“One last question—why did the Phoenix tail feather in my pendant flash even though I didn’t call her name?”
He smiled. “Phew! Glad you’re so curious. Again, you possess sufficient magic to signal others. I’m certain the Phoenix included a spell to connect to your magic. She activated it to operate whenever you’re in need, not only when you initiate the request. Just as the Black Dragon utilized your magic, so did she, although hers proved more useful, as a warning of danger. Now, I will attempt to intervene on his spell over you. I can only shield you from his input, which directs you to do his bidding. He rose, moved close, and placed his hands on her shoulders. His smooth and steady voice proclaimed the incantation, “Preoccupo aquilus imperium!” He withdrew a step and studied her face.
“I don’t feel any different. Should I?”
“Not necessarily. Let’s see if you’re able to draft an outline for your story.”
From the desk she gathered the location cards, sat on the edge of the bed, and spread them over the comforter. Cullen seated himself behind and watched over her arm. With him this close she couldn’t concentrate, regardless of the interactions of spell and counterspell. She looked across the room at her ragged, much loved teddy bear. Aunt Jean saved it. Using the sentimental item, she tried to channel her thoughts toward something neutral. Looking at the cards again, only Cullen’s breath on the bare skin of her shoulder registered.
She turned her head and looked back at him.
He placed a hand on her outer cheek, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers. His hand traveled over her shoulder and upper arm, leaving a trail of tingles. The tip of his tongue lightly pressed inside her mouth.
She pushed back with her own, enjoying the softness and warmth.
After another brush of lips, he pulled away from her just a bit.
She murmured, “Is that spell you just cast making you taste so nice?” Her fingers ran through the layered waves of his medium brown hair.
Between tender kisses, he whispered, “No magic at all, other than your natural power which entrances me.”
Even his voice excited her, rich and deep with his warm breath upon her face.
His fingers played along the neckline of her dress and teased goosebumps to rise along her skin. He took her mouth, forcing his tongue deep inside. Probing and thrusting, his hand moved to her side, thumb spread under her breast, and drew her firmly against him.
Desire to be closer to him took over. A moan escaped Lyra’s throat. She pressed against him and delighted in caressing the firm muscles of his shoulder.
He leaned her backward onto the bed, rolling on top of the note cards. He looked down at her and smiled.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement on the desk. She turned her head toward the motion and yelped, “Look! The computer screen.”
On the monitor, the demon face from the night before grimaced and then clenched its teeth.
She squirmed from under Cullen to the head of the bed.
The wizard rolled over and fell backward in shock, obviously surprised. “That’s indeed an image of the Black Dragon. Is this what haunted you last night outside the windows?”
“Yes, but worse now – this appears three-dimensional as though it’s extending from the screen.”
“It is. Step to the side and be calm. It can’t harm you.”
“Are you sure?”
“It feeds on your power. The more defensive you are, the more fearsome it can be.”
She moved a yard from the bed and, sure enough, the head protruded from the flat surface. She trembled. “Why didn’t your spell work?”
Cullen’s eyes riveted on the lifelike image, he uttered in a monotone, “Not only didn’t it work, it seems to have angered the dark leader into gathering his powers for a more gruesome display.” He shook his head to break his gaze and turned to her. “It even frightens me and I know it’s just a likeness. Although I never imagined your aura would be this strong, I came prepared with something else.” He stepped over to the upholstered chair and searched the inside pocket of his jacket.
Lyra approached and leaned over his shoulder. She halfway dreaded what it might be, possibly another filthy-talking bug like Sheridan of some sort to scare away the image.
He withdrew a thin, hinged case covered in navy velvet, worn on the edges. He handed it to her. “This will be yours now. It’s centuries old.”
