For your reading pleasure, here’s a sample of The Dragon’s Seamstress.
Chapter One
Boom!
Something rumbled, shaking the house, and a tree nearby. Acorns rained to the ground.
She brushed curls away, hair that hung not far past her shoulders, and frowned in the direction of the front yard. What was that? The ruckus made it clear this wasn’t a small pickup truck like Trevor’s. This was something big.
Their street wasn’t designed for 18-wheeled semi-trucks, but clearly, this one had taken a wrong turn.
Their pet Hound of Annwn, Rhonabwy, raised his red-tipped white ears and woofed. Not a full-on howl like the one he gave in the presence of ghostly creatures; the acknowledgment didn’t stir Caitlin’s worry. Besides, no ghostly creature she knew of could shake the landscape.
Three years ago, she’d felt something like this. But that time, the tremor was so soft, she’d almost instantly put it out of her mind.
She ducked in the back door. Interrupted from his work on pieces for a show scheduled for February, Trevor, a chisel in hand, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and dark eyes narrowed, the top three buttons of his flannel shirt unbuttoned, revealing some of the dark hair that dusted his broad chest, met her on the threshold to their kitchen. “Oh good. I was afraid maybe a sinkhole had swallowed you.”
“Sinkhole?”
“The truck didn’t cause one? Good.” He paused for a moment and peered toward the windows. A glaze filled his eyes as he slipped into thought. “Maybe it was coblyns.”
“What?”
“Coblyns. Short for coblynau.” He scratched at his short, newly grown, beard. He’d decided to stop shaving only a month ago and was still getting used to the hair gracing his thin cheeks and chin. “Welsh mining faeries.”
“Here?” Maybe. This disturbance was far more pronounced and despite no visual confirmation of its form, the hairs stood up on her arms. She hoped the mere mention didn’t call the beastie to them. Supposedly fictional creatures did tend to pop out of thin air at them—too often. As if she’d hung a sign out proclaiming herself “solver of problems for the paranormal set”. Maybe she had, for she had not turned down Arianrhod’s offer to become a guardian of Annwn’s helpless. Like you can. “If so, they’re in for a rude surprise. Our water table isn’t that far down.”
“I’d say that’s not a bad thing if it keeps them from bugging us a while longer.”
Caitlin laughed, then considered. She and Trevor did have a history of hosting the odd. But right now, nothing popped out of the ground demanding their respect. She swept the broom toward the yard, with a wish to keep the things away. “Whatever it was, it better keep digging.”
Their neighbor, Mr. Holmes, cursed loud enough to hear it clear across her backyard. She didn’t see the old man from here, save in glimpses of gray, curly hair between their Brazilian pepper trees, but she knew he was working outside too, and was as perplexed as she.
Trevor laughed to himself. “I think you’re not the only one to think that.”
The noise hadn’t repeated since, so, Caitlin crossed through the back door leading into their kitchen, and set her broom into the storage closet. “Sometimes, I wish your brother had built this house out in the country.”
“I wouldn’t be against a little more privacy.” Trevor nuzzled her cheek. “Although, I’m not sure how well Starfort Collectibles would do in a smaller town. Gulf Breeze is small enough.”
She rubbed her hands over his jeans pockets. “Yeah, I know why you’re thinking privacy.”
“The truck shook me awake, at least.” He eyed their stove. “I was thinking of taking a shower before dinner.”
“Sure, but first.” Caitlin snuggled against him angling her head up for a kiss. “There. That’s better.”
“I agree.”
She peeked at her timer, checking the countdown for the casserole that bubbled away. “You’ve got twelve minutes until dinner comes out of the oven. I promise I won’t give your portion away.”
Trevor nuzzled her ear for another moment before he released her and exited the kitchen. Caitlin opened the back door to look out at the sunset glazing her garden.
Something golden flickered on the grass. She narrowed her eyes at it and sauntered off the porch.
A patch of blond fur bigger than two of her hands littered the grass. Her gaze shot to the tree, part of the base of its trunk obscured by the filmy presence of their pet Hound of Annwn. Rhonabwy snoozed in the shade, giving no indication if he’d done battle with a poor unfortunate squirrel.
