The Witch of the Western Gate: Dragon's Gift (3 page)

Blue nodded in agreement, "Yes, Grandpa Lou already pointed that out. He says the Council would kill Took if they find him. I'll put him in the sunroom, in the fountain there, and lock the door. We don't want anyone from the Council to see him tomorrow, when they come for the meeting."

"Sounds like a good plan," replied Aunt Violet.

"I have to run back to The Grey Owl Shoppe now," said Aunt Violet. "A tour bus will be arriving in an hour and they are having dinner at the Pinehurst Hotel and desert at my shop. I'll see you tomorrow morning before the Council meeting and I'll bring cookies," Aunt Violet called as she hurried out the door.

Blue heard LeRoy fluttering down the stairs. He was an ancient crow that had been in Blue's family for at least a couple hundred years, a crazy long time for a crow to live. He was an enchanted bird but no one knew his full story, only that he had belonged to Blue's Great-Great grandfather Cullen McChesney and was old even then. True to his breed, LeRoy was both sociable and crotchety. LeRoy could carry on a conversation like any other person, though he would only do this around paranormal humans. When mundane people were around or when he was miffed, LeRoy behaved like an ordinary crow. He spent most of his time dozing in the sunroom or on a perch in the library. He had his own magic too and could open doors, especially the door to the refrigerator or breadbox. LeRoy made a swift exit from the sunroom as soon as he saw the dragon, and started cursing at full power.

"What is the meaning of this, Belladonna Louisa McChesney? Bringing that cursed, smelly dragon into my home! I will not tolerate this indignity! I swear by the sun, the moon, and the three sacred hills that this abomination better be gone the next time I come downstairs!" LeRoy then fluttered back up the stairs to his perch in the Library.

Blue fed the little dragon then settled him into the basin of the fountain, and set up a kitty litter box nearby, hoping that Took knew what to do with it. Then Blue went to bed, with vague worries that something might go wrong at the Paranormal Council's meeting for girls tomorrow.

Chapter 3

"Explain to me again why we invited the Paranormal Council's girl's group to meet in my house?" Blue asked Aunt Violet. "They don't like you or Grandma and can't stand me."

Stella giggled, "I think the strategy is along the lines of keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"Exactly," replied Aunt Violet. "It is harder for the Council to malign the McChesneys when their paranormal girl's group meets in the McChesney mansion itself. Maybe half of what they fear is that they don't know the McChesneys well, and that Cormac is so reclusive."

"The other half is what we hope they never find out," muttered Blue under her breath.

"What they don't know won't hurt them," smiled Aunt Violet. "Also it also makes it easier for me to influence the agenda and update topics for girls today. Topics like "Choosing a Mate" have not been updated in 100 years. What if a girl does not wish to take a mate? Plus there is no information about keeping female parts healthy, or choosing a career."

"Oh no," groaned Blue. "Tell me you're not covering that today." Stella giggled some more.

"You'll find out when I get to my session," smiled Aunt Violet.

Blue and Violet rushed from the room to find Grandma Lily in the kitchen putting the final touches onto a tray of smoked salmon with cream cheese tea sandwiches and listening to the radio. She had it tuned to the paranormal station of course. The newscast was just ending.

"Here's a special report about violent magical fighting in the highlands of Scotland. It is reported that a small band of mages have cornered operatives from the Dark Abyss terrorist group. Injuries have been reported."

Grandma Lily quickly flicked off the station.

"I noticed that Grandma. Was my father involved?

I know Cormac is in Scotland. Last time I glimpsed

him in a mirror, he was walking in the highlands, across a moor full of heather."

Like most witches, Blue was psychic. If Blue was thinking of someone she would see glimpses of them in mirrors or other reflective surfaces.

"Don't be silly dear. Here, slice some more cucumbers for me, very thin slices. Then we'll start on the cucumber tea sandwiches. Aunt Violet brought some lovely platters full of cookies and fruit tarts."

"Yes, I tried one of her lemon meringue tarts and it was fabulous, as usual," replied Blue.

"I was about to tell Stella about the little dragon I found in your cistern room last night."

"Where is that strange magical creature?" replied Grandma Lily. "Grandpa Lou told me all about it. Grandpa says your dragon carries a burn wound, as though he'd been under magical attack. We don't want anyone from the Paranormal Council seeing your little dragon, though from the burn marks on him, I fear someone spotted him already and tried to kill him."

