Inheritance

Epilogue

About the Author

T. S. Edwards lives near Spokane, WA, with his dogs, cat, and horse.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to Sumer and Teri, who inspired the characters, and to my family for always believing.

Copyright Information ©

T. S. Edwards (2020)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloguing-in-Publication data

Edwards, T. S.

Inheritance

ISBN 9781643787220 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781643787213 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645364979 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020902908

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

mail-usa@austinmacauley.com

+1(646)5125767

Prologue

Tonight, the large ancient house felt wrong.

Very wrong!

It was too quiet, still. There was a silent void where there should have been the sounds of an old house. The creak of settling wood, the wind blowing against the doors and windows, and even the sound of the grandfather clock’s deep tick as it slowly counted away the minutes, all were missing.

But something moved through its dark halls and it wasn’t a normal resident or even a visitor its wizened owner had forgotten. It couldn’t be, since his dear wife had passed away many long, lonely years before, and his only son had shunned him for the loss. As for visitors, he allowed none to stay for more than a few hours.

He was a secretive man with much to hide, as those of his family always did. They protected an ancient secret that would change everything humans of this simple world thought they knew and might believe.

So what moved within his home did not belong. It didn’t belong in this world at all.

Someone other than him wouldn’t have noticed the difference in the house, the way it felt. Even the lack of the normal sounds wasn’t what had alerted him. There was a sense of corruption permeating the house that had been peaceful and balanced mere minutes before.

But something had gained entry into his home, and he felt it the same, as if something foreign had entered his body.

He thought he had sensed something different as of late, but that was outside in the hedge garden. The one place he had refused to enter since the night his wife had died. He now realized it was a mistake to ignore the garden because of the tragedy. It seemed he would pay for his mistake with his life.

This thought had him rushing to finish the message in the dark, leather-bound journal lying open before him in the yellowish light of his desk lamp. The gold-filigree pages glittered softly as his antique ivory-and-silver quill flowed over the pages. His lanky erect form, clad in a pristine-if-outdated black suit, barely moved, as he dipped the quill in an inkwell when it ran low. In that moment, he absently listened, turning his head slightly, his brow creasing below his white close-cropped hair and then went back to his writing.

There wasn’t a single sound.

The quill’s pure-white feather fluttered like a bird’s wing as he rushed to finish. It was important that he finished this final entry. He had left messages in various locations for those who would come later. He had seen them in a rare dream, but was afraid to trust in it. Unlike others before him, he was no seer, but every so often he would get unreliable glimpses. That is why he sat in the dark library of his home with nothing more than this one silver dragon-shaped lamp; its light pooling on his desk like a lonely streetlight.

His message would explain much of what he had come to understand too late. It was his hope that it would make its way to a very specific set of hands that he knew he could trust.

Time was running short, especially his time.

The thing that moved within the house was too strong, too driven. He could feel its power, its driving hatred of everything, and he knew he could not defeat it. He doubted any two of his kind currently living could.

No, tonight would be the last of his long years. He did not fear death, far from it. But he was the last of his line trained in the Draco family inheritance. That could not be left as it currently stood.

His choice, the only choice remaining to him, was not ideal. A deep frown lowered the corners of his pure-white mustache, where it blended into his goatee, as he thought of how young she was and the fact that she had no training. But she was all he had left. He must have faith in her.

What else could he do?

Then there was his recent discovery in the chamber.

Everything about her fit the last of a series of ancient prophecies by the founder of the Draco family line! Could the future of all rest within this young girl’s tiny grasp? Could she bring about the Change and the Rebinding? Was she truly the one?

He had called for his closest friend, hoping to confide in him and seek his assistance, but he had yet to arrive. He wasn’t even sure that his message had made it without being intercepted.

There was still hope, though. Even in death, he could communicate with his friend, but there were rules and restrictions.

The quill came to a halt and his tired eyes scanned the words he had penned. Not his best work, but it would have to suffice under the circumstances.

