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

by Marsha A. Moore

  Cullen drew Kenzo against his chest and wrapped his other arm around the owl’s body. His actions told Lyra he wasn’t able to mend the ailments. Her own wound still ached.

  She paused to check the pair of dragons taking up the rear.

  Neither seemed affected by the effluvial magic. Noba lifted his wings and turned in all directions, watching the crowd.

  When the air away from the town cleared somewhat, Lyra determined to push forward with the small bit of renewed strength. She raised her head and forced herself to walk faster.

  Hearing her footsteps approach, Chane looked back and chuckled. “Best catch up if you can. Plenty of turns coming.” Despite his warning, he increased his pace.

  After a few corners, the tunnel narrowed, but Yasqu still fit after he dipped his head lower and pulled his wings closer.

  Noba dropped down a couple of spines to a more comfortable seat.

  Dim glow of streetlamps from another village shone ahead. Chane headed them down a path away from the town. Although it was impossible to remember which paths they traveled before, Lyra felt certain he led them in the wrong direction. He made a sharp right turn into an even smaller alleyway, one too small for Yasqu.

  “This is close to where the Malificates keep homes—just down that run and bear three lefts. No closer will I go.” Chane shuddered. “Haven’t been this near since years. Curse makes my skin feel tight and thin like paper. Guess you’ll have to leave your large friend and his rider behind.” He nodded to the dragons. “I’ll stay to watch them while you’re tradin’. I’ve not seen one so big as that fellow. What is he?”

  Yasqu stuck his long neck through the entry to the alley, and Noba slid off to the ground.

  “We won’t be needing your services, thank you,” Cullen replied and bowed his head.

  Voices approached. In moments, four Malificates stood staring and whispering among themselves. Together, they took a step closer. Two young adult women dressed in gray and black skirts and tunics, similar to what Mrinx wore. One wore her black hair in braids looped over her ears, with blue highlights that matched ribbons of smoke twisting from her eyes. The other’s dark red tresses frizzed into a curly mass, shining like a halo in the light of Noba’s eyes.

  “A cursed one,” the blue-eyed witch stepped forward. She snarled and fixed her gaze on Chane. The blue smoke cut a path directly for him. “You be welcome in our village only to die.” Her smoke circled the region of his male organ and she hissed, “You’re about to lose what you need most to run your famed brothel.”

  Chane didn’t reply, squirming as though in pain. He backed against the wall, and sweat beaded along his brow.

  The other witch turned her halo of hair from the dragons and stared at Lyra and Cullen. “You two aren’t from here. Who do you seek?”

  One of the men stood at her side, his arms folded across his chest, displaying calloused hands with dirty nails. He wore dark olive trousers tucked in old, heavy-soled boots. A faded black jacket hung loose to his knees.

  The other man hung behind them in their shadows, but appeared elderly with his stooped posture and tufts of sparse white hair. “It is them,” he said in a low, calm voice. “Mrinx spoke of their return. And they’ve brought a matan.”

  The red-haired woman turned and gave him a quizzical look. “What be you jabbering about? I’ve never seen a matan.”

  Chane let out a loud moan.

  Lyra glanced back at the tall Rotter, but he appeared unharmed. She replied to the red-haired Malificate, “We’re here as guests of Mrinx and her son Lesot.”

  “And how come you to know them?” the witch asked, lifting a thin finger tipped with a gray, curving nail.

  “They invited us back to meet Kon on a certain matter,” Cullen replied.

  “Head Elder, Kon?” She looked at the other witch torturing Chane across the alley. “Sulye, come here.”

  She dropped her hold on the cursed Rotter. “My name be Sulye, and this fiery witch be my sister, Rakia.” She gestured to the younger of the men. “He’s her mate, Angom, and his father, Elder Omin.” She bowed low. “Be welcomed.”

  “Thank you,” Cullen replied and bowed.

  Unsettled by the gesture, Kenzo hopped to the stone floor and stayed close to Cullen’s feet, his eyes still glazed over.

  Lyra began to bow, and Chane grabbed her from behind, his thick arm tight against her neck. With a guttural growl, he demanded, “Give me your staff or I break her neck. Now!”

  She felt the heat of his ragged breath at the back of her head.