"He's resting in the sunroom and I pulled the shades so no one can see him. Aunt Violet checked him over last night. Thanks to the burn, he can’t fly. But he should recover in a few days. I oiled his burn and changed his bandages and gave him a big lunch earlier. He's sleeping now. I think he's nocturnal."

"You found a dragon?" asked Stella.

"A baby dragon," replied Blue. "He's so cute. I'm nursing him back to health then will release him back to the wild. He has an awful burn on one side."

"I've never seen a dragon," replied Stella.

"Grandpa Lou says it's unusual to find one around here. I’ll show him to you later, after everyone leaves."

"Before I forget to tell you, Zerelda Reynard called," Grandma Lily said. She said that her great nephew Quantrill is visiting her. He's going to come in to meet us before running some errands and then will pick her up again later."

"Quantrill," said Blue, trying out the name. "That's an odd name."

"It's an old family name on Zerelda's mother's side. It's French. The Reynard's originally came over from France.

"Doesn't 'reynard' mean fox?"

"Yes, it does," replied Stella giggling. Zerelda looks a little like a fox now that you mention it.

They sat in the kitchen, chatting and helping Grandma Lily with the tea sandwiches. Blue looked out the window and saw that Zerelda and a young man, who must be Quantrill, were walking up the stone stairs to the spacious wrap around porch. Now Zerelda Reynard was peaking through the windows about to ring the bell. They were early of course. So annoying. Quickly Blue ran to the other side of the kitchen and grabbed a pinch of salt from the antique stoneware saltbox screwed to the wall and tossed it over her left shoulder with a muttered incantation, absolving herself from seeing strangers step on her porch. It would have been better if she had not seen them, for seeing meant that she gave tacit consent. Aunt Violet scurried to open the front door. Without saying a word, everyone in the kitchen knew that Blue would never invite anyone from the Council into her home, since that opened up the possibility that they might return and enter again, without an invitation. The threshold held magical properties that a McChesney would never dilute. At that same moment LeRoy, the ancient crow that lived in the McChesney house, started to screech "Pretty boy! Pretty boy! Pretty boy is here." Much later Blue discovered that "Quantrill" translated to "pretty boy" in old French.

This was it -- the real thing. Quantrill inhaled deeply as though he could smell power and wealth in the McChesney mansion. Upon entering the stately home, Quantrill was not sensitive enough to realize it, but he was facing a variety of sentinels. He only knew that his mouth suddenly had become dry. The burled walnut chest with Queen Anne legs and original carved pulls, that had guarded the entry hall for four generations, remained silent. However, the limoge pieces on top of it screamed "do not touch!" The mahogany lamp table with rose marble top and brass clawed feet tentatively smiled, but the cast-iron turtle bearing sword-plant stand sniffed cautiously at Quantrill's knees then growled in a tone Quantrill could not hear. He did not know why he suddenly felt anxious as he ran a finger under the collar of his shirt. Most impressive of all was the girandole above the burled walnut chest. The antique girandole with its beveled mirror in ornate gold leaf frame and lighted twisting candle branches for a second seemed to be reaching for his throat. Quantrill stepped back, perplexed, staring at himself in the mirror. There he saw an uneasy young man with handsome angular features, pale complexion, blond hair, and pale blue eyes. Quantrill saw his nervous reflexion and immediately forced a look of cool composure. A few seconds later, everything seemed perfectly normal to Quantrill and he felt silly for having imagined that the cast iron turtle bearing sword-plant stand had growled at his knees. He glanced at the girandole once more as he checked his hair and straightened his shirt. Blue approached and greeted Quantrill and Zerelda, once they had stepped over the threshold.

"Hello," said Blue. The words almost stuck in her throat, as she disliked the sight of Zerelda Reynard inside the McChesney house.