Opening a hidden pocket in his old-style suit vest, he withdrew a small, black, satin pouch, half the size of an egg. His dexterous fingers untied its drawstring as he quietly whispered a long series of words in a language known by but a few in this day. Taking a deep breath, he poured the powder trapped inside into the air above the book, blowing gently into the stream. The gray, sparkling dust swirled around and around in a funnel, forming a small tornado that danced and swirled across the page. He whispered another series of words, causing the funnel to glow and flash with reddish lightning bursts and even rumble with miniature cracks of thunder. With a final deep whirling whoosh, the tornado disappeared into the pages of the book.

There, on the pages before him, were a series of random figures that resembled a normal banking ledger. Flipping through the previous pages revealed similar numbers and notations. Satisfied, he flipped the book closed and slid it into one of the desk drawers. He started to shut it, then stopped.

Reaching up, he slid a long, black metal bar from the same hidden pocket as before, and placed it in with the journal. He then slid the drawer shut, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and sat with his hands folded on the desk.

Calm.

The darkness grew deeper within the room and a wave of hopelessness washed over him, like an ocean wave breaking on the rocky shore. It had little effect on him, though. He had lived with a residing loss, far greater than anything the darkness possessed, since his wife had died. But an even greater force in his life was the sharp crisp hope brought on by recent discoveries. His one hope was not something this twisted being could take away from him. Not even death could.

You are too late, his deep, rich voice was calm as his steel-gray eyes looked out into the impenetrable darkness flowing into the library. You shall not have what you crave.

A harsh laugh echoed in the large library, Too late you say? I see you sitting right here before me. You are who I came for!

No! You came for my secret and to take control of it. But it cannot pass to you through me, the old man replied with a content smile. The torch is passed to one who will become far stronger than any before. The restorer comes!

The darkness growled and seemed to roll and tumble about itself.

What is this nonsense that you babble, old man?

He sat calmly behind his desk and chuckled softly, as he reached for a crystal bottle and tumbler on the corner of his desk. Without looking up, he poured himself a half glass of some dark-red liquid. He swirled it around the glass as if mixing it, then brought it to his lips. Laughing once more, he tossed it back and drowned it with one swallow.

Not nonsense, he whispered, feeling the effects of the magical liquid as it burned down his throat. It would be mere moments before it parted his soul from his body. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would strip his true consciousness away, leaving a babbling shell that would yield nothing to this foul creature. It is the only truth you will ever get from me!

As realization set in, the creature roared in anger and struck, swallowing the old man in a wave of darkness. It was too late though, as the old man had said. All that was left was a mindless shell that the fiend tortured for many long hours to no avail.

In the end, frustration got the better of it. As its rage broke, it struck out, with a wave of dark energy, stopping the body’s old heart.

Silently, it lifted the body and carried it to the old man’s bed. There it arranged the fragile empty shell to look as if he had passed in his sleep.

This wasn’t done out of any honor or respect. It knew if there were any signs that the old man was murdered, the local authorities would swarm over the house and its grounds for months at best. It could not afford that time. It had no patience for the game and there was a ring of truth in the old man’s last words.

With his death, the power should have belonged to the darkness!

There was another! It would have to wait for them to come. They would have to come because this is where their responsibility lay.

The sooner the local authorities were out of the picture; the sooner the new warden would come.

An impatient calm filled it as it returned to the hedge garden and the burrow it had created for itself. Its work was done for now.

Now, it would wait.

Chapter 1

The old house was sad and gloomy, bordering on depressing, as massive black thunderclouds, steadily lit by flashes of lightning, roiled across the sky outside. The torrential rain these clouds unleashed had driven Mica back inside the sprawling three-story Victorian early after the services for her grandfather had end.

She heard that he had passed away as he slept a few days earlier.

Mica hadn’t known her grandfather well. Her father was born late in her grandfather’s life and the death of his mother had driven a wedge between them. Her father blamed his outlandish stories for the accident that killed her.

This was the first time she had been to the mysterious house where her father had grown up. They had arrived before dawn this very morning and her mom had told her that they would be living here now.

It was a far cry from their small two-bedroom apartment in Renton, Washington. The house was huge with ten bedrooms, a living room, family room, formal dining room, a library, a studio, numerous bathrooms, an unfinished basement, and a four-car garage. It was an old house in need of a lot of repairs or, at least a coat of paint and some good cleaning.