  From behind, Yasqu shot flames down the tunnel, so hot Lyra broke out in a full-body sweat.

  Noba contributed his small flame in perfect unison with the huge dragon.

  “I can’t reach him, hidden behind her,” Sulye called to Cullen.

  “Don’t try me, wizard. I know your magic and can snap her neck before you strike.”

  Cullen hesitated. Relying on his ring alone, Lyra knew he wouldn’t be able to fire as fast. He held out an open palm, and the staff appeared, its ornate metalwork gleaming in Noba’s light.

  Lyra held her breath. Armed, Cullen could fight better, but the muscles of Chane’s arm tensed at her throat. If only her attacker faced her, she could kill him with fascination. Her level of afflation wouldn’t protect her against death, only serious injury. She was still mortal.

  She pulled a large quantity of her aura to her skin, like in clairvoyance, but with a different intention, one she had never tried before. Her power extended to the hairs along her hand that he squeezed.

  Chane loosened his grip, and Lyra squirmed to free her fingers. “No you don’t,” he exhaled into her ear as he retightened his grip.

  Her skin hurt from her attempt to burn him, and she bit her lip against the pain. Additionally, the fingers swelled with Noba’s poison. The metal band of her ring cut into the puffed flesh.

  “Here. Take it.” Cullen stepped forward, his arm outstretched and offering the staff.

  Chane’s hand tightened on the shaft, but he didn’t release Lyra.

  “Resto scelestus toos magia paro Mrinx,” a familiar voice of an old woman croaked from the shadows of the alleyway in front of Lyra.

  The shaft flew through the air to Mrinx’s open hand. The fingers of her pendants clamored to touch the turned metalwork and the sapphire gem at the apex.

  In the next instant, something hurled Chane’s body backward, dragging Lyra to the floor until his arms released. His huge frame slammed against the stone wall and slumped into a heap, motionless.

  Cullen rushed to Lyra’s side.

  When she sat up, a tall, slim man with white hair stood next to Mrinx. He lowered his hand, smoke still seeping from beyond the limits of his fingerless gloves.

  Chapter Eleven: Powers of the Matan

  Lyra cradled her swollen hand while she got to her feet. “Thank you for saving us.” Cautiously, she checked behind her at the giant lump of Chane’s body.

  Cullen examined the man’s temples. “He wears no mask.”

  “I checked earlier and couldn’t see any edge lines. Is he dead or in bone-crypt?” Lyra turned to face Mrinx and the other witches.

  “Dead quite certainly,” replied Mrinx’s friend. He fingered the tip of a frayed silk necktie, its bold red and white stripes standing out against his otherwise plain gray woolen tunic and trousers. The tie seemed out of place for the common plain dress, but so did his battered top hat. A white ponytail spilled from under the hat to his waist. “Decades afore, I cursed his Rotter mother for thieving our community stash of obsidian dust. Sadly, I had no knowledge she carried a child. He became a martyr of local fame—not Vizard nor Rotter and unable to suffer either’s ills. A man chased by us elders for decades since only we held enough darkness to undo the curse.” He nodded in the direction of the other older man. “Gratitude for your signal, Elder Omin.” He flashed his dark eyes at Lyra and studied her. “I am Kon, who you seek.”

  “This be Lyra and Cullen, wi
zards from Dragonspeir.” Mrinx returned the staff to Cullen and snatched up Lyra’s swollen right hand. “What be the matter with this hand? Needs tending. This scratch looks like—”

  “Is Lady Lyra hurt?” Noba moved from where he hid behind Yasqu’s wing and wedged between her and Cullen.

  “Oh!” Mrinx dropped Lyra’s hand and jumped back, colliding with Omin.

  “It’s a matan, like I tried to show to Rakia.” The elder groaned while helping Mrinx regain her balance.

  “Now I understand.” Kon stepped forward, dropped to one knee, and took hold of Lyra’s injured hand. “Most likely the Vizards and Rotters entreated Chane to take what they think is a wrathful demon away. Some there must have lived when we had old ways. My, my. That wedge-shaped cut can only be from the barb-tail of a matan.” His gaze shifted up to her face. “Yet you endure. How?”

  Lyra shook her head. “Noba—a wrathful demon? No way.”