She slowly opened the box and gasped, “Oh! This is lovely. I didn’t expect…” Her eyes moved along the gleaming surfaces of hundreds of black gemstones set in an elaborate necklace. A large marquise-shaped central pendant, over an inch in length, lay surrounded by numerous accent stones in the pattern of a butterfly. The jeweled insect spread about three inches wide and two and a half inches tall. Faceted rounds strung with silver beads comprised the sides of the necklace. Then, she broke into a laugh.
Cullen stared at her. “I didn’t expect that reaction. What’s so funny?”
With difficulty, between chuckles she said, “Before you presented me with the case, I imagined you’d give me a version of Sheridan, a foul-mouthed bug to send the demon face away while driving me crazy. And, it’s an insect! I like this much better. It’s beautiful.”
He joined her laughter and pulled her into a hug.
Suddenly, the likeness of the Black Dragon roared with a deep voice, causing them both to jump. She hid behind the wizard, peering around his shoulder at the beast.
“You were able to bond with this gift, knowing it was an insect, before I bestowed it. This indicates your magic strengthened in the presence of those jewels, hence the dark leader can utilize more of you to make his image audible. We must complete the bonding to block him.”
She clutched his arm. “Yes, hurry please.”
He took the necklace and opened the clasp. “Turn please and lift your lovely hair for me.” She did as directed, and as he draped the butterfly at her throat, he stated, “Defendo adversus diabolus!” Then he fastened the catch.
Lyra turned to face him and tingling power surged through her. Her body felt lighter. Heat rose into her cheeks. Cullen stood only inches from her. She wondered if his closeness made her feel these sensations, which were a lot like the effects of his kisses. To test, she looked at her computer and found the screen returned to its normal black color. “It worked!”
“Yes, I knew this would, but didn’t think your powers were ready to receive the magical black necklace.” He stroked her hair as they stared at the blank computer for a minute more.
Facing him again, she asked, “You said it was centuries old. Who owned this before me? Please tell me about its history.”
He motioned toward the bed. “Have a seat. Dragonspeir has existed for thousands of years. No one knows exactly how long. Well, the Tortoise claims to know from his memory of oral passage of history. I’m not so sure.”
Lyra reached back, grabbed a pillow, and laid back with her head on it. “This sounds like the bedtime stories you used to tell me. Remember, back when I was very ill and in the hospital? After the night nurse left, I’d open my book and you appeared to help me get to sleep.”
He laughed. “I do remember those times. In a way, this is a bedtime story since you need a good night’s sleep.” He lay down beside her, propped on an elbow. “Written history of the land has existed since eight hundred years ago, when the first Scribe, Elisabeth, wrote about the residents she saw along her travels. Much like you, she journeyed to every corner, learning their magic. And, also like you, the dark forces challenged her. The best silversmiths worked with the Imperial Alchemist of that day to create this necklace of black amber, as it was called then—jet to our modern world. They imbued it with immense protective forces, so she could complete her quest.”
“What happened to her tale? Does it still exist? I’d like to read it.”
“Her written record was enjoyed for generations until enough time passed that text no longer represented the balance of power in Dragonspe
ir. At that time, another Scribe was sought. The cycle repeated two more times—a total of four depictions were written. Sadly, the first did not survive. I’ve been told it burned in the Hundred Years’ War.”
“And it is my task to compose the next? I had no idea how important…”
“Your job is extremely important.”
“Why didn’t you tell me I was marked to be the next Scribe? I learned from Cranewort.”
He looked up from her gaze and his voice faltered. “Because…because I realized you’re even more important to me than my duty, something I’ve never felt before. I always wished for someone, but never…I was afraid you would blame me for the danger you now face and turn away.” He twirled the dragon ring on his finger.
Lyra took his hand. “This is the best bedtime story you’ve ever told me.” She lifted onto an elbow and brushed her lips against his. She licked his lips, enjoying their smoothness. Pressing toward him, she rolled him onto his back. Above him, her hair formed curtains, making a private space for their impassioned kisses. Her tongue twirled along the edges of his while her breast heaved into his chest, teasing her nipples to stand erect.