Mica had been helping her mom with the latter since they had arrived. They had worked on cleaning all the rooms that the mourners might see, while her dad sat brooding in front of the large fireplace in the living room where her grandfather’s casket rested. They cleaned until they had just enough time to rush Mica off to get cleaned up and in the dreadful dress that she thought looked more like a black feed sack. There was nothing pretty at all about it.

She was normally a bright and cheerful girl. Her long, frizzy, brown hair, that never stayed where she wanted it to, framed her round face and big brown eyes that were shy, but full of curiosity. Her eyes sparkled nearly as bright as her smile.

As she answered the door in her horrid black dress to greet the sad mourners also dressed in somber-black clothing, the mood in the house was near suicidal.

She watched her father stare into the fire, the only cheerful thing in the day’s gloomy world, as the service for his father went on around him. His strange behavior surprised Mica. He was normally a very happy, outgoing, and friendly man, but today, he didn’t so much as acknowledge those who approached him to give him their condolences. Then, when she had asked permission to go outside to escape the gloom and depression, he had barely acknowledged her with a wave of his hand.

Her mom on the other hand, an exact image of Mica, only older, was a whirlwind of activity as she served food and drinks, greeted well-wishers, and watched Mica’s dad with increasing concern. Her lithe small frame never seemed to be far from him for more than a moment.

But she was too busy to give Mica much time, with so much going on and so many people to deal with. This gave Mica a chance to escape to the hedges in the back. She had wanted to go see them from the moment she saw the huge hedge maze with its fountains, benches, and flowerbeds from her bedroom window. Though overgrown, it was the most wonderful, mysterious, and inviting places in the world, not that she had seen much of the world, mind you. She just couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful.

She slipped out through the kitchen, inched her way across the old, rickety porch that seemed to threaten to fall down with every step, and down the path to the garden. A rusty, old gate stood chained between two stone pillars at the garden’s entrance. The pillars towered above her like sentinels capped with dark snarling gargoyles.

Mica stared at them for a moment, then stuck her tongue out at them. For an instant, she was frozen to the ground she stood on; she could have sworn one of them, the one on the left, to be exact, had winked at her. When nothing else happened, she shook her head, sure she must have imagined it, and focused on the gate once more.

She thought she might just be able to squeeze through with a little work. She took a firm grip on the bars of the gate and shoved hard to see how much of a gap she could create. It gave about six inches, so she started to squeeze her body through.

It was just as she wedged half her body through the gap in the gate that thunder crashed around her, followed by the first huge drops of rain. She sighed and promised herself she would explore the garden as soon as she could, then pulled herself from the gate and ran toward the house.

The porch’s groan of complain barely registered to her as she began forming a plan to search the house for the key to the gate. They had been given an old, rusted box full of keys when they had first arrived. One of those must be it, but if not, she was ready to search every inch of the old house to find it. She knew it wasn’t in the kitchen or family room where the services were held, since she and her mom had spent the morning scouring those areas. So if the key isn’t in the box, then the most likely places to look for it would be the library or studio.

Her plans to begin searching were put on hold the moment she walked in the door though. Mica’s mom was in the kitchen, industriously fixing another couple of trays of sandwiches and other snacks that she served faithfully at every given opportunity.

Where have you been, Mica? her mother said, turning to her daughter as she heard the door close. What have you done to your dress and hair? she demanded, as her face became a mask of disbelieving stern horror.

Mica looked down at the dress, seeing the rust marks from the gate, and then felt her thick braids that her mom had worked so hard to put in an elegant bun that morning. They were soaked and she could feel the rainwater trickling down the sides and back of her thin neck. Her eyes dropped dejected to the floor, ashamed of her carelessness on a day like this.

I went outside for just a minute, but it started to rain. I tried to get back in before I got wet! she declared, as she played guiltily with the edge of the ruined dress.

Well, there is no use for it now, her mom said, shaking her head. Go change into your dark-blue dress and brush your hair!

Yes, ma’am! she said. The blue dress was her favorite and was so much prettier than the black one she was wearing.

Be quick about it! her mom’s voice followed her out the door and into the dining room. I need your help serving our guests.

