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

by Marsha A. Moore

  Draora drifted after the pair with Kenzo sailing silently behind her.

  Lyra poked Cullen and muffled a chuckle, pointing at the sight of the huge white tiger owl assisting the vaporous elderly lady with her bustle still askew after the fight with Symar.

  “There’s a couple! Her hair matches his feathers,” Vickie said as she walked up behind them. “Any luck?”

  Cullen shook his head. “Nothing seems to—”

  Noba landed awkwardly on the ground, toppling into his master’s shins. “There on the path.” He pointed across the stream. “Noba heard men’s voices. Still a long way off since Noba can hear very good.”

  Vickie sighed and leaned a padded hip against a trunk. “We’re close on time. I’m not surprised they sent backups.” She glanced at their younger cousin where she sat with her back to one of the trunks, her face dropped against her knees, hair spilling over her holey jeans. Vickie whispered to Lyra, “She’s always up to something strange—that’s why my kids are scared of her.”

  While Cullen repositioned Noba to keep watch, Lyra took a seat beside Raylene. “Does your magic tell you anything?”

  The youngest cousin rested a cheek on her knee and looked at Lyra through strands of hair. “There’s magic here fer sure. I can feel it.” She sat up and tilted her head back against the trunk and sighed. “But I can’t find it.”

  Lyra took her cousin’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s try connecting the family vibrations like we did before. Maybe that will help you or Draora see where the moonstone is.”

  Raylene shrugged. “Worth a try.”

  “Sure it is.” Vickie strode to them and grabbed Raylene’s other hand. “Stop moping. You do this at home. We’ll work together and find this stone for Lyra.”

  Draora, with Kenzo at her side, flew sideways to the branch above the cousins. “Damned bustle.” She paused and tugged at her skirt, then lifted her arms into the air.

  The limbs of the enchanted tree answered her call first, lifting its branches to create a breeze. Many, but not all, surrounding sycamores followed suit, even beyond those they’d checked. The pines stood stiff and still. Even some of the sycamores farther up and downstream remained motionless.

  Draora kicked up one of her laced leather ankle boots. “Lyra, the offspring of your portal tree are dancing for me.”

  “Look!” Lyra lifted the Staurolite in her free hand. The circle of lasers glowed brighter.

  “Those beams extend only to the area of the blowing trees.” Kenzo fluttered off his perch. “I’ll check those along the edges.”

  Lyra pressed her hand tighter against Vickie’s and felt a rapid pulse. Lyra couldn’t tell if it was hers or her cousin’s. Probably both. Her gaze darted in every direction at the whipping sycamores and at the Staurolite, willing it to show her the keystone. She thought her nerves would burst before Kenzo returned.

  The owl sailed to meet Draora with Noba flapping hard to keep up. “There’s a clearing over there.” Once the owl secured his perch, he pointed a wingtip into the dense woods behind them. “Underneath one of the blowing trees is a small cemetery.”

  Between gulps for air and fidgeting to gain a perch, Noba blurted, “Men’s voices are close. Too close. Noba wants to stay with Master now.”

  Draora let her arms fall to her sides and released the spell. “No need to stir up more trouble.”

  With his good arm, Cullen motioned them to move in the direction Kenzo indicated. Pushing aside a wall of brush, he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll clear a path through this thicket using a small bit of magic.”

  Raylene shook her hands free from her cousins’ and followed.

  Lyra waited while Vickie passed. “I’ll take up the rear and restore any broken twigs and torn up soil.”

  They slowly picked their way, stepping over fallen branches and jumping slippery mud patches. His power weak, Cullen’s path didn’t remain open long. Lyra dodged twigs snapping into her face, but thorn branches slashed through her lightweight jacket and snagged her hair. Lumps of pulled hair poked from Vickie’s once neat and shiny brunette ponytail, and Raylene often stopped to curse and free her loosely knitted sweater coat.

  Lyra wanted to complain and find an easier route, but reminded herself that the rangers wouldn’t look in this dense brush. She periodically applied a restoring spell behind her, more frequently as the voices came closer.

