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

by Marsha A. Moore

  At the end of the connecting passage, she paused to look both ways along the main trail. Nothing moved. She gasped for air and pushed hair out of her face. Her fingers fumbled with her opal ring, thrust in a hurry to the bottom of her skirt pocket.

  Then a distant spine-chilling screech, she knew well to be from a cimafa, pierced the air.

  It took her only a split second to decide it followed from far enough away for her to run for the portal. Inside the bookstore, she’d be safer. She slipped the ring back on. Even though the cimafa located her by detecting her energy, she hoped invisibility might slow the dragon down. Gathering her energy, fueled by adrenaline, she powered into a sprint. Icy wind whipped down her open mouth as she panted for air. Her pulse pounded in her head. Several times, the long skirt of her cloak bunched between her legs, breaking her stride. She noticed various clumps of bushes, trying to remember which grew near to the portal.

  Wing beats pounded the air, coming closer.

  Once she reached the weeping pluch tree, she knew the portal stood just past the jasmine on the left.

  Another shriek split the air, so loud she looked over her shoulder. It sailed only a quarter mile down the trail, neck extended, straight for her. She set her jaw and forced her eyes away, not to be caught by its bewitching stare. Before she focused on the path in front, her foot hit a root, and she tumbled hard onto her hands and knees.

  The portal sensed her Alliance magic and opened, only thirty feet straight ahead.

  She tried to get to her feet under her and her ankle twisted. Pain shot through the joint when she put weight on it. Wincing, she ignored the stabbing sensation and hobbled as fast as possible, forcing the ankle to perform.

  A shadow of wings fell over her. She felt the sickening sensation of the rider’s dark magic and the hypnotic pull of the cimafa, calling her to turn around.

  She gritted her teeth. Only ten more feet. She set her focus on the familiar clutter inside the bookstore’s work room.

  The cimafa clamped his jaw, biting the air immediately behind her. The noxious sulfur odor of the beast made her dizzy.

  She shut her eyes and kept moving at top speed. Her injured ankle crackled as though the bones splintered. Pain shot up her leg, and she dragged it along. The moment after she crossed the threshold, the cimafa’s gaping mouth hit the closed barrier like an invisible wall.

  The impact stunned the dragon, and he dropped his head down, drooling and shaking it from side to side.

  Lyra trembled on the bookstore floor, only a couple feet from the terrifying beast. Could it sense her through the portal like the Phoenix who sang to her? Was the rider able to pass through? She held her breath and worked to gather any available power into a fireball.

  The rider turned the stunned creature and pulled up beside the threshold. He stared at her, less than three feet away, from under his deep hood. His masked face only revealed red, glowing eyes.

  She checked for markings. Gloves covered his hands, but a purple gem pendant peeked out from the opening of his cloak. She studied the setting—silver suns and moons decorated the sides.

  His lips drew into a smirk. “You are not long to own the Scribe’s aura, Adalyra.” His disguised voice gave an unfamiliar, eerie cackle. He shot a beam of red light from his eyes to the cimafa’s head, and they took flight down the trail.

  She watched until they flew out of sight, then lay back. Her chest heaved, and her ankle throbbed. The coolness of the vinyl floor against her temple steadied her. She was alive.

  Chapter Eighteen: Gatekeeper of the Portal

  For the first time, Lyra noticed sparkling flecks strewn over the floor near the portal. She lay there and rested for several minutes, mustering strength to move.

  Finally, she rolled to move her uninjured leg under her. Using the shelves of the bookcase bordering the threshold, she hoisted herself to stand. Balancing on the tiptoe of the other foot, she steadied herself. Cautiously, she took a step. Small enough that the swollen ankle wouldn’t need to support her weight long. The ankle made a dull crack, and she grabbed the back of a chair to slow her fall. Its legs scooted out, and the wooden arm clattered against the floor.

  “Who’s there?” a tiny voice called from the showroom.

  “Sheridan, is that you?” Lyra gasped as pain shot through her extremity.