That last bit put a sour look on her face; the same look her mom always threatened would freeze there. She let out a deep sigh as she continued through the dining room and down the hall to her bedroom. She hated being around large groups of people she didn’t know, especially adults. They never talked about things that interested her and always asked stupid questions about how she liked school.

The hallway had grown dark as the day had turned to night. Mica hadn’t realized just how dark it was until she had walked into the gloom and only the light from the entrance to the living room remained visible behind her. It suddenly became very cold and the darkness seemed an unfriendly entity swarming around her. Scratching sounds, like claws on the floor, came from the back of the hall, and the darkness seemed to grow thicker there.

A mouse or two, she told herself, as she tried to inch her way to the door to her bedroom which was still at least ten feet away. Her mom warned her just that morning that old houses always have a mouse population and traps would have to be put out.

The scratching sound got suddenly louder as she reached for the handle of her door and Mica froze, as the world around her seemed to grow even darker. Whatever was there felt like it was looming over her. The air had grown so cold that her breath was a warm, misty cloud just inches from her nose.

The boards from the hallway near the kitchen creaked and now her escape route from the mysterious darkness was cut off. The light from the living room seemed to be all but blocked out and Mica crouched against the door to her bedroom.

If she got into the bedroom fast enough and turned on the light, would she be safe, she wondered. Her hands were shaking so bad, she wasn’t sure she could turn the latch to make it into the bedroom.

Suddenly, light blared to life in the hallway, forcing her to shield her eyes from the bright globe right above her.

Mica, what are you doing? her mom’s voice was clear in the hall behind her. It was filled with fatigue and frustration, not to mention a deep worry. I told you to hurry, girl, I need your help. Quit being silly and get changed!

Yes, ma’am, she called back, as she twisted the latch to her bedroom door and shoved it open. She shut it so quickly, it slammed as she grabbed for the light switch. The soft, warm glow from her light filled the room, as she pressed her back against the door and slowly slid to the floor.

She sat there with her eyes closed, head back against the door, legs folded under her, and the ugly black dress spilling around her, forgotten for the moment. She stayed there, drinking in the safe feeling that was her room. The soft glow of her light warmed her heart with peace and joy.

She would have stayed there all night, if not for a call from her mom.

Mica, hurry up! her mom’s frustrated voice rang down the hall.

She climbed to her feet and tore off the ugly dress, as she rushed to her yet-unpacked bags on her bed and pulled out her blue dress. In moments, she had slid into it and then dug out matching shoes out of the next bag. Dressed in something she felt more comfortable in, she took a moment to look around her new room.

It was beautiful if yet unfamiliar. Her bed was a beautiful, white-canopy princess bed, with two matching dressers, one with a mirror, and two nightstands with beautiful lamps carved from some luminescent white material in the shape of winged horses, with silver bases and fixtures. Those were her favorite part of the room because she loved horses more than anything. There was also a matching armoire and a vanity with a mirror and chair. All the furniture was carved from the same luminescent material and silver ornamentations as the lamps, with fantastic scenes of mythical creatures.

There were three doors in the room. One was the entrance, there was one to the currently empty closet, and the last one went to the bathroom. She hadn’t explored the last two much, since her mom had her on the go since they had arrived.

A huge window with a window seat framed in sheer-silk curtains took up the largest portion of the wall across from the entrance to her room, and it overlooked the garden. Well, not overlooked really, but if her room was on the second floor, it would. The bedroom was high enough to see just over the top of the hedges and how, starting at the gated entrance, they spread into a deep maze, with marble structures protruding randomly amongst them.

Yes, her room was her safe haven in this spooky ancient house. She picked up a silver brush from the vanity, noticing the detailed scene of fairies on its back and handle, and quickly ran it through her hair. A few quick brushes had the braids out, hair smoothed, and tied in a ponytail with a blue ribbon.

She checked her appearance in the mirror, then rushed to her bedroom door before her mom could call again.

Reaching for the door handle, she noticed the ornately carved markings around the door’s frame. They were odd, yet beautiful. Almost like a vine. She found it curious that she hadn’t seen them before, especially since they seemed to shine. She had no time at the present to think much on it, though.

Her mom was waiting and she seemed so tired and worried. Mica didn’t want anything she did to put her under even more stress.

