Our Time Is Now

by Chloe Douglas

  “The cavalry!” J.W. let out a snort of amused laughter, raising his right hand in mock salute. “Hey, that’s a good one, buddy.”

  “Actually, Gideon was involved in Special Forces,” Jessica impulsively fibbed. “Which means he’s not allowed to talk about what he did in the military.”

  J.W. gave her a knowing wink. “Because if he told me, he’d have to kill me.”

  “Um, something like that.”

  “Oh, I just think all of that commando stuff is too thrilling,” Darlene cooed as she batted her eyelashes at Gideon.

  Telling herself that she could care less if “Boobs” Malone put the moves on him, Jessica reached for the bowl of popcorn set in the middle of the table. As she listlessly chewed on the stale-tasting snack food, she watched as Darlene leaned toward Gideon, provocatively smashing a leather-clad breast against his arm.

  “So what are you planning to do now that your stint is up?”

  “I haven’t really given it much thought,” Gideon said in reply to J.W.’s query. “My military service ended somewhat abruptly and—”

  “Gideon has been busy with the carpentry work at Highland House.” Jessica tried to steer the conversation away from dangerous shoals.

  “If you’re handy with a hammer, I’d be willing to take you on full-time,” J.W. offered out of the proverbial blue. “I’ve been looking to hire an extra man.”

  “What kind of business are you in?” There was no mistaking Gideon’s keen interest.

  “Historic reconstruction.” As he spoke, J.W. refilled everyone’s mug from the new pitcher that the waitress had just placed on the table. “I’ll be honest with you; the pay isn’t much. But it’ll keep you in suds.”

  “When can I start?”

  “How does Monday morning grab ya?”

  “That suits me just fine.”

  Gideon’s lightning-fast acceptance of J.W.’s job offer caused Jessica’s mouth to fall open. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d seek gainful employment so soon after his illness.

  “Only thing is, the job is up in Shepherdstown and—” J.W. noisily slurped the foam from the top of his beer mug—“Damn, that’s good brew. Anyway, as I was saying, the other contractor pulled out at the last minute, and they need someone on the double-quick. The foundation on an old church is disintegrating due to extensive flood damage. Which is good for us ’cause it’ll mean a big bonus if we can get the job done in the next four weeks.”

  “I know Shepherdstown well,” Gideon said. “We marched through there on our way to Antietam.”

  A silence fell over the booth. Unaware that he’d just said something he shouldn’t have, Gideon calmly drank his beer.

  “Gideon is a, um… Civil War reenactor.” Jessica sputtered. Then, hoping to change the subject once more, she plastered a chipper smile onto her lips as she turned to her “date” and said, “How far away is Shepherdstown?”

  J.W. reached for a handful of popcorn. “It’s a good three-and-a-half hour drive,” he answered in between chomps.

  “So what you’re saying is that you want Gideon to go to Shepherdstown with you, and you want him to stay there for at least four weeks?”

  “Yep, that’s what I’m saying,” J.W. verified with a nod. “Mind passing me a napkin?”

  Glumly, Jessica reached over and snatched a wad of napkins out of the metal container on her end of the table. While she desperately wanted to forbid Gideon from going to Shepherdstown, her hands were tied. She’d known Gideon MacAllister little more than a week, and because theirs was a platonic relationship, she had no right to voice an objection or make a big stink. Only in her dreams did she and Gideon share a more intimate bond with one another.

  Just then J.W. slid toward her, pressing his jean-clad leg against her outer thigh. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he whispered in her ear. “I thought maybe we could hook up. Just the two of us.”

  “Thank you, but I have to work tomorrow evening.” Jessica straightened her spine, hoping her overly ardent suitor would take the hint and slide back to his side of the booth. “I don’t know if Darlene mentioned it to you, but I’m writing a story for The Dispatch about the recent Draygan sightings.”

  Hearing that, J.W.’s face lit up like a 100-watt light bulb. “Then this is your lucky night. It just so happens that I’m a local authority when it comes to the topic of Draygan.”