Or cat. Whatever the fur belonged to.
Rhonabwy lifted his head and gave a short growl. He rose to his snowy-white paws and padded to her side, snuffling the fur as he passed. He tipped his head, looked at her, and back to the fur.
“Smell something now?” Caitlin asked.
Something, he said. Not sure what.
“That doesn’t reassure me, sweet boy. What does ‘not sure what’ smell like?”
Like … dragon scales.
Dragon scales? Was he thinking of the lizards in her yard? Caitlin narrowed her eyes at the landscape. Just in case, she raised a hand as she recited the protective spell she’d learned from Beryl, a spell that had long since become second nature to her. “In the name of the Goddess of light, keep all evil from my sight.”
A golden glow rose up from the ground, merging with the sunlight, and a sense of peace washed over her.
The next morning as she showered, she breathed deep, taking in the sweet, clean scents of soap and shampoo. Opening her eyes as she lathered her hair, she spied a bit of hair at the drain.
Blond hair.
Frowning, she scooped it out and brought it to Trevor’s attention as he entered their cozy bathroom.
“Which of my friends needed a shower?” she asked. Nope, not going to keep any secrets ever again. They’d had enough of them, five years ago.
“What about your friends?”
She pointed to the trash can. “I found someone’s blond hair in my shower.”
“Our shower.”
“Don’t change the subject. And don’t forget, Michela can tell me if you’re lying. She does come to mind, though.”
“She’s too old for me. Next blonde guess would be Beryl.”
She poked a finger into his ribs, teasing him. “Oh, sleeping with my best friend, are you? Come on, honey. You’ve never done cliché in your life.”
Trevor scoffed a laugh as he removed a hairbrush from their medicine cabinet. “That’s true.”
Caitlin knew the idea of him with any other woman was unthinkable.
Trevor looked to the bathroom window. “Maybe our ghosts are molting, now.”
The idea stopped her and she shuddered. “Ghosts don’t molt. I don’t think they do, anyway. And that only happens in summer, I think.”
“Do demons?” He gripped the hairbrush as he presented the next idea. “No, Rhonabwy would tell us if there was a demon around. Maybe he has a girl. Or, what’s more likely is that one of us is going gray.”
Caitlin snorted. “After what we’ve been through, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Maybe he was right. She dressed, went downstairs to the back yard, and soon discarded the mess of blonde hair in their blue trash bin.
Before she closed the lid, a gust of wind blew up, a minor gale that rattled the windows and flattened the grass. Around her, the oak and fruit trees bent and creaked in protest. The gust nearly knocked her backwards and snatched a few strands of hair from the top of the garbage. The strands swirled off to her garden plot.
She put a hand against the house to steady herself, watching the hair tumble in the breeze. Oh, leave it. It’s good mulch.
The wind even knocked her hanging basket down. Annoyed, she rehung it, settled the flowers and went back inside where she found Trevor collecting his keys. “Did you hear that?”
The wind was the topic of the moment soon forgotten as they made their way to work. Traffic was heavy for a Tuesday morning in early November. “And here it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet!” Caitlin complained.
“Gods spare us from holiday traffic.”
Though Caitlin knew Trevor teased, she silently agreed with his wish. When they arrived at Starfort Collectibles, Caitlin hung her sweater on a coatrack, and put cups of water for tea into their microwave, while Trevor booted up his computer. Then she opened the blinds over the front windows, and turned the shop’s sign to Open and cast a simple spell for good sales for the day.
A chime from her smartphone brought Caitlin back to the checkout desk. She opened the phone’s app to find a text message from Maria.
What do you know about mythical creatures? My teacher assigned a term paper on mythical creatures and I need some ideas.
Caitlin scoffed to herself and texted back. I don’t know an encyclopedia’s worth of info on the subject, but enough. Can you be more specific? She checked the clock at the top of the phone’s screen. A second thought made her add: Aren’t you in school?
Maria: English class. I might write about faeries. What do you think?
Caitlin: Not a bad idea. But I wonder if you wouldn’t want to get closer to home. Chubacabra? Your mother would be happy with that.