A deep breath steadied her nerves as she grasped the ornate silver handle carved similar to the brush. A quick twist released the latch and the door quietly swung inward, revealing that the bright hall light still glared over her head.

Evidently, her mom had left it on.

She poked her head out and peeked toward the end of the hall before tiptoeing out of her room and shutting the door. She left the light on inside her room, just in case she needed a quick escape later. As soon as the latch clicked, she was running down the hall and burst through the door to the dining room.

Her mom looked up, startled.

Geez, girl, are you trying to give me a heart attack? she declared, bring her hand up to her chest as she caught her breath, then scrutinized Mica. She gave her an approving warm smile, then got down to business. "You look very pretty, dear.

Now, grab that tray of sandwiches while I finish filling these coffee cups. Be careful though, the tray is heavy.

I am strong enough, Mom, she proudly declared, giving her mom a winning smile, as she carefully lifted the large silver serving tray by its handles.

I can see that, her mom replied, unable to help but smile at her daughter. A few of the stress and worry lines smoothed from her brow.

This made Mica smile even larger.

What would I do without my sweet angel?

I don’t know, she replied with a grin. You need me!

Her mom burst into laughter at her daughter’s confident sincerity. Yes, I do, angel, but don’t get too full of yourself, she admonished, still smiling, and shaking her head.

She gave Mica a gentle push toward the door, then picked up the tray filled with silver coffee cups with scenes of dragons and wizards on them. They made their way through the door and headed into the living room where they were immediately surrounded by guests taking sandwiches and coffee.

Mica found she barely had time to think, as her tray emptied and her mom sent her to get the next tray or to refill the ornate coffee server from the coffee pot in the kitchen. Even the spooky incident in the hall and the garden she so wanted to explore was forgotten in the bustle of the evening.

It was late when the last of their guests left, and Mica was busy in the kitchen, washing dishes from atop a step stool. She was finding, the one thing she missed most about their small apartment was the dishwasher.

The last coffee cup was dry, and she was staring at its extraordinary scene as she turned it in her hands when she heard her mom’s voice from the other room. It was too muffled to understand, so she quickly put up the cup and stool, then tiptoed to the dining room. She still only heard muffled voices and one or two words.

She really wanted to hear more, so grabbing the door handle, she slowly turned it until she heard it click. Then gently, she pushed it open, trying to keep it from squeaking, and inched her way into the hall, leaving the dining-room door open in case she needed an easy getaway. She slid down to one knee against the wall separating the foyer from the living room near its open entrance.

Honey, what is done is done. He is gone. You can’t change that, she heard her mom say. She could picture in her mind her mom’s tiny frame sitting on a stool near her dad, staring in his face as she tried to console him.

You don’t understand! He claimed to be a wizard from a world that was once joined with ours. He said it was only through special portals that you could travel to his world. Everyone thought he was a lunatic. Our family was made fun of, her father growled through gritted teeth. It was only the amount of money that he poured into the community that kept it to only whispers.

Growing up here was miserable for me. Yet, mom believed every word. She used to try to convince him to share his knowledge with the community, to show them the portal. Maybe even take a few through.

But he refused, her mom whispered. Is that when the accident happened?

It was my last year of high school, around Halloween. I was looking forward to the end of the year when I could escape and go off to college, he continued, his voice filled with anguish. They had an argument and my mom snuck out into the garden to look for the portal. There was a loud thunderclap and a flash of lightning. I heard my dad running down the stairs, yelling, ‘Not without the key!’ I got out of bed and followed.

We found her at the first turn of the maze, his voice broke as a deep sob racked through him.

Mica had never heard her father cry before. It scared her.

She was on the cobbled path, soaked to the skin, and burned where the lightning had struck her.

You blamed your father? she asked quietly.

Mica continued to crouch near the entrance, listening to this story for the first time. She put her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Yes! His refusal to share with others or admit his stories were just that, stories, drove her to act. She wouldn’t have been out in the storm otherwise! He took a deep breath and let it out.

