Two Wolves For Lizette

by Jessica Miller

  Do whatever you need to do to fulfill your dreams and build a good life for yourself and our son. I will have the bank contact you soon for my contribution for Brennan’s future. One of these days, I hope to be with my son again. But please don’t force yourself to allow this out of obligation. When you’re truly ready, I will know. I’ll be around.

  I have finally accepted our fate. Thank you for being the best part of my life. I’ll forever be grateful.

  I love you with all my heart, Jen. Be happy.

  Jack

  Jen’s hands trembled as she finished reading the letter. “Jack… Oh, Jack…” was all she could murmur while tears flowed from her eyes. “I love you too…”

  That morning, when she’d finally calmed down, she called Melissa and asked her to come over. Her best friend, who had thought she’d moved to a faraway city for a sudden job offer about a year ago, was totally flabbergasted at her story. She did not leave anything out because she trusted her fully to keep it all a secret.

  When her story was done, she cried again while Melissa comforted her. “Sshhh… It’s all going to be okay, Jen…” Melissa whispered.

  “Oh, Mel! I was so, so stupid…” Jen wept. “And now he’s gone.”

  “He did say he’ll be around, right? Maybe when he sees that you want him back, he’ll appear again.”

  “When?” Jen asked as she lifted her head to face her friend. “When will I be able to see him again?! I tried contacting his phone but it can’t be reached anymore. I don’t even know where that place is located!”

  She was becoming hysterical again so Mel did her best to calm her down. But when Brennan woke up, Jen automatically pushed away her own woes to attend to her child. She was, after all, a mother now. She needed to stay brave and strong for her baby boy.

  And that was exactly what she did for the month that followed.

  Little by little, she tried to pick up the pieces of her old life. With Mel’s help, she was able to start a home-based job as a lab consultant. She’d completely dropped her dreams of becoming a big name in the field of science. She had even erased all digital evidence of the dragon shifters’ existence and had also burned every piece of hard proof she’d collected over her year with the dragons.

  One day, she’d just changed her baby’s diaper when her cellphone rang. The speaker mode automatically came on as she’d programmed it.

  “Jen!!!” came her best friend’s shriek. “You won’t believe it!!!”

  “What is it? Will you please calm down, Mel.”

  “I can’t!” Mel screamed over the phone. “You’re now officially the ‘It’ girl of the industry!”

  “What are you talking about?” Jen asked as she gently put on Brennan’s onesie.

  “Check the Science Channel online now,” Mel demanded. She put the phone down and sent a link.

  Jen tapped on the link through her smartphone. She waited impatiently for the website to load. When the page appeared with her picture and the headline Female Scientist Uncovers Evidence of Dragon Shifters in the 20th Century, she literally dropped her phone on the bed. Her hands flew to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God!” she whispered in shock and disbelief.

  As her eyes scanned the article, she realized that someone had sent the documents to one of the biggest media networks in the city, pretending to be her. The detailed records showed photos and actual locations of some dragon shifter remains, which had already been checked and confirmed by top archaeologists and scientists. The report ended on a hanging note, stating that there was a huge possibility that dragon shifters are living within ordinary humans today.

  All of a sudden, Jen’s email and social media notifications began blinking with endless messages from different people. The phone in the living room began ringing too. She checked out some of the online messages, which turned out to be reporters wanting to interview her. Holy shit.

  She was still trying to process what was happening when the doorbell rang. Scooping little Brennan in her arms, she went to open the door and almost released the baby when she saw who it was.

  “Hi,” he said calmly. “I’m looking for a famous scientist who recently uncovered the biggest discovery of the century.”

  Jen’s mouth hung open. She couldn’t believe her eyes and found it even harder to believe that he was joking about what he’d just done.

  “If you don’t let me in now,” he continued. “Soon the reporters will be here stepping on each other just to get to you…”

  “Get in,” Jen said quickly, locking the door behind him.

