When he returned to the room with her duffel bag, he laid it alongside the jadestone.
***
“Adalyra McCauley!” a nurse wearing a scrub top covered with pink hippos called into the waiting room.
Lyra and Cullen rose and followed her into the complex, winding down a hallway to Dr. Betts’ office. Fishing memorabilia hung on gold colored walls, more friendly and welcoming than Cullen expected for a coroner. An older man stood from his seat in front of the large desk. He extended his hand to each of them. “Hello, I’m Dr. Schultz. I think we met last summer. I cared for your aunt.”
Lyra shook hands with him, attempting a thin, polite smile. “Yes, I remember you.” Stepping to the side, she introduced Cullen. As they greeted each other, the coroner entered and closed the door behind him.
“Ms. McCauley?” He held his hand out to her, which she accepted. “I’m Dr. Betts. I apologize for my letter being addressed incorrectly.” He exchanged a handshake and introductions with Cullen.
“I’m just glad it didn’t get lost,” she replied.
He waved toward two red leather arm chairs in front of his desk next to Dr. Schultz. “Please, have a seat.” The coroner cleared his throat and took a place in the large tufted desk chair, then nodded to the other doctor.
Dr. Schultz leaned forward toward Lyra. “Ms. McCauley, upon routine review of notes made by the attending home care nurse, I discovered some unusual observations. I questioned her and corroborated with readings stored in databases from the monitoring devices. The nurse discovered your aunt’s body remained unusually warm to touch three hours after her death when heartbeat and breathing ceased. The monitors recorded her temperature at that time to be one hundred two degrees…considerably greater than normal body level…especially unusual next to an open window.” His voice sputtered. “I studied recordings preceding death. During the entire thirty-minute period prior, her temperature…it soared to one hundred ten.” He paused to remove a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe his brow.
Lyra scooted to the edge of her chair. “How? I spoke to her at one o’clock, just one hour before she died. She was lucid and her skin felt normal.”
Cullen placed his hand over hers, feeling her pulse racing under his fingertips. He sensed the panicked chaos of her thoughts.
“Did the machine delivering her drugs malfunction?” Lyra asked with a high-pitched, shaky voice.
“No. Digital records reported correct administration, and staff reports indicate a corresponding remainder of medication. Even if overdosed, the treatment would not induce fever.”
“At first I suspected a sudden infection,” Dr. Schulz continued.
“An infection. Must have been that.” Lyra repeated.
“I can tell you about that.” Dr. Betts rested his elbows on the desk, but struggled to maintain eye contact with her.
Cullen laced his fingers between Lyra’s. His own breath became shallow. A faint flicker caught his eye—his jadestone attached to the pocket of his jeans emitted a pulsating glow. His eyes darted to Lyra’s stone on the neckline of her top. Nothing. Her magic did not operate here in this world like his. As much as they connected, as much as they loved, she remained mortal.
“I examined your aunt’s body in an autopsy, looking especially for evidence of infection. The spleen showed no enlargement. No marked infection—”
Lyra interrupted him, tipping her chair forward and clutching the edge of the desk. “A reaction to the medication? She must have been given something new. Right?” Her voice screeched wildly. Cullen knew she desperately wanted any explanation logical in her world.
The doctor shook his head negatively and then spoke with his head down, facing the papers on his desk. “Her medication had not been altered in type or dose for over two weeks. The dramatic increase in temperature to that degree for thirty minutes caused organ failure, leading to death. I have no explanation. Internally, her organs showed burn—”
“No!” Lyra clenched the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles turned white. “No. No,” she repeated, shaking her head.
Cullen stood and pulled her into his arms, holding her trembling body tight to his chest. “Breathe. Hold on.”
Dr. Schulz rose. “I know this is a horrible shock. If there is anything we can do…help support a sheriff’s investigation?”
“There’s no point,” Lyra said with a garbled voice, choking through tears.
“Maybe you’d like a sedative now, or for later to help you sleep.”