  Their progress slowed even more when faced with climbing a rickety barbed-wire fence that marked the border of the park’s property. Luckily, Cullen located a section that was weakly supported by a rotting post. He assisted each of the women over the hurdle.

  They emerged, mud-stained and disheveled, into the small, rectangular clearing. A farm field, dressed in last year’s corn stubble, bordered the two far sides. Heavy branches of a single, swaying sycamore protected the tiny cemetery from above. Although not as tall as its enchanted parent, with the advantage of sunlight in the clearing, the tree would likely become a rival in size, nearly one hundred feet already.

  “Good work, Lyra,” Kenzo called as he flew from the forest. “I didn’t notice any tracks.” He and Draora settled side by side onto a wide branch which curved low over the graves. Although tall, the grass appeared to be cared for, perhaps mowed by the farmer before last winter’s cold weather had set in.

  Making a quick count, Lyra found twenty tombstones and many more flat markers. All were badly pitted and crumbling, made from dark granite. The most elaborate stood two feet, covered with carved scrollwork along the sides.

  Lyra explored the markers, hopping, best she could determine, over individual graves. A variety of winged faces, folk art suns and angels, watched the deceased from the tops of the headstones.

  “These are old, really old.” Raylene leaned down to read as she ambled. “Sixteen seventy. Seventeen hundred.”

  “The artwork is incredible on these,” Cullen observed. “Does anyone see a clue why these burial places were included in Lyra’s delineated area?”

  Vickie carefully tiptoed to the side of one marker. “Not yet. Here’s one of a baby, not even a year old in sixteen eighty.”

  “Lyra, you grew up vacationing in this area.” Cullen strolled beside her. “Do you recall anything about the local history?”

  “Not much. For outings, we sometimes went to battle sites or restored mission settlements. Jacque Marquette settled this area about the time of these dates.”

  From a corner where forest and field met, Raylene let out a shrill squeal. She covered her mouth with her hands and trembled.

  The others rushed to her. Vickie pulled the younger cousin to her ample bosom. Kenzo hovered overhead, and the witch floated above the grave.

  After a glance at the headstone, Lyra fell to her knees, and Cullen knelt by her side.

  She read aloud as she traced the crumbling, chiseled words with the finger that bore her bloodswear scar.

  Here lies Interr’d

  the Body of

  Mrs. Nareene Bordelon

  who died July 10, 1710

  as the adopted Daughter of

  Pascal and Eloise DeCuir

  and Wife of the late

  Captain Gabriel Bordelon

  Lyra sunk into a ball, her forehead resting against the cold stone. Tears clouded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Her chest heaved. Garbled sobs spilled from her throat. A torrent of pent up emotion released as she hugged the granite.

  Chapter Eleven: In the Mature Sycamore’s Seed

  Lyra felt Cullen’s hand massaging the back of her neck. She looked up, bewildered. “What does this tell us about the moonstone?”

  He swallowed hard and glanced at her cousins, his brow cut with deep furrows.

  Vickie wrung her hands, while Raylene quickly looked away, as if she was unable to meet Lyra’s gaze.

  “No!” In one swift motion, Lyra stood and faced them. “I can’t do that!” She glanced at Nareene’s grave. “I can’t dig up her grave to find that keystone.”
She shook her head. “No.”

  Vickie gave her cousin an apologetic look and pulled her into her arms.

  Raylene joined them in a group hug and rubbed Lyra’s back.

  A fountain of light poured from Lyra’s pocket onto the grave.

  “Your Staurolite calls you,” Draora said with a soothing voice. “It’s your destiny.”

  “We’ll be here with you.” Tears streamed down Vickie’s face as she stroked Lyra’s hair.

  Lyra held them tight, her mind riddled with pain.

  “I know this is hard for you, but think of who else wants the moonstone,” Cullen said. “What do you think they’ll do with her remains?”

  That unbearable thought cut deeply. She pulled away and wiped her tears with a sleeve. Standing tall, she relaxed her hunched shoulders. “For the remainder of her life after her escape, Nareene sent protective scribal magic to the people of the Alliance through this portal. She gave hundreds of years of her life serving the Alliance and then didn’t let mortality keep her from that duty. If her conviction was strong enough to serve from this gravesite, then I will pick up her resolve and serve with the same strength.” She took a deep breath and nodded. “We’ll open her grave.”