Maria: Chubacabra’s Puerto Rican. I’m Cuban-American.
Caitlin: Sorry. My specialty is Western Europe.
Maria: Welsh, specifically. I know. Hence my text. Who needs the library with you, Michela, and Eliot around? Any suggestions?
Caitlin sent her a short list off the top of her head. While Trevor welcomed a new customer, Caitlin signed off and exchanged her phone for a dusting cloth. She wiped this over a ceramic figurine, trying not to seem like she was eavesdropping. The customer went on. “They’re not normal brooms like you can get at the grocery or dollar store.”
“Brooms?”
The woman’s question diverted Caitlin’s attention from her work.
“Handmade ones, specifically, from the early 1900s.” I’d like to find one for my mother’s Christmas gift, if you have any.”
The customer, a woman probably in her late 20s, with dark hair, and a thin physique, settled her purse onto the counter and removed a printout from inside. This, she handed to Trevor. “Something like this?”
Caitlin peered over Trevor’s arm at the picture of, essentially, a broom like any other.
“You being local—and since we’ve heard good things about your store—I thought I’d try you first, rather than giving up and buying it online.”
While the woman spoke, her infant son leaned forward in his stroller and gurgled. He couldn’t be older than a year, maybe nine months, Caitlin thought.
The boy’s attention was on Rhonabwy even before he reached his hand out to the Hound.
Was he a budding witch or—like most children—still attuned to the Otherworld?
Caitlin clucked her tongue. The Hound gave the baby boy’s fingers a sniff, before trotting to Caitlin’s side.
“I appreciate that.” Trevor took the picture from her and paused a moment to study the photo. “I think I know what you’re looking for. It might take a little time, but I’m sure I can find something you’ll like.”
Caitlin smiled at the woman as Trevor excused himself and made his way to their office. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he knows exactly where he has one.”
He emerged from the office. “Just a sec. I might I have one upstairs.”
He passed Caitlin by and ran up the stairs to the attic. The customer browsed through their shop as she waited but Trevor soon emerged from his quest, empty-handed and apologized to the woman. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I know who might, though. Can I get your number? I’ll let you know when we find what you need.”
When the woman left, and took the steps down to her car, Caitlin spied a hint of a stray, thick blond hair sticking out between her otherwise dark locks.
****
When they returned to their two-story home in their usually quiet little neighborhood, Trevor climbed the stairs. “I’m going to get some work done.”
Many years had passed since those words worried her, but still, Caitlin eyed her husband with a hint of suspicion. “What are you working on?”
He waved a hand at her. “Not to worry. This is the piece for Abby’s granddaughter. For Christmas.”
“Ah, right. I forgot. It’s a doll, right?”
“Something like that. Hang on.” He bounded up the stairs. While he rummaged, she stowed her purse and sweater in their room, then went back to the kitchen. Her cabinets under the sink revealed a stainless steel pot that she filled with water and set on the stove. Trevor returned with his sketchbook in hand.
“Here. This is what I’m making.” Abby’s granddaughter was only three years old and heavily into Nursery Rhymes. Trevor’s sketch reflected this fact, with a small deer to the foreground, and behind it, a house with an illogical plan fit only for a faery tale. Next to the house was an oversized foot.
One that he hadn’t included in the sketch the last time he’d shown it to her. “That’s an odd inclusion.”
“It’s supposed to be a giant, but that’s as far as I got before sleep distracted me.” He set the sketchbook on the kitchen counter. “D’you like it? Since it’s only going to be small, I might tap out an extra one or two for Abby to sell in her gallery.”
“That’s a good idea.” She studied the drawing. “It looks good so far. Although, what if you added an apple tree? You know, like in Snow White?”
“No.”
His answer was far too sober for her liking, and she remembered why: “Apple tree equals apple branch equals silver branch.”
“Equals invitation to the Otherworld, right.” He pushed his sketchbook aside an inch. “Let her learn about it when she’s old enough to understand it. Not when she’s only barely a toddler.”
“You’re right. Bad idea. Forget I mentioned it. “Would Arianrhod give me a black star for forgetting my Irish mythology?”
“Your ancestors might. Good thing we didn’t miss Samhain.”