I called him numerous times trying to reconcile with him. I wanted him to know Mica. He had a wonderful granddaughter that he should have known. But each time we talked, he would talk of nothing but the need to pass on his secrets to me before it was too late. Till the day he died, he didn’t renounce this fantasy he lived in. Not even to experience the true wonder of his family, of having a granddaughter as smart and beautiful and curious as my mom was.

Did he ever go back into the garden? her mom asked.

Not that I know of. I was tempted to level it myself, but my mother loved the garden. Once I find the key to the gate, I will have it restored to what it once was in her memory. Maybe even put up a plaque to honor her.

So you don’t have the key? her mom said, confused. I mean, you are sure it wasn’t in that box full of keys?

I am sure. I would know that key anywhere. It is shaped like a dragon and the prongs or ridges on the tail made the teeth of the key.

A rush of excitement filled Mica. She now knew what the key looked like and that it wasn’t in the box of keys. She was sure it must be hidden in the house somewhere. She was so deep in thought that she nearly missed her mom standing and telling her dad that they should get some rest since there was still a lot to do to get the house livable and they needed to get Mica to bed.

Thinking quickly, Mica grabbed the door to the dining room and shut it loudly.

The dishes are done! she called out.

Moments later, her mom came out of the living room. It is about time, slow-poke, she said, messing with her hair. Let’s get ready for bed, she continued, covering a big yawn with her hand and ushered Mica to her bedroom where she ran her a bath. Half an hour later, Mica was snuggly tucked away in her large bed. Her dad came to tuck her in and sat on the side of the bed, taking her tiny hands in his large ones.

I haven’t been very good company for you tonight, angel, he sighed. I am sorry, I have been preoccupied.

It is okay, Dad, she smiled, squeezing his hands. I know you are upset.

Yes, I am, he said with a sad smile, as he looked around the room and then met her eyes. Your grandfather has set up an amazing room just for you! I think he might have mistakenly thought you were a princess, he continued with a smile and tickled her.

He had her giggling and squirming madly.

When she was finally able to catch her breath, she asked, But, Dad, aren’t I your princess?

No, little one, he whispered with a smile, and kissed her on the forehead. You are my little angel who came down from heaven to bless me with her company! Now go to sleep and dream of the bright days ahead.

I love you, Dad, she whispered, as he reached to turn off the lamp.

I love you too, angel! he replied, clicking off the light and shutting the bedroom door behind him.

To her surprise, she began to drift off to sleep quickly. She struggled to stay awake by thinking of the key and the garden, but it was no use. Her last thought was of what her father said about being an angel and not a princess.

Why can’t I be both, was her last sleep-filled whisper.

Chapter 2

A quiet whispering of sound awoke her deep in the night. Drowsily, she rubbed her eyes to clear them of sleep and looked around the dark room. It was cast in shadows by the moonlight streaming through her window like a waterfall.

The carving around the door caught her eyes, as they seemed to almost glow of their own accord. She traced the glowing lines around the door and it drew her in, until a sudden fluttering sound of wings made her look toward her vanity. At first, she figured it must have been the curtains, but then her attention was drawn toward movement near the glass of her vanity mirror.

She thought that the mirror’s surface seemed to be like a glowing, swirling cloud, because it was reflecting the moonlight, but then she noticed that the light didn’t reach it at the angle it was coming into the room. Focusing on that area, she could see movement around the glow of the mirror and a whispering voice, that was almost musical, reached her ears.

Quietly, she slipped from under the covers and slid her feet into her soft, fuzzy slippers. It was chilly and goose bumps rose on her arms without the protection of her blankets. She paused to slip a robe from the foot of the bed and wrapped herself in its fluffy warmth.

Protected from the night’s chill, she began to creep toward her vanity. The closer she got, the clearer she could hear the whispers, but still couldn’t make out the words. It was like a lisping language, almost like hisses, growls, and chirps. It was far different from any languages she knew.

She slid her back to one side of the armoire and tried to determine what was moving around her mirror by the sounds it was making. Thankfully, whatever it was, didn’t seem to have heard her yet, so she eased around the armoire and came in sight of the vanity once more. There, she could just make out a vaguely cat-shaped creature standing on its hind legs, peering into her mirror. It was tiny like a kitten, except it seemed to have wings protruding from its front shoulders.