  Anxious to test J.W.’s bold claim, Jessica hurriedly retrieved a pen and reporter’s notepad from her handbag. “Okay, for starters, how about telling me why the fabled creature is called Draygan?”

  J.W.’s toothy grin instantly faded. “Truth be told, I don’t know how the dragon got its name,” he mumbled, missing the first pitch.

  In the process of raising his beer mug to his lips, Gideon suddenly lowered it to the table. “Do you mean to say that a dragon truly exists?” Clearly, he was spooked at hearing about the local legend.

  Darlene placed a perfectly manicured hand on Gideon’s forearm. “Not only does the dragon exist, but it can bedevil people in the flesh, as well as in their dreams.”

  “Getting back to my original question,” Jessica said, trying to regain control of the conversation, “why is the mythical beast called Draygan?”

  “He’s called Draygan on account of how them fellas from Scotland spoke,” Darlene informed her. “The Scots were the first ones to cross over the mountains and settle in Greenbrier County.” When Jessica raised a questioning brow, the other woman elaborated by saying in an exaggerated burr, “Look, laddie! It’s a flying dray·gan.”

  “I can top that,” J.W. announced, not about to be outdone by his sister. “Did you know that the entire North American continent was settled by Indians except for one area—West Virginia? I’m guessing that the fire-breathing Draygan had something to do with it. Let’s face it, we’ve got good soil, good weather, and good water. Like the song says, ‘almost heaven.’ So what scared the Indians off?”

  Jessica looked up from her hastily scribbled notes. “I thought there were Indians here. Earlier today, Darlene told me that there was an Indian massacre at Tilden’s Run back in 1789.”

  “There was,” J.W. verified with a vigorous nod of the head, pieces of his lank blond hair falling onto his brow. “That was when the Shawnee swooped down from Ohio. But believe you me, they tucked tail and headed back to Ohio right quick.”

  “It’s true,” Gideon piped in. “My grandfather often spoke of those dark days on the Virginia frontier. The ‘bloody ground’, he called it.”

  Noticing the way that Darlene’s head suddenly whipped in Gideon’s direction, Jessica could see that damage control was urgently needed. “His grandfather was a, um, amateur historian.”

  “Well, he was right on the mark about the ‘bloody ground.’ Murder and mayhem always follow in Draygan’s wake,” J.W. intoned with macabre relish. “Yes, sirree. That beast has been the cause of much misery in these parts.”

  “Misery only befalls those people who don’t take heed,” Darlene verbally counter-punched. “Mother Maebelle always said that Draygan is merely the harbinger of death, not the instrument of death.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of folks here about who would dispute that claim,” J.W. argued.

  “In other words, no one knows for certain whether Draygan is sacred or profane,” Gideon said in a circumspect tone of voice.

  The grim resignation on Gideon’s face immediately garnered Jessica’s attention. While the Malones obviously enjoyed sharing their vast knowledge of local folklore and history, Gideon was clearly unnerved by the conversation. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Draygan deadline loomed, Jessica would have long since changed the topic.

  “Every time that Draygan comes a callin’, there’s more than a few hunters who try to bag ’em a dragon,” J.W. said with ghoulish delight. “But in all these years, nobody’s been successful. Why? Because Draygan is impervious to a regular lead bullet. The only thing that will kill a dragon is a pure silver bullet.”


  “What a fascinating bit of folklore,” Jessica murmured, wondering where J.W. came by his information. After hastily scribbling the words “silver bullets” onto her notepad, she asked J.W. the question uppermost in her mind. “Have you seen Draygan?”

  Folding his arms across his chest, J.W. leaned against the booth. “Not yet. But because I was born right after midnight, I’ve got as good a chance as anyone of seeing him.”

  “Only those people born during the witching hour between midnight and 1:00 a.m. can see Draygan,” Darlene clarified. “Ghost seers, Mother Maebelle used to call ’em. Although there are plenty of ghost seers whose sight is dimmed by skepticism.”

  “Hey, not only am I a ghost seer, but watch this!” With theatrical aplomb, J.W. reached for a set of stainless steel flatware that the waitress had placed on the table when she seated them. Clutching the spoon between the fingers of his right hand, he closed his eyes and then proceeded to perform the impossible: He actually bent the spoon in half!

