She read a handwritten list of pairs of names, beginning with Brigid Napier and Charles O’ Reilly, Rowena O’Reilly and Clinton Donnell. The last pair of names was Jean McCauley and Samuel Perkins. “Wow! Jean wore Brigid’s wedding dress?”
“Seems that way.”
“Jean and Sam had no children. Wonder why she didn’t give me the dress when I was to marry Jeff?”
He wrinkled his forehead. “No way to be sure of that now. Maybe she forgot it was here.”
Forgot it? She squinted at him.
He laughed. “What? You’re looking at me like I have two heads. Okay, I confess; with all this heavy labor, I haven’t kept up monitoring your thoughts. Remember, you used to be angry with me for reading your mind.”
She put her hands on her hips. “It has some advantages. Jean owned a two hundred-year-old wedding gown, handed down through the family and forgot to pass it on to her only niece when she herself was childless. Sure. There’s more to it than that.”
“Another mystery.”
“I want to solve them. I’m still hung up on who gave me that opal ring and how it’s connected to Brigid.”
“We can do that after you finish scribing the new book.”
“Really? You’d help me?”
“Sure. It’d be fun. Along the way, I might discover what makes Eburscon tick.”
She hugged him, excited to have his help. She was eager to learn more about her relations and how she inherited their magic. “Okay, back to work, so everything gets done on time.” Later, when she ran across items stirring her childhood memories with Jean and Sam, she clung to the idea of that incredible dress. And she thought maybe, just maybe, her aunt kept it for her marriage to the man who now truly loved her.
***
Saturday morning Lyra rose early to meet the donation van. Then, the hardest packing task of all awaited her—her own things to leave the next day. She filled suitcases with fresh laundry and organized stacks of books into tote bags. She wrapped her treasured volume of Brigid’s Book of Dragonspeir in clothing within a suitcase. She packed her car with all but last minute items, prepared to leave first thing the next day.
Cullen watched in silence. They didn’t need words. He likely heard her thoughts, and she read his on his drawn face. Parting was hard enough, but they both knew her grief, even if they could minimize it by moving her away, would make finishing that book extremely difficult. Extreme fear kept her from speaking words she knew he read in her mind—that she’d fail, Dragonspeir’s Imperial powers would cease to exist, and he would die. Completion of her quest weighed heavily on Lyra’s shoulders.
At bedtime they made love awkwardly, with more clutching and crying than passion. Lyra didn’t care if she climaxed or not; she just needed to feel him as close to her as possible.
He paused to rest his cheek on her breasts, unable to seduce her.
She was sure her heart would break feeling him inside her. She wrapped her legs around him and never wanted to let go. Tears leaked from the outer corners of her eyes and soaked the pillowcase.
Afterward, they lay coupled for many minutes.
He lifted up on his elbows to look at her. “Lyra, I love you and always have. You know that don’t you?”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “I do. And always remember I love you.”
***
Morning light shone in their window too soon for Lyra. She buried her head under Cullen’s chin.
He pulled her closer. “You need to get up and get started. You have a long drive ahead. Twelve hours today.”
She kissed him and tumbled out of bed, determined to be strong and not fail them on this quest. Their routine morning activities passed in silence. She avoided looking in his eyes, for fear she’d fall apart.
He finished loading her car. “Promise to call often and email. And, if there is any way I can help you, ask me. If any problem arises, call me.”
“I’ll keep in touch.” She handed him an extra key to the cottage. “In case you need this.”
He nodded. “I need you.” He squeezed her tight and spoke next to her ear. “I don’t fear death if you fail the quest. I’ve lived over two hundred years.” His voice cracked, choking on tears. “But, I don’t want to die without sharing some of my life with you.”
She grabbed onto his shoulders. “There will be a way for us. I’m not going to let you die.” She suddenly pulled away. “I forgot something.” Turning back, she ran into the house. In a single minute, she raced out with a smile burning across her face through the tears and carried two garment bags. “I wanted these to go in last so they didn’t muss or get torn.”
His brow rose high above his swollen eyes. “What’s this?”
“The dress you gave me for our special date. I want to remember that evening clearly while we’re apart. And Aunt Jean’s wedding gown. I’m going to try it on and see if it fits. Maybe I will wear it when…”
“Take a moment and try it on for me now, before you go. Please. Really quick.”
Without a thought, she sailed inside to the downstairs bedroom which had a full length mirror.
He followed close.
After she hung the gowns on a door hook, she peeled off her shorts. The t-shirt came off with more care since she’d pinned her jadestone brooch onto it. She unzipped the bag. Her hands shook while she carefully slipped the dress off its hanger. She lifted the mass of ivory satin over her head.
Cullen helped move folds of fabric in place around her.
She gently extended her arms into the short, puffed sleeves and pulled the bodice over her bosom. With a few easy tugs, it fit perfectly. A long train extended from the back of its empire waist. She turned to see her image in the mirror.
Cullen looked over her shoulder at her reflection.
She gasped and he grabbed her arms. His mouth dropped open. The view in the mirror showed their auras, hers gold and his blue, blending into one light.
