Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set)

by Marsha A. Moore

  Lyra leaned over to see the page. She remembered that the name Rowena had always made her curious, and it did now more than ever. “How strange. This looks so much like a butterfly I saw just yesterday in the garden.” A moment passed in awkward silence. She held her breath.

  Cullen closed the book and stepped back to lean against the refrigerator, eyebrows raised.

  “I didn’t mean to startle the life out of you two.” Aunt Jean looked from the wizard to her niece.“Dear, I thought I recognized the characters as you told me the story you were writing, but my old mind isn’t what it used to be. I didn’t want to be wrong and have you treat me like I was senile.”

  “I don’t ever think that, you know. I remember the inscription. You always called me your Little Butterfly and you were Big Bear.”

  “Little Bear still sits up in your room upstairs, like he always did. I kept him for you.” Jean smiled, her eyes bright.

  “I know, thank you,” Lyra said absently, deep in thought.

  Cullen stood more upright. “I assume Sam was your husband?”

  “Yes, my dear Sam. It’s been hard without him.”

  Lyra looked down at her hands. A wad of dishtowel crammed into her fist; she immediately let go of it, not wanting to appear so upset. She couldn’t be the only one. Cullen still looked like he’d seen a ghost. Again silence. They all seemed afraid to discuss what she really wanted to know—how was Aunt Jean connected to Dragonspeir? And more importantly—why did she give her this book? “Aunt Jean, did you know this book was magical when you gave it to me? Who is Rowena?” She held her breath and didn’t dare move away from support of the counter.

  “Let me sit down to answer all that.” The elderly lady wheeled the walker toward the kitchen table. Cullen held a chair for her. “Thank you. Well, the simple question first. Rowena was my and your father’s great, great grandmother. I received this volume in a dusty old box of family mementos when my mother passed away.”

  “Gran died just a few months before I got that bad case of the flu and had to go to the hospital,” Lyra said.

  “You were frightened you were going to die like Gran. I felt so sorry for you…having to spend your birthday there. Anyway, when I searched through the box, at the bottom was this very book, along with newspaper clippings and what-not about children. I pieced bits together and determined how many generations back Rowena lived. Not too hard. Very strange though, that the butterfly drawing already existed on this page.”

  Lyra’s eyes were riveted on her aunt. “It did? What an odd coincidence since your nickname for me was Little Butterfly.”

  “Yes, it’s certainly out of the ordinary, but the bigger curiosity was your name had already been written on its wing—I didn’t do that.”

  “Do you think Gran wrote my name in the book?” Lyra asked as she dared to leave the counter and walk across the kitchen to join them.

  Cullen examined the page again. “Your name in the butterfly is written with the same handwriting as the inscription signed by Rowena’s mother. I hadn’t bothered to notice before.”

  Lyra studied the page. “You’re right. What does this mean? Who is Rowena’s mother and how did she know me?”

  “Did you read the book before you gave it to her?” Cullen asked Jean.

  “I did, to see if I could figure out any connection to my niece. It seemed like a wonderful fantasy, which I knew she’d love, but nothing else. No magic appeared to me. I searched through the records in the box for mention of another Lyra, but found none. After Sam passed, I kept myself busy working with the local library on genealogy, and ours seems to be the only Lyra in the family.”

  Lyra looked to Cullen. “So this was intended for me since the years Rowena lived or earlier.”

  Jean spoke up. “I did learn with my family study that Brigid was Rowena’s mother, and she’s indicated as the book’s author.”

  “Yes, Brigid was the Scribe of the current Book of Dragonspeir. That is known.” He ran a hand through his hair. “By position on the page, the butterfly was drawn first before mention of Rowena. She was only to safeguard it.”

  Lyra stared into his eyes and whispered, “So, when Brigid wrote this, she knew I’d be the next Scribe? I was marked to be a Scribe before I was born? The magic is inherited?”

  He twisted his dragon ring about his finger, obviously as surprised as she. “Seems that way.”

  “You didn’t know?” Lyra asked.

