Veil of the Druids

Chapter One

Attending wouldn’t be the worst decision I’d ever made, but it would undoubtedly be in my top ten.

I lingered in my front hallway, one hand braced against the wall, the other clenching a small bouquet. I tried to steady the rise and fall of my chest, but my breath snagged in my throat.

“You can do this,” I whispered, smoothing the wrinkles from my summer dress.

A car door slammed, jolting me, and I peered through the window at people walking to the house next door.

I hated mingling. I hated small talk. I wouldn’t know anyone at the celebration of life.

I hadn’t even known Marion, although from what Charles had told me, the elderly woman had been remarkable: Geology professor at the University of Toronto.

Wife, mother, grandmother. Baker extraordinaire.

Masterful chess player. And, judging by the number of attendees, a person well known and loved.

I was the opposite of her—likely, the opposite of everyone coming to pay their respects.

If those reasons to back out weren’t good enough, there was the fact that attending anything remotely like a funeral would stir up old memories and nightmares that would leave me shaking and sweating and crawling across a cold bathroom floor, sick for hours.

Definitely a bad decision. Probably top five.

But while attending the celebration of life was the last thing I wanted to do, I had made a promise to Marion’s husband, Charles. I smiled remembering how we had met, only a few days ago.

“Blast!” The angry curse had come from an elderly gentleman outside my house. Stooped over his walker, he struggled to dislodge its wheel from a particularly deep crack in the sidewalk, glowering and muttering like it had done him a personal injury.

I was late for class, but he was in a predicament, and I couldn’t walk away from someone in need.

I hurried toward him, my messy bun bobbing up and down, threatening to come undone. “Here, let me help.” I shifted the papers and books in my arms and bent down to gently lift the wheel.

“Thank you, Ms.…?” He raised a white eyebrow.

“Kira,” I said, nudging my glasses up my nose and smiling at his slight Scottish accent.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kira. I’m Charles. We’re neighbours.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Charles. Do you need help to your door?

” I stuffed a few wayward pages into the books and snuck a glance at my watch.

Damn. The bus would be at the stop any minute.

My first-year students wouldn’t mind if their teaching assistant was late—they’d be thrilled if I didn’t show up at all—but it would reflect poorly on me. And I needed the money.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. You look like you’re in a hurry to get somewhere.” Charles nudged his walker forward, but it slipped into the crack again. “Bollocks!”

That curse drew a chuckle from me, and I dislodged the wheel once more. “Here. I’ll help you to your porch.” I matched Charles’s pace as he shuffled down the sidewalk.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Charles cast a glance in my direction. “You look like a student. A very late student.”

“I am. PhD candidate. Teaching a summer course at U of T. It’s okay.

I’ll catch the next bus. Can’t leave you stranded on a sidewalk.

What if you get stuck again? Who would rescue you?

” I grinned at him, surprising myself. I wasn’t usually at ease with strangers—or anyone for that matter—but this gentleman had a calming presence.

“Nasty cracks in these sidewalks,” Charles grumbled. “They get worse every winter. You’re very kind, Ms. Kira. My knight in shining armour.”

“Is anyone at your house?”

A shadow crossed his face, his eyes filling with such deep sorrow that my heart ached anew.

“Not anymore. Marion, my wife, died last week.”

“Oh, Charles. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He waved a hand, but his eyes grew misty. “We had a lifetime of love, and I’ll see her soon.”

He’d see his late wife soon—was that a lovely sentiment or a concerning one? I wasn’t sure. I racked my brain for something to say.

Charles seemed to sense my discomfort. As we walked up the accessibility ramp leading to his front porch, he shooed me away. “Get to class, now, Ms. Kira. I’ll be okay.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure? I can call someone for you.”

“Away with you. Go catch your bus before you miss the next one.” He made another shooing motion. “You have better things to do than coddle an old man. You’re young. Live your life.” He heaved out a groan as he lowered himself into a chair.

I worried my bottom lip. Leaving him like this didn’t feel right, but I was late. I made sure he was settled before going.

A couple of minutes later, I jogged back up the ramp and pressed a piece of paper into his hand. Below my phone number, I had scrawled Knight in Shining Armour. “Call me if you need anything.”