“That should be some insurance.” She kissed his cheek and waved a hand to the stove. “Too bad that little gesture won’t open up refrigerators, cut chicken and vegetables, set mixing bowls running, like it would if I were a faery tale witch instead of a real witch in the real world.” She plunked their morning’s spoons into the silverware drawer.
Trevor winked at her. “You’ve never convinced me you aren’t a faery tale witch.”
“Get going before I try to turn you into a toad.” She wiggled her fingers at him.
Trevor kissed her fingers. A hint of blue light sparkled off her wedding ring. Caitlin blinked.
He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand before letting her go. “Don’t forget to call me down when dinner’s ready.”
Caitlin fondled her wedding ring. “Dinner with a wizard, lucky me.”
When he exited the kitchen, Caitlin turned her mind to the cabinets. Bottled herbs waited here, a container filled with rice, bouillon cubes and more. She extracted everything she needed and soon set to her own works of art.
Turning on the news while she worked, she listened with half an ear.
“…the report—for lack of a better word—shook two blocks surrounding Navarre Beach, last night.”
Caitlin forgot the recipe she worked on to listen. That noise last night wasn’t just a truck going by? Not if it made the news reporters wonder:
“Officials at Eglin Air Force Base won’t confirm military drills. Residents in the area say this sounded like no sonic boom they’ve ever heard. Let’s hope we’re not about to become the next Area 51.”
It wasn’t a sonic boom? Caitlin scowled at the television. I wonder what Eliot would say to that?
As skeptical as the reporters, but knowing nothing in her neighborhood was impossible, she reached for the phone to call the air traffic controller she knew at the air force base.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Eliot Gweniyer. Please leave a message.”
Caitlin took a deep breath as the record alert beeped. “Eliot, sorry to bother you at work. I’m being paranoid, probably, but probably not. Is something going on down there? I know you can’t confirm or deny to the media, but I promise I won’t squeal. I’m curious about that … whatever it was last night. Tell me it was a sonic boom, please? I know I wasn’t the only one to feel it, but I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t think it was … odd shall we say? What’s your take?”
She didn’t feel she had to say it would ease her mind if he said it was a sonic boom. On the other hand, she was used to the air forces’ shenanigans and knew the difference between sonic and paranormal booms.
The more she thought about it, the more she feared last night’s might be the latter. “Call me whenever.” Because he worked all kinds of hours, she never minded when he called after midnight. “Oh, and say hello to Michela for me?”
With dinner and her homework to do, she wished him well and put the phone aside for the moment. She was just halfway through her training as a social worker and felt as if she was finally again getting the hang of the student life of school, work, and study, but still looked forward to the day she graduated. Hopefully, by Christmas next year. To that end, after dinner, she took her schoolbooks upstairs and sat with Trevor, studying as he worked. When the words blurred, Caitlin set her studies aside and coaxed him into their bedroom.
The next day, still waiting for word from Eliot, she sent a text to Beryl inquiring after Maria’s chosen term paper topic and raced to her day’s class. The topic drove all thoughts of mythological beings away, at least until she met Trevor at their shop. The woman who’d wanted the broom was back and Caitlin caught Trevor showing her one small broom.
The woman shook her head. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Looks a lot more modern than I expected it to.”
“A broom’s a broom, Miss Cohen. Even antique ones.”
“You have a point, but my mom likes the ones that look more like witches’ brooms.” She peered over at Caitlin, but didn’t seem to notice the bright white-furred Hound lounging by a table displaying an assortment of trinket boxes and vintage, art deco style hatpin holders. “You sure you don’t have anything like that?”
Caitlin gaped at her. Had she started looking more like a faery tale witch than she knew?
Trevor distracted her. “Not off the top of my head, but I’ll check my inventory again.”
Miss Cohen thanked him and left.
Caitlin watched the woman pull out of her parking place. “Why d’you think she looked at me when she said witches’ brooms?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your pointy hat is showing?” He kissed her nose before running up the stairs to the attic.
Rhonabwy approached her to rub against her leg.
Caitlin reached down and scratched his ears. “Don’t say a word or you’re joining your master when he goes to sleep outside tonight.”
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