  Once the door was closed, he grinned at her and Brennan. “Actually, I’m not looking for a famous scientist. I’m just looking for my handsome son and his beautiful mother, the woman of my dreams… You see, I promised them I’d just be around when they’re ready to have me in their lives again. I just don’t know if they’re now willing to accept me, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed…”

  “Oh, shut up, Jack!” Jen interrupted, laughing and crying at the same time. She felt both relieved and excited. “Oh, Jack, thank you so much for everything! You didn’t have to do what you did. I just wanted you back in my life and in Brennan’s life too.”

  Jack embraced her then, careful not to squeeze the baby between them. They smiled at each other lovingly.

  “I can’t take the credit for that documentation, Jack…” Jen started.

  Jack held up his hand to stop her from saying anything else. “You deserve it, Jen. Besides, you did sort of discover us, you know… although I didn’t reveal our present existence. But in any case, everybody left there. They all moved to another country.”

  “Without you? But… who would be their king?” Jen wondered.

  Jack chuckled. “With Jessie as their queen, they won’t need me as their king anymore.”

  Jen laughed in surprise and joy. “Wow, Jessie must have been happy and excited!”

  Jack laughed too. “You bet. But she’s more excited about how our love story ends…”

  “Oh, I think it’s just beginning!” Jen said without thinking.

  Jack beamed at her. “I think so too…” He then planted a sweet kiss on her forehead and suddenly dropped to one knee. He took a tiny black velvet box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring. “Miss Famous Scientist, my one and only Jen, will you do the honor of marrying me and spending the rest of our lives together with Brennan as one happy family?”

  Jen smiled widely through her tears. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’d love that.”

  He placed the beautiful engagement ring on her finger, stood up, and held her and Brennan in a loving embrace. “I love you forever, my Famous Scientist.”

  “And I love you too…” Jen answered softly, “… my Dragon Hero.”

  THE END

  Bonus Story 29 of 40

  Blood Moon over the Mississippi

  Dead Bouquets

  Violet Miller arrived in Louisiana on April 3, 1923. The train pulled into New Orleans Union Station, issuing a cloud of steam and soot as it slowed to a stop at the platform, groaning with the weight of ten cars and 800 miles of track behind it. A misty rain was falling, and the warm earth steamed up into the cool afternoon air, blurring the outlines of the city. The station master checked his pocket watch. At 4:00 sharp, the doors of the train were thrown open in unison, and a flurry of activity swarmed over the platform. Red caps and chauffeurs rushed forward to take hold of trunks and hat-boxes. Mothers and nannies grabbed hold of wayward children as they sought to slip away into the fog. Men shouted their greetings to each other. Women kissed each other’s cheeks. The din of many accents filled the air as people from every corner of the country congregated there. The train sighed and settled in place. The fireman wiped sweat and black soot from his weathered brow. Violet Miller stepped onto the platform, and smiled.

  Even in the chaos of the arrival, she turned the head of every man in her vicinity. She stood poised for a moment, looking around interestedly at the goings on. H
er dark chestnut bob was nearly hidden by a peacock blue cloche hat pulled down low over her deep azure eyes. She wore a grey dress that dropped just below her knees, blue shoes, and gloves to match her hat. A sable stole was draped casually over her narrow shoulders. She held a small travelling case. She was lithe and tall. The artist Miró had once said to her, over his fifth tumbler of absinthe, that she was the most perfectly proportioned woman alive. Beyond her slender form, it was her bright blue eyes, shining out from beneath thick black lashes that commanded the attention of those around her.

  Her trunk emerged from the train, and immediately a young porter procured it for her.

  “You lead the way,” Violet told him, her voice husky, her words carved out into harsh consonants by her New York accent. “I’m brand new here.” She offered him a smile. He tipped his hat and hurried ahead, cheeks rosy from the encounter. He hailed a black cab, and loaded her trunk inside of it. She gave him the address on Bourbon Street, and the driver whisked her away toward the French Quarter. Violet took in the city from the back of the car, gazing out the window into the rainy streets. Through the gray haze, she could make out ornate porches, and cheerfully painted buildings. Naples yellow and crimson, framed with cast iron vines. Flowers and palms spilled from window boxes and balconies. A streetcar trundled by her window. She was staying at the home of a friend from New York, a banker who had roots in Louisiana. He had warned her of the rough and tumble environment as he handed her the keys, and then he laughed, and allowed that it was probably just the kind of excitement she was looking for.

