by Mary Abshire
Reaching the end of the road, he came to a stop. He waited for cars to pass before turning.
“I understand why you feel nervous, but I want you to know I will always do my best to make you happy. I think if you move in with me, you’ll feel safer and more at ease. You won’t have to worry about traffic or crime or long hours. Well, maybe long hours in bed, but you can sleep in the next day. I don’t mind tardiness.”
She grinned widely. “We both get to be happy.”
He nodded and took a glimpse at her. “I’m not going to pressure you into a decision. This has to be yours. Just know that I want it. I want you. We can work together and everything will be fine. Love is our bond and if we have faith, it will always hold.”
“I’m definitely considering it.” She turned to face the front.
He couldn’t ask her to do anything more. Pushing her to decide would only make her question her choices more. If she were leaning toward moving in with him, he wanted to make sure she would make the right decision and be satisfied with it.
“Oh, wow, is this the center?” she asked, pointing.
“Technically, it’s not. The public center is on the other side of that big hill. The central station that the locals refer to is on this side.”
As they entered the small town, there was a church on the left and a cemetery on the right. A few houses remained by the church. Roads branching from the one he drove on led to more homes. He passed a gas station with a convenience store.
“I don’t see any fast food places,” she said.
“The reserve doesn’t allow them, even in the public areas. But there are family owned restaurants.”
“Where?”
“On the other side. This area is for locals.” He slowed the Jeep as he prepared to turn onto a gravel driveway.
“Do the people that live here work on the other side of the hill?”
“Some do. Others farm or do other things. People have lived here for generations. Not everyone needs a lot of money to survive.” He steered onto the driveway.
“It’s different here, but it sounds like it works for everyone.”
“Tourists come through here, but the few businesses we have are on the other side. There’s a motel and cabins for people to rent.”
The Jeep gently swayed from side to side over the uneven path. A log cabin with a front porch sat at the end. An older man with a bald head and a long gray beard tied near the end watched from one of the two rocking chairs. He wore jean overalls and a black shirt. In his hands, he held something that resembled about the size of a book. At the far end of the cabin, a large black truck sat idle.
“And this is the central station for locals?” she asked. “It looks more like this guy’s house.”
“I think he’s one of the guards. The main one is a sorcerer. This might be him.”
“Like a wizard? He knows magic?”
Marcel parked in the small lot facing the cabin and then cut the engine. “Magic, spells, witchcraft…but don’t worry, I heard the main guard is a nice guy.”
“Good to know,” she said before she shoved her door open.
He hurried out of the car to catch up with her in front of the Jeep. When he extended his hand toward her, she took hold of it. As they headed for the sidewalk, he pulled her closer.
The older man on the porch rose from the rocking chair. “Can I help you?” He held a thin tablet at his side.
Climbing the short wooden steps, Marcel noticed tattoos covering his arms. “We came to look at some property records. Would you be the main guard?”
The man set the tablet on the chair. “I am.”
Holding Lynn’s hand, they stopped on the front porch. There were two doors into the cabin, one on each end. The only window, a double-sized one, had been built closer to the door on the right. A welcome mat lay in front of that door, too.
“My grandparents owned land here about twenty years ago,” Lynn said, standing beside Marcel. “I’d like to see who owned the land previously.”
The old man came to a halt in front of them. His gaze lingered over her before shifting to Marcel. “You’re a Bouton.”
Marcel narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?”
“You look like your father, and his father before him,” the old man said. “I’m Jericho. Call me Jeri.” He held out his hand.
Marcel accepted his greeting. “Did you know my father?”
“Met him a few times. Seemed like a good man.” Jeri offered the same welcome to Lynn. “And you are?”
“Lynn Winslow.” She shook his hand.
“And you say your grandparents owned land here?” Jeri asked.
“Yes, I used to come here and stay with them when I was young. They sold the land about twenty years ago. I’m pretty sure the property would be under my grandfather’s name,” she said.
“What’s his name?” Jeri asked.
“He’s dead now, but his name was Franklin Winslow,” she said.
“How do you spell the last name?” Jeri asked.
“W-I-N-S-L-O-W,” she said.
Jeri stroked the end of his beard. “Name doesn’t ring any bells, but I can’t remember them all.”
“I was told we had to come in person to look at the records,” Marcel said.
“That’s right. And since I saw you fly around the other night, I’m assuming you still live here,” Jeri said.
“Yes, I do,” Marcel said with a slight grin.
Jeri pointed a finger and darted it at him and Lynn. “You two together?”
“Yes, we are.” Marcel slid his arm behind her. “She’s all mine.”
“We’re trying to find out if I might be connected to anyone here,” Lynn said, and then looked up at Marcel.
Jeri tilted his head back slightly. “Ah, I see. Well the chances are good if you had relatives living here.”
“It shouldn’t take us long to review the records,” Marcel said.
“Doesn’t matter to me how long you take,” Jeri took a step back. “Come with me and I’ll get the keys.” He turned and headed for the door on the left.