  “What’s the best way to do that without disturbing much? Is there some magic anyone knows?” Vickie looked from face to face. “I mean, I don’t mind getting dirty. Heck, my jeans already look like I’ve been mud wrestlin’.”

  “Grandma, can’t we raise the image of Nareene and ask her to bring whatever up with that moonstone?” Raylene asked. “Like with Brigid.”

  “Brigid was only my conjured vision of her, from my fond memories. I didn’t touch her remains.” Draora landed behind the headstone, picking thorns from her cotton candy hair. “It’s against my principles to raise the dead, upsetting spirits from their repose.”

  Lyra faced Cullen. “It’s up to us.” She tried to stop herself from shaking, but a deep coldness passed over her, making her teeth chatter.

  “The least invasive technique would be to use a revealing incantation, to illuminate what lies inside the grave. That would be easy enough, but then casting a removal spell, to permit us to collect the moonstone, requires significant energy. Not any task at all if either of us were at full power.”

  “Other than the worst possible idea of conjuring shovels, is that all we have available?” Lyra asked.

  He nodded. “I think so.”

  “Have you done those techniques before?” she asked.

  “Yes, but not on a grave.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Then, we’ll work together and hope for the best. Just try to not disturb her remains.”

  He nodded. “Noba. Kenzo. Stay in the trees and watch for rangers.” At the graveside, he offered Lyra the elbow of his injured arm.

  His assistants took separate positions along the forest edges of the clearing.

  With his good arm, Cullen prepared his wizard’s staff with mostly her aura but also some of his own. “I’ll try this mix of our powers. I can’t do these precise techniques without some of my own which manipulates in a familiar way.”

  “If either of us gets too weak, we’ll stop.” Lyra worried more about being overcome with emotions than losing too much power.

  Vickie and Raylene knelt on the opposite side.

  Cullen leaned over the mounded earth. “Aperio!” His voice rang clear. He passed the staff over the raised grass, leaving a trail of golden-blue light that seeped into the soil. Moments later, the light silhouetted shapes inside the dilapidated coffin.

  Among fragments of wood, Lyra identified outlines of human bones. She shuddered, praying no harm would come to her ancestor’s spirit. Lyra wanted to shut her eyes tight and not open them until this nightmare ended. Through lowered lashes, a white reflection caught her attention. Her lids flashed open.

  “Look.” Raylene pointed. “Beside the remains is a fiddle with something shiny as a decoration.”

  “The moonstone,” Vickie breathed.

  Lyra moved the Staurolite nearer, revealing an arc of light between it and the keystone. “Why didn’t that instrument deteriorate like the walls of the coffin?”

  No one offered an answer.

  “Now the harder part.” Cullen rearranged his position. He moved his knees apart and leaned farther.

  Lyra locked both arms around his waist. “Tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll help by channeling my energy into you.”

  He splayed his fingers. “Ready. Eximo!” With a sudden motion, he thrust his arm to the elbow into the dirt. He grimaced, attempting to move through the packed clay. “Give me more power.”

  Lyra strained, and a wave of dizziness passed over her, but she wasn’t going to give up. She clenched her jaw and loaded more into his body.

  Cullen shifted to a side squat and dug the heel of his extended leg into the grass. He worked his arm lower, to the bicep. “I can feel the violin with the tips of my fingers.” He set his jaw and pushed his weight into the effort. Sweat beaded along his brow, but his arm wouldn’t descend more. “Damn!” He fell back onto Lyra, both of them sliding a foot through the muddy grass. In the tumble, his sleeves over the burn bunched to his elbow, and the adder’s tongue leaves fell on the disturbed soil.

  Lyra unfolded her arms and legs tangled with his. “Your burn! It’s completely healed.”

  He examined his hand and forearm and smiled. “That worked fast.” He nodded to Draora sitting behind the headstone. “Just like you said it would.”

  Raylene leaned across the grave and checked his arm. “Once the leaves have soaked up all burn’s heat, burying them in the mud heals the skin.”