  “Lyra! I need some food and water in here. Seems you two have forgotten this lowly locust,” he called out, with his usual snippiness.

  She inched into a seated position and bent her right knee to bring the ankle closer for inspection. Her hands sensed the deep wound, a complete fracture, probably broken clean through with that last step. Wrapping her palms around the throbbing joint, she took a deep breath. She self-healed before and hoped it would work for her again. The torn connective tissues of the bursa mended easily, but the ripped tendon and bone injury defied her. She focused more intently. Sweat beaded along her brow and hairline. No better. Only the swelling and heat reduced. Using magic outside of Dragonspeir took more control and focus and was even harder to do when injured.

  “Lyra. You’re awfully quiet. Is Master with you?”

  “No,” she spit out between attempts to concentrate.

  “You sound awful. What’s wrong?”

  “Broken ankle.”

  He ranted on in a chirpy high pitch, but she ignored him to make one more try. Her hands felt a line cutting diagonally across the end of the larger bone. She only managed to make basic repairs to the tendon above that area and reduce more swelling. Leaning aginst the upturned chair, she considered her two choices. She could go to the local emergency room. Or she could return to Dragonspeir, where she could properly self-heal, and chance the cimafa might locate her again. Plagued by pain and unable to choose, her mind fell into delirium.

  “Lyra. Do you hear me? Lyra.” Sheridan’s voice startled her back to reality.

  “Yes,” she answered weakly, noticing for the first time she wore a parka rather than the cloak. Rummaging inside the inner jacket pocket, she found her cell phone. Luckily, it still held a charge. She dialed 911 and asked for an ambulance.

  The woman’s voice on the phone sounded warm and comforting, helping Lyra collect her thoughts to tell where she was located—a difficult matter since the bookstore moved randomly by magic. After much stammering, she remembered the location known to non-magicals on Tenth Street near Elm.

  After she hung up, she closed the phone with a sigh, then sat upright—the door was locked. If the ambulance crew broke the lock and it needed to be replaced, her enchanted key wouldn’t work.

  Nearby, she located a wheeled office chair. Crawling on hands and knees, she pulled into its seat and rolled backward into the outer room, pushing with her good leg.

  As she passed the counter, Sheridan called, “Are you all right?”

  “I have an ambulance coming. You’ll need to be quiet then.” She continued to skid across the wood floor, but one wheel caught in the fringe of a Persian rug. “Damn!” She twisted to look over her shoulder at the door and raised a hand. Before she uttered the necessary incantation, a loud whirring sounded behind her, and the bolt slammed open. She whipped around to face the cicada. “Did you do that?”

  He silenced his song. “Who else?” he quipped, clinging to the front bars of his cage, his antennae waving outside.

  She took one hop from the chair and held onto the counter, leaning on it to scoot toward the cicada. Placing a palm above his cage, she choked, “Creo!” The simple incantation worked. Sugar cubes and water appeared in his bowls. “How did you open the lock?”

  “This portal’s mine—I’m the gatekeeper. Each has its own keeper. I make this store change locations…and rearrange the furniture and books in here when I’m bored. I felt bad vibes approaching and strengthened the portal barrier. Tricky business since you cut it so close. Trouble is, my magic’s limited to watching the damn door. Thanks lots for the grub.”

  “No problem.” Lyra studied the insect for a moment,
glad she hadn’t made an enemy of him when they first met. Then, she thought he was just an insolent bug.

  He lapped at his food while keeping one of his green compound eyes on her.

  Being vertical, the swelling increased in her ankle, making it throb even more. She hopped back to sit in the desk char. The shrill siren of the ambulance drew near.

  “Lyra, take care,” the bug whispered when the door creaked open.

  Two strapping young men helped her onto a gurney and whisked her away.

  ***

  The young male orderly met the ambulance at the curb of the emergency room and rolled Lyra’s cot into a prep room. Another nurse followed him in, but stayed behind her head. After a couple minutes, the orderly gave a grin and left.