“Yes. No. I mean yes, the investigation. I would like to know how Jean’s bedroom window was opened. When I left her at one, it was closed.”
“I’ll be glad to call the sheriff for you and have them determine if the casing was forced. However, I can’t think of any external action that might have raised her temperature for that long.”
“Thank you, Dr. Schultz,” Cullen said.
“You’re welcome. If there is anything later you think of, please call either of our offices.”
Dr. Betts rose and added, “Yes, whatever we can do. Please ask. Ms. McCauley, are you certain you don’t need something to help you sleep tonight?”
“No, I’ll be okay,” Lyra murmured, now quiet, but still shaking.
Cullen wrapped an arm securely around her shoulder and helped her to his car.
She sank lifeless into the passenger seat. Peering into her thoughts, they were filled with confusion and self-blame.
As he drove, he reached over and took her hand. “If you don’t feel like attending the Solstice Festival tonight, we’re not required to go.”
She didn’t reply, and he didn’t prod.
***
Throughout the afternoon, Lyra sat quiet, staring at the lake.
He left her alone, although he hurt with her. If only he knew of a way to ease her pain. It didn’t matter to him if they skipped the festival; Lyra was more important. He conjured a book and attempted to read. Concentration failed him. Blame crept in. Why hadn’t he protected her aunt?
After a couple of hours, she moved from room to room, like she had after Jean’s death, reliving memories. He read so many happy memories in her thoughts. If he only might have a chance to give her more.
Finally, she approached him in the family room. She stood tall, her head high, and appeared collected. “I want to go tonight. I’ve cried for months. I want to move forward. If Jean died because of me, there are things I owe her that I must do.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Jean was the last of my blood family and wanted me to find real happiness. I want you to be my family now; nothing would make me happier. I need to learn the magic of Dragonspeir.” She handed him the golden bookmark. “Read the inscription again.”
He read aloud, “Three such bookmarks exist, and together they can open doors to the future you and Sire Drake both envision.”
“And I’m ready to search for the truth about my aunt’s death.”
Chapter Four: The Winter Solstice
Cullen stared at her as though reading her thoughts. His blue eyes gleamed. “We’re connected, heart and soul. Yet, how do you still surprise me? When we met you were a curious, shy child. Last summer, life’s problems left you battered, looking everywhere for a path marked ‘happiness.’ Now, you’re a determined woman.”
“Completing the last stages of my quest, I had to work hard, with strength from deep inside. I learned happiness is to be made, not discovered.”
“Those crystal eyes glow with resolve. I wonder if others will see.”
“I hope so! When do we leave?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Soon. The festivities commence at sunset.” He held up the bookmark. “First, I should secure this and your copies of the Book of Dragonspeir. Did you bring them?”
“Yes, but my version is digital.”
“Lock the file on your computer. Bring me any hard copies and Brigid’s volume.”
She did as directed, and he passed his hand bea
ring the dragon ring over the items. “Abscondo ops proprietas!” They disappeared. “I can restore them at any time, but no one else can.”
“Why so cautious?”
Cullen explained the theft at his bookstore as they left.
When they entered the storeroom from his garage, she peered around, but nothing looked different.
“One more precaution—I need to cast a mind guard over you.”
She stepped back. “I don’t want my thoughts blocked from you.”
“Theoretically, the enchantment will do that, but I wonder…you’re able to read bits of ideas in my eyes, despite that protection. Are you willing to test it?”
“Yes, but you must be able to read my mind.”
He gave her a sideways glance and laughed. “I remember times you hated that.”
She smiled. “Love and trust are wonderful.”
“They certainly are.” He grinned and twisted his ring. The blue topaz dragon eyes glowed. “Ready?”
She relaxed her shoulders and nodded.