  Though the rain fell harder as they drove, the streets were filled with people of all colors and origins, crisscrossing in front of them, huddled under umbrellas or the necks of their jackets. Violet smiled to herself. Soon the car pulled to a stop in front of a two story house. It was painted a deep emerald green with grey painted shutters, and the cast iron porches of each story were overflowing with spring flowers. A light hung just above the front doors, glowing warmly in the fog, beckoning Violet into her new home. As she walked up the steps, the cab-driver close behind lugging her trunk, the double doors opened, and she was greeted by a matronly woman with a friendly smile.

  “Welcome, welcome, Ms. Miller. I’m Caroline…Mr. Astor has instructed me to take very good care of you. Come in, come in!” She beckoned Violet forward, shuffling around, taking her hat and her fur and instructing the driver on where to bring her luggage.

  “Thank you Caroline,” Violet smiled, relieved to be rid of her belongings. She looked around the inside of her new home with great interest. She was standing in the front hallway. The grey light of the day filtered in through long sheer curtains, illuminating a room decorated in the latest style. There were bits and pieces of Mr. Astor’s travels on display—an alligator head sat on a small table. Violet recognized paintings by some of their friends. A Picasso nude hung next to a Dalí sketch.

  “I’ll give you the grand tour, shall I?” Caroline bustled back into the room. She was a small, round woman, with rosy cheeks, dressed in a classic grey maid’s costume with a flour-dusted apron tied about her ample waist.

  “Yes, thank you,” Violet replied. “I love it already.”

  Caroline lead her through the first floor. The dining room, drawing room, water closet, and through to a back garden, surrounded by high walls, and replete with a small swimming pool. They stood on the back porch for a moment as Violet took it all in. It was nothing like New York City. The colors of the rose bushes that surrounded the yard appeared brighter and more vibrant somehow. The rain had stopped now, and the clouds had begun to turn golden in the early evening.

  “Can I take my supper out here?” Violet asked the maid.

  “You can take your supper in the bath tub, for all I care,” she replied with a laugh. “Speaking of, you must be in quite a state after two days of travel. Why don’t I show you upstairs to your quarters?” She led the way back into the house. Violet followed her up a staircase lined with photographs of exotic places. She glimpsed the pyramids of Egypt, and a Japanese garden as she passed.

  “This the guest room,” Caroline pushed open the door to their right. “And the studio, should you find any use for it.” She opened a second door. This room was unlike any other in the house. It was painted completely white. Even the wooden floor had been whitewashed. The windows were wide and exposed.

  “I say, this is awfully wonderful,” Violet breathed, stepping into the room. There was a desk by the windows, and an easel stood folded in the corner. There were two shelves, each bursting with paints and pencils and chalks. “Mr. Astor is terribly thoughtful, isn’t he,” she said, turning to Caroline with a smile.

  “Yes ma’am,” the woman replied. “Now if you’ll come this way, I’ll show you to your quarters.” She showed Violet to her room. It was a large room with windows on two sides. The walls were painted a deep dusky blue, and the dark mahogany bed was dressed with white linens. Before the windows, green plants, exotic ferns, and cactuses were stacked on ornate iron stands. Some hung from the ceiling, dripping with pink and white blossoms. A small white couch sat across from the bed with a matching chair. The room gave off an impression of calm. Violet was beside herself with its beauty. Everything in New York was dingy and dirty compared to the vibrancy of this place.