  “No, I didn’t. I met Brigid during my first year in Dragonspeir when I was an apprentice to the Imperial Sorcerer. She included me as a character in her book, which allowed you and I to meet when you read it. Eburscon was the Imperial Alchemist then, and knew Brigid and maybe her daughter. I wonder if he knew of the connection to you.”

  “You can ask him,” Jean suggested.

  “I can, but I’m not sure I want him aware of what I know. He fought violently to keep mention of me out of Brigid’s edition.”

  Once again, they looked at each other in silence. Cullen wrapped an arm around Lyra’s waist and drew her to him. “Don’t worry. Whatever lies ahead, you’ll always have me.”

  His warmth comforted her, but from her point of view, she wouldn’t always have him. He lived half of his life as a wizard in a fantasy world where she was only a guest. She was mortal, and he would long outlive her, like Brigid died and left Dragonspeir behind. She shivered.

  Jean reached out and took hold of her hand. “I’ve told you before, keep a clear head, but follow your heart.” Did her aunt read minds as well as Cullen?

  He kissed her temple. “Can I help you fix dinner?”

  Lyra nodded, glad for the support.

  ***

  With help from Cullen and encouragement from her aunt, the meal came off well. They relaxed with small talk, and Lyra explained the truth about her upcoming trip away with Cullen, going to Dragonspeir instead of sailing.

  Afterward, Lyra saw Jean to bed. Back in front of a kitchen counter full of dirty dishes, she asked Cullen, “I’m so tired, can’t you wave a hand and make these pots and pans wash themselves?”

  “I can, indeed, but I thought you wished me to seem less magical, so we’d be more alike.”

  “Umm, I do. But…” Befuddled, she couldn’t sort through her feelings. “I don’t even know who I am now.”

  He massaged muscles on either side of her spine. “Knots and stiffness. Let me take care of this work, then we’ll rest on the front porch swing as the sun sets.” He moved his hand with the dragon ring overtop of the mess, and instantly everything appeared clean, dry, and stacked. “I didn’t know where they were stored, so I left them on the counter.”

  She gave a weak smile and led him outside. “Before dinner you recognized that clinic worker, Revelin. How do you know him?”

  “He’s been in my store a couple times, acting odd. One time I chased him out of my workroom. I’d stay clear of him.”

  “He does seem strange—sure is interested in my writing.” She motioned him toward the swing. “Have a seat.”

  He positioned her sideways and rubbed her tight neck and shoulders.

  “You could do this with magic too, I’m sure.”

  “Do you really want that?”

  She leaned her head to one side, giving access to the tense muscles along that side of her neck. “No, I don’t. I like your touch.” When his fingers loosened the stiffness, she melted back against him. “That feels wonderful.”

  “You and I have a special magic that belongs only to us.” He leaned forward and grazed her ear with his lips. “Once you receive gifts from all four Guardians, your powers will be stronger, your aura much larger. Not like mine, but still considerable. Then, hopefully, you’ll feel less distance between us.”

  “I’d like that. I want to feel closer to you.” She began to turn around and a butterfly, the same type as the other day in the flower bed, alighted for a second on the porch railing and then flew away. She jerked. “With all that’s happened, I keep forget
ting to tell you about that butterfly. The same kind kept landing on my necklace the other day. The dragons and I were in the garden. It was so persistent, like it was magical, trying to learn something.”

  Cullen slid from behind her to get a better view. “Damn! I sensed Dragonspeir magic. It could be a real insect trajected to work as a simple monitor or spy. But…the glimpse of power I got was greater than needed for that. Most likely it’s the animal form of a transfigured high level magical. I’m willing to bet, since Jean’s nickname for you is Little Butterfly, those insects have often chased you around.”

  “Oh, yes. They seem to find me. They’ve always…” She faced him. “You mean I’ve been watched for decades? Was that one good or evil?”

  He nodded. “I wish I knew.” He settled back behind her and pulled her close. “If you see it again, tell me. I need to sort that out.”

  She nestled against his chest, not wanting him to leave. He enfolded her in his arms, and she felt safe.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I should be going soon so you can get some sleep. Be certain to print your story. I’ll return in the morning at eight. We need an early start.”