Using its preoccupation with the mirror as cover, she worked closer and closer, hardly able to breathe, for fear it would hear. She was afraid it would get scared and run off. It never dawned on her to be afraid for herself. Most animals seemed drawn to her.

Mica inched forward till she was within an arm’s length of the creature, then reached her hands out toward it. She cupped her hands around the creature’s waist, feeling its suede leather like scales pressing against her palms.

It squirmed and squeaked in fear; its wings flapped franticly, beating her around the face, arms, and shoulders.

Shush, please shush! I won’t hurt you; I promise! she whispered frantically. If you don’t shush, you will wake up the entire house!

That seemed to settle the creature down a bit.

Now, I am going to set you back down. You won’t try to run away, will you, while I get a small light? she asked. She could feel it trembling under her touch, but she thought it shook its head. Good, I will be right back, she said, as she set it on the vanity top.

It shook itself and gave a disgruntled chirp as she rushed to the nightstand closest to her closet and pulled a small flashlight out of its drawer where she had placed it that morning. She clicked the light on when she got back to the vanity. There, where its light pooled, was a tiny little lizard with transparent wings. Its soft scales were a translucent white that seemed to reflect every color but not remain a single one.

She lowered herself into the vanity’s chair as she stared in awe at the magnificent creature. The tiny lizard covered its eyes against the light with its forelegs, its tiny claw-like hands over its face.

Oh, I am sorry, she said, as she moved the light out of its eyes. Is that better?

The creature stood on its hind legs and chirped at her like the prairie dogs she had seen on television. Its eyes swirled in a rainbow of colors as it scrutinized her. It cocked its head from side to side, then moved to the left and back to the right to get a better view of her.

His actions made her giggle, which made him run to the far edge of the vanity to hide behind the edge of the mirror. She stretched out her hands toward him and he slowly inched forward to smell her fingers and then grasped them in his claws. Running a finger gently down its neck caused it to arch its back and release a deep rumbling growl. A moment later, it was pushing eagerly against her fingers and rolled on its side and mimed rubbing its tummy.

You are a funny little thing, aren’t you, she whispered, as she complied. It rolled its head back and chirped attentively. Will you be my friend then? It is lonely here and I don’t know anyone. I would like to have a friend or two.

The little creature grabbed her fingers and looked in her eyes, then nodded solemnly. Then it laid back and mimed stroking its tummy again.

I don’t know who the better friend here is, she giggled, scratching its tummy again.

Don’t underestimate the friendship of a fairy dragon, young lady, an old gravelly voice whispered from within the swirling mist of the mirror.

Mica jumped up, knocking the stool over and the little dragon squeaked in protest, chattering angrily at the mirror.

It would seem old Shims here is a bit upset with me for interrupting his stomach being rubbed, the voice continued, as the mirror glowed and a kind old face formed within its swirling surface. He had dark-blue eyes, like her dad, but his hair and precisely trimmed beard were pure-white, like Santa Claus. She couldn’t help but think that the lines around his eyes were from sadness, even though his voice was filled with kindness for the tiny dragon. He and I have been friends for a long, long time.

How is it you are in my mirror, Grandpa? she asked. You are dead, aren’t you?

Awe, so you must be Mica! I should have realized. You are the exact image of your mother, he said, smiling. "It is a pleasure at last, to have met you. I am sorry I am not a little more solid.

Yes, I am dead, but death means little to a wizard, especially a wizard of the line of Merlin. Unfortunately, it does limit the amount of time and what I can do in the physical world, and I fear, with my death, my wards on the portal are weakening.

But why are you telling me this, Grandpa? I am only nine years old, she said sadly, a little fear touching her voice.

Ah, my little princess, age matters little when it comes to wizardry. It is all about strength of will and desire. My first choice was your father, the image said kindly, and was interrupted by Shims’s reproving chatter. But as he reminds me, your father had little desire to learn anything of magic, he continued sadly.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. She was scared and confused by the tone in her grandfather’s voice. It was true that she learned faster than other children and that she was well advanced in school, but what did she know of magic or portals? She doubted her dad would willingly hear much talk of such things.

What am I supposed to, Grandpa? she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

For now, learn from Shims. He is an adept teacher, her grandfather said, as his voice started to