“Greetings!” the old tree spoke softly while creating a whirring noise with his upper limbs. He beckoned them with a sharp wave. “Come close, so I may protect you in my boughs.”
They scurried against his trunk. Kenzo flew up to perch in the crook of a low branch, and Noba squirmed out of Lyra’s arms to follow the owl.
“Come closer. Quickly!” The ancient one wrapped a wall of branches around them and lifted a circle of root spikes around his base. “This is safe for a while. We must talk.”
Lyra leaned a shoulder into his craggy bark.
“Did you notice that evil energy near us while we transported?” Cullen asked them.
“Yes! What was that?” Lyra looked up at Cranewort’s eyes.
The ancient one grimaced as he bent his upper trunk lower. After much creaking and popping, his face hung over them. “I did. There were three auras, red, black, and purple. That was all I could read. I was prepared to call for the fighters to defend you, but the dangerous energies came and left quickly.”
“It was like they probed our transport cloud,” Lyra said.
Cullen scanned the skies. “Probably to spy on our actions. Cranewort, what sort of communication have you devised to exchange information with Lyra?”
“Sheridan and I conversed through messages. We were in agreement that decreasing the strength of protective spells on the portal is far too dangerous. I proposed that the portal be sensitized to clairvoyance messaging only from Alliance auras. This is basically how the portal currently operates, to open upon sensing Alliance power in its immediate vicinity. He wanted the protection to be more selective than that and will set a spell to only recognize messages from Lyra and me.”
“But what if you or Lyra is unable and others must communicate in your place?” Cullen asked.
“There aren’t many who can use clairvoyance over long distances.” Lyra lifted a brow. “I haven’t seen you use the craft at all, or any of the Guardians either. But when we fought Eburscon outside his laboratory, he used it.”
“I can, but it’s not my favored method. I wasn’t aware of Eburscon using it freely. I know Tarom has the ability, but, again, it’s not his chosen mode.” Cullen waved a hand toward Cranewort. “Sheridan’s restrictions are wise.”
Cranewort nodded. “The locust has already instated my recognition and will do the same for Lyra when you reach the bookstore.” His bark curled into a slight smile. “It’s my honor to be the voice of the Alliance to help guide you.”
“I feel safer with your help.” Lyra wrapped her arms wide around a small portion of Cranewort’s trunk. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet, earthy smell of his sap. The scent reminded her of happy, carefree times when he swung her in his branches when she was a young girl, just Kessa’s age. She agonized over the fear Kessa must be feeling and hoped the girl remained safe.
The tree caressed her shoulders with supple twigs. His leaf buds tickled her cheek. “It isn’t safe for you to remain here long.”
She pushed away and aligned her staff with Cullen, their arms locked as before.
Without any prompt, his two assistants took their places.
Cullen nodded to the Gatekeeper. His barricade of thorny roots and surrounding branches opened.
Transport was quicker across the shorter distance to the Cullen’s bookstore which housed the portal. As soon as each materialized, they darted through the portal.
Cullen’s usual wizard’s attire, a blue tunic and black pants tucked into tall boots, transformed. He now wore casual khaki pants and a button-down chambray shirt. A lightweight jacket replaced his long cloak.
Lyra gave him a one-sided grin, liking him better as a dashing sorcerer. Except on important occasions, she’d given up on the Alliance custom for female magicals of formal long, full dresses. After her meeting yesterday with the Black Dragon and his aides, she had gladly selected a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans to wear under her cloak this morning. Now standing in the bookstore, only her cloak transformed into a cozy, fleece jacket, one of her favorites. She felt for her magical stones. The black amber butterfly necklace, Phoenix flame orb, and pocket watch amulet hung beneath her shirt. Her jadestone brooch remained fastened to her collar. The Staurolite was neatly tucked into her front jeans pocket.
Inside the bookstore, Kenzo stood motionless, while the Noba’s body writhed in Lyra’s arms.