  “Do I need to bring anything else?” she asked and turned to face him.

  “These lips.” He pressed his mouth to hers.

  She smiled and moved into him for a deeper kiss.

  His tongue danced along the edges of hers and eased away her tension. She looked forward to their time together. It would be so nice to have his body next to her all night, making her feel secure and safe. Reluctantly, she allowed him to break away and say goodnight.

  Chapter Seventeen: Return to Dragonspeir

  In the cool morning air, Cullen and Lyra bundled the two dragons into her Subaru wagon. Lyra paused to look back at the cottage. “I feel like I should be here for Aunt Jean after her treatment, but she insisted I go with you.”

  “She’ll be okay with Nancy. At least last night you told her where we’re really going. She agreed it’s important that you return to Dragonspeir.” He held out his hand. “If you’ll give me the keys, I’ll drive.”

  She sighed and handed him her keys. During the ride, she held both dragons in her lap. The motion lulled baby Yasqu to sleep, while Noba peered out the passenger-side window, no matter how Lyra tried to push his head down out of sight.

  “This is faster than Noba can fly. Noba likes people-world.” He turned toward Cullen. “Master, can Noba come again and help with Yasqu?”

  “It’s up to Lady Lyra.” The wizard grinned.

  Noba spun around with his pointed nose in her face. “Please, may Noba help more?”

  Lyra laughed. “Yes, you sure may. You’ve been a big help. But you need to learn to keep your face away from the car window.”

  He hopped around to face the window again, this time with his eyes just high enough to see out.

  Cullen drove past the bookstore to an open parking spot two doors down along Sycamore Street. The sign in the window read closed.

  “Can you close the shop for three days?” she asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Don’t you need the income?”

  “I don’t have many expenses. I pay no rent or utilities because the store and my apartment upstairs are only illusions on the corner of Elm and Main. I can conjure most things I need, but sometimes I actually shop for groceries, clothing, or garden items, in order to appear normal and avoid suspicion.”

  She unlatched her seatbelt. “So, why do I see it shift locations?”

  He looked up and down the street, checking for people. “The store continually transforms and is only truly visible, not as an illusion, to someone who possesses significant Dragonspeir magic.”

  She looked over at him, but could not catch his attention. She reworded the question. “Why were you surprised the first time you called and I asked about the changing addresses?”

  “Scribes are selected for their enhanced ability to receive Dragonspeir magic.” He reached over, got hold of his familiar, and wrapped him in a bath towel. “We need to be quick getting these dragons inside.” He got out of the car and carried Noba close to his side.

  Lyra hurriedly draped a towel around the baby, cradled him in her arm, and opened the door. She wondered if he was trying to avoid giving her a detailed answer. Slinging a small canvas bag over her other arm, she quick-stepped to catch up to Cullen. “What does that say about me?”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “You may not be able to hide your emotional thoughts from me, but I can’t seem to withhold my concerns from you either. Truth is, I’m not certain. You shouldn’t have exhibited such ability until a Guardian bestowed it upon you. That, along with the fact that high magicals can channel into your magic, indicates it’s clear you have unusual power for your present stage in the scribe’s journey.”

  “I hope that’s good, but I’m not so sure. More power means I’ll be in more danger.”

  He nodded as he unlocked the shop’s door and held it open for her. “I agree. And makes my job of protecting you harder.”

  A shiver ran down her spine. Butterflies, her childhood playmates, actually watched or spied upon her. Who knew if they were good or evil? Her grandmother Brigid, four times removed, chose her to follow this same path. No matter how Lyra trembled, she must put aside her fears. She embraced the tremendous responsibility.

  Cullen stopped briefly at Sheridan’s cage. “Parcel out this food, my little friend. It will be late on the third day before we return.” For once the boisterous bug sat quiet. Lyra longed for the normalcy of his usual banter.

  In the workroom, she unbundled Yasqu, who yawned in her face. At least he was relaxed. Noba anxiously thrashed his tail against the cloth and wiggled out of the towel.