The sorcerer seemed friendly enough. He’d met his dad, which interested Marcel. His dad hadn’t ever mentioned Jeri. He suspected they hadn’t been friends, but it was good to know Jeri had thought his dad was a good guy.
Taking Lynn’s hand, they followed Jeri. He gestured for her to enter first. After she did, he stepped into the small room behind her. An empty antique desk with a computer faced him on his right. Past the desk, a mid-sized black safe leaned against the wall. A tall storage cabinet and two vertical filing cabinets also backed up to the same wall. Past them, there was a closed door. A recliner and another closed door at the end of the room faced them. Jeri stopped in front of the first filing cabinet and opened the top drawer.
Lynn moved closer to Marcel and squeezed his hand. “I thought this would look like a house.” She kept her voice at a whisper.
“This is the office. I got tired of bringing people into my home, so I added this office to the cabin years ago.” Keys clanked together as Jeri withdrew them from the cabinet. He closed the drawer and it snapped. “If you want to step through the back door, I’ll be out there in a jiff. I need to yell at my apprentice so he’ll monitor the place.”
“Sure thing.” Lynn headed for the back door.
Anticipation began to build within Marcel as he followed her. Jeri seemed to think the odds were high for Lynn to be descendent of someone with supernatural blood. Since the moment Marcel had tasted her blood the first night, he’d had a hunch she was more than human. He wanted to believe she was a carrier of dragon blood. He would be beyond happy to have children with her. Even if she had some other type of blood, he’d still love her.
Of course, learning the truth could have negative results. If she knew she had dragon blood in her veins, would she think she was a freak? He’d heard stories long ago about carriers committing suicide and running away because they’d learned they had supernatural b
lood. Would Lynn do the same? She’d accepted supernatural creatures exist, but could she accept she was connected to one? Would she be afraid to be with him? Would she still consider moving in with him? If she accepted the truth, would she want to have children with him?
Anxiety coursed through him as he waited to learn the answers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Wow, this is beautiful,” Lynn said, standing on a small brick sidewalk while she scanned the back yard.
Various plants, flowers, and bird feeders surrounded a pond in the shape of a rectangular pool. At the far end, water trickled from a tall fountain and into the pond. Butterflies fluttered from several bushes while hummingbirds whizzed around feeders dangling from poles. Lillie pads floated in the water along one side. The sorcerer had taken great care of the pond and all the plants, which seemed to attract a variety of small living creatures.
She spun to face Marcel. He descended the three steps after he shut the back door.
“You should ask him if you can take pictures sometime. This is amazing,” she said.
He walked up behind her, enclosed his arms around her, and then pulled her to his body. “It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t compare to you.” He kissed the tip of her ear.
She held his arms to her body. With him, she felt safe and loved. There wasn’t the slightest bit of doubt from him about how he felt. When she’d mentioned becoming his assistant, he’d eagerly taken to the idea. He’d quickly suggested she move in with him. Clearly, he was ready to commit to her. He’d lived a long time and had found a woman who completed him. Her. She loved being with him, but was she ready to commit? Was she ready to settle down?
The back door opened and Jeri walked out of the office. “Alright, lets go.” Keys jingled as he carried them at his side.
The older man looked intimidating with his tattoos and baldhead, but he acted friendly enough. She found it interesting how he’d met Marcel’s dad. The sorcerer had to be pretty old. Although he had a white beard, his skin had few wrinkles. She would’ve guessed his age was late forties to early fifties.
She followed him on the brick sidewalk. It appeared the path ended several feet from the woods. Marcel stayed close behind her.
Jeri slowed and glanced at her. “Did your parents or grandparents mention being related to anyone here?”
“No, never,” she said. “My parents didn’t talk about their ancestors. I was too little to care if my grandparents did. They died a few years after they moved from here and my parents died my first year of college. I’m all that’s left and I don’t know much about my ancestry.”
Jeri continued from the sidewalk, over the grass and toward a dirt path in the woods. “You’re an only child?”
“Yes, and so were my parents,” she said. “Well, my dad had a sister but she died when she was a toddler. I always considered him an only.”
“That seems to happen when humans are in the mix. Breeding with humans has caused our kind to travel down the road toward extinction.” Jeri glanced back at her. “If you’re a carrier, there’s hope left.” He shifted his gaze past her to Marcel before continuing forward.
The dirt path led deep into the woods. They walked for several minutes in silence, stepping over downed tree limbs and pushing aside branches. Light trickled down from the tall trees. Fresh air filled her with each breath. She started to ask how much further they had to go since they were approaching a large hill, but after a few more steps she spotted a wood door built within the hill.
“Is that the vault?” She felt a bit stupid for asking since the one and only path led to the door.
“It’s more of a cave than a vault, but everyone here likes to call it that,” Jeri said.
They stopped behind him as he unlocked the wooden door. He opened it, took three steps, and stopped in front of a barred door. It reminded her of the kind used in jail cells. Steel beams on each side held the dirt ceiling. Light bulbs dangled from a line above. She wondered where the source of power had come from since the line looked like rope, not an electrical cord. The metal from the door shrieked when he opened it.
“After you,” Jeri said, holding the gate open.