“Noba’s scales feel odd,” the pseudodragon announced with a grin. He jumped to the linoleum floor and shook from head to tail like a dog drying off.
“Hallo!” Sheridan’s voice called from the show room. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Lyra stepped around Kenzo, who walked in stiff-legged circles. She passed through the curtain divider. “You need to set the portal to recognize my aura, right?”
“You betcha. Bring your lovely finger here. Although I’d love to taste more than just your finger, that’s all we have time for,” the bug quipped.
His antennae reached through the bars and brushed her skin. A few seconds later, he lifted away and formed an arc of his own blue-green power between the antennae. Tiny sparks jumped along the arc for a minute, then quieted. “All set. Your messages can pass.”
“You’re speedy.” Cullen placed new bowls of sugar cubes and water inside the cage.
“Just call me Speedy Sheridan Gonzalez.” He lowered an antenna onto the sugar.
Cullen chuckled and nodded toward the small television set behind the counter. “You’ve been watching my TV too much.” He faced Lyra. “Are you ready to leave?”
“I want to pick up an old family photo album from Aunt Jean’s cottage,” Lyra replied.
He nodded. “I assume it’s important.”
She headed to the back door, scooting Noba in front of her. “There might be pictures of Scribe Brigid and her cousin, the witch Draora. I could use some clues to retrieve the fluorite.”
“That’s important. Let’s proceed.” He waved goodbye to Sheridan and moved ahead of the others to open the outside door that led into the alley. “My car or yours?”
“Mine, since yours is a classic and will call attention. With these two helpers, we sure don’t need that. I’ll drive.” Lyra grabbed her keys from the hook and scooped Noba into her arms. She didn’t want to lose time chasing him if he decided to explore. She positioned him between the bucket front seats of her Subaru wagon.
Cullen opened the back door and helped Kenzo get settled before taking his own place in the front.
It’d been almost a month since Lyra was in her own world. April showed welcome signs of spring. Like Cranewort, tree branches displayed swollen buds, and lawns wore hints of new emerald growth. Businesses were alive with customers, cars parked outside with out-of-state license plates. Tourists were beginning to return to the tiny island resort community.
She’d worried about her responsibilities teaching the independent study distance classes for her university. There were no assignments due during her absence, but some students might have had questions. She made a mental note to pick up her laptop from the cottage.
Lyra parked in the drive of Aunt Jean’s place, now hers, and left the motor running. “I’ll just be a minute.”
The front yard needed some work. She scanned the roof and gutters. Thankfully, no storms had caused damage. The lawn would be okay for several weeks before needing its first mowing of the season, but the flower bulbs and perennials choked on dead leaves from last autumn. She exhaled a sigh, remembering how her aunt loved those beds. They’d have to wait.
Noba plastered his face to the windshield to watch her until Cullen pulled him away.
Inside, she methodically walked from room to room, picking up the necessary items and checking for any signs of intruders. She paused at her closet but turned away, relying on her abilities to conjure whatever they needed. The house stood quiet, but she imagined Jean’s spunky humor everywhere she turned. In less than five minutes, Lyra returned to the car. “Got what I needed. Ready to head out.”
Kenzo stood on the back floor hump and hung a wing across each front headrest—his favorite position for car travel. His body tucked between the bucket seats, mostly hidden.
Noba sat strapped in the back with a seatbelt. The buckle held his interest. Lyra hoped he wouldn’t discover the way to open it until they were out of town.
“Good thinking,” she said to Cullen while nodding behind her. “But it won’t last long.”
“Yes, it will.” He gave her a wink. “With the help of a small charm.”
As Lyra backed from the driveway, a buzz sounded in her ears. She glanced at Cullen and through the rearview mirror at the backseat passengers. No one else seemed bothered. “Do you hear that?” she asked Cullen.
“No. What?”
She pulled the car to a stop at the side of the street. The humming softened and a comforting emotion wrapped around two words. Take care. As the feeling faded, she smiled. “Oh, nothing. It was just Cranewort testing our communication.”