“Like in the stream the first day of my journey in Dragonspeir.”
“The Stream of Omens.” He turned her around and pressed his lips to hers. “You were correct about this dress. Jean didn’t just forget. All right, my Little Butterfly, change and let’s get you on the road.”
She carefully removed the gown. After she dressed in her shorts, she checked and the mirror no longer revealed their auras. The gown indeed held magic.
He gathered the garment bags and placed them flat across the top layer of belongings in her back seat, then he found her lips for a kiss. “There will be a way.”
Tears welled into her eyes. “I will trust.” She got into the driver’s seat, and her heart swelled with determination to complete the quest. As she drove down the street, she watched him in her rearview mirror. Keep a clear head, but follow your heart.
Chapter Thirty-Five: A Dragon’s Tale
For the first fifty miles Lyra’s throat clenched, agonizing over leaving him. Every now and then, a tear leaked from her eyes. Her head hurt from crying.
She selected some music to ease her tension. After changing stations a handful of times, she settled on one from Detroit. She knew the drive well, from years of trips to the Michigan island.
Her thoughts wandered back to that wedding gown. Loose bits of information seemed as though they must somehow fit together: that wedding dress; the mysterious giver of the opal ring; the many butterflies who followed her; the one black one that always tried to touch Elisabeth’s necklace; her name written within an outline of a butterfly almost two hundred years ago; her unusual inherited magical abilities. None of those influenced the adventure she needed to record. Did they tell another story? She puzzled about possible connections for many miles.
Along her drive, she received a call from the realtor about routine lawn care at the cottage. Now that Lyra had left, it seemed sad to never return. But, it was best. Or she hoped so anyway.
By nightfall she reached Knoxville and stayed the night in a motel. She didn’t sleep well and rose early,
on the road again by seven. After another long drive, she reached home in Tampa by sunset. Florida looked like another world compared to the island, and she missed Cullen even more. She’d called several times along the trip and did again when she arrived, to let him know she was safe.
***
The next day couple of days left no time for writing. After unpacking, getting groceries, and sorting through mail, Lyra fell asleep at the keyboard while trying to write. The following day, she checked in at her office and found a mountain of work. She groaned and sorted, to put off as much as possible for a couple weeks, so she had time to write. Her chairman parked himself in her office for two long hours, telling all about his summer and curriculum plans for new courses this school year.
Finally, a day at home on Thursday, she eagerly sat at her computer ready to write. After four hours she accomplished only three pages. Over and over, she rewrote the sequence of events. What was wrong? At this rate, it would take months to write the book.
Magically manipulated grief still plagued her, and she forced herself through daily routines, while her mind wandered to memories of Jean and her own parents.
She labored over an outline for the rest of the day. Her mind drifted away and required constant refocusing. After dinner she reexamined her work from the afternoon, scribbled on a legal pad. It made no sense. In a rage, she tossed it in the wastebasket. Mad at everything, especially that she’d lost all her close family, she flung herself on the bed and cried herself to sleep.
She woke the next morning in a panic. Another day gone which she couldn’t afford to lose. That book must be written. With cereal bowl and coffee mug in hand, Lyra vowed to not leave the computer until she accomplished some decent amount of writing.
Hours later, the new day proved no better. She called Cullen and a torrent of frustration exploded from her. She agonized while he listened, but he offered little comfort, not knowing what to do.
She gave up forcing herself to write and stormed out of the house for a walk. Physical exercise eased the stress, gave her mind a break. She walked for hours and returned home in the late afternoon, glad to be exhausted and unable to feel her despair. The exertion left her famished and covered with sweat. After a plateful of ravioli, she took a long cool shower, to wash away whatever remained of her emotional baggage.
After torturing her body, her mind seemed clearer, and she approached the computer. She opened the most recent chapter and jumped back. There on her screen a tail moved up and down, pushing the lines of a paragraph apart. Then, the tail left the page and a head emerged.
“Yasqu! How did you get in there again?” she exclaimed.
He snerted and a tiny puff of smoke billowed out into her room.
She leaned back in her chair to miss any stray sparks. “Who sent you? Eburscon?”
The dragon recoiled with a whimper.
“Okay, not him. Cullen? Sire Drake?”
Again a snert; no language skills yet.
“Hmm. Let’s try writing together. Now don’t be afraid while I type and words show up around you.” Last time she tried that he bawled. But heck, he was only two or three days old then. And she was desperate. She began a new sentence.
He behaved and didn’t seem to mind, only swatted the lines with his nose or tail once in a while.
She typed more. Soon a new paragraph emerged. Rereading it, she liked it. “Hey, you’re a big help.”
Another snert, this time with a tiny spark.
She continued and ideas for three new pages rolled off her fingers. What did Yasqu do to help? Soon, she ended the chapter in good shape. The ideas flowed with her usual voice and rhythm. At a scene break in the next chapter, she called Cullen.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
“Do what? Are you all right. I’m very worried about you; you’ve been so upset. Should I come there to help?”
“Yasqu’s on my word processor screen again. Well, only his head or tail, not the full dragon at once.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. And now that he’s here, I’m writing again—the ideas are flowing.”