His hands held her hips, guiding her pelvis over his. His lips trailed down the side of her neck, following the graceful curve of her collar-bone.
The hardness in his groin pressed firmly into her stomach and she moaned.
He took her shoulders and gently pushed her away. Between ragged gasps of breath he said, “We need to stop.”
She scanned his eyes for understanding but waited for him to continue.
“This is not the right time. I want our bond to have all the things I’ve dreamed of sharing with a special lady. You are my lady and very special.”
She forced a smile, not knowing how to respond. His hesitation hurt her pride, but maybe it was best to be cautious. Her attraction to him was strong, but he intended to be serious. What would a relationship with a wizard be like? Their lives were very different. Too different? She couldn’t commit without knowing much more. Her heart remained battered and fragile from her divorce.
“You need to sleep well tonight and work hard tomorrow writing our adventures. I’m certain you’ll have no difficulties now. But, if you do, I’d love to have your beautiful company at the store. I’ll be gone only in the morning.” After a quick kiss her rolled her off and got to his feet.
They walked downstairs, and with jacket in hand, he left. Lyra watched him disappear from sight. She exhaled long and slow. Sleepiness spread over her.
Before going back up, she poked her head in to check on Aunt Jean. The rhythm of her breath steady and smooth sounded like music to Lyra. Moonlight fell upon a portion of the throw-rug beside the bed. For an instant, the vines of pink roses came to life, twisting in and out of the underlying trellis. In that moment, she knew the elderly lady dreamed about her blossom days from the past…and she too needed to live her own blossom days. Would they be with Cullen?
Chapter Twelve: The Surprise Visitor
The shoreline of Lake Huron lay quiet, the lull between the times when fishing boats cast out and before vacationers zipped around, exploring new waters in speed boats. Only an occasional sport fishing craft left from the docks and idled past the cottage’s no wake zone frontage. Lyra watched from the back porch, while inside, Nancy rambled on to her poor aunt.
After a restful night of sleep, Lyra had risen early and spent a couple early morning hours with Jean, working, laughing, and relating story details. Her aunt watched carefully as Lyra tried to arrange the plot index cards. Today, after her first touch, they whipped around and organized themselves. Jean sat up straighter in bed and raised an eyebrow, but never questioned. Lyra swallowed hard. Next time there would be no way to avoid question; she’d need to tell the truth
Lyra sat at the patio table under the grape-laden pergola. Computer was set up, cards sequenced, second pot of coffee on its warming plate. She took a deep breath, filled her lungs with fresh morning air, and began typing her first adventure in Dragonspeir. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. She felt great. By the time she reached the start of the swamp scene, her stomach called for a break. Better to eat now than lose her appetite while writing about the putrid stench of the wild man.
She got lucky at lunch. Nancy stayed busy, commanding the attention of a crew from the local clinic that was bringing fresh supplies. Lyra remained in the kitchen only long enough to grab a quick sandwich, a handful of chips, and some juice. Then, she shoved an apple into her mouth and grabbed a granola bar for an afternoon snack. Rounding the corner into the hallway, she ran right into one of the care workers and jumped sideways, startled.
“Whoa there!” The man’s hands grabbed her shoulders to brace her from falling. “You’re sure in a hurry. Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said in a warm baritone.
Once she regained her balance, recognition hit. Those dark eyes and long straight black hair, now tied in a ponytail. He was the man from the pier. The short sleeves of his blue scrub top revealed strong muscles. She removed the apple from her teeth and heat flashed across her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking,” she mumbled through a mouthful of apple.
“No, it was my fault. People don’t look around corners in their own house. My name is Revelin. I’ve seen you around town once or twice.”
“Hi. My name’s Lyra. Nice to meet you. Thanks for helping out with my aunt.”
“No problem. I was just coming to ask for a glass of water, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. The glasses are to the right of the sink. Help yourself.” She motioned toward that part of the kitchen, not wanting to take more time and get trapped by Nancy. “I need to get back to my writing.”