  Flabbergasted, Jessica stared at the contorted piece of stainless steel in utter disbelief.

  “What do think of them apples?” J.W. asked, sliding the spoon to the middle of the table.

  “That is a very impressive parlor trick,” Gideon remarked as he picked up the spoon and carefully examined it.

  “You’re telling me,” J.W. said, still smirking. “The other day I was at the construction site, sitting around shooting the breeze with a couple of my buddies, when I started to roll a 16 penny nail around in my hand. Well, the next thing I know, I’d bent the darned thing in half. The boys on my crew could hardly believe it. I must have bent a hundred nails that day, one right after another.”

  “But how?” Jessica asked, having yet to get over her shock. “I mean, if I hadn’t seen you bend that spoon with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.”

  J.W. shrugged. “Can’t say for sure how I do it.”

  “I can,” Darlene said, quick to jump into the fray. “Whenever Draygan shows up, there’s always a lot of unexplained psychic activity that happens throughout the county. Some folks have visions. Others, like J.W., suddenly have a psychokinetic ability. And then there are those who are bestowed with the gift of second sight, some of them able to see into the past, while others can see into the future.”

  At hearing that, Jessica’s stomach muscles suddenly tightened. Was that the reason for her recent dreams? Was she one of those people who could see into the past?

  No sooner did she consider the notion than she flat-out rejected it, refusing to believe in the dragon’s existence. And though it was an incredibly entertaining tale, being a sane, rational individual, she also knew that it was a load of malarkey.

  “Okay, let’s suppose that somebody born during the so-called “witching hour” wants to see the mythical dragon. What do they have to do?” she asked, if for no other reason than to play devil’s advocate.

  Darlene peered at her, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “Are you saying that you were born during the witching hour?”

  Jessica wordlessly nodded.

  “As was I,” Gideon quietly remarked.

  Jessica turned her head in his direction. For several prolonged moments, she and Gideon stared at each other across the table. Although they sat a good three feet apart, she felt a heated tingle pulse up and down the length of her spine.

  “If you want to see Draygan, I reckon the best way is to go to his lair,” J.W. said, answering Jessica’s question.

  “Which is located…?”

  As he topped everyone’s mug with more beer, J.W. said, “You’ll find Draygan’s lair on the other side of Archibald’s Wood, at the fork in Devil’s Run Creek, up near the old saltpeter cave.”

  Jessica quickly jotted down J.W.’s directions. If she could locate the saltpeter cave, take a few photographs, it might put to rest the Draygan myth. “And where exactly is Archibald’s Wood?”

  J.W.’s gaze dropped to the tabletop. The gregarious man suddenly appeared acutely uncomfortable.

  “It’s located on the western edge of your property,” Darlene stated matter-of-factly.

  Stunned by the revelation, Jessica glanced up from her notepad. “Are you kidding me?”

  Ignoring the question, Darlene shot her brother a purposeful glance. “Why don’t you and Gideon shoot a game of pool? Hmm?”

  Evidently thinking it a good suggestion, both men wordlessly got up from the table, Gideon politely inclining his head before following J.W. to the other side of the bar.

  Opening her purse, Darlene removed a compact and tube of lipstick. “I thought it might be nice if we had a little girl talk.” Explanation given, Darlene then carefully applied a shade of lipstick very similar in color to that of her fire-engine red Dodge truck. “Nothing like a fresh coat of war paint to make you feel like a new woman,” she said after she’d blotted her lips.

  Jessica made no comment, unable to recall the last time she’d worn the stuff.

  Finished with her lipstick, Darlene flagged down their waitress. “Trudy, would you mind getting us two ladies a pot of hot tea.”

  Open-mouthed, the waitress stared at Darlene as if she’d just requested a drink from the sacred waters of the Nile. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try to find some tea in the back room,” Trudy muttered before she headed for a swinging door marked with the words EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  Darlene waited until their waitress was out of earshot before she said, “It’s fairly obvious that J.W. doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with you.”