  “Really, it’s only a pseudodragon scratch.” Cullen took her hand from Kon. “I’ve had many and can mend it.” He covered the swollen area, and Lyra felt his aura faintly tingling along her skin.

  After a couple minutes, Lyra wriggled her fingers between his. “Your healing power seems weaker than usual. Is it because I’m numb with the swelling?”

  “That’s strange.” Cullen applied more. “Any better?”

  Lyra shook her head. “A little.” She touched her free hand to his, over the swelling. Sending her aura into the wound along with his eased the pressure in her fingers, but the oozing cut remained open. “That’s some better. Maybe it will heal on its own now.”

  “Won’t.” Mrinx cautiously leaned closer, keeping an eye on Noba, and took hold of Lyra’s hand.” Your fingers be filling again. That ring has to come off or you’ll lose that finger.”

  Lyra tried to jerk her hand away, not wanting the witch to see her bloodswear scar underneath the ring.

  The witch grabbed a tighter hold and scooted the ring past Lyra’s knuckle. The exposed scar shot a spark into Mrinx’s fingertips, and she let go.

  Lyra forced the ring back over the puffy tissues.

  “What in the caverns of Terza!” the witch exclaimed. “If I hadn’t traded fair with you afore, I’d call you a svendemon.”

  “Curious.” Kon looked at Lyra with wide eyes. “Come. And encourage your matan to join. I need his help to make the cure. After that we trade.”

  Before leaving, Lyra checked on Yasqu, who poked his head and neck as far as possible down the alley. “Stay here and keep yourself safe,” she directed him. “What about scorpents? Did the Imperial Dragon give him any advice?” she whispered to Cullen.

  “I’m sure a full grown bronze dragon can protect himself,” Cullen said with a laugh as he dropped his arm for Kenzo to perch.

  “I’ll stay to watch him,” Angom offered. “Rakia and Sulye, go on.”

  Out of breath, Lesot joined the group. “No, Angom, you’re the son of an elder. I’m here now. You go.”

  “Thank you,” Lyra replied and scooped Noba into her good arm.

  Kon tipped his hat, then spun in place and walked down the alley. For his apparent age, he was fit and moved with a springy gait. Several times, he glanced back at Noba and gave a strange, almost giddy, smile.

  They traveled through a maze of turns through narrow alleys. This time, Noba’s eyes revealed the black soot the Malificates carried back from the mines they worked. It covered everything, floor, walls, and trash bins. Otherwise, the tunnels were tidy and clear of litter. Doors were set close along the walls, and many residents stood in their entries to watch her group pass. By their simple dress, the locals appeared to be hard-working laborers, but they held their heads high.

  After several minutes, the group stopped at a door that looked as plain as any other, with peeling paint clinging to a few patches. Kon unfastened several locks and stepped inside, holding the door for the others.

  The basic and sparse furnishings of his apartment didn’t reflect his honored position in the community. It looked much like where Mrinx and Lesot lived, although Kon owned a larger motley collection of old wooden chairs.

  “Please take seats. Lyra, next to me so I can care for your wound. Omin in your customary meeting spot beside me.”

  Lyra walked across a dingy braided rug and sat in an old side chair next to Kon. After Noba jumped down, she rested her sore hand on the arm.

  Kon kneeled. “Noba, please come take a special place next to me.” He motioned to the pseudodragon, then waved a hand over a candelabra positioned on a side table next to the largest rocker. Flames flickered up to his hand, and he took his place in the chair. After he wafted the smoke from above the flames to the center of the room, a tray with a teapot and cups appeared on a low table. The tea service was in a pattern Lyra recognized—the same kind Aunt Jean had used.

  “Master? Where does Noba go?” the wizard’s familiar asked as he turned in circles.

  “Noba and Kenzo, over here,” Cullen said, leaning down to show them where to sit next to his legs.

  Kon’s face momentarily contorted into a scowl before displaying a polite smile.

  Mrinx and Rakia joined them while Sulye poured and passed cups to each, giving Kenzo and Noba theirs in drinking bowls.

  “What kind of tea?” Lyra asked, inhaling the steam. Catching a whiff of licorice, she smiled at the memory of the magical tea Cullen served her when they first met in his bookstore. That seemed so long ago, but it was only last summer.