***
Along a rural stretch of road, Lyra turned the wheel over to Cullen. While he drove, she poured over the old albums, one filled with memories of her childhood and another, much older, with stained black and white photos.
Missing Aunt Jean, Lyra opened the familiar book first. Eased down in the seat, she let her mind drift over the memories. Pictures recorded important events of her life—her first two-wheeled bicycle with training wheels and long, pink streamers that blew back and danced if she rode fast enough; the geeky boy who’d asked her to the homecoming dance when her mouth was filled with braces; yearly Christmas snow angels with Aunt Jean; and summer sailing with her and Uncle Sam. The warmth of those times lulled Lyra into a reverie, and she drifted to sleep.
Past Indianapolis, when Cullen took his second turn driving, she opened the album where she left off.
Cullen turned off the interstate onto the state highway leading toward the village of Nawbone. “What do you see there?”
“Photos of trips to the Wachatoo River campground in northern Michigan, where I think the portal sycamore tree stands.” She studied the tall sycamores in the backgrounds, wondering if one might be the tree that held the moonstone. “Wow! My cousins we’re going to see now, Vickie and Raylene—their families were with mine on a vacation to that campground. I’d forgotten that trip.” Lyra pointed to the picture where she stood between her cousins. Lyra looked more closely at the photo and remembered having a large family get-together there. “They might be able to help us find that keystone as well as the fluorite.”
“May be a useful link.” He slowed the car to negotiate a tight curve that led into a shallow valley of southern Indiana hill country.
Lyra looked forward to seeing her cousins. Not only might they be able to help, but also they were her only remaining family. With all the recent losses, changes, and responsibilities, the familiar good feelings would be a great comfort.
They passed a sign for Nawbone, ten miles ahead and Cullen said, “I’m eager to know what you’ll find in the older book. Take a look.”
Lyra opened the black cover, tattered on the corners and spine. Unable to recognize faces, she struggled to read the faded captions, most written in a flowing, old-fashioned cursive hand. The dates began in the 1880s, although a couple daguerreotypes on the first page dated earlier. Brigid and Draora would have been old women then, in their eighties, if they’d lived then. Lyra sighed. Most people didn’t live that long in those days. Few records about Brigid existed after she had written her magical book. She hadn’t become immortal, but Lyra wondered if she’d gained enough magical afflation to lengthen her lifespan. The effect of Draora’s witchcraft was a mystery.
As they passed the sign for the village limits, Cullen slowed the car.
Lyra turned the page, and her hands flew up to her temples. In one picture, two elderly women danced across the paper around a tree as old and gnarled as they were. The women stopped and waved at her, grinning wide toothy smiles.
Chapter Six: The Tree Swing
With wobbling knees and quivering fingers clutched around the old album, Lyra knocked on the door of Vickie’s large, yellow frame home.
“You’re here! Good to see you again.” Her cousin squinted in the setting sun as she waved to Cullen and gave Lyra a bear hug. “I cleaned up the guest room as soon as you called, but the rest of the house is a fright.”
Lyra dropped her trembling limbs into the comforting softness of Vickie’s chubby torso.
“What all is the matter with you? You’re shakin’ like a leaf?”
“Let’s sit down to talk.” Cullen suggested, pulling Noba from behind his leg. “We brought another one of my assistants. This is my wizard’s familiar, a pseudodragon named Noba.”
“Oh, my! Let’s get him inside right quick.” Vickie glanced across the street at the large, white Victorian house, then motioned them inside her house. “The guests across the way at the bed and breakfast aren’t close enough to worry about an owl that’s slightly too big, but he’s…”
They trooped into the family room. Cullen and Lyra took seats on the flowered sofa.
Vickie’s two elementary-aged sons immediately surrounded Kenzo and Noba on the rug.
“Watch out for the end of his tail,” Cullen directed the boys, then addressed his familiar. “They’re our friends. Be careful. They can’t fight like you or Kenzo.”