  “Well, it’s just that I, um—”

  “No need to explain,” Darlene said as reached across the table and gave Jessica’s hand a reassuring pat. “I can see that you’re saving it for someone special.”

  Uncomfortable talking about her personal life, Jessica glanced at her Draygan notes. “Don’t you think that seventy-five years is an awful long time for any creature to stay in hibernation?” she asked, anxious to change the subject. “Surely, in all those years, some hiker or spelunker would have inadvertently stumbled across a sleeping dragon.”

  Just then, Trudy returned to the booth. Silence ensued while the waitress set two mugs on the table, a limp string dangling from the side of each one. As she and Darlene doctored their tea with cream and sugar, the silence between them lengthened.

  “That’s just an old wives’ tale about Draygan sleeping it off in some local cave for seventy-five years,” Darlene said at last, picking up the conversation where they’d left off. “It was always Mother Maebelle’s belief that Draygan can pass through the veil of time, from his world into our world. But the problem is that Draygan can’t speak our language. Which is why there’s so much psychic activity happening to folks who don’t even know the meaning of the word ‘psychic’. That’s Draygan’s way of trying to communicate with us, to warn us that there’s danger on the horizon,” Darlene explained in a noticeably subdued tone of voice. “The problem is that most folks ignore the warnings as nothing more than tomfoolery. They don’t realize that the strange symbols they see in their coffee grinds, or what transpires in their nightly dreams, are dire warnings.”

  Jessica shook her head, refusing to believe that her recent spate of strange dreams had been generated by a winged dragon. Her dreams were just that—dreams. Involuntary images produced by chemicals in her brain. They weren’t esoteric messages from some horny-toed chimera. “No offense, Darlene, but I personally think that Draygan is a make-believe monster, and I intend to prove that in my article.”

  “No offense taken. But you best take care, honey. Draygan ain’t Puff the Magic Dragon.” Darlene took a sip of her tea. Frowning, she reached for two more packets of sugar. As she ripped them open, she sighed appreciatively. “Now that is a sight to die for.”

  Jessica turned her head from side to side. “What is?”

  “Why, Gideon’s tush, of course. That man was just made to wear a snug pair of jeans, wasn’t he?”

  Following
Darlene’s gaze, Jessica caught sight of Gideon bent over a pool table, angling himself to take a shot. “It’s rude to stare,” she murmured, trying not to ogle Gideon’s long legs and picture-perfect rear end.

  Pursing her bright, red lips, Darlene blew on her hot tea. “Have you noticed how different Gideon is from everybody else?”

  “Trust me. He’s not all that different,” Jessica countered, attempting to backpedal out of the conversation.

  “Oh, sure, he probably throws his dirty socks on the floor like any other man,” Darlene said with an airy wave of the hand. “But what I meant is that he knows how to make a woman feel like a lady.”

  “So he’s a gentleman. I, for one, don’t see anything odd in that.”

  “Just look at him, will you?” Darlene inclined her peroxide-blond head in the direction of the pool table. “You’d think he’d never seen a football game before, huh?”

  Looking across the crowded bar, Jessica could see that Gideon had taken his pool shot and that his attention was now focused on the TV set suspended from the ceiling above the bar.

  “You know how men are about sports,” she mumbled, wishing Darlene wasn’t so darned observant.

  “It’s more than that. He’s interested in everything around him. Kinda like a kid in a toy shop. And yet he’s gotta be the manliest fella I ever laid eyes upon. A potent combination, don’t ya think?”

  “Well, I, um—”

  “You know, this puts me in mind of a story that Mother Maebelle used to tell,” Darlene blithely continued. “During the last Reckoning, back in 1939, there was this mysterious stranger who walked down the mountain dressed in strange, old-fashioned clothing. Nobody could figure out where he came from, and the only thing the stranger could tell them was that he’d lost his way in time.”

  Chapter 14

  As Jessica put the Bronco in reverse and backed out of the parking space at McGuff’s, she automatically raised her left hand, waving good-bye to Darlene and J.W. To her mind, the only good thing to have come from the evening was the extensive Draygan material that she’d gleaned from the Malone siblings.