Introductions were made. Blue glanced up at Quantrill and noted that he was nearly a foot taller than her five foot four inches. Quantrill, at age 19, was four years older than Blue. As the small talk between Zerelda and Aunt Violet continued, Blue learned that Quantrill was in college. They walked into the ladies' parlor. Since the McChesney house was an old Victorian it had a ladies' parlor to the right of the entryway and a gentleman's parlor, with pocket doors, to the left. Blue glanced surreptitiously at Quantrill, who looked slightly bored. He was handsome she decided. His thin face and hawk features fit together well. Most noticeable were his pale blond hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. She could feel his power, the way she could feel power from other witches, warlocks, and wolven. It was strange and cold and reminded her of cold dark stones and rotting things. He had an old type of power she had not felt before.

Quantrill did not notice the approving tinkle of the glass crystal drops on the chandelier as he entered the ladies' sitting room and perched on a chair gazing openly at Blue. She matched the stately setting from which she came, classic features in a heart-shaped face, solid frame well padded but not overstuffed. Blue was wearing an oxford style blouse of soft peach, which complemented her faint peach colored freckles and coppery hair. With Stella's help, she had managed to apply the makeup they had bought together the previous week, even trying some eye makeup this time. Her jeans were light blue washed denim. Seafoam green earrings dangled from her ears, made from gold and jade. She smelled faintly of sweetwood, which pleased Quantrill immensely. He could not pinpoint exactly why he found Blue so attractive. It was beyond him to realize that her scent had taken hold of him from the first and her scent was the scent of the furnishings and house and all they implied. Most boys her age were put off by Blue, she was too quiet and aloof for them, and there were all the odd stories about her and her family. Yet Quantrill was older and more confident. She is very powerful, that he could tell, and it made him uneasy. Could he control her? Probably he could, for she was so much younger. There was an opportunity here he could exploit, and the familiarity that comes with being a husband makes a couple equals. There's something about her bearing and refinement he thought, and the understated tasteful clothing, that makes her very attractive. Blue's modest, tailored blouse was especially alluring. The coppery hair was striking, but that of course came from the Escarpment Witch side. All the Escarpment witches had hair one shade of red or another. He decided that he could tolerate the freckles but the coppery hair had to go. Quantrill frowned slightly then brightened at the thought that he could convince her to dye it blonde. He preferred blondes.

Stella carried a platter of tea sandwiches and cookies around, and poured glasses of ice tea for Zerelda and Quantrill. Blue mouthed a silent "thank you," to Stella, who smiled back. She did not like Stella serving people in her house, but if Blue were to serve them it could possibly weaken the power of the threshold and no way was Blue going to do that. Stella understood and didn't mind. Zerelda and Quantrill did not even say "thank you" as they took the refreshments from Stella. Blue noticed and tried not to bristle in annoyance. It was going to be a long afternoon.

The sentinels conspired, trying to reach a decision. Only the cloisonne vase was hesitant. "He's not the one for her heart," it insisted. No one was listening to the silly vase. The sentinels grew silent as the burled walnut chest stirred.

"The McChesney line needs new blood as well as wealth, and this young Quantrill Reynard will bring both wealth and status to the name in time. The current head of the family, Cormac McChesney has been a fool. First, he marries into the most disreputable line imaginable by taking Rose Stone as his bride, daughter of the Escarpment Witch Lily Stone and the werewolf Louis Stone. She proves to be unstable and leaves him, though at least she provided an heir first. As if that were not enough tarnish to the McChesney name, he spends his time and the McChesney fortune on a hopeless and dangerous endeavor, chasing evil magicians all over Ireland and Scotland. The only hope I see for the future is if the only McChesney heir, Belladonna Louisa McChesney, (I refuse to call her by that ridiculous nickname 'Blue' that she favors) marries well, to someone who has goals and abilities that will preserve the wealth and power of the McChesneys."

"Here! Here!" the mahogany lamp table with rose marble top applauded.

"Quantrill would never make Blue happy. He only is interested in her for her family name, power, and fortune," pleaded the cloisonne vase. "Blue favors the young werewolf Rafe Mantooth even more than she realizes. I know for I am a true romantic and I can tell. "

"No!" boomed the burled walnut chest. "Mixing with werewolves is the cause of our current problems."

"Agreed. No more werewolves!" tinkled the girandole, the crystal clusters on its candelabra shimmering. "The McChesney line is going to the dogs, literally, thanks to those werewolves and disreputable Escarpment Witches. This Quantrill Reynard has the focus, and skills most needed. Besides, he is tall, and that is also a good thing."