“Noba will be good, Master.” The pseudodragon grinned at the boys, exposing a wide row of sharp teeth.
The boys jumped back.
“Not like that.” Kenzo smacked the tip of his wing into Noba’s face. “That scares humans.”
Vickie’s sons laughed as Noba thumped his tail on the carpet and wrestled with Kenzo.
With a stern look, Cullen rose and separated his two aides. “Start over on better behavior.”
Once the play on the floor seemed safe, he sat beside Lyra and took her hand. Your hand is sweaty. Calm down. Your cousins can help you.
Lyra nodded.
“They’re doing just fine now.” Vickie grinned and walked toward the kitchen. She called over her shoulder. “Can I get you all something to drink? My husband will be home soon. He’ll be glad to see you both again.” After serving an assortment of pop and iced tea, she sat in a velour recliner on Lyra’s other side and fingered the end of her brunette ponytail. “Now what ever is going wrong?”
Lyra opened the album to the correct page on the arm of her cousin’s chair. She didn’t need to indicate which picture since the two ladies waved them to join, then turned and linked arms as they hopped and skipped around the old tree.
Vickie gasped and drew a hand to her mouth. “That’s Great Aunt Draora.” She pointed to the shorter woman. “Her ghost looks just like that.”
Cullen scooted closer to Lyra and leaned over to view the scene. “I’ve never witnessed anything like that.”
The taller lady wore a wide brimmed sun hat even though the dark sky indicated twilight or dawn. The shorter one wore her hair in a long braid that wouldn’t contain her more-salt-than-pepper curls. Her bustle often collided with her partner, sending them both off balance in an explosion of giggles, more like teens than mature ladies.
“They’re dancing around the honey tree which used to be in Draora’s yard, now Raylene’s. Seems odd for a young, single woman to be living in that big, old homestead, but she won’t leave her grandma’s grave that’s on the property.”
Lyra nodded. “Understandable. I recognized that tree from before. Is the other woman Brigid from my family?”
“I don’t know.”
“It seems like they’re inviting us to the tree. I wish they could talk,” Lyra added.
Her cousin exhaled a loud sigh. “Be careful what you wish for. Let me call Raylene and see if she’s home.” She reached into her pocket for her phone. “We’ve been talking some lately, figuring you might be stopping by soon. Draora’s been restless, walking around the yard and making noise every night the past
week—clanking the gates, pushing the old hand mower, calling up winds. Raylene’s not had much sleep, what with her dog barking at every little noise. We need to pay her honey tree a visit and sort this out.” Vickie pressed a speed dial button and another for speaker. She waited, tapping hot pink nails of her other hand on her glass of sweet tea, while the phone rang repeatedly.
Finally, a groggy voice answered. “Helllooo. Darned. You woke me up. It’s getting’ nighttime already. I couldn’t get away from work at the library in time. Now I won’t get back to sleep with Jitt running to every window and barkin’ all night.” A dog barked in the background. “He’s already at it. Stop it, Jitt,” she snapped at him, then replied to her cousin in the same irritated tone. “What do you want?”
“Lyra’s here visiting. I left you a message. Didn’t you—”
“Nope. Dead tired. I dropped into bed soon as I got home.” Raylene’s voice calmed. “Does she need our help again?”
“Yes. We’ll be right over.” Vickie paused and looked at Noba. “You might want to find a leash for Jitty.”
“Got no leash. Just a rope.”
They piled everyone into Vickie’s pick-up, except her boys who begged to go along. She tried to reason with them. “We’ve got business to do with Aunt Raylene. You don’t like her, remember—your creepy aunt.”
Luckily, her husband turned into the other side of the circular gravel drive near their antique store shed. Since Lyra had last visited, the front of the barn had been painted blue, while the sides remained the original silvery gray. The cheery sign with freehand lettering still welcomed tourists to this sleepy, hill town.
“Dad’s home and needs you two to do chores with him before bedtime.” Vickie waved to Bob, surrounded by cats as he walked to the house. She backed out of the drive.
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