of longevity and helps balance my extended mortality. Also, he guards the portal as an aide to Cranewort.”
Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set) Page 7