“Nequeo!” he exclaimed. “Who did this? Did he give any clues?”
“None.”
“If he’s helping you, then it must be an Imperial power. Do you want Yasqu out of your screen? I can remove him.”
“No way! I’m writing—leave him!”
“Well, I’m going to work several more hours tonight since I only have two and a half weeks to draft and edit a whole book. It’ll be close.”
“Wonderful news. But get a little sleep.”
After their goodbyes, she worked long into the early morning hours and crawled into bed satisfied.
Over the weekend, she and the bronze dragon continued their teamwork nonstop. During the work week, he showed up in the evenings when she came home from long days of meetings. Once or twice he popped in fifteen minutes late, belching. Someone had fed the little guy. Good thing. She had little time to wonder about her benefactor’s identity.
Once classes began, her pace slowed. With only one weekend remaining, she still needed to write about the scenes through her last day in Silva Nocens, with the critical part about assessing the Black Dragon’s power. When she reached that key scene, her partner grew oddly quiet and watched her words type out in front of him as though he understood and wanted to know what she wrote. Maybe he detected the magic imbued in the sentences. Surely, he couldn’t read. She paused to consider what high position he would serve as an adult. Strange how his birth color was golden, like the Imperial Dragon. The little guy had a big future ahead in Dragonspeir, and so did she. Brigid gave her life and Cullen gave his love…for her future.
***
Finally, late Sunday night, two nights before the rise of the red moon, Lyra finished the draft. The hard part now over, she just needed one person to read it before the moon came up at seven o’clock Tuesday evening. A couple colleagues owed her big favors, and she had already asked them on Friday to read the manuscript. After saving the manuscript for the hundredth time everywhere she could find, she dropped into bed and slept soundly.
When she entered the English department offices early the next morning, she pounced on Andrew, the first of the two to arrive. She handed him the flash drive, a second in her pocket for Meredith. Two readers minimized chances that one wouldn’t be able to read it all in time.
“What’s the genre? Fantasy, I expect? I hope.” He was a young assistant professor, good-natured and always backed her up in meetings. Lyra had helped him grade a large stack of freshmen final essays when his daughter needed an emergency appendectomy. His return of the favor was a given.
While they talked, Meredith walked up, out of breath from the stairs. “Hi guys. Trying the stairs this term to lose weight. Is this Lyra’s summer vacation novel? Wish I’d had enough quiet time to write. My two boys made coming back here seem like a holiday.”
She nodded. “My summer project. I need to submit this before the end of the work day tomorrow. Please, read it all and get back with me before then.”
“Easy enough. Do you want crit marks?” Meredith asked, as she accepted the flash drive.
“No, just read and give me your general impression.”
“Sure thing. Are there dragons?” Andrew grinned expectantly.
“There are.” She smiled, glad they wanted to help.
She called Cullen between classes to update him, and through the day, she poked her head into their offices to assess their progress.
Meredith didn’t have classes that morning, and by noon she was a third of the way through. Seemed like a fast read. Both of her colleagues took it home to continue reading that evening. She knew they appreciated the importance of publishing deadlines and would come through for her.
But what if dark forces somehow blocked their efforts? It certainly was possible. Lyra paced her living room all evening and tossed and turned during the night.
Chapter Thirty-Six: The Re
d Moon
As soon as Lyra’s eyes opened, her feet hit the floor. She showered, got breakfast, and drove to work in record time.
Her chairman met her at the department mailboxes and attempted to pawn one of his jobs off on her. Luckily, the arrival of their secretary distracted him, and she took off to her office.
For the next thirty minutes, Lyra lurked in her doorway, watching for her colleagues while avoiding the chairman. She bet Andrew would arrive first and he did; a morning person, he ran before dawn.
No need to be nonchalant, she marched into his office across from hers as soon as he flicked on the lights. “Well?” she asked eagerly.
“I’m on the edge of my seat and can’t wait to read the ending,” he stated with a smile.
“What scene are you on?”
“The white crane just flew up to you and you think you’re going to die, which of course, I don’t believe since you’re standing here in front of me. Strange choice of first person point-of-view. Do you think you can sell that?”
“I know I can. Andrew, just read.” She laughed.
When Lyra returned from her first class, Meredith wandered into her office. “Almost finished. I’ll have it done by early afternoon. Great stuff! You’ll make me a fantasy lover yet. Your dragons are so real. I read some to my boys last night—well, the family-oriented scenes.” She chuckled. “Sexy wizard, by the way.”
Lyra grinned ear-to-ear and hoped the heat across her cheeks didn’t show a blush. “Yes, he is.”
Meredith raised an eyebrow. “I won’t ask.” She turned and headed to her own office.
When Lyra returned to her desk, she found an email from Cullen: Have they read it yet?
She typed a reply: Nope. Hopefully, by mid-afternoon. Both love the story so far.
Hours wore on to lunchtime. She had no appetite. During her second class, at two, she struggled to even see the students’ faces in front of her. Her lecture came off flat. The clock on the back wall of the classroom loomed at her. She finished early, dismissed them, and raced down the hall to the office area.
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