  “Bet that hurts,” the man said casually as he stepped to the side counter, writing notes on a clipboard. He wore his straight, black hair long in a ponytail. Revelin?

  Lyra turned her head toward him, but she couldn’t see his face. His broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist.

  After several minutes, he turned. “Good to see you again, Lyra, although not under these circumstances.” He nodded in the direction of her ankle, now twice the size of the other.

  Lyra grunted and squirmed on the hard bed, wishing she could get away from him. Pain shot up her leg, and she grimaced.

  “You’d feel better lying still until the doctor orders tests and meds. Let me have a look.” He moved to the foot of her bed, and Lyra propped up onto her elbows. He smiled and said, “I met your neighbor lady at a nursing home function, and she thought you’d taken your aunt’s house off the market. Is that true? I was hoping you’d be around still.”

  “I thought you worked with elder home care. Why are you in emergency?” She avoided answering his question.

  Revelin gently cupped the underside of the swollen joint with his hands. His touch raised goosebumps along the skin of her leg.

  She bit her lower lip to replace the pleasant sensation with something more real—pain.

  He ran his fingers along outer edges of bands of muscle and tendons with skill and precision. “Lie back and relax. I take a week rotation in the ER regularly. Was supposed to come in last week, but I traded for a guy who needed to travel over the holidays. Luck must have been with me to be here when you came in.”

  An icy hot sensation coursed deep inside her ankle. Although she tried to fight it, his touch radiated throughout her body. Lyra rested her head against the pillow, and soon her eyelids drooped. Through flutters of her lashes, she saw his dark eyes, almost black with silver glints in the irises, fixed onto her. Her eyes shut, and she drifted into half-sleep as his firm hands massaged her lower leg.

  ***

  A rush of icy wind smacking her face woke Lyra. She jumped, unable to place her surroundings.

  Revelin shut the passenger door of a car where she sat. The black sedan faced a tan brick wall of the hospital. He walked around the hood and opened the driver’s door. His muscular frame filled half of the front seat. “You had a nice nap while we ran tests and took x-rays. When the doctor cleared you to leave, my shift was ending, so I offered to drive you home.” He flashed a friendly smile. “Hope that’s okay. At least it’s better than a cab.”

  His offer seemed harmless enough and his expression sincere.

  “Yeah. Sure. It’s fine. Thanks.” She shook her head, trying to feel less disoriented. “Sorry, I’m groggy. Really, thank you. It’s kind of you.”

  “That’ll wear off in a little while.” He turned on the radio and hummed softly with the harmony of the song, his voice deep and rich.

  As they turned into her neighborhood he asked, “Are you alone this Christmas? Here to be with memories of your aunt?”

  “No, I mean yes. I’m not alone. I came to be with Cullen Drake, who owns the bookstore.” Feeling drugged, she blinked and swallowed hard, trying to become more alert.

  He glanced over to her with those same dark eyes streaked with silver, and she couldn’t look away. “Is he at your aunt’s house staying with you? Will you have someone to look out for you this evening?”

  Unprepared to answer his probing question, she searched her mind for any believable excuse. “I…I’ll be fine. He had some business to attend to, but will be home soon.” She silently cursed her voice for wavering. Then, she recalled why she went to the emergency room and looked down at her ankle among the clutter of fast food cups littering the floor. The joint looked normal, no swelling. She expected to see a plaster cast, but found only an elastic bandage. Moving it from side-to-side caused no pain. She bent her right knee and pulled the foot into the car seat. “What happened? What did the doctor say was wrong with my ankle?”

  He stared ahead at the road while he turned onto her driveway and put the car in park. “It’s fine. No serious damage. Just elevate it as much as possible for the next couple days.”

  Lyra’s eyes opened wide, looking between him and her ankle. She thought she remembered feeling a fracture line cutting across the end of the larger bone. And a tear in the tendon on the side.

  Before she could ask any questions, he hopped out of the car, opened her door, and offered his arm for her to stand.

  She wobbled, her head still unsteady, and accepted his help.

  He wrapped his other around the small of her back and escorted her onto the porch.

