Chapter 16
Guardians and Saboteurs
June
I’ve always had a talent for planning the most efficient route. Today, that means organizing my deliveries from “least likely to give me useful information” to “most likely to spill a mountain of secrets.” It’s basically detective work with packages.
My truck bounces over a particularly nasty pothole as I head up the winding road to the Ashcroft estate. The fancy wrought-iron gates swing open automatically as I approach. Veronica might be a fire-breathing nightmare, but her security system is state-of-the-art.
I park in the circular driveway, grab the small package from my passenger seat, and straighten my uniform. Delivering to Veronica is like having an audience with royalty—if royalty had scales and a tendency to scorch the messenger.
The massive oak door swings open before I can knock.
Veronica Ashcroft stands there in all her terrifying glory: ten feet of dragon elegance with iridescent scales shimmering along her elegant body.
Her pupils are vertical slits in amber eyes, and when she speaks, I catch glimpses of teeth too sharp to be entirely comforting.
“You’re late,” she says by way of greeting, her voice that peculiar mix of British aristocrat and something legendary that crawled out of a volcano.
“Good morning to you too, Ms. Ashcroft.” I hold out my tablet. “Road conditions are still dodgy after the slide.”
She signs with one perfectly manicured claw. “I suppose that’s a reasonable excuse. Well? Where is it?”
I hand over the package, a small velvet box that probably contains some absurdly expensive gemstone.
Normally, this is where Veronica dismisses me with a barely perceptible nod. Today, however, I need information.
“Actually, Ms. Ashcroft, I was wondering if I could ask you something?”
Her eyebrow arches so high it nearly reaches her horns. “You? Ask me something?”
“Yes. Have you noticed anything… unusual happening on the mountain lately? Besides the mudslide, I mean.”
Veronica stares at me long and hard, and I wonder if I’m about to be barbecued on her front porch. But, to my surprise, she steps aside.
“You’d better come in. I have opinions on this matter.”
I follow her into a foyer that could comfortably house my entire delivery truck. The walls are lined with display cases containing glittering gemstones, each illuminated to showcase its brilliance. Classic dragon behavior; the hoard is always on display.
“Tea?” she asks, which might be the first hospitable thing she’s ever said to me.
“No, thank you. I have other deliveries.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Very well. You want to know about unusual occurrences? How about having some vandal repeatedly disturb my precisely arranged collection?”
I blink. “Someone broke in and stole from you?”
“Stole?” She looks genuinely offended. “No one would dare. But for years, I would arrange my emeralds by shade and clarity, only to wake up and find them scattered across the floor. My rubies, meticulously organized by origin, suddenly jumbled together like common pebbles!”
I struggle to keep a straight face at the distress in her voice. Dragon problems.
“That sounds annoying,” I offer.
“It was infuriating! I spent hours arranging my tanzanite display by color gradient, and the next morning—chaos!” She gestures dramatically to a display case containing purple-blue stones that look perfectly organized to me.
“Did you ever catch who was doing it?”
Her nostrils flare, and a wisp of smoke curls from them. “Not exactly. But the problem was solved when that insufferable spider creature appeared during one of my completely justified rampages about it.”
My heart gives a little kick. “Spider creature? You mean Riven?”
“Yes, that reclusive pest. He simply walked in—uninvited, mind you—observed my distress, and informed me that the mountain was experiencing minor tremors I was apparently ‘too absorbed in my shinies’ to notice.” She mimics Riven’s deeper voice with surprising accuracy.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “And?”
“And then he proceeded to use his silk to create suspension systems for my cases.” She gestures to nearly invisible threads holding some of the larger display cabinets. “Ingenious, really. They absorb the vibrations without restricting the visual appeal.”
“That was nice of him,” I venture.
Veronica looks like she’s swallowed something sour. “I suppose I owe the creature a debt. He disappeared before I could offer payment, which was terribly rude.”
Translation: Riven helped her without being asked, expected nothing in return, and didn’t stick around to be berated for his trouble.
“Thank you for sharing that, Ms. Ashcroft. It’s been illuminating.”
She shows me out with a sniff. “Do watch those mountain roads, delivery girl. The tremors have been more frequent lately.”
As I climb back into my truck, I smile at the image of Riven awkwardly helping the haughty dragon organize her treasure hoard while she probably complained the entire time. Not exactly the behavior of someone who’d deliberately cause a mudslide.