“Celo sentential!” He leaned away, giving her space. “Now let’s test. Think of something tied to strong emotion, something worrying you.” Their eyes met, and he chuckled. “Yes, there are a lot of spells. You’ll learn them in stages, according to your growth. I’ll teach you some lessons, as will the Guardians, Cranewort, Eburscon, and members of the Qumeli tribe.
“Eburscon? No! Or the Qumeli? I don’t want to learn from them. How can they help?”
“The Imperial Dragon believes you’ll learn much from their unusual methods. And I concur.” He opened the portal, and they stepped across.
Lyra froze. The intense change of being within the environment of Dragonspeir flooded her senses. She had forgotten the tingling along every inch of her skin. She reached to Cullen to steady herself while her body acclimated. She expected his clothing to change, to dress like a gallant wizard rather than a bookstore owner, but...in formal attire he looked even more handsome. A smile spread over her face. He wore a hooded dress cloak of royal velvet lined with white ermine fur.
He attached his jadestone clasp to fasten it closed at his neck. Underneath, she caught glimpses of a bright blue tunic with lighter embroidery.
He stepped up to her, crunching the snow with his over-the-knee black boots. “You look breathtaking. Let me fix your brooch. Here, hold my staff.”
Impatiently, she tried to sneak peeks of her outfit, frustrating his efforts.
“Chin up.”
She fidgeted with the glove leather between her fingers.
Finally, he set her free, and she discovered her cloak matched his. The fur lining was toasty warm, although her ears felt a chill. Fingering them, she located long earrings conducting the cold air. At her throat she found her usual protective necklace of black amber sets in the shape of a butterfly. It was created eight hundred years ago for the first Scribe, Elisabeth, her grandmother many times removed. Each of the succeeding four women of her family, who became Scribes, wore it to prevent Guardians, dark or light, from commanding her magic to do their bidding.
Lyra kicked out a foot with a black, fur-lined ankle boot having a cute heel. Her long gown was made of a brocade similar to the fabric of Cullen’s tunic, except in a gold satin with blue cording on the bodice. “These colors match our auras. Is that intentional?”
“Yes. Everyone will wear blue and also the color of their respective aura, if they have powers. Mortal people wear breeches and sweaters or skirts with capes for the women. Titled magical persons, also called higher magicals, dress in a variety of this fabric we wear. I like you in gold. It makes the waves of your hair shine.” He leaned in for a kiss. Blue topaz earrings dangled from his left ear. “Shall we go?”
She nodded eagerly and handed his staff back to him. “Your blue topaz, does it hold power?”
“Yes, it intensifies my natural magic.” He drew her to his side and planted the staff.
With rotation, his blue mist rose from the snow and twirled around them. Lyra couldn’t see anything except Cullen and the glowing sapphire at the apex of the silver shaft. The sensation of being nowhere, other than with him, felt like a dream. “This is what I want, a space with only us,” she whispered into his ear.
“It will be ours someday.”
***
The mist receded to reveal a wide rock escarpment brightly lit with torches. Looking out over the flatland below, Lyra gasped. Against the dusky sky, laser bonfires lighted a wide area where thousands mingled and danced to a lively fiddle band. She turned to Cullen. “Where are we? I vaguely remember being here.”
He took her arm and spoke into her ear to be heard over the noise. “This is the entry to the Imperial Dragon’s lair.” Waving a hand out over the plain, he continued, “Down there, the Steppe of Ora.”
“Yes. Last summer we passed through at the Geminus tree. We were attacked by fire drakes and a green dragon from the Dark Realm.”
Above them a squadron of huge blue dragons sailed past, roaring their greetings to her. Trailing behind, a slightly smaller bronze dragon squawked wildly.
“Look! Yasqu! How big he is now,” she exclaimed.
“He’s all of ninety feet now, a good twenty feet longer than expected for his age,” a man nearby remarked.
Leaning into Cullen, Lyra asked, “Will I get to talk with him?”
“Yes, later on the plain.”
Cullen directed her attention inward toward the rock wall extending above the ledge. He pointed at an arched opening. “And over there is the antechamber to the lair. You were here as a girl.”