She hesitated to enter and looked at Marcel. A strange vibe from Jeri put her on guard. He’d led them through the woods to a cave. What if this was some kind of trap? She didn’t know the guy, and neither did Marcel.
Marcel took hold of her hand. “Come on. It’s fine.”
Putting her trust in him, she passed Jeri and entered the dimly lit cave. A folding chair leaned against the wall nearby. Three feet into the cave and the area opened up to what looked like a wide tunnel. Metal shelves lined both sides of the room. Each shelf held brown boxes. The air felt cool and damp and smelled of mildew. A rectangular table with three chairs backed against the far wall. There was a closed wooden door in the corner on the right. The rope with the lights continued beyond the door.
“There are a lot of records in here,” she said as she scanned the room.
Metal creaked from the gate as Jeri walked in, shutting the barred door behind him. The loud clank from it meeting the frame made her flinch.
“My apprentice is working to enter the information into a database, but it’s taking time. There’s only two of us,” Jeri said.
“The originals would still need to be preserved,” Marcel said.
“Yes, they would. They’re alphabetized by street name.” Jeri walked around them and headed for the first shelf on the left. Stopping by it, he turned to face her. “Do you remember the name of the street your grandparents lived on?”
“Kittawakea with a K, not a C.” She remembered it well since she used to say kiddawalkie. Her grandmother always teased her about it.
Jeri pointed to the end of the shelves, the ones closer to the table. “It should be in one of those boxes. There are many streets that begin with K.”
Marcel let go of her hand and headed for the shelves.
“I’ll sit over here and wait until you’re done. Sorry, but I have to stay,” Jeri said.
“Has someone stolen records before?” she asked.
He unfolded the chair near the gate. “While my apprentice is scanning, we’ve come across a few records missing. I recognize some names and I’ve met plenty over the years, that’s how I know documents are missing. So now I don’t leave anyone alone in here.” He sat on the chair.
“Has anyone ever broken into this place?” she asked.
“No, they can’t. There’s a spell on the gate. I’m the only one who can open it,” Jeri said.
She pressed her lips together, pondering why he had locks if there was a spell on the door.
“The lock doesn’t work on the gate. It’s too rusty. I make it look like the lock is good so people believe. You’re the first person to ask,” Jeri said.
“How did you—?”
“I could tell by the look on your face the wheels were turning to figure out why I’d use keys if a spell protects the door,” Jeri said. “You’re a smart gal.”
Smiling, she turned and headed for Marcel. He lifted a box from one of the shelves and carried it to the table.
“Did you hear him?” she asked. “He said people have stolen records. Why would anyone do that?”
“To protect identities or bloodlines.” Marcel lifted the lid from the box. “Some families changed their last name. Many dragon families wanted to stay hidden.”
“There was a lot of that in the eighteenth century,” Jeri said.
Once again, she wondered how old he was. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she didn’t want to be rude to anyone who could cast spells.
“I read about dragons being hunted in Europe. Clans in France moved here. Bouton was mentioned as one,” she said, standing next to him.
“My father told me there was a lot of hunting back in the day. His father, my grandfather, refused to change our surname,” Marcel said, looking down in the box. “My dad didn’t want to leave France when his parents were l
eaving. He stayed to fight and help other families. It’s a good thing he stayed because he met my mother. Shortly after she gave birth to me, they decided to cross the ocean. The moved around in America for a bit before settling on the reserve. I remember my dad told me the other dragons who lived here changed their name when they arrived.”
“Your dad was right,” Jeri said. “The Bouton family name has never changed. Others changed their last name to avoid hunters. Either the Boutons are a strong, loyal bunch who fight to the end, or you’re stubborn and crazy. It makes no difference to me as long as there’s no trouble among families.”
From what she’d seen, Marcel was a fighter, especially when it concerned her. Given his strength and the way he carried himself, she believed he would fight to the end. He seemed like a loyal person, too. Jeri’s estimation had been fairly accurate.
Looking into the box, she counted four black binders, two one-inch and two three-inch ones. He withdrew the smaller binder on top and then set it on the table. The hard plastic of the cover made a light clunk when he opened the binder.
Her heart began to beat faster, anxious to finally learn if she had any supernatural blood. Holding onto his arm, she watched him turn a page.
“Is that binder for Kittawakae only?” she asked.
“No, it has a few others that begin with K-I.” He gently lifted one page after another. “What was the street number? Do you remember?”
She leaned her head against his arm as she tried to remember the numbers on the box. She always looked for them when she was a kid and eager to spend time with her grandparents. The mailbox had been an old green color with flowers around the base. There was a large stone in front with white numbers painted on it. “One, four, two, nine.”
Together, they scanned the documents. The script writing reminded her of the kind she’d seen in the book from his library. The pages were faded, too. She had trouble reading the writing, but Marcel seemed to know what he was looking for. When he stopped turning papers, she held her breath and peered closer at the document.
“This is from the eighteen hundreds and says a Frances Winsloux purchased the property at fourteen twenty-nine Kittawakae Lane.” He held his finger below the name and met her gaze.