One character witness down, two to go.
Ethel Mae’s cottage sits nestled among the pine trees, looking like it was plucked straight from a fairy tale. Five cats of various sizes lounge on the porch, sunning themselves. I count them automatically—all present and accounted for.
“Is that my Junebug?” Ethel calls from inside before I can even knock. The woman has ears like a bat.
“It’s me, Ethel. I’ve got your medication.”
The door swings open to reveal Ethel Mae Prescott in all her eighty-year-old glory. Today she’s wearing a floral house dress with rainbow fuzzy slippers that immediately make me think of Riven. Her silver hair is wrapped in pink curlers, and her eyes twinkle with mischief behind cat-eye glasses.
“Well, don’t just stand there letting the heat out. Come in, come in!”
I follow her inside, careful not to step on Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln, who weave between my ankles with practiced precision.
“I’ve made fresh coffee and cookies,” she announces, bustling toward the kitchen. “And don’t give me any nonsense about being in a hurry. I can see something’s troubling you clear as day.”
I set her medication on the kitchen table and sink into a chair. Somehow, Ethel always knows.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Child, your aura’s more tangled than Woodrow Wilson’s fur after he gets into the yarn basket.” She sets a steaming mug in front of me. “Now, what’s got you looking like you’re trying to solve calculus in your head?”
I take a sip of coffee—perfect, as always—and decide on a half-truth.
“I’m a bit concerned about all the dangerous things happening on the mountain lately. The mudslide wasn’t the first incident.”
Ethel’s eyes light up. “Oh! You’re finally noticing! This mountain’s been playing its games long before you were born, June.”
“Games?”
“The mountain gives, and the mountain takes.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “But it also protects its own.”
My detective senses tingle. “What do you mean, protects?”
Ethel settles back in her chair, clearly delighted to have a captive audience. “Did I ever tell you about the time I got lost in that terrible blizzard? Must’ve been fifteen years ago, when these old legs could still carry me up hiking trails.”
I shake my head, accepting a cookie that’s still warm from the oven.
“I was such a fool. Thought the storm wouldn’t hit until evening, but the mountain had other ideas. One minute I could see clear to the valley, the next I was in a whiteout so thick I couldn’t see my own hand.” She shudders at the memory. “Thought for sure I wouldn’t be found until spring thaw.”
“What happened?”
Ethel’s voice drops to a reverent whisper. “A shadow came. Something massive with too many legs to count. I was terrified at first, thought it was Death himself coming to collect me.”
My pulse quickens. “But it wasn’t?”
“No, child. Whatever it was, it never came close enough for me to see clearly. But it laid down a path—a glowing silk trail right through the snow. Like a runway of stars leading me home.” Her eyes mist over.
“I followed that path for nearly two miles, and it led me straight to the main road. I always figured it was my guardian angel.”
I swallow hard. “Or a guardian spider.”
Ethel’s eyes sharpen. “You know something about this?”
“I might,” I admit. “Did this guardian ever speak to you?”
“Not a word. But I knew it was watching, making sure I made it home. I felt it.” She reaches across the table to pat my hand. “That’s the kind of man you want, June. The kind who helps without asking for thanks.”
I nearly choke on my cookie when she adds with a wicked grin, “Also, the kind with enough legs to really keep a woman stable, if you know what I mean.”
“Ethel!” My face burns hotter than Veronica’s fire breath.
She cackles and stands up, moving to her cookie jar. “Oh, don’t play innocent with me, missy. I see that scarf, and I know you certainly aren’t the kind to get yourself something nice like that.”
My hand flies to Riven’s scarf automatically. Busted by an octogenarian.
Ethel packs a container with cookies, still chuckling. “Take these to that tall, dark, and leggy fellow up the mountain. Man needs to keep his strength up if he’s courting a spitfire like you.”
I accept the container, knowing better than to deny anything. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m observant,” she corrects, walking me to the door. “So whatever’s got you worried about that mountain, just be careful up there. Sometimes when something seems dangerous, it’s just protecting what matters to it.”
I’m still blushing as I drive away, Ethel’s cookies filling my truck with the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. Two character witnesses down, one to go. And the most important one at that.
Finding Gus Thornfield is never guaranteed. Some days he leaves a small stack of stones by his drop point to indicate he’s around; other days the area is empty, meaning hide the package well in the hollow log and move on.