Charles’s eyes widened in surprise before he nodded.

“Ms. Kira,” he said as I turned to leave. “Take my car. And thank you.” He handed me a key.

Thanks to Charles’s generosity, I arrived on time to deliver my lecture, then muddled through the rest of the day in the haze that had become my new status quo.

I kept to myself, avoiding colleagues who might have heard about my breakup with Todd.

It was still too fresh, too embarrassing, and the last thing I needed was their pitying looks and questions, or worse, my responses getting back to him.

I took the long way to my academic adviser’s office instead of the shortcut through Todd’s building.

Not running into my asshole ex-fiancé was worth the risk of showing up late for my meeting.

I thought about Charles all day. Even when I was dodging Todd, I couldn’t shake the image of Charles sitting alone on his porch.

On the way home, I bought a box of cookie mix.

Homemade cookies were guaranteed to brighten anyone’s day.

Well, they would be as homemade as possible—my baking and cooking skills left much to be desired.

After piling the still-warm cookies into a container, I made my way to Charles’s house. He was sitting where I’d left him, the chair beside him sadly empty. I held out the cookies before me like an offering. After peering into the container and selecting one, he took a nibble and eyed me.

My stomach sunk. They couldn’t be that bad, surely. How was it possible to mess up a premade mix?

“I like my cookies with milk,” Charles declared after a thoughtful moment. “Bring us some glasses from my kitchen and take a seat, Ms. Kira. It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s chat.”

Relief flooded me, and for the next two hours we enjoyed the warm July weather, ate cookies, drank milk, and talked.

About everything.

Charles was surprisingly easy to talk to.

He told me about his life with Marion, and I opened up about my own parents’ deaths, something I rarely discussed.

I even told Charles about Todd. He was the reason why I’d ended up as Charles’s neighbour.

I’d needed a new place to live, quick, and thankfully, one of my professors needed a renter while she was on sabbatical overseas.

“It would mean a lot if you came this Saturday. To Marion’s celebration of life,” Charles said at last, taking another bite of cookie and a big gulp of milk.

“Oh, Charles. I don’t know…”

“I cremated her body in private,” he said softly, almost to himself.

“We didn’t have a funeral or a wake, and now the family is insisting on holding something in her memory.

No point, if you ask me. Although Marion did enjoy gathering with her loved ones…

” His voice trailed off as he gazed at the fiery pink and orange sky.

Guilt settled in the pit of my stomach. The man had lost his wife. Of course I would attend. The words, however, stayed stuck in my throat.

Charles glanced at me after a moment. “Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

“Never you mind that. Just promise this old man you’ll be there on Saturday. It would mean the world to me. And wear something cheery. No black. Promise me, Ms. Kira.”

How could I say no?

The time had come. I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath, reminding myself that I’d made a promise to show up and pay my respects, but I didn’t need to stay long.

Through the open front door, the scents of flowers and food drifted onto the porch. Charles’s house was full of warmth, and people gathered in clusters, sharing stories about Marion, their voices interspersed with soft laughter and quiet tears.

I so do not belong here. I edged around people and laid the bouquet beside others on a table. After helping myself to a glass of punch, I made my way through the house.

Photographs of Marion had been placed everywhere, and all depicted a life well-lived.

Her smile lit up a photo of her and Charles in their younger years.

They stood on the deck of a boat, their hair blowing in the wind, their smiles bright and carefree.

In another picture, her arms were wrapped around a girl and a boy, most likely her grandchildren.

The three of them looked like they had gone swimming, most likely in a Scottish loch judging by the scenery.

In a third, her head was thrown back in laughter at a family barbecue.

On a table loved ones had placed small objects that reminded them of Marion: a chess piece, a recipe card, various rocks, a well-worn book.

I took a shuddering breath. I can do this. I fought down painful memories of my parents’ funeral. I needed to find Charles, then I could leave.

I passed bookshelves groaning under the weight of academic journals, field notes, and expedition logs.

A professor of archaeology in his younger years, Charles had travelled the world, leading excavations and collecting artifacts.

Display cases featured obsidian blades and pottery stones, and the air held the comforting scents of old paper, canvas, and leather.