“Yes, flowers floated in the air, but now....” She spun around, following pinpricks of colored light moving in every direction above the crowd. “Are those sprites?”
“Yes, they are. You’re right, that was the Spring Equinox Pageant.”
She laughed as one fairy darted in front of her face, leaving a sparkling pink trail. This mixed with the condensing vapor of her breath. “I don’t know which festival is prettier.”
Soon guests surrounded them, gawking at her entry. Lyra scanned people for any hint of wariness or suspicion, but instead saw only friendly faces.
Squirrels chased in and out of conversation groups, their fur flared out, lit with glowing auras.
One plump woman approached, wearing a navy woolen dress and matching cape of heavy fulled melton. She bowed her head to Lyra, a wide smile covering her face. “I’m honored to meet our Scribe. Thank you for helping us.”
Others responded with a chorus of agreement. The mortal women and men dressed in some shade of blue to show allegiance with the Alliance. Their garments looked to be their best, or made especially for this occasion, showing no signs of wear. Males wore tweed trousers and hooded knee-length capes over thick, hand-knitted sweaters. Under shorter capes, women’s full skirts draped about them in sections, held out with ruffled, light blue petticoats. When they walked or danced, the fabric spun out like flower petals blowing in a breeze, revealing the gauzy undergarments. “What lovely skirts on your dresses, like blossoms,” Lyra remarked to one group of ladies.
They giggled and lowered their heads in modesty. One stepped forward and replied, “Lady Lyra, your kind words flatter us. Many of us worked for months sewing these garments. Your brocade gown is so much more beautiful, such fine detailing with trim.”
It was Lyra’s turn to bow. She took hold of the lady’s hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Thank you. I wish I could say I made mine, too. Your skills impress me greatly.”
The woman’s eyes shined. “My name is Tessa. Please feel welcome in my home at any time.”
Lyra grinned and nodded, warmed by the sincerity. In her mission to find Aunt Jean’s killer, she’d need every ally.
A gathering of blue deer joined them and stared, apparently curious about the display of emotions. Their auras pulsed light along their silver antlers.
Cullen steered through the crowd, stopping every few feet to allow residents to greet Lyra and e
xpress appreciation. In the threshold of the cave, they paused among a group of young men and women wearing plain velvet full-length cloaks in an array of blue hues. Each possessed a faint white aura. They bowed to Lyra.
“Word in the Meadow is you’ll be learning beginning sorcery with us,” said one male, who looked to be in his twenties. He took her arm and continued, “I’ve studied for a year, and I’m certain I can assist you with your studies.” He stood stiffly erect and wore a soldier blue cloak and robe, adorned with only a gold cord belt.
His forward manner raised a red flag of caution. Lyra stepped back, glad for her mind shield.
The Imperial Sorcerer bowed his head to the youth. “Thank you, but the Scribe will be taught private lessons.”
The young wizard lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her. His aura gained a blue-violet tinge. “She’s only had practical experience and no formal training. I dare say—”
A familiar, haughty male voice said from behind, “Customarily, sorcerers are gifted with specific ability to learn craft. She alone possesses a unique natural magic. It’s an inherited trait passed through generations of her family, which she will learn to channel in an entirely different training and learning process. More like harnessing the wind.”
Lyra turned to see the sweep of purple velvet attire worn by the Imperial Alchemist. Torch light gleamed off his numerous pendants, each encrusted with similarly colored gems, hanging against a lavish violet and gold brocade robe. He extended a hand to her, each finger adorned with a long, pointed nail and a massive ring of iolite or amethyst. “As per your custom, Adalyra.”
Reluctantly, she reached out to accept his handshake. The ring-stones resembled the circular markings on the wings of the mysterious butterfly. The look in his beady, dark eyes made her shiver. Abruptly she pulled her hand back. “Local customs will be fine, thank you.” She bowed her head to him.
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