  Cullen located his traveling pack, unlocked his desk drawer, and withdrew the Book of Dragonspeir. He handed it to her. “You will still require this to open the portal.”

  She accepted the volume and opened to the first chapter. The illustration morphed as before, from moving line drawing to shaded sketch, painting, and finally into a photograph. The scene only lacked the Phoenix Guardian. Her hands clutched the book’s spine, she held her head high, and walked straight through the portal, this time with no hesitation. She would honor Brigid.

  She looked over her shoulder. Noba sailed toward her, and the baby hopped alongside Cullen. She smiled and watched his clothing transform him from that of a shorts-clad islander to a noble wizard, grasping a jeweled staff and the hem of his cloak swirling at his boots. He took her breath away. She handed him the book to store in his bag. Together they traveled toward the Crossroads.

  She admired the lovely flowering trees and shrubs as she walked, but didn’t stop this time. However, the heady jasmine wafted to her nose. She chuckled to herself, thinking of how she bothered the perfumer for his last drop of the scent to help her remember this amazing world.

  After a short distance, they stopped before the Imperial Gatekeeper. “Helllooo there, Adalyra,” the mighty tree boomed with a deep voice, which rang throughout the forest.

  She followed the wizard’s lead and bowed. Noba did the same. Yasqu gave a snert, as if to question what this was all about, then dropped to his knees and careened on over into a somersault. Everyone laughed at the little one, including the gnarly old sentry. “Who have we here? I don’t recall ever meeting you before.” He sent a long branch out to examine the baby and then snapped it back in place with a loud creak. “Goodness. Pardon me, young one. I wasn’t expecting to behold a regal golden dragon.”

  “Venerable Cranewort, under advisement of the Imperial Alchemist, his color is bronze,” the sorcerer stated.

  The aged tree scoffed. “Not to my view.”

  At that very moment, a cloud of purple vapor whirled into a funnel and then descended to reveal Eburscon himself. The alchemist stepped toward them and bent briefly in a shallow bow, his long gray braid falling forward. “Greetings. Yasqu. Sentry Cranewort. Sire Drake. And may I e
xtend special welcome to you, Adalyra.” He presented her his hand, ringed on every finger with massive gemstones, all in shades of violet, iolite, and amethyst. A long pendant of the same stones hung against his purple robe. His dark, beady eyes peered at her from under square-rimmed spectacles.

  She placed her fingers within his palm. His touch made her jump. Where had she felt this before? She would have remembered.

  His other hand rose to trace a finger along the butterfly medallion of her necklace. “This has been serving you well. It does look lovely against the light blue of your eyes and gown.”

  Again, his touch, familiar and frightening. She jerked her hand back, and he laughed at her reaction. A mocking, haughty laugh. She recoiled from him and Yasqu followed, hiding behind her long skirt.

  “Well, well. You two have bonded. Glad you enjoyed your time together. But, I’m afraid that you must separate while you continue the scribe’s journey. He is too defenseless to go into the danger you will face. I will watch over him and, additionally, he needs to begin his training.” The alchemist crouched down.

  Lyra didn’t want to leave the baby with this man. She looked to Cullen, who surely read her mind. He turned his staff a quarter rotation, the movement almost imperceptible. The next second, his voice resonated within her mind. “Yasqu will be safe and training is essential. Let him go.” This new form of communication startled her, and she struggled to regain composure.

  Eburscon cast Cullen an angry glance and then refocused on the dragon. “Come Yasqu. We have work to do while Adalyra is occupied. Come to me now.” Yasqu did not budge. The alchemist reached a hand closer, and the baby hid deeper into folds of her skirt.

  Lyra wanted to follow Cullen’s advice, but her intuition told her otherwise. Her body tensed, although she remained quiet.

  “Come Yasqu. You cannot go with her.” Eburscon lunged forward and grabbed hold of the hind leg of the little dragon.

  “Yee-Ow! Yeeee –Ow!” the baby cried out, writhing to get free. “Ow!”

  “Stop! Let him go! What are you doing to him?” Lyra demanded, glaring the alchemist in the eye. “How do I know he’ll be safe with you?”