  He reached an arm around the back of her chair and rubbed her neck.

  “It be constourt root gathered from near the portals—very rare and tasty,” Mrinx replied.

  “I noticed a Rotter peering out of the portal before it was sealed. Was he there collecting that root?”

  “Could be. Which portal?” the witch asked.

  “The one leading to Dragonspeir.”

  “There are several connecting to various parts of that world.” Kon added. “Most are sealed or heavily guarded, like the one from a demon forest.”

  “That must be the one opening into Silva Nocens, forest of the Dark Realm. Why isn’t that portal closed?” Cullen asked.

  “Small human-like creatures mine veins while guarded by demons they call drakes.” Kon took a loud slurp from his cup. “Have done so off and on for centuries and suspiciously on the rise of late. My grandfather yarned about fighting them and losing many friends, so now we keep secret watch.”

  “How sad that the tree keepers in that forest are forced to work as slaves by the fire drakes,” Lyra said, taking a sip of tea.

  After a big gulp, Noba sneezed repeatedly.

  Kon reached down and took Noba’s bowl. “Pardon me for a moment, Noba, and you will gain it back.” He ran his fingers above a single candle flame and a teaspoon appeared, again in a modern pattern Lyra knew. He stirred the contents of the pseudodragon’s bowl. “Lyra, swallow a spoonful of this, then drink your own cup dry. Saliva of the matan who cut the wound is said to seal it.” He leaned forward and passed the bowl, his eyes riveted to her.

  Lyra grimaced at the idea, but did as he directed. After all, she probably survived Noba sneezing on her dozens of times while he stayed with her at Aunt Jean’s last summer, helping care for Yasqu when he was a hatchling.

  Cullen leaned closer. In moments, her cut pulled together, and the swelling began to ease.

  “Healed tight.” Kon ran a finger along the closed wound.

  “Remarkable, indeed. How?” Cullen asked.

  “Constourt tea is common to open channels of magic power. Adding matan saliva is a variant I used many times when I was honored to have a matan. Try to mend your bird now that he has whisked some down.”

  The wizard passed his hands with healing energy over Kenzo’s head, and the cloudy film over the owls eyes cleared. “Feels much improved, Master,” he said, smoothly rotating his neck the full 180 degrees.

  Lyra reached over and stroked Kenzo’s feathers. Feeling better herself,
she looked around the room. Hidden in the dim light, she found all sorts of items from her world. An antique coffee grinder hung on a wall, flanked by two framed John Wayne movie posters. A bookcase covered one wall, jammed with books at all angles around a typewriter, a Mexican pottery vase, and a baseball and glove. Looking closer at the book titles, they included an eclectic mix of topics, such as American Indian lore, football, growing African violets, along with numerous plain black volumes titled with unfamiliar symbols.

  “Why didn’t our powers perform as expected?” Cullen asked and relaxed against his seat with an arm around Lyra. “I’ve cured hundreds of pseudodragon cuts.”

  Omin cleared his throat and answered with a rough voice. “Long ago, here in Terza, powers of the matan were great. Their power changes all vibrations of magic here. We Malificate elders once ruled by owning them. Most suffer forever if cut by a matan tail, even if treated fast away. Matan magic overpowered the Vizards and their scorpents, until they trained those beasts to eat matan eggs. Times have changed—much harder now.” He nodded to Lyra. “How did you survive? What power do you bear?”

  Cullen touched the base of her neck more firmly and began to convey a thought, Don’t—, before he stopped abruptly.

  Lyra’s eyes flashed around the room. No one seemed to overhear his mental communication, but the one word gave her some guidance.

  “You have an interesting collection of American antiques and books.” Lyra changed the topic, smiling as calmly as possible.

  “Yes, I’m curious about lands connecting out of Terza and try to learn them. I’d wish to talk with you at length some time to know more. My interest is how I came to own what you wish to trade from me. As leader of the Malificate elders, it is for me to gain from the outside. Your Scribe Elisabeth came here to learn of the Emtori ruby, dug from our oldest mines and cut by our master craftsmen to unlock its powers. She traded handsome with me, giving this book and much more,” Kon replied as he stood and selected a volume from inside a glass-front section of the bookcase.