  “And here’s your washroom,” Caroline concluded the tour. “The furnace is going, so the water’s nice and hot for you. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Violet stood alone in the blue-tiled bathroom. Slowly, she turned the knobs of the deep tub, letting it fill with hot, steaming water. She sprinkled soap, and a sprig of lavender into the bath, and watched the water as it became milky with heat and the scent of flowers. She stripped off her clothing slowly. First her shoes, and then her dress. She stood for a moment in her grey chiffon teddy, before gracefully slipping off her thigh-high stockings, and letting the last of her clothing fall to the ground. She stepped into the steaming bath, and with a small sigh, sank beneath the suds.

  When Violet entered the drawing room an hour later, she was refreshed and elegant in a filmy sea-foam green dress. She wore a similarly colored shawl with bright red tassels over her shoulders. It was almost seven o’clock now. The sun shimmered through the windows, and the furniture cast impossibly long shadows across the room.

  “Caroline?” Violet called, gliding from the room and walking towards the back of the house. The woman emerged from the kitchen door, “I’ll spend my evening on the porch, and would you mind fixing me a mint julep?”

  “Certainly,” the woman replied, disappearing into the kitchen. Prohibition was the talk of the town, but Mr. Astor’s cabinet was stocked with every manner of alcoholic delight imaginable, and Violet certainly wasn’t going to allow a silly government ruling to impact her cocktail hour. Now was the emergence of the ‘bright young things’, the rise of the bohemians and their exciting, colorful lives out of the ashes of World War I. It was as if an entire generation was attempting forget the agony of conflict.

  Violet made her way to the back door. She stepped gingerly out into the evening sunset, following the flagstone path that surrounded the swimming pool through a variety of roses. Her favorites were the bushes of huge white blossoms. Their aroma was sweet and light. In the remains of the day, they appeared almost ghostly, delicate and beautiful. The birds of the garden were chirping their quiet ‘good-nights’, and Violet could hear a murmur of voices from next door. She wondered who her neighbors were, in this strange and exciting city.

  Caroline called her back to the porch for her cocktail, and a delicious supper of alligator gumbo. As the sun set, Caroline lit an oil lamp and set it on the table.

  “I’ll be turning in now, Ms. Violet, unless there’s something else,” Caroline said.

  Violet dismissed her. She wanted to be alone—to take in her new home without interference. She sipped her mint julep and stretched her long legs out in front of her. The train ride had taken two days, from New York to Chicago, and then
Chicago to New Orleans. She had hoped for some exciting company on the ride, but was disappointed by the dreariness of her fellow travelers—families and businessmen.

  Violet’s life in New York was far from uninteresting. She had been a model for Vogue and Vanity Fair since her discovery by Condé Nast himself at the tender age of 14. It happened that she was working as a maid at the famous Waldorf Astoria hotel, where Mr. Nast enjoyed the occasional indiscretion. She was supposed to have been making his bed and cleaning his rooms, but had become enamored of one of the dresses that hung in the wardrobe there. She could still remember the feeling of the fabric against her skin: soft white silk that clung to her slender frame and transformed her from girl to woman. Mr. Nast had discovered her, transfixed by her own reflection. He should have been angry—furious that a lowly maid would be so bold as to fondle the garments of the rich—but instead he was delighted.

  “Now aren’t you just a picture,” he had said as he stood just behind her, taking in her appearance in the mirror. Violet thought that he was going to take her—to use her misconduct as an excuse to lay hands on her and make her his own for the night—but instead, he offered her a job.

  Since then she had starred in a few notable films, and become a regular at the cocktail parties of the rich and bohemian. She made fast friends with the artists that came to New York—a rotating cast of surrealists and cubists and every type of artist under the sun stayed at her park-side apartment. She loved the excitement of Midtown, the grime and naughtiness of Downtown, and the perfect beauty of Central Park, but the time had come for a break from the constant chaos of the Big Apple. New York City was like a martini. Delicious down to the last drop the first hundred times, but bitter and sickening after the 101th glass. Violet had reached the bottom of her glass, and she was ready for something else. She was ready for the smoky sweetness of bourbon—for dark spiced rum and cocktails that were slow to mix and easy to drink. She needed a slower pace and a sliver of solitude.