  “Thank you. One less problem is welcome right now,” he replied, then looked over his shoulder at Lyra. “Our combined power isn’t great enough for me to reach the moonstone.”

  “If you can conjure shovels, I’ll help dig, very carefully,” Vickie offered. “I’m used to hard work in our barns.”

  Lyra shook her head. “No. I don’t want that.” From between the sycamore branches, she attempted to get a view of the sky. “Let me try one more thing.” She stood and walked to the far corner of the cemetery that jutted into the corn field.

  Away from the trees, a cloudless sky opened to her view. Unlike in Dragonspeir, stars weren’t visible in daytime. Still hopeful for any sign, she searched high overhead for even slight visual clues of the brightest spring air stars of Gemini, the heads of twins Castor and Pollux. Their energy could fan and spread her fiery power. She saw and felt nothing, even after she raised her palms to the sky. Lyra dropped her arms and swallowed hard.

  “Do you need me?” Cullen called to her.

  “Yes. I’ll have to try for the fire star. I don’t know how strong the connection will be here compared to Dragonspeir. You might need to dampen the incoming force.”

  “What’s she gonna do?” Raylene asked, scampering to keep up with him while avoiding graves.

  “Our magic is genethliac, based upon the position of the stars at one’s birth.” He glanced up at each of his assistants who remained calm on their perches. “Lyra was born under the fire star of Aries. However, any of the fire stars can replenish her energy since they store energy of the four Scribes that preceded her. For that reason, the amount of energy she receives can be extreme.”

  “Your energy seems weak too.” Vickie strode alongside. “Can you recharge using your star more easily than her?”

  “Lyra and I are different because she’s a Scribe. My powers are guided and defined by my birthmate star in Taurus, but the energy it conveys to me is slight. I gain most of my energy from my allegiance to the Alliance through its magnetics.”

  “And I thought the stuff Raylene did was strange.” Vickie raised her brows.

  “Luckily, with the morning sun bright, I know which way is west.” Lyra positioned herself in that direction.

  Cullen braced Lyra’s back while she raised her arms to the western sky.

  She scanne
d the sky. No colored light or twinkle met her gaze. She detected no sensation along her skin. “It’s no use. It won’t work here.” As she began to lower her arms, a buzzing vibration crept across her fingertips, then her palms. She straightened her posture. “It’s working! Regulus answered.”

  Energy flowed with familiar warmth through her arms, into her mind and heart. Rather than an instantaneous influx of power, it eased along her nerve channels.

  “I don’t feel any kickback,” Cullen said. “Are you all right?”

  “Just fine. It’s a nice, easy flow.” A couple of minutes later, she lowered her arms and turned to face him, smiling. “Let’s try again now.”

  They regrouped at the gravesite. Cullen restated the incantation and thrust his arm into the clay. Within moments, he worked lower. “I’ve got it!” He inched his way out, and removed a dirty, but intact, violin. He wiped chunks of grass away from the neck. “There’s the moonstone!” Embedded in the scroll gleamed a milky white gem the diameter of a quarter.

  Lyra squeezed his arm.

  “I still don’t understand why the fiddle didn’t rot.” Raylene leaned back into a squat and studied the instrument. She glanced at Vickie beside her. “What sort of wood is this?”

  Vickie gently rapped on the housing. “Working in Bob and my antique shop, we see lots of odd woods. This one’s pretty hard, but the grain’s wide like a soft pine. Nothing I’ve seen before.” She tilted her head. “I wonder…I reckon it’s sycamore, like from the verse—in the mature sycamore’s seed.”

  “That makes sense. This must be wood from the offspring of the enchanted sycamore,” Cullen added and passed the violin to Lyra.

  “I wonder why Nareene chose an instrument. Raylene, will you hold this while I clean it up?” After her cousin grasped the neck, Lyra waved her dragon ring over the surface, cleaning it with her aura. “Why not just a plain sycamore box? This is fancy with carving along the sides. Her book didn’t mention that she played. Her writing was brief and focused on hardships of war…and completed before she left Aria through this portal. That’s why there was no mention of this violin.” Lyra concentrated on any magical vibrations coming from the violin. “The moonstone is so loud, I can’t detect anything from the instrument.”