“Oh, you’re a writer? I’d like to read some of your writing.” He leaned closer and prickles formed on Lyra’s arms. “I won’t keep you. I can tell you’re in a hurry. I’ll be here again on Monday. Maybe then, if that’s okay with you.”
Lyra nodded and crept back to her haven on the porch. Something about him left her confused. He was handsome and interested. He attracted her, but at the same time made her feel ill at ease—probably just the jitters with being single again.
A pleasant breeze blew the hair from her face and turned her attention back to her writing. She sat down, finished the apple, and opened up the document screen, ready to tackle the rude-smelling swamp creature. Suddenly, the lines of the paragraph she last typed parted vertically. She attempted to solve the problem by pressing the undo button and changing the page layout. She scrolled above the faulty text to see if the problem existed elsewhere. When she scrolled back, a tiny creature was crawling into the separation. She jumped back from the monitor and gasped. Was this another trick of the Black Dragon again? She wore the black amber necklace at all times, only taking it and the Phoenix feather pendant off long enough for a quick shower. Those few minutes probably endangered her. Foolish. Now another demon plagued her.
Closer inspection revealed the beast to be a dragon, covered in small, translucent, golden-brown scales with a row of snow white spines along its neck, back, and tail. It shimmered with a haze of gold. Its oversized golden eyes contained vertical pupils, like a cat. It stretched out its legs, one at a time, and yawned at her. It was only a baby. “Look at those teeny wings, almost transparent and so fragile,” she remarked aloud. Then, she caught her breath, remember the Black Dragon wanted to block her writing.
What should she do? Call Cullen to complain she had a baby dragon on her document? Too silly. That the Black Dragon still plagued her because she foolishly took off the protective necklace to shower? No. She’d never live that down. Maybe Elisabeth’s necklace held some helpful power to control wayward dragon children? She touched the jet butterfly and watched for an effect. The baby turned around and lay down, coiling its hind legs and tail to one side. The head rested on a forearm and the eyelids slowly closed. Had the necklace caused this behavior? If she only understood Dragonspeir magic. Regardless, at least that calme
d the tiny creature, but what about her writing?
Trying to proceed, she moved her other hand to the mouse and aligned the cursor. The baby squirmed. She tried to type, but its eyes flew open and it cried, “Yip!”
Lyra jumped back again. She glanced into the neighbors’ yards to make sure no one watched her and checked over her shoulder into the house. No one was in the family room or breakfast rooms next to the porch. She turned back to the screen. “What are you doing on my page?” It seemed stupid talking to her computer.
The baby sat up and tilted his head to one side as if sizing her up. Could he talk? Kenzo and the other animals of Dragonspeir understood English. “Do you speak? Will you please get off my screen?”
The young dragon responded with a single snert, no flame, no smoke.
“Okay, you don’t know English, but let’s see if we can communicate. Maybe if I type…” She formed the words, “Who are you?” She stopped short, intending to ask more, but the short sentence only upset it and he bawled.
She stared, stupefied. Whether good or evil, this creature prevented her from typing. She sighed. There was no recourse other than to call Cullen. She hated to appear so high maintenance and put him off, but on the other hand, he got her into this whole mess.
He answered promptly; probably after yesterday’s incident, he kept closer to his phone. “How are things today?” His tone held a hint of anxiety.
“Fine. Well, sort of. I was doing good with my writing until just now when a problem happened. I’m not in danger…I think, but then I really don’t know. I have a creature on my computer screen, in the middle of my word document. I can’t type. If I do, he cries.”
“Nequeo!” he shouted. Sparks crackled over the phone. “This can’t be! The black amber necklace holds enormous power. I was sure it would protect you. What does it look like? Dark and scary? Or gruesome—”
She interrupted, “It’s a baby dragon with tiny transparent wings.”
“A what?”
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