  Too much was happening at once for her clouded mind to sort out. His touch, even through the parka, gave her inviting shivers. The injured ankle supported her weight with little discomfort. She couldn’t remember where she stored her house key and didn’t want to hesitate at the door to allow an awkward moment if Revelin made a move on her. He did help her today, and she didn’t want to appear ungrateful and offensive, but he seemed too friendly. Fumbling in one pocket and then another, she finally located the key and stepped onto the mat. Smoothly, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside—quite an accomplishment the way her head spun.

  “Thanks for everything you did to help me,” she said, inching the door closed a bit to give him a subtle hint.

  “Glad to. I’d be happy to stay until Cullen returns. You really shouldn’t be alone feeling like you do.” As if nervous, he surveyed the ice-covered bushes to one side of the door.

  “I’ll be all right, really. Thank you.” She started to close the door.

  “Oh, wait a second. I almost forgot to give you the hospital papers.” He opened his jacket and removed them from an inner pocket.

  She reached out to accept them, and his fingers glided over hers, again bringing that same seductive feeling. Their eyes met and held her suspended. Her breath arrested for those few seconds. Using a portion of outer aura to initiate motions, she jerked both her hand and eyes away. With a simple thank you, she shut the door and leaned against its inner side, waiting until his car motor turned over and moved away. She relocked the deadbolt and checked the other outside door from the family room to the screen porch. The eerie calm of dusk spread over her view of Lake Huron.

  She sank onto the couch, took a deep breath, and unfolded the crinkled papers bearing her signature on the release form. It seemed like her handwriting, but she didn’t remember signing. The diagnosis: grade one sprain. How? She lifted the ankle into her lap and hurriedly unwound the bandage. Underneath, the skin appeared slightly reddened with only minor swelling. She laced her palms above and under the joint…no fracture, no torn tissue. The truth evaded her fuzzy mind.

  A gnawing emptiness in her stomach sent her to the kitchen in search of something simple before she dropped into bed. A quick sandwich and tall glass of orange juice served the purpose, and she headed toward the stairs.

  In the quiet house, every creak, click, and whir of the structure and its appliances sounded loud. Lyra glanced into Jean’s first floor bedroom as she passed. The last and only time she spent alone in the cottage was the night after her aunt died. She shuddered at the bad memory and cast it out of her mind. In the room, she picked up a fram
ed picture of her family with Jean and Sam on their boat. Remembering that summer vacation put a smile on Lyra’s face. She walked around the room, enjoying the keepsakes and their memories. It was good to feel her aunt’s love in this cottage.

  Inside her own bedroom, she dropped her clothes in a heap and slipped on a favorite nightgown. After quickly washing up, she located an extra pillow in the closet to prop up the injured ankle. Once arranged, she turned out the bedside lamp and sunk into the familiar feeling of the bed.

  Exhaustion didn’t yield to sleep as she hoped. She tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable with the odd height of the sprained ankle.

  Black eyes stared at her from across the room. For an instant they resembled Revelin’s, with tiny silver streaks. Lyra threw on the light. Just Little Bear with his black button eyes reflecting the moonlight. She gathered him off the dresser and snuggled back under the thick down comforter with her childhood teddy.

  With Little Bear tucked under her chin, she smiled at the memory of happy times with Jean when the furry stuffed animal went along. Her smile faded. Memories weren’t enough. The ones she loved were gone. She needed Cullen to love and guide her. And Jean to help her follow the right path toward happiness.

  If only she hadn’t left Jean with a nurse the night she was killed. If only she hadn’t hidden under Yasqu rather than helping Cullen fight the cimafa. Kenzo’s blame cut deeply. Her throat clenched. She dug her fingernails into the soft fur of the bear and swallowed hard against the raw lump. The path ahead would be hard as hell, but she owed Cullen his life and Jean every bit of honor she could muster.

  Lyra pulled Little Bear under her chin once more and let her mind drift into stillness.

  Chapter